Piestany

 After Paris, we took a train through Nazi Germany to Prague, Piestany and Budapest.  We saw lots of German soldiers wearing Nazi uniforms. They all said, “Heil Hitler!” to us in the train, but Mother always answered with the traditional, “Grüss Gott.” (“May God be praised.”)  

We went to Piestany, a once-famous spa in the heart of Czechoslovakia. In the ‘20s,  movie stars and Heads of State came there to take the cure for rheumatic ailments.  Hot medicinal mud, bubbling up in the river was used for mud-baths.  My Mother’s high school friend, Clara Payor had married the son of the owner of three hotels in Piestany.  He had died prematurely, leaving her with three young sons. Frank, who was 10 at the time and the twins Ali and Paul who were then 7 years old. Clara was helping her father-in-law to run the spa.  She spoke fluently in English, German, Hungarian and a Slovak dialect.  I was very impressed and loved her at first sight.  She was tall, slim, dark-haired and beautiful.  She was also charming. 

We spent close to a week in Piestany, bathing in the large swimming pool called, “EVA,” playing ping-pong, eating meals with Clara and her boys in one of the hotels. I noticed that the maids always made a quick bow and said, “Küss die Hand!” whenever we arrived or left our house.  I thought that was strange until I learned that it was a common salutation like, “Hello!” or “Goodbye.”  I remember a long car trip to a “schloss” (a castle used as a summer camp) in the foothills of the Tatra Mountains.  We drove there to pick up Frank, whose nickname was Busho.  I remember the flocks of geese slowly crossing the road, while we waited patiently for them to make the hazardous crossing.  As we were driving along the narrow dirt road, colorfully dressed peasants in the fields stopped their work to smile and wave to us.  (A car was a rare occurrence!)  I waved back from my window.  They sang as they worked, a kind of choral singing I had never heard at home.   

Later in Piestany I took a picture of an old woman wearing the long skirt that peasants wore and a babushka over her head.  She was standing by a kind of rickshaw in which her customer would be seated, while she pulled him or her.  That custom had been outlawed, but the women persisted, since it paid more than farmwork.

That was the summer of 1938.  Later, after we had come home, the Nazis invaded Czechoslovakia and seized the whole resort that was Piestany.  The owner, Clara’s father-in-law didn’t even get a ration card. Clara and her boys took a train to Budapest in mid-August.  They arrived in NYC in mid-September.  We visited them on Long Island.  No one in Clara’s family lifted a finger to help her.  My Mother helped her to get a good job as Manager of a first-class residential hotel on the near North Side of Chicago.  Many years later when I was a student at the University of Chicago, Clara used to invite me to spend weekends at her hotel, which I loved to do.  There I got to know the twins, who were 13 at that time.  They were wearing military uniforms since they were attending a military academy.  Still very cute and lively, with their dark hair, dark eyes and pink cheeks.  (I couldn’t tell them apart.) They thought I was Somebody because I was a University student. I was impressed by their knowledge of classical music.  They had a big collection of recordings.  I had forgotten that Clara was a violinist in addition to all of her other talents. 

I stayed in touch with the twins.  Paul became a doctor, respected and loved by many patients.  He never married.  Frank became a lawyer in a prestigious Chicago law firm.  He married a  beautiful woman from a Caribbean Island and had several children. Paul, Frank and Clara eventually died of cancer, but Ali, a retired Cornell University professor, is doing well at 89.  He lives in Ithaca with his devoted wife, Lola.  They have three grown-up children and several grandchildren.  Eva and I visited them last December when we were in NY. (Before the pandemic.)  They, and their beloved dog Sampson (a big, black poodle) entertained us graciously in their comfortable, old-fashioned home. For a few days we shared their sense of quiet contentment.