TRAIN Z: A Little-Known Chapter of World War II

By David D. Bommarito

FATE WAS NOT KIND TO SABAN GRABO AND HIS THREE-MONTHS-PREGNANT WIFE ELISAVETA . . . OR WAS IT?

TRAIN Z is a World War II historical fiction novel that follows a young Romani (Gypsy) couple who travel from Sarajevo to a famil

• Language: English
• Publisher: David D.Bommarito
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088248782

David D. Bommarito

In 2013, I saw a program about the well-guarded 20th train from the Nazi's Mechelen Transit Camp in Brussels to Auschwitz. It was stopped by three Belgian resistance members who helped seventeen Jewish prisoners escape. That program sent me on a quest to research and write a story about Train Z, the only one of 28 trains from the Mechelen Transit Camp to have Romani prisoners onboard. I also wanted to salute the Belgian resistance and the Roma in this book who fought for freedom during World War II.

Book preview

TRAIN Z

A Little-known Chapter of World War II

A Novel

DAVID D. BOMMARITO

DugganPubs2 HD:Users:epd:Desktop:Bommarito book Train Z:Mechelen-SS-Sammellager_-_Dossin_Casern USE.jpg

The Mechelen Transit Camp 1942

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/mechelen_transit_camp

Copyright © David D. Bommarito, 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including in-formation storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction loosely based on actual events. Some references to historical events, real people, and actual places are used. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination.

Cover created by Brad R. Cook

Cover designed by David D. Bommarito

Stock locomotive photo by Adam Chang from Unsplash.com

I dedicate this book to the memory of

Dede Hoffman.

She was an original member of our critique group and was taken from us far too soon.

Also, I dedicate this book to those who suffered and died in World War II fighting for freedom with the Belgian Resistance. And to those who suffered and died in transit camps and concentration camps.

DEFINITIONS

Baro — leader

Train wagons — boxcars

Balaclavas — ski masks

Kübelwagen — German jeep

The terms Gypsy and Gypsies are considered offensive and derogatory by the Romani people. The terms below are acceptable and used in this book.

Rom – A person of Romani descent

Roma – Persons of Romani descent

Romani — Adjective, as in Romani people or Romani language.

PREFACE

An attack on the Kingdom of Yugoslavia by Nazi Germany began on April 6, 1941. By April 18, 1941, all of Yugoslavia had been conquered. The German headquarters centered in the larger cities, so life continued somewhat unchanged for the Roma and those in the rural areas. Then it changed, and the Roma were arrested along with the Jews, homosexual men, those with special needs, people of color, the resistance, political adversaries, and anyone else deemed anti-Nazi. A thorough research estimated the death toll of the Roma to be between 500,000 and 1.5 million during the Romani Holocaust, also known as Porajmos, which means devouring or destruction in some dialects of the Romani language.

It is not well known, however, that during World War II, the Roma fought and died for freedom as soldiers of the Allied armies and as members of the resistance.

CHAPTER 1

On a cold, overcast evening in mid-December 1943, Saban Grabo trudged through a light dusting of snow from the blacksmith shop he shared with his father. His day included forging metal and shoeing horses. When he reached the modest wooden house, he stepped up to the covered back porch, stomped his feet, and wiped his boots on a sisal doormat. Inside, he hung his coat, replaced his boots with slippers, and ambled over to three-month pregnant Elisaveta, who smiled when he kissed her on the cheek. He bent over and inhaled the vegetable and sausage stew she stirred. Her day involved baking, interpreting Tarot cards for clients, and bartering for food and other necessities.

They had finished stacking the dishes in the sink after dinner when a knock at the front door startled them. They stiffened and stared at the door as if trying to see through it. These were frightening times as World War II engulfed Europe. Saban removed a large carving knife from a kitchen drawer and went to the door.

Who is it?

A guttural whisper came from beyond the door. It is me.

Saban opened the door slowly and peeked into the dark. An old man he knew stood in the cold and handed Saban a folded piece of paper.

Your father got one, too, the old man said. Then he turned and disappeared into the night.

Saban scanned the darkness for any threat. Everything was quiet. So he closed the door, unfolded the note, and read it.

What does it say? Elisaveta asked.

"My family’s relative died. He was the Baro of our clan. I must pack and be in Dilbeek, Belgium, within three days for the funeral, as required by Romani custom. It says to contact Claude in Brussels at Disques et Instruments de Musique, a music shop near the Brussels-South Railway Station where he works. Claude will arrange transport to Dilbeek. Also, the note has directions to the funeral location."

Is there an address for the music shop?

Yes. He set the piece of paper on the kitchen table.

Elisaveta sat at the table and looked at the note. Saban stood alongside her at the table. My father was notified. I will tell him that I will represent our family at the funeral. Tell your family that I will be gone for a few days.

She shifted her gaze from the note to face him. I want to go, too.

No, it is too dangerous. There is war and you are pregnant.

She rose, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his shoulder. I will be safe. You will protect me.

Saban shook his head.

Please? she pleaded. You know how I love to travel. Her bright eyes and pout melted his resistance. That night, they packed a suitcase, and Saban put his mandolin in its case.

Don’t forget to pack your red blouse and my red scarf, Saban said. Roma believe the color red at funerals brings good luck because of the ancient belief that blood is the source of vitality and life.

Yes, I know. Then Elisaveta asked. Do you have our identification papers?

Ah, thank you for reminding me. He retrieved the papers from the bedroom desk drawer, folded them, and placed them in his overcoat pocket that hung in an armoire.

The next morning, after notifying his father of their plans, Saban bartered with a neighbor who owned an auto to drive them to the Sarajevo train station. Elisaveta was excited. She had not traveled since they were married. Saban, however, was anxious. He had not traveled outside Sarajevo. When they arrived at the train station, Saban thanked the man for the ride. They entered, followed the signs to the ticket counter, and Saban purchased two tickets to Brussels. Their footsteps echoed as they hastened toward the platform. Of the people milling about, most were German soldiers.

Your papers, commanded a soldier at the train’s gate. Saban reached into his outside overcoat pocket and handed him their papers. While he skimmed the papers, another soldier searched their suitcase and mandolin case.

You are Bosnian? he asked while examining their papers.

Yes, they replied.

So, you are Saban Grabo—a blacksmith and metal forger.

Yes, sir.

And this is your wife, Elisaveta, a housewife.

Yes, sir.

He glanced at Elisaveta. You have an attractive wife, Saban Grabo.

Thank you, sir.

Saban winked at Elisaveta, held her hand, and attempted to act calm. She smiled back. However, their actions did nothing to ease the tension they felt.

The soldier strolled around them and continued to study their papers.

At last, he declared, Your papers appear to be in order. Do you know any Jews or Gypsies? Elisaveta gripped Saban’s hand a little tighter.

Why? Saban asked.

If you do, you must report them. There may be a reward.

Ah, a reward…I will keep that in mind, Saban nodded. Since when is there a reward for people other than criminals, he wondered.

What is your business in Dilbeek?

A funeral, Saban replied.

And how long will you be there?

Possibly a day or two.

Very well, don’t forget what I said about the Jews and Gypsies.

We will remember.

The soldier returned their papers and waved them on.

They rushed across the train platform, eager to add distance between them and the soldiers. Elisaveta stepped up into a passenger car and Saban followed her. As he boarded, he saw out of the corner of his eye two soldiers staring in their direction. They are looking this way, he thought. The soldiers sprinted toward him. Saban’s pulse surged. What do they want? Are they coming for us? Elisaveta! He stumbled onto the train and whispered to his wife, Quickly, go to the dining car. Remember, we passed it. She acknowledged with a nod. Find a toilet and lock yourself inside. Come back here when the train is moving. If I’m not here, stay on the train and make the connection in Dilbeek. I love you. He kissed her on the lips. Now go!

Elisaveta’s eyes widened with concern. She didn’t question Saban but hurried down the aisle.

Saban yanked his hat and coat off and fell into the first window seat facing the platform. The soldiers rushed to the passenger car. He stuffed his hat and coat under the seat and hid his suitcase under his legs. I hope they will not recognize me from the train’s gate. As the soldiers entered the passenger car, Saban waved and blew kisses out the window as if someone special stood on the platform. The soldiers stopped. His heart pounded. Did they find out Elisaveta and I are Roma? He kept waving. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind and yanked to his feet. He found himself eye to eye with a scowling German soldier. Saban stiffened, his eyes widened and his fists clenched. He felt ready to fight.

Another soldier came up behind and said, Not him. Follow me. The soldier holding Saban shoved him back into his seat and followed his comrade. A commotion ensued as a man three rows ahead was dragged, protesting, and forced down the aisle and off the train. Saban relaxed, closed his eyes, and exhaled. The whistle blew, and the train lurched forward.

When Elisaveta heard the whistle and felt the train’s movement, she fled the dining car toilet and bumped passengers out of her way. When she located Saban standing and waiting for her, she opened her arms. They embraced and kissed. He led her to the seat and when comfortably settled, she stared at him, waiting for an explanation. He justified his odd request by revealing the encounter with the soldiers. She kissed him gently on the lips and brushed his dark, wavy hair from his forehead. You will be an excellent father, she purred. Saban beamed. They sat back and allowed the click-clack of the train on the tracks to lull them to sleep.

Chapter 2

Born in 1919, Saban Grabo grew up on the outskirts of Sarajevo, Bosnia, Yugoslavia, the only surviving child of a Romani couple, Besnik and Mircea Grabo. The Grabos settled in Sarajevo instead of traveling. Their property, purchased with savings, included a house, a blacksmith shop, and land for their animals. When Saban was four, his mother gave birth to a baby girl. His parents named her Florica, which means little flower. Saban loved his baby sister and watched over her. But Florica was sickly, and one winter at the age of five, she contracted pneumonia and died. Her death devastated the family, especially Saban. His parents planted a flower garden around Florica’s grave in the backyard. Because of the difficult birth, Mircea could not bear another child. However, Saban’s baby sister remained in his mind and heart.

Mircea sent her son to school, even though the Roma did not widely accept it. She wanted her son to learn to read, write, and be accomplished in mathematics. She stressed the importance of language. He already spoke Vlach-Romani and Bosnian. But she wanted him fluent in French as well, as it was an international language of the time. The Grabos established a barter system with a local tutor for Saban’s French lessons. Mircea washed and mended the tutor’s clothes, while Besnik offered his blacksmith expertise. The schooling, they figured, would benefit the business.

The family set aside time each evening for Besnik to teach Saban to play the mandolin. Mircea listened, applauded, and encouraged Saban. He enjoyed this time with his family and became proficient in playing the Romani folk music he grew to love.

At school, no one teased him about his ancestry because Saban was a strapping youth and unbeaten in schoolyard brawls. The girls considered him handsome and fantasized about being part of a traveling Romani clan. Most of his fellow students’ parents patronized Besnik’s blacksmith shop or his mother’s sewing and Tarot-reading business.

As Saban grew, he worked alongside his father whenever possible. While they worked, Besnik explained to his son that they descended from the Lohar clan of blacksmiths. The Lohar is considered a group from Northern India, Northern Pakistan, and Nepal—hence, our dark hair and olive complexion.

Saban learned to shoe a horse, sharpen knives, and master metalwork. When his father rode the wagon into town or to the farms to sharpen knives, tools, or repair equipment, Saban enjoyed accompanying him. After graduating from eighth grade, he worked full time with his father and became a skilled craftsman. The little business flourished.

Elisaveta, by contrast, was a Traveler and considered a white Rom with light brown, almost blond hair, hazel eyes, and light skin. She had a gift for reading Tarot cards and earned money from it. Her mother had died of a mysterious disease, probably contracted in their travels, when Elisaveta was in her late teens. Many young Romani men sought twenty-year-old Elisaveta’s hand in a prearranged marriage. She knew how to manipulate her father and cajoled him into promising her input in choosing a mate. Although she could easily take care of herself, being the youngest sibling and a female, wherever she went either her father or one or both of her brothers accompanied her. Since she traveled all her life and spent time in various countries, she spoke several languages but did not read or write.

Elisaveta loved the animals that accompanied the Travelers, especially the horses. While brushing her favorite horse on a sunny, warm morning in early June, she noticed a loose shoe. She removed it and informed her father. After the Travelers made camp outside Sarajevo, her father left to find someone to reshoe the horse. A farmer gave him directions to the Grabos’ blacksmith shop, and he returned to camp. Elisaveta hitched a horse to the front of a wagon and tied the afflicted horse behind it. She threw the reins up over the buckboard, and she and her father climbed up to the seat and she took the reins.

On their ride to the Grabos’ shop, they enjoyed a sunny day and the country scenery of farms and animals. A couple of dogs ran close to the wagon, barking. A cat watched them from a perch atop a wooden fence post. Everything was green. Colorful wildflowers basked in the sun, and birds chirped and dotted the sky.

When they arrived, Saban and Besnik were hard at work. Elisaveta untied the horse, and she and her father led it into the shop. Saban turned and froze with a hammer in one hand and a hot iron in the other. He had dated pretty young women in his twenty-one years, but Elisaveta struck him as the most beautiful woman he ever saw. She wore a white short-sleeved blouse tucked into a full, ankle-length skirt with multicolored vertical stripes. Colorful ribbons held her shoulder-length hair in place. Her gold earrings, necklaces and wrist bangles, along with her hazel eyes, mesmerized him. Unable to speak, he stood there, eyes wide and mouth open. Besnik shook his head and smiled at Saban’s catatonic state. The two fathers engaged in conversation as Saban continued to stare at Elisaveta. Being uninhibited and enjoying the attention, she placed her hands on her hips and glided over to him with a slight sway of her shoulders.

Your iron is getting cold, she cooed. Saban set the iron and hammer on the table behind him, wiped his hands on a rag, and turned back to her.

Do you speak? she inquired, with a slight tilt of her head. He nodded.

Well then, say something.

Hello, he mumbled, with an unchanged expression of awe.

Besnik broke the mood. Saban! Startled, he focused on his father. Check the horse’s right, front hoof, and make sure it is not injured. Then check the shoe to see if it can be reattached. Elisaveta stepped aside and her father handed Saban the shoe. He cleaned the shoe and determined it was not bent. Then he examined the hoof and found no injury. So, he cleaned and prepared the horse’s hoof and reattached the shoe. While working on the horse, Saban glanced at Elisaveta to make sure she saw his best repair performance. While the fathers settled the bill, Besnik asked where the Travelers camped. As Elisaveta climbed up to the wagon seat, she glanced at Saban and displayed her most seductive smile. His eyes widened. They rode away while Besnik struggled to keep Saban from following them.

You must stay here and work. You should not go racing after a flirting woman. When Saban protested vehemently, Besnik laughed and told Saban the location of the camp. Saban gave his father a playful shove for teasing him. Besnik shoved him back and told him to get to work.

The next day Saban bathed, donned his best clothes, combed his hair, and rode to the camp on the tallest, strongest horse in their stable. He picked wildflowers along the way to impress her, her family, and the rest of the Travelers.

Saban and Elisaveta fell in love, and following a short courtship, the families planned a wedding. Elisaveta’s dowry consisted of her favorite horse. The Grabos hosted a joyous wedding celebration at their homestead. Until a residence was built for them, the couple lived with his parents.

Chapter 3

As the train swayed and clacked along, Saban and Elisaveta alternated between the monotony of staring at the white countryside with occasional spots of brown earth peeking through and lively discussions about home and the birth of their child.

After traveling for two days and changing trains three times, they arrived at the Brussels-South Railway Station. Trying to sleep in their seats on the train was difficult. As a result, they stepped onto the platform in a daze, holding their belongings. A cloud of steam from the train’s engine engulfed them as they staggered toward the gate. At the gate, a soldier examined their papers, asked the usual questions, and waved them through. Elisaveta held Saban’s arm as they maneuvered through the crowd toward the main entrance. Saban caught sight of the ticket office and guided Elisaveta to it. He asked the clerk for directions to the music shop. The clerk gave him verbal directions, which included bus routing information.

Are there no maps? Saban asked.

No. The Germans have confiscated all maps in case of an Allied invasion.

When they left the terminal, a light rain accompanied the refreshing cool air. They wrapped their coats tightly against the mist, flipped their collars up, and hurried to the designated bus stop. Fortunately, the wait was not long. Once inside the bus, Saban asked the driver to inform him when the bus neared their stop. They found two seats close to the driver, plopped into them, and chuckled at their childlike behavior. As the bus pulled away, Elisaveta rested her head on Saban’s shoulder and closed her eyes while he fought to stay awake.

When the bus driver announced their stop, Saban stroked her hair to wake her. He picked up their suitcase and his mandolin, and they exited the bus. Saban asked a local for directions to the music shop. Following the instructions, they rounded a corner into one of the many Art Nouveau neighborhoods. Tucked among other shops, they spotted the sign, Disques et Instruments de Musique. Upon entering, they were amazed at the array of guitars, mandolins, violins, accordions, and instruments they did not recognize. The instruments hung on the walls and lay on the floor. They inhaled the scent of wood, varnish, and musty paper. Bins of vinyl records formed a line in the middle of the store. Sheet music was perched atop an upright piano.

Saban addressed a clerk standing behind a counter, "Bonjour."

"Bonjour, may I be of assistance?" asked the clerk, a man in his forties, slim, with a thin mustache and wisps of hair combed across his balding head.

Yes. May I speak to Claude? Saban asked.

And whom may I say is calling? The clerk studied their appearance over his glasses.

I am Saban Grabo and this is my wife, Elisaveta.

Very well. The clerk swished behind a beige curtain, the same color as the walls.

Saban and Elisaveta continued admiring the instruments until a man brushed aside the beige curtain and stood behind the counter. He wore work clothes and an apron covered with stains of various colors.

May I help you? asked Claude, a middle-aged man with uncombed salt and pepper hair and a bushy mustache.

Yes, sir, we were told to contact you. Saban handed him the note. Claude studied it.

Wait here. Claude disappeared behind the curtain with the note. While waiting, they continued to inspect the instruments.

Claude returned and said, Someone is coming to drive you to Dilbeek.

"Merci. Would you have a chair for my wife? It was a long trip, and she is pregnant."

But, of course. Claude again went behind the curtain, came out with a chair, and set it beside the counter. The clerk followed with a second chair. We are most grateful, Saban said. "Merci," added Elisaveta. While they sat in the chairs, they relaxed and speculated about the events surrounding the funeral and their return home.

A dirty green 1937 Renault Juvaquatre, a French compact four-door family auto, stopped at the curb. A man in his thirties got out and closed the door. He wore a black beret, dark brown leather jacket, a