Goodbye to Budapest

by Margarita Morris

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry.’ She doesn’t know what else to say. First Róza and now Sándor. How many more losses do they have to endure?

  Márton embraces his son-in-law, saying nothing. Words are useless here.

  Katalin holds tight to Zoltán’s hand as they cluster around the paraffin stove for warmth.

  ‘How many tanks did you blow up?’ asks Tibor, his eyes wide.

  ‘Tibor!’ Petra glares at him and he falls silent.

  Zoltán knocks back the glass of Pálinka which József offers him and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his coat. ‘We have to think about leaving Budapest and getting out of Hungary. It isn’t safe for us to stay here.’

  Márton nods his head. ‘I agree. They are saying on the radio that Imre Nagy has been arrested and the hardliner János Kádár has seized power. The AVO will show no mercy to anyone who fought in the uprising.’

  ‘Where would we go?’ asks Katalin.

  ‘Austria,’ says Zoltán. ‘That’s the route to freedom.’

  Austria. The name alone conjures visions of mountain pastures and idyllic villages. When Katalin imagined escaping, it seemed like an impossible dream. But now Zoltán is talking about it as a reality. A necessity, in fact. Could they really do it? With the children in tow? But the alternative might be imprisonment, even execution.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Petra, hugging herself tight. ‘It all seems far too risky to me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ says Tibor taking her hand. ‘I’ll make sure we get to Austria safely.’

  Ah, thinks, Katalin, the eternal optimism of the young. But then her father speaks, his voice strong and clear.

  ‘András and I once made it out of the labour camp at Recsk. I’m sure we can make it across the border to Austria.’

  *

  The AVO driver opens the rear door of the black Pobeda and Ilona steps out, pulling her fur coat tight against the frosty air. A gust of wind blows a flurry of autumn leaves across her path and she shivers, tucking her hands deep inside her cuffs. The driver has brought her to a large, old house in the country, just outside Budapest. The house has a red-tiled roof, blue shutters at the leaded windows and a climbing rose around the front door. At this time of year the thorny branches are bare, but she imagines it must be delightful in the summer. Quite the idyllic little hideaway.

  ‘This way, if you please.’ The driver opens the front door and steps aside for her to pass. She enters the wood-panelled hallway where a stag’s head mounted on a plaque stares at her with glazed eyes. Ilona averts her gaze from the animal and follows the driver into an elegantly furnished room on the ground floor. Her host is standing in front of a blazing log fire, his hands clasped behind his back. Her first impression is of a well dressed cadaver, he’s so tall and gaunt, the black suit only serving to accentuate the pallor of his skin which is stretched taut over sunken cheekbones.

  ‘Mrs Novák, what a pleasure to finally meet you.’ He extends a bony hand. The voice is deep and sonorous.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine, Colonel Szabó.’ She takes his hand and flashes him her sweetest smile. In response the colonel’s thin lips curl upwards and the deep-hooded eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the corners.

  ‘Let me take your coat.’ He helps her out of her fur and hands it to the driver who takes it away, closing the door behind him. ‘Now, what can I get you to drink?’

  A table beside the fireplace has been generously stocked with a selection of wine and spirits.

  ‘A glass of red wine would be lovely,’ says Ilona, making herself comfortable on the plush velvet sofa.

  Whilst the colonel uncorks a bottle of burgundy and fills two large glasses, she glances around the room, admiring the oak bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes, the oil paintings in heavy gilt frames, the grand piano in the far corner, and the antique clock on the mantelpiece which ticks reassuringly. The logs in the fire crackle and pop, emitting a heady scent of pine resin. The heavy brocade curtains have been drawn against the chilly weather and the room is lit by a collection of lamps, giving a cosy feel. She starts to relax.

  Colonel Szabó passes her a glass of wine and Ilona takes a sip. It’s a quality vintage with a full-bodied texture and rich, fruity aroma. She takes another sip, telling herself that she definitely made the right decision in coming here today.

  A few days ago, when the fighting erupted again, her husband Károly said they should escape to Austria. This time he was prepared, he told her, having made sure that the car had a full tank of petrol. But she demurred, saying they couldn’t travel in the midst of all that chaos and that surely this time the Russians would sort things out once and for all. And she was proved right. Now with Imre Nagy deposed and János Kádár in power, there won’t be any more trouble, she feels sure of that. And if she plays her cards right, the future could be very promising indeed.

  Colonel Szabó takes an armchair next to the fire and picks up a black notebook from a side table. He turns to a bookmarked page and says, ‘I have asked you here today to talk about a mutual acquaintance of ours. Professor Márton Bakos.’

  She inclines her head but stays silent, waiting for the colonel to continue.

  ‘I have been meeting on a regular basis with Professor Bakos since his release from the labour camp at Recsk. Keeping track of his whereabouts and his contacts, you understand. Standard procedure for released prisoners. I noted from his file – which has subsequently vanished from Andrássy Avenue – that your husband and Professor Bakos were colleagues at the university and that both of you were friends with the family.’

  ‘This is correct,’ says Ilona, taking a larger mouthful of wine. She remembers the musical evenings they used to hold, Eva accompanying her on the piano whilst she sang arias from Mozart’s operas. Her favourite was the Countess’s lament Dove Sono from The Marriage of Figaro – Where are the beautiful moments of sweetness and pleasure? The soaring melodic line, the passion, the tenderness…

  ‘And during that time you also worked for the Secret Police?’ The colonel’s voice brings her sharply back to the present.

  ‘I did.’ Ilona nods her head. It was such a difficult time back in the early fifties. People were being arrested on the flimsiest of pretexts. It was essential to make sure you weren’t caught yourself. Back in ’52, the Secret Police wanted the names of dissident academics at the university. She knew her husband was having doubts about the regime, doubts that could have landed him – and her for that matter! – in serious trouble. So she decided to set up a decoy – an idea purloined from The Marriage of Figaro in fact. She gave the authorities the name of Márton Bakos, the only man to have spurned her affections, the only man who wasn’t charmed by her, who only had eyes for his wife. Károly never knew.

  ‘You could be of help to us again,’ says the colonel, holding her gaze.

  ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘How much do you know about the part played by Márton Bakos’s family in the uprising?’

  A surprising amount, thinks Ilona, smiling to herself. Károly told her all about their activities after he visited Márton during the lull in the fighting, before the Russians returned.

  ‘More wine?’ asks the colonel.

  ‘Please.’ She holds out her glass. She might as well indulge herself if she’s going to be here a while.

  *

  If András had any concerns about meeting Anna’s family and what they would think of him, he needn’t have worried. Her parents’ joy at seeing their daughter return home safe and sound is soon extended to him as they welcome him into their tiny, but homely apartment.

  ‘I hope my daughter didn’t put you in too much danger,’ says Anna’s father, a jolly man in his mid fifties with silver-grey hair and a firm handshake. ‘She always was a bit of a tearaway.’

  ‘Stop it, Papa,’ says Anna, patting him playfully on the arm.

  ‘You will stay for tea won’t you, dear?’ asks Anna’s mother, as she takes András’s coat. She’
s a shorter, older version of Anna, but he can see where Anna gets her radiant smile from.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Benedek.’

  ‘Please, call me Geerte. And my husband’s name is Madzar. Kristóf and Tóni, Anna’s brothers, will be home soon and then we’ll eat. Anna, why don’t you give me a hand in the kitchen, then András and your father can get to know one another.’

  Anna gives him a wink as her mother ushers her into the kitchen.

  ‘Beer?’ asks Madzar, inviting András to join him in the living room.

  ‘Thank you,’ says András, accepting the proffered bottle.

  ‘Now, tell me exactly what the pair of you have been getting up to. Anna’s been very cagey about it all. I think she didn’t want to worry her mother.’

  Madzar listens intently as András explains the workings of the Corvin Circle and the first aid station at the Práter Street school. He leaves out the most painful events though, preferring not to mention Sándor just yet. He’s relating the story of how he and a couple of teenagers hit a tank with a Molotov cocktail from an attic window, when the front door bursts open and there are loud voices and laughter in the hallway.

  ‘That’ll be Anna’s brothers,’ says Madzar. ‘They never could do anything quietly, those two.’

  Anna appears then, flanked by two young men who tower over her. András rises to his feet, wondering what these two will make of him. He gets the impression they are protective of their little sister.

  Anna steps forwards. ‘András, meet Kristóf and Tóni.’

  Kristóf pumps András’s hand. ‘Glad to finally meet you.’ Tóni does likewise.

  ‘So,’ says Kristóf. ‘We hear you were in the Corvin Circle. Very impressive. We were both involved in the fighting at Móricz Zsigmond Square in Buda.’

  For the next half hour, András and the brothers swap stories of tank battles and casualties. It appears that the fighting in Buda was every bit as fierce as that in Pest.

  ‘The city’s been destroyed,’ says Tóni. ‘All such a bloody waste.’

  Geerte walks into the room and claps her hands together. ‘All right, that’s enough talk of fighting. Food is on the table. Let’s sit down and eat.’

  They enjoy a simple meal of bread, cheese and cold meats. András is touched at how they have welcomed him into their home.

  When they’ve finished eating, Geerte serves coffee and the conversation soon turns to a discussion of the current situation.

  ‘It’s not safe here anymore,’ says Kristóf, the older of the brothers. ‘Tóni and I were talking about going to Austria, before they clamp down hard on the borders. Now is a good time, whilst the political situation is still chaotic.’

  Geerte looks longingly at her children. ‘You must do whatever you think best,’ she says. ‘But Madzar and I will stay here. There’s no question of us leaving, what with my elderly parents…’ Her voice trails off and András can see she is struggling to hold herself together. Madzar lays a hand on his wife’s.

  ‘I know this is hard,’ says Kristóf, ‘but those of us who fought in the uprising are in danger if we stay. There will be reprisals.’

  András feels Anna’s hand on his thigh under the table. He knows what she’s thinking – they should escape too.

  ‘What about you, András?’ asks Geerte. ‘Do you have family in Budapest?’

  ‘My parents both died,’ says András. ‘But I have an adopted family that I live with.’ He thinks of Márton as his father now.

  ‘What plans do you have for escaping, son?’ asks Madzar, turning to Kristóf.

  ‘Tóni and I know a man with a truck,’ says Kristóf. ‘He’s prepared to drive us close to the Austrian border. From there we’d have to cross on foot.’ He looks at his sister across the table. ‘There’s room for you in the truck, and for András too. You don’t have to decide right this minute. But a decision in the next twenty-four hours would be good.’

  Geerte gasps. Clearly she hadn’t thought their departure would be so soon.

  After they’ve cleared the table and helped Geerte with the washing up, Anna draws András aside, saying they need to talk. She takes him into her room and closes the door.

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asks, stroking a strand of hair off her face.

  She looks at him with her clear blue eyes. ‘I want to go with Kristóf and Tóni, but only if you’ll come with me.’

  András’s heart floods with love. ‘Of course I’ll come with you. Wherever you go, I’ll be there.’

  She throws her arms around him and they kiss, long and passionately.

  ‘But first,’ he says, pulling away. ‘I need to go home, pack a few things and say goodbye to Márton.’ The thought of saying goodbye to the man who kept him going through that terrible time at the labour camp almost breaks his heart. But he knows Márton will understand. He’s always telling András to think about his plans for the future, and András’s future is here, with Anna. ‘I’ll go now. But I promise I’ll come straight back in the morning.’

  ‘We’ll be waiting for you,’ says Anna. ‘Don’t be late.’

  *

  Márton kneels at his wife’s grave and lays a bunch of flowers by the headstone. He’s never stopped loving her. He just wishes they could have had more time together. He used to come to the cemetery at least once a week, to sit and talk to her, but today will be the last time. Tomorrow he must say goodbye to Budapest. They will leave for Austria, if they get that far, and then who knows where? They will be refugees, at the mercy of others. Katalin helps him to his feet and they stand for a few moments in silent contemplation. A few drops of rain start to fall and Katalin says they should go home. They need to get ready for their journey.

  They make their way arm-in-arm through the damaged streets, passing people with dazed expressions on their faces. Everyone has lost someone in this tragedy. When they arrive home, he is pleased to see that András is back. Despite the terrible defeat the country has suffered, the boy looks happier than he has ever seen him and he wonders if it has anything to do with that pretty, young girlfriend of his. He invites András to join him for a drink.

  Over a glass of Pálinka Márton explains their plan to take the train to Sopron tomorrow, close to the Austrian border.

  ‘You’re more than welcome to join us,’ he says. ‘Unless you have other plans, that is.’

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ says András. ‘You see, I met Anna’s family yesterday, and her brothers are planning to escape in the back of a truck. Anna wants to go with them, and…’

  ‘And you want to go with her,’ says Márton, finishing the sentence for him.

  András nods. ‘I don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful for everything you’ve done for me. On the contrary, I wouldn’t be alive now if you hadn’t looked after me in the labour camp.’

  Márton lays his hand on András’s arm. ‘But your place now is to be with the woman you love.’ He thinks of his wife Eva and of how he’d have followed her to the ends of the earth. ‘Of course you must go with Anna and her brothers. I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  András’s face breaks into a smile. ‘Thank you. I knew you’d understand. Anna’s expecting me by midday tomorrow so I’ll see you all off first.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ says Márton.

  *

  The next morning Katalin bundles the children into triple layers of clothes, despite Lajos’s protests that he’s too hot. The rest of their things she stuffs into a small suitcase along with a change of clothes for herself.

  ‘It’ll only be for a little while,’ she tells her son, although she doesn’t know that. How long will it take for them to escape to Austria, assuming they make it at all? She rips a bed sheet into strips and fashions a sling so that she can strap Eva to her front. Zoltán is in the kitchen packing a rucksack with as much food as he can carry. She glances around the room to see if there’s anything impo
rtant she’s forgotten. Her eyes light on her violin. She hasn’t played it for so long now, she’s getting rusty. She opens the lid and runs her finger along the polished grain of the maple wood. The strings need tuning.

  On an impulse she lifts the violin to her chin and turns the pegs until the strings are all sounding in perfect fifths. Then she loses herself in one of her favourite pieces, her fingers remembering where to position themselves. As the last note drifts away, she hears a voice behind her.

  ‘That was beautiful.’ Tamás is standing in the doorway, looking slightly lost. He’s wearing an old shirt and pair of trousers that used to belong to her father.

  ‘I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘What is the name of that piece?’

  ‘Liebesleid by Fritz Kreisler. It means Love’s Sorrow.’ She puts the violin back in its case and shuts the lid.

  ‘You’re not leaving your violin behind, are you?’ asks Tamás.

  ‘I can’t take it with me,’ she says, sadly. ‘I’ll have my hands full with the children and the suitcase.’

  ‘I’ll carry it for you,’ he says, stepping into the room. ‘If you trust me with it, that is?’

  Tamás has no other possessions in this world, so has nothing to pack himself. Since her father took him in two days ago, he’s shown himself to be kind and loyal. Katalin understands that he just wants to be accepted.

  ‘All right,’ she says. ‘Here you go.’ She passes him the precious violin.

  ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘I know.’ And maybe one day she’ll feel able to play the companion piece, Love’s Joy.

  Katalin goes into the living room where she finds her father taking a last, wistful look at his remaining books, the ones the AVO didn’t take with them. He never got the others back.

  ‘Are you nearly ready, Papa?’

  He turns from the bookcase with a sigh and nods. Then he picks up the photograph of himself and his wife on their honeymoon, looks at it with shining eyes and slips it inside his jacket pocket.

  ‘We shouldn’t be so attached to things, should we? What really matters is in here.’ He taps his heart.