Upon the Head of the Goat Read Online Free PDF

brought for you and Iboya,” she added.
    Later, in the house, when Lilli hugged Babi, she looked like a mother bending over a child. She was by far the tallest female in our family. “And how is my sweet Babi?” she asked in broken Yiddish. Looking up at her, Babi smiled. “You have forgotten your Yiddish.”
    â€œI don’t have much chance to speak it and he doesn’t help,” Lilli replied, pointing toward Lajos.
    â€œWhy? I speak Yiddish,” Lajos said, carefully pronouncing each word with a heavy Hungarian accent. We all laughed.
    â€œThat is the way your father-in-law spoke Yiddish when he married my daughter,” said Babi.
    â€œAnd it was a lucky thing that I learned to speak it well,” said Father. “There are several young men in my platoon who have trouble speaking anything but Yiddish.” Pulling his hands out of his trouser pockets, he began to adjust his tie. There was sudden quiet in the large bedroom.
    â€œWell, old man, you carried an officer’s responsibilities long enough. Time for the younger men like me to do some work,” said Lajos, breaking the silence and coming over to pat Father on the shoulder. “And anyhow, now that things have quieted down, there may just be some pleasant changes.”
    â€œWhen did all this happen to you? No one told me about it,” Father questioned as he touched a finger to the first lieutenant’s insignia on Lajos’ lapel.
    â€œAs soon as they found out how good I was,” Lajos answered with a salute.
    â€œCome, girls, let’s go set the table; it’s almost time for seder,” said Babi.
    After sundown, we were seated around the big mahogany table in the bedroom. Babi and Mother rose, each lighting her own set of candles at either end of the table, their heads covered in lace, their faces glowing in the candlelight.
    Looking at them, drawn together by the same ancient tradition, I began to understand the meaning of the expression I had often heard grownups use, “You can graft the branch of a cherry tree onto a peach tree, but it will still bear cherries.” Mother had gone a long way from Komjaty, but she was still Babi’s daughter. I had seen them together many times before, when a gesture or a nod from one of them rekindled an old memory between them; they could giggle or grow sad together without uttering a word.
    After they sat down, Father started the ritual recitation of the Passover story from the Haggadah. He had changed into his regular clothes and was wearing a gray suit with a light blue shirt and dark tie. His blue eyes shone as he called for the four questions traditionally asked by the youngest male child. Sandor, prompted by Mother, asked the questions.
    The seder continued and we drank the four glasses of wine at the appropriate places during the reading. The meal ended with tea and the honey cake signifying a sweet year. We sang the traditional songs together, feeling lighthearted as our voices blended in the familiar words. By the time Mother kissed me good night, I had gotten used to her appearance, and my fears about her having changed had vanished.
    The next day, while Iboya and I were sitting on the porch, Mother’s voice, choked with tears, reached us from the kitchen, “No, I could never do that.”
    â€œI loved your brothers and sister, but I sent them with blessings when they wanted to go. What do you think the future holds for these girls, the way things are now?”
    â€œI have thought about it a lot. I can’t break up my family. If it were peacetime, maybe I could, I don’t know, but with all that is going on right now, I can’t send them away. I want them here with me. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. I’m not like you, Mother, I can’t be by myself. Not everybody can.”
    â€œYou were never lonely enough to come back to spend time here with me.”
    â€œIt’s not you, Mama,