of being left alone so often at such a young age (I was then four) really affected me as I began raising my own children. It became almost an obsession never to leave them alone, especially our daughter. Even when they were away at college I was always asking them if they were alone. I just could not relax until I was certain that they had a friend, a roommate, or someone with them.
When I asked my parents why they left me, Dad told me he thought Mom would stay with me. Mom said she thought she would only be gone a short time. The truth is, they were busy dealing with their own issues and forgot about me. When their fighting continued it became obvious to me that both of them spent that night with other people And my existence made their lives a lot more complicated. To this day I don’t know how I knew this, but somehow I did. Sadly, I learned later that my suspicions were correct. During their constant quarrels I recognized some of the names of the people with whom they suspected each other of being unfaithful. It broke my heart, and I just wanted to disappear. Did my mother and father ever love each other?
The following week Dad moved out of our home and into a one-bedroom studio apartment not far from our Vaci Street flat. He left everything behind for my mother. He took only his clothes and the grand piano and music books that he needed for his teaching jobs. The divorce proceedings were concluded fairly quickly. Mom cried a lot and kept asking me to ask Dad to come back home. A few times I made an attempt to convince him to try again, but he was very bitter and wouldn’t even talk to me about Mom. He tried very hard never to look back but at the same time did his very best to take care of me under these difficult circumstances. He worked long hours, six to seven days a week, and I was grateful to be with him during the early morning and late in the evening. During the week Dad took me to kindergarten in the morning, picked me up at six o’clock and I stayed with him at his school until he finished teaching usually around ten o’clock at night. He was teaching or performing with his chorus most weekends but he always took me with him. It meant a lot to me that he never left me alone, he was always on time to pick me up from kindergarten and he made me feel that I was important to him.
During my preschool and kindergarten years, I was always the last kid to be picked up after school when it was my mother’s turn (if she even came at all). Most of the time, the person who would come for me was my father. Mom rarely made it, and when she did, it was always very late and I would often be out on the street waiting for her after the school closed at six in the evening. Sometimes I just walked home because I was too embarrassed to be the last one left at school all the time. I would make up stories about how my mother had to work and that was why she could not come and get me. In truth, I never knew where she was. Sometimes the neighbors would feel sorry for me and invite me into their flats to wait for Mom to show up. I was very grateful for their kindness, especially in the freezing winter when being on the street was no fun at all.
When I was walking around on the streets looking for my mother, it never occurred to me that I might be molested or that somebody could really hurt me. Sometimes, when I had no place to go, I would take the streetcar to be with my grandmother, who always welcomed me with so much love and concern. I knew I would be safe with her and my grandfather. We would always pray together for my mother and father. Of course, I always prayed for the impossible: that my parents would one day reconcile so that we could become a normal family.
I spent a lot of time sitting on the staircase by our front door until Mom came home. Sadly, she usually had a male companion with her, so even when she did come home I felt like I was in the way most of the time. Men were attracted to my mother like bees to honey. She was very beautiful and had the most amazing laugh. Whenever I was with her I always noticed how men just looked at her in a way that made me feel very uncomfortable. I sensed that my presence was not always welcome. Mom loved all the attention from the opposite sex and seeking that attention consumed her life.
Looking back now, I realize that my mother had no idea what I was feeling. She was totally absorbed in her own life and her own needs, and had no knowledge of all the tears I shed through so many nights while she was sleeping with different men. I tried hard to be a good kid, and I could never understand why I wasn’t wanted by my own mother. I was grateful that I at least I had my father, who never broke a promise to me. Although he was not overly affectionate, whenever it was his turn to take care of me, he never let me down. I was vaguely aware that my father also had some lady friends, but it never interfered with his parental responsibilities.
Dad’s hours teaching cello were long. Often, his days began at 8:00 a.m. and didn’t end until 10:00 p.m. He often picked me up from kindergarten at six in the evening and took me back to the school where he was giving cello lessons to his gifted students late into the night. We would have supper in his tiny studio apartment. Our meals were very simple. We usually drank tea with some day-old bread with dried salami and maybe an apple, if they were in season. I was just happy because I had my dad all to myself. I was also eager to help my father in any way I could so I could stay with him longer. I began helping him wash his socks and undergarments in a small sink by his room after I saw him struggling to do this simple task with one hand. I always helped him fix our supper and cleaned up afterward so I could prove to him that I was useful and could take care of things around his place.
I used to wonder why the divorce judge didn’t award custody of me to my dad, since he did his best to look after me. It never occurred to me that the judge looked at him and saw a man with one arm who worked long hours trying to make ends meet. Dad was living in a small one-room apartment, sharing a common bathroom with three other tenants. Though this was not ideal for a little girl at age five, obviously the judge didn’t know that my father could do more with his one arm than most people could with two.
Mom got a job at a café in Budapest and started to make some money. I knew she got good tips from male customers because she was attractive and fun to be around. She also received child support from my father, which she apparently spent mostly on new clothes and going out with friends. I don’t believe she did that to hurt me in any way; she was just young and irresponsible. I also think she simply wanted to be independent and enjoy her life. She never finished high school but was curious, smart, and eager to learn about the world around her. She was young and beautiful and loved all the attention she got because men were attracted to her. Although her formal education was not completed, she loved to read and was knowledgeable about the arts.
She met her second husband while working at the café in Budapest. He was everything my mother wanted at the time. He was good-looking and well-educated, very sophisticated in my mother’s eyes. She became totally obsessed with this man. His name was George, and he took Mom to the theater, opera, poetry readings, and the horse races (later I learned he was addicted to both gambling and sex). Unfortunately, this relationship hastened a long downward spiral for my mom.
I remember always asking my father to let me live with him because it was unbearable when George was around my mother. I was losing my mother completely to this man. I also started noticing that we had less and less furniture in our flat. I learned later that Mom had started to sell some of the furniture, giving the money to George to feed his gambling habit.
In our one-bedroom flat there was very little room for me, and it was apparent that George didn’t particularly like having me around. Often I would take the long bus ride to the suburbs of Budapest where my grandmother and grandfather lived, just to get away from him. I was too embarrassed to tell my father all the things that went on between my mother and George at home, but I was always asking Dad to take me to his place. I never complained about his long working hours as long as I could be there with him.
One day my father sat me down and told me that things needed to change so I would have more stability in my life. He told me it was very important that I get a good education so I could be successful when I grew up. He said that he had arranged for me to move into the Jewish Orphanage in Budapest in the fall of 1953. I would be six years old. Since technically I was not an orphan, I was getting some special considerations and Dad would pay a nominal fee for my keep. He was allowed to come to see me twice a week to give me cello lessons, which
