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My brother, Erno, was born in Cheia, in 1902. He was a handsome boy. He went to school in Oradea, where he lived with one of my father’s brothers. After graduating, he returned home and worked as a clerk. There was this doctor, Ede Schnabel, who was in charge of the miners; my brother helped him with administrative work.
The doctor lived in Cluj, but had been assigned to work at the mines in Aghiresu. He was a good friend of my brother’s and he even ate at our place. My mother was a famous cook; she wasn’t just good – she was famous in the entire region. So the doctor said that, if she didn’t mind, he would very much like to eat with us. My mother said that where there is room for seven, there is also room for eight. So the doctor was like a new family member.
Erno was a gifted boy. He sang, he was esteemed, he looked good, he was the center of attention wherever he went, and he was single. He was a good man, and I remember he supported me when I was a child. But I did things for him too; when I grew up, at the age of 14-15, I began to iron his shirts. Back then, shirts were not made from synthetic fiber, but from poplin, which was a very sensitive fabric. For each shirt I would get 5 lei. That was a lot of money.
Then Erno married a widow from Dej who owned a store. She was a very nice woman and loved my brother a lot. As he was hard-working and intelligent, his wife wanted him to take over the store. He did such a good job running it, that the income doubled.
During the deportations, he was sent to forced labor in Germany. There he met a brother-in-law – his wife’s sister’s husband. The man was much more weakened than him. One day, the detachment had to go to work in another place, but this man couldn’t walk. So my brother tried to carry him.
He didn’t abandon him; this is how things went in my family – we liked to help one another. As a result, they were both shot to death. The sick did not receive any medical treatment; if they couldn’t walk, they were simply shot. My brother was killed too, because he was carrying a sick man in his arms.
The doctor lived in Cluj, but had been assigned to work at the mines in Aghiresu. He was a good friend of my brother’s and he even ate at our place. My mother was a famous cook; she wasn’t just good – she was famous in the entire region. So the doctor said that, if she didn’t mind, he would very much like to eat with us. My mother said that where there is room for seven, there is also room for eight. So the doctor was like a new family member.
Erno was a gifted boy. He sang, he was esteemed, he looked good, he was the center of attention wherever he went, and he was single. He was a good man, and I remember he supported me when I was a child. But I did things for him too; when I grew up, at the age of 14-15, I began to iron his shirts. Back then, shirts were not made from synthetic fiber, but from poplin, which was a very sensitive fabric. For each shirt I would get 5 lei. That was a lot of money.
Then Erno married a widow from Dej who owned a store. She was a very nice woman and loved my brother a lot. As he was hard-working and intelligent, his wife wanted him to take over the store. He did such a good job running it, that the income doubled.
During the deportations, he was sent to forced labor in Germany. There he met a brother-in-law – his wife’s sister’s husband. The man was much more weakened than him. One day, the detachment had to go to work in another place, but this man couldn’t walk. So my brother tried to carry him.
He didn’t abandon him; this is how things went in my family – we liked to help one another. As a result, they were both shot to death. The sick did not receive any medical treatment; if they couldn’t walk, they were simply shot. My brother was killed too, because he was carrying a sick man in his arms.
Location
Romania
Interview
Elza Fulop