Farewell my heart [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE Religion?" the Italian officer in the Fascist uniform asked, holding my passport in his hand. The train had been standing at the border station between Switzerland and Italy for a long time. The name of the station was painted on a board: Domod-ossola. Outside, the winter afternoon was growing dim. Such silence reigned over the station that you could hear the steps of another soldier in Fascist uniform, nerve-rackingly clear, as he paced back and forth on the deserted platform. "Religion?" My face grew warm. I must have been blushing, because suddenly I could sense the warmth rising up to my cheekbones. The Hungarian consul general in Paris had smiled at me meaningfully as he made out my passport. Without my asking him to, he had left blank the heading marked "Religion," which by then had become so important a classification on all Hungarian passports. That was why the Fascist officer was surveying me now, questioning and suspicious. "Jew,"I answered. "Why isn't it on your passport?" "Because they didn't write it in," I said. "Why not?" 'l