‘The insurgents are in the building!’
‘There’s no way out!’
‘Isn’t there a back door?’
‘Where?’
‘Over here!’
Tamás stops, realising what a fool he’s been. He pushes his way through the panicking officers and runs back to the conference room. Gábor is where he left him, although there’s even more debris covering him now. But it’s not Gábor he wants. It’s his coat. Where the hell is that damn coat he was going on about, the one he took from the dead rebel? He looks around the destroyed room, kicking aside lumps of plaster. And then he sees it, rolled up in the corner where Gábor put it for safe keeping. No one else has noticed it, which was Gábor’s intention. With shaking fingers, Tamás rips off his blue AVO shirt and dons the trench coat. It’s filthy from all the falling plaster but that doesn’t matter. It makes him look as if he’s been in a battle, which he has. He buttons it up to the collar to hide the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt underneath and buckles the belt. Then he picks up a discarded submachine gun and makes his way cautiously to the door.
The stairwell has cleared and he starts to make his way downstairs, one step at a time. At the first turning in the stairs he nearly drops his weapon in fright when he sees a group of freedom fighters coming up from the floor below.
‘Anyone up there?’ asks the leader of the group.
His mouth is dry with terror and for a moment he just stares at them like an idiot. Why don’t they shoot him or drag him outside for a lynching? But then he realises that they think he’s one of them. Gábor’s coat is doing its job. He finds his voice and points to the room he just left. ‘No, that room’s empty. The bastards got away.’
‘Right, this way then.’ The insurgents head back downstairs. Tamás follows. He’ll be safe if he sticks with them. If he can just make it to the ground floor then he can slip away in the chaos that is still raging outside.
They’re held up by a commotion at the door. Insurgents are holding a group of six or seven AVO officers who failed to get away, dragging them outside. If he hadn’t gone back for the coat, he would have been one of them. But he mustn’t let his comrades see him now. If they think he’s gone over to the other side, they’ll denounce him and then he’s as good as mincemeat.
His AVO comrades are taken outside and Tamás almost buckles at the knees when he hears the gunshots. The men are being shot at point blank range.
Someone slaps him on the back. ‘They’re getting what they deserve, eh?’
‘Yes,’ croaks Tamás.
When no one is looking, he moves away from the building, desperate to get out of this hell-hole. He stops short when he sees a crowd clustered around one of the trees. Gut-churning cries of terror are coming from the centre of the group. He knows he should run but he’s frozen to the spot. He recognises the voice that is pleading to be spared. It belongs to a man that he once looked to for recognition and promotion. He received neither.
The crowd parts just enough for him to see Vajda’s flabby body, stripped naked, being hoisted upside down by his ankles. Whilst housewives spit and hurl insults at him, the insurgents douse him in petrol and set him alight.
At the sight of his boss burning like a pig, Tamás turns and flees.
*
The square is a scene of devastation and the air is pungent with the stink of burning flesh, but at least the shooting has stopped. Sándor jumps down from the armoured vehicle and joins the survivors in helping to pick up the casualties. There are plenty of walking wounded who would appreciate a lift to the hospital. They can stop off there on their way back to the Corvin Cinema. He might see if Róza can spare five minutes.
He helps a dozen or so people into the back of a truck, then he sees two white-coated medical workers carrying a stretcher across the square. They are walking slowly, their shoulders and heads bowed, as if the load they bear is too heavy for them. He runs towards them with the idea of letting them know that he’ll be taking a batch of wounded people to the hospital and to see if he can give them a hand. He’s got nothing but admiration for these medical students who have been risking life and limb to save their fellow citizens.
As he approaches he hears one of them sobbing. It’s only then that he looks down at the figure on the stretcher and his heart leaps into his mouth. The red hair has come free from its white cap and is blowing in the breeze. A limp hand has fallen from the stretcher, the fingernails trailing along the ground.
‘Róza!’ The cry issues from his mouth before he’s even aware that he’s spoken.
The medical workers stop and look at him.
‘We couldn’t save her,’ says the one who is sobbing. ‘We tried our best.’
Sándor lifts her hand and places it across her chest where a dark red stain has spread over her white coat. Her eyes are closed and her beautiful face is unmarked. He bends down and kisses the lifeless lips. Then he staggers away, tears streaming down his face.
*
Tamás runs blindly through the streets. He is gasping for breath and has a stitch in his side, but he has to get away from the square. He can’t comprehend so much horror. The sight of Vajda’s pink, flabby body being strung up and set alight is too much for him. The stink of burning flesh seems to be clinging to him, following him.
He turns a corner and almost runs straight into another charred corpse hanging upside down from a makeshift scaffold. This one is unrecognisable, the blackened flesh like old, cracked leather. It looks as if it’s been hanging there for days. Under the body is a pile of money that would buy enough food for a banquet, but no one has taken it. It’s tainted. Blood money. He lurches into an alleyway and is violently sick.
He ventures back into the street. People are walking past the burnt corpse as if it’s perfectly normal to have such a grotesque thing hanging in the street. It’s clear to him that anarchy is now the order of the day and it’s every man for himself. He thrusts his hands into the pockets of his coat and tries to walk at a normal pace so as not to draw attention to himself. Every so often he comes across the body of a fallen Russian soldier lying on the ground, sprinkled in lime.
On one of the main boulevards he sees a row of Russian tanks laboriously making its way out of the city. The pavements are lined with people booing and jeering. Tamás joins in with some half-hearted boos.
‘We beat the bastards,’ says a jubilant young man standing next to him.
‘We did,’ says Tamás. ‘We beat them.’
*
Wednesday, 31 October 1956 - Friday, 2 November 1956
Like a trail of giant cockroaches, Soviet tanks crawl out of the city, their guns silent. Hungarians line the streets, jeering, or just watching in silence, too stunned by the events of the past days to feel any real emotion yet. It will take a long time for the wounds to heal.
Katalin stays indoors, mourning the loss of her dearest friend. Róza’s death has cast a dark and painful shadow over the revolution. She is reminded once more of her childhood friend, Liesl, who perished at the hands of the Nazis. And what did she, Katalin, do to save Liesl or Róza? Was there anything she could have done?
On the first of November, she sits with her father and they listen to the radio as Imre Nagy, the Prime Minister, declares Hungary’s neutrality from the Warsaw Pact.
‘That is something, at least,’ says Márton. ‘If the Soviets invade again then America will have no reason not to intervene.’
‘Do you think it’s likely that the Soviets will come back?’
Márton shrugs. ‘Who can tell? At this point, anything could happen.’
Katalin knows this to be the case. They appear to have won, but their victory feels fragile and it has come at such a high cost. She doesn’t want Róza to have died in vain.
The doorbell rings and she wonders who it can be. She’s not expecting anyone. When she opens the door she is surprised to find Professor Károly Novák standing on the landing. After she was dismissed so unceremoniously from the
Novák’s house four years ago, she never expected to see him or his wife again.
Professor Novák removes his hat and holds it in front of him in a gesture of respect. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Katalin, but I was wondering if your father was at home.’
She is tempted to tell Professor Novák that her father is out, when Márton calls from the living room, ‘Who is it, dear?’ The next moment he appears in the hallway.
Katalin looks from one to the other as the two former colleagues lock eyes. In Professor Novák’s eyes she thinks she sees humility, maybe even remorse. In her father’s eyes she sees surprise, then delight.
‘Márton,’ says Professor Novák. ‘It’s been such a long time. I just…I just wanted to see how you are. If you’d rather I went away…’
‘Of course not,’ says Márton. ‘Come in. It’s good to see you.’
Katalin stands aside and Professor Novák enters the apartment. ‘I won’t stay long.’
‘Long enough to have a drink, I hope,’ says Márton.
Katalin takes their visitor’s coat as Márton guides him through to the living room.
‘I’ll make coffee,’ she says. When she brings the coffee through ten minutes later she finds them sitting comfortably, discussing the uprising. She puts the tray down on a table and leaves them to it. She’s pleased at the thought of her father renewing his old acquaintances.
The next day brings freezing rain and a driving wind but on Saturday the day dawns bright and clear. The light dusting of snow that fell overnight glitters in the sunlight. It’s still bitterly cold, but there’s a freshness in the air, as if it’s time to make a new start. Zoltán persuades her to leave the apartment for the first time in days. It will do her good to get outside, he says.
Muffled in scarves and winter hats, they join the hundreds of other people strolling arm in arm around their battered but beautiful city. Hardly anyone is carrying a weapon. The corpses have been cleared from the streets and the flower sellers and roast chestnut vendors have returned. Katalin and Zoltán buy a bag of roasted chestnuts to share as they walk along the bank of the Danube, watching the sun set behind the hills of Buda. For the first time in days she feels a glimmer of hope that things will get better. They’ve fought and they’ve won. The dead haven’t died in vain. They will be remembered and honoured. Life will go on.
Part 3 - November 1956
Chapter Seventeen
Sunday, 4 November 1956
The rumble of thunder invades her dreams.
Katalin is awake at once. It’s still dark outside, not yet dawn. Suddenly a bright flash of light illuminates the window and she sees Zoltán standing there, silhouetted against a reddish afterglow. He’s already dressed. She slips out of bed and joins him.
‘What is it?’ she asks, fearing she already knows the answer.
‘They’re back.’ He doesn’t have to say who. ‘And this time it sounds like they mean business.’
‘So they lied to us.’
‘Yes,’ he says as if he has expected this all along. ‘They lied.’
She jumps as a series of explosions light up the sky, shaking the apartment. It’s not thunder and lightning but the rumble and firing of Russian tanks on the streets. They couldn’t have gone far when they left the city to have made such a speedy return. She hears her father’s door open. The noise has woken him too.
Zoltán gently pulls her away from the window where she is transfixed by the scarlet sky. ‘Get dressed. We should get the children dressed too. We need to be prepared.’
She throws on yesterday’s clothes which she left on the bedroom chair last night, then helps Zoltán dress a sleepy Lajos and a grisly Eva who is unhappy at being woken up. When they go through to the sitting room, Márton is tuning the dial on the radio, a look of grim resignation on his face. András is standing at the window watching the sky light up with explosions. They gather round the radio to listen to the voice of Hungary’s new Prime Minister who hasn’t yet been in the job a fortnight.
This is Imre Nagy speaking. Today at daybreak Soviet forces attacked the capital with the obvious intention of overthrowing the legal Hungarian democratic government. Our troops are fighting. The Government is in its place. I notify the people of our country and the entire world of this fact.
‘It’s over,’ says Márton, shaking his head. ‘They will crush the revolution and clamp down hard with an iron fist. There will be no more talk of democracy. Hungarians have died in vain.’
Katalin thinks of Róza giving her life to try and save others. It was all so pointless, she wants to scream.
The insistent ringing of the doorbell startles them all as if the Russians are on the landing.
‘I’ll get it,’ says Zoltán. Katalin follows him into the hallway carrying Eva in her arms, Lajos clinging to her leg. The bangs are frightening the children.
It’s József, the caretaker, still wearing the same moth-eaten cardigan he was wearing on that fateful day four years ago when her father was arrested. But this time he isn’t accompanied by a group of AVO thugs. Behind him, supporting each other, are the elderly couple, Maria and her husband Milan, from across the landing. Petra and Tibor are making their bleary-eyed way down the stairs.
‘We’re under attack,’ says József. ‘We must take shelter in the basement. It’s the only safe place in the building.’
Katalin recoils at the thought of hiding in the basement like they did during the siege of Budapest at the end of the war. She avoids the place as much as she can, fearful of reawakening the ghosts of memories that lurk in the dark recesses behind the coal bunkers. She recalls the smell of sweat and human waste. And sheltering down there didn’t stop her mother from being killed.
But József is right. If the Russians have returned with the intention of overthrowing the revolution, then the fighting will be fierce. They can expect no mercy. She looks at Zoltán. She can see from the look of determination on his face that he has no intention of hiding in any basement. But there’s her father and the children to think of.
‘It is my duty to ensure the safety of everyone in this building,’ says József, smacking his lips together. There’s no hint of Pálinka on his breath. It’s too early even for him to have had a sip yet.
Zoltán leans close and says in an urgent whisper, ‘Do what he says. Take your father and the children downstairs.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going back to the Corvin Cinema. Sándor will be there. I have to fight alongside him.’
She wants to tell him to take shelter in the basement with everyone else, but that’s not the sort of person Zoltán is. He won’t put his own safety before what he believes in. ‘At least take some food with you,’ she says, masking her anxiety behind a display of practicality. She goes into the kitchen and returns with a half loaf of bread and a whole salami sausage which she presses into his hands as if he’s about to go on a picnic. He puts on his trench coat and stashes the food into the deep pockets. Then he picks up his rifle and slings the strap over his shoulder.
‘I’m coming with you,’ says András.
Márton shakes both their hands. ‘Take care.’
Katalin has to choke back a sob. Those are the words her father spoke to her before the AVO took him away.
‘You too,’ says Zoltán, embracing his father-in-law. He takes Katalin’s face in his hands and kisses her tenderly on the lips. Then he’s gone.
For a moment she is too stunned to move. She gives herself a shake. Keep busy, that’s the thing to do. She goes into the kitchen and starts to put together a basket of food. She tells Lajos to fetch his favourite toys and also his sister’s cuddly bear. They’re going on a big adventure and she needs him to be a big, brave boy, just like their upstairs neighbour Tibor. Can he do that for her? Lajos looks at her with his big brown eyes and nods his head. Yes, he’ll be brave.
*
The shutters are down and the café will remain closed today. And for the foreseeable future.
Feri switches on the radio and hears the traitor János Kadar proclaiming the formation of a new Hungarian Revolutionary Worker-Peasant government.
In the interests of our people, our working class and our country, we requested the Soviet army to help the nation in destroying the dark reactionary forces and restoring order and calm in the country.
Kádár has been General Secretary of the Party for a matter of days but he’s already shown his true colours by betraying the Prime Minister, Imre Nagy, and defecting to the Soviets.
Feri turns off the radio in disgust. The hard-line communists are trying to seize back power and they have called on their friends in Moscow to help them destroy the revolution. Just let them try, thinks Feri. Just let them try.
If he gets out of this alive he’s going to try and escape across the border. He’s always wanted to go back to Paris. He has dreamed of running a little café in Montmartre where people will read newspapers published by a free press and discuss works of literature. There will be an atmosphere of open debate and his customers will be free to laugh and criticise the government. He will play French music on the radio and serve hot, buttery croissants to locals and tourists. He will introduce a few Hungarian delicacies to the menu as well. He’ll need to brush up his French which has grown rusty.
He goes to the back of the café and uncovers a box of empty bottles. He’s kept them just in case. He also has a supply of Russian vodka that he never drinks and a collection of old rags. He’ll spend the morning manufacturing Molotov cocktails and when the tanks come, he’ll be ready for them. By God, he’ll be ready.
*
Zoltán and András run to the cinema, through streets still battle-scarred and wounded from the first round of fighting. What chance does the city have of surviving this new attack? It’s already half on its knees. All it needs is for the Soviets to stamp their boots and grind them into the dust. Maybe he should have stayed in the basement with Katalin and the children. Is he just being foolhardy, trying to be a hero?
Goodbye to Budapest Page 24
