Upon the Head of the Goat: A Childhood in Hungary 1939-1944
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Upon the Head of the Goat is the winner of the 1982 Boston Globe - Horn Book Award for Nonfiction and a 1982 Newbery Honor Book.
stay here to take care of Babi and finish school. You will come home when Rozsi comes back.” I accepted Mother’s statement although I was feeling very confused. Part of me wanted to go home, but another part liked the thought of taking Rozsi’s place with Babi, and still another part did not want Rozsi to leave, either. When I woke up in the late morning, everyone was packed and ready to go. A neighbor came with his wagon to take them to the train station, but Mother refused to get into it. “I
creating awful pictures. Why did I think of such terrible things, I wondered. Coming out into the open clearing with the bright sun and blue sky to greet us lightened my mood. The Komlos station was in sight. “We made good time,” said Rozsi, checking her watch, “It’s only ten o’clock.” The big coal-burning train came screeching down the tracks with large clouds of black smoke puffing from its smokestack. The wheels stopped abruptly, and we picked up the baggage and climbed aboard. After I was
Once outside, she took out the paper and carefully unfolded it. “Twenty pengö! He knows that I can’t even buy a one-way ticket with this.” Next we stopped at Dr. Feher’s office and sat down in the waiting room with his patients. One of them turned to Mother and asked what was the matter with her. “It is my little girl,” she said, indicating me with a nod of her head, “she has very bad cramps. I think it is her appendix.” I doubled over to illustrate the pain of the cramps. When Dr. Feher
she said in a husky voice. “What an end to have lived for! Abiding with God every step of the way, too. Where is justice, O God? And my poor Rozsi.” Mother sat down and, spreading out writing paper, composed a desperate scheme to try to save Babi from further harm. She addressed the letter to our relatives in Szölös and asked me to post it directly. We never knew what happened to that letter, but the next day we did get a letter from Rozsi, the last we ever received, telling us that they were
away. If the trains don’t come within the next hour, chances are that you won’t leave until tomorrow.” “It will be some night, then,” Judi said bitterly. “We are all packed. We will have to sleep sitting up; the earth is too cold to lie on. Where is Gari?” she added, changing the subject. Iboya put down her notebook and joined us. “Have you seen Shafar?” “They are both listening for the train. They will be able to hear it two kilometers away.” “How?” Mother asked. Without the hanging sheet