2 - We Live in Secrecy: Memories of a Romni-Gypsy. Memoir (1988)

Summary

Is this the whole world?

In 1939, we Roma still rode around freely in Austria with wagons and horses. My mother was thirty-two years old at the time, and so was my father. We were six children: the oldest sister, Mitzi, had just turned fourteen; then came my sister Kathi, who was twelve; my two brothers Hansi, eleven, and Karli, eight; Ossi, the family favorite, seven; and I, myself, Ceija, six years old. We loved our parents, and we siblings loved each other, too. Naturally, we had to go to school wherever we were. I still remember my father, Wackar, bringing me to school on my first day. I was mighty proud.

At that time, in 1939, we were somewhere in Styria when my people learned we were no longer allowed to travel around. It became increasingly worse for us until my father decided to go to Vienna. He said he had a good acquaintance in Vienna, a contractor who built wagons, who had a big place. Maybe we could set up our wagon at his place and live there for a while. And that”s how we got to Vienna, to the sixteenth district, in Paletzgasse at Herr Sprach’s. This man welcomed us warmly, but he said to my father, “Karl, the wagon is too conspicuous. You have to rebuild it into a small wooden house.” And that”s exactly what happened. We children attended school again. My oldest sister, Mitzi, worked in a paper factory. Ossi, the littlest one, still stayed with my mother, Sidi. The Brösels, a married couple, still lived in this big courtyard in a small house. They had no children, but they really liked us. They raised rabbits, and Ossi and I were often allowed to go with Frau Brösel to the Hanselteich to gather grass for the rabbits. After this work, we always got a good snack.

Right next to our courtyard stood the beautiful Kongressbad, where we children often hung out, and in Paletzgasse there was a new municipal housing project that the residents called the “Paprika Box” because of its red color. The godmother of my sister Kathi lived in this modern building. We called her Gusti-Godl. She was a true ray of sunshine. She hid us from the Nazis whenever she had the chance.