The name of the street was Rottenbiller in Budapest, Hungary. It was named after a mayor of Budapest who served in the 19th century.
We got an apartment there after our original flat was bombed out. I was about three years old. My mother, my grandmother, my uncle Herman with his wife and later two daughters, my uncle Sanyi, and I all lived there.
I mostly remember certain pictures in my mind.
Probably the first memory I have is seeing Russian soldiers in the courtyard of the building where we had our apartment.
When I got a tricycle, I would go from one side of the yard to the other. Once I took messages from one neighbor to the other. We all enjoyed the game.
Later, probably when I was five, I got a toy truck. I stayed busy putting more and more objects into it.
I can see a white tablecloth with candles and candleholders. My grandmother was a great cook.
I remember waiting for my mother, listening for the characteristic knock of her shoes to appear.
I was supposed to sleep in the afternoons, but I did not agree with this idea.
My grandmother told me stories when I was lying down. Usually, they were the same stories over and over again, but I liked them. She had a beautiful voice, and she sometimes sang and hummed.
On Sundays when my mother did not work, I only went for a nap if she lay down with me. When she thought I was sleeping and tried to get up, my hand pulled her back.
I remember once I stayed at home with my uncle Herman. I was sitting on his stomach and we played. He was the one who arranged for us to go to the so-called Glass House (a house that belonged to the Swiss embassy) during the Holocaust.
My uncle Sanyi often played with me. During the Holocaust, he was the one who accompanied my mother and me to the Glass House secretly during the night. When we arrived there the guard said that I could go in, but not my mother, because the place was overcrowded. My uncle pushed my mother through, moving the guard to the side. Since she was in Swiss territory, she could not be removed. I did not know these things until a few years ago when I read my mother’s notes.
In the house on Rottenbiller Street I had friends, and we played often. I got a toy gun with a cork attached to it, and my friends and I used it many times.
I started school and finished the first three years there. Then we moved.
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