Romantic Road

by Blair McDowell

Max answered her. “Where Lacy goes, I go. She’s in danger. She’s been followed since she left Canada, and she’s already been abducted once.”

  “How like Igor to put her in danger’s way.” Dr. Szilard stared into space, considering. “Very well. You may come with her. But you will not be a party to our conversation. You’ll have to wait in another room while we talk. What I have to say is for Mrs. Telchev’s ears alone.”

  Lacy looked at her, startled. Why had she emphasized Mrs. Telchev in that amused, sarcastic tone of voice?

  The doctor scribbled her address on a prescription pad and handed it to Lacy. “Nine p.m. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

  ****

  “Brr,” Max said as they walked through the little park to the street. “That is one ice maiden. Wonder what Igor saw in her?”

  “I think she must have been very beautiful when she was younger. And I sense defensiveness there more than antagonism. I suspect we’ll understand more after I talk with her this evening.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. I’m dying for some real Hungarian food. Libamáj, Hortobágyi palacinta, szilvás rétes…”

  “You want to translate all that for me?”

  “No. You can just wait and taste them as they come.”

  Lacy led Max to a Csarda, an informal folk-style restaurant she remembered from her childhood. It was still there.

  As they went down stairs to the entrance, the melancholy sound of a cimbalom caught Lacy unexpectedly and brought tears to her eyes. The Gypsies were still singing and playing here, just as they had when her grandparents had been alive. When they used to bring her here. Somehow she hadn’t expected that.

  They entered a colorful space with white walls, arched ceilings, and brightly covered tables. Lacy ordered for them, and the food when it came was as good as it had been when she was a child.

  She watched with pleasure as Max ate it all. Goose liver, followed by thin crepes stuffed with spicy meat and covered in paprika sauce and sour cream, and finally a flaky-crusted, poppy seed strudel that put the Austrian pastries he knew to shame. Of course they accompanied it all with a good Hungarian wine from the Balaton region. Gypsies wandered through the tables, and Max slipped a ten-euro note into a proffered hand as a thank you for the music.

  “Nap,” Lacy said finally, pushing back her chair. “I need a nap. We have several hours before we have to leave for Dr. Szilard’s house.”

  “Fine with me.”

  They made their way back to the hotel.

  ****

  Zsusanna Szilard’s house was on the Buda side of the Duna River, high in the hills, some distance from the hustle and bustle of Pest. It was a small earthen-colored stucco bungalow surrounded by flowers and trees. Late roses lining the path were still in bloom, their sweet scent filling the air as Max and Lacy approached the front door.

  There were two name plates beside the door, the lower one Szilard and the upper one, Telchev.

  “Telchev?” Lacy said, frowning and looking at Max.

  Lacy pressed the doorbell labeled Szilard. The doctor opened the door so immediately Lacy was sure she’d been waiting impatiently for their arrival.

  “Please come in.” She led them down a short dim hallway into a large room. Tall windows looked out on the garden. A large old-fashioned sofa sat against one wall with an overstuffed chair facing it, while a large round table surrounded by dark green chairs decorated in a folk design of red and yellow flowers filled a corner. Overflowing bookcases covered every other available space.

  “The name on the other apartment…” Lacy began.

  “All in good time,” the doctor replied. Ignoring Lacy, she turned to Max. “You’ll have to wait in the kitchen,” she instructed. “I hope you’ve brought something to read. If not…” She indicated the many books in the room.

  “Thank you. The kitchen will be fine.” Max took a moment to examine some of the volumes in the bookcase. Many were in Hungarian, but a few were in German or English. Taking down a small volume in German by Heinrich Heine, he said, “I’ll take this one along to read if it’s all right with you.”

  “Of course.” She led him through to the kitchen. When she returned, she closed the door firmly. Then she sat down in the chair and indicated Lacy should sit on the sofa.

  “How did he die?” she asked without preamble.

  “It was diagnosed as a heart attack, his second, but I’ve come to think it may well have been murder. I believe my husband may have been murdered to keep him from telling the world about an international conspiracy of silence.” Lacy had not quite admitted this before. Not even to herself. But somehow this strong woman in front of her wiped away all need for subterfuge

  “What was he mixed up in? When he was here last winter he told me he was working on a book that might well shake up several governments. Igor was sometimes given to exaggeration, so I took his words with a grain of salt. But he asked me to keep a memory device for him. To hide it and give it no one but you.”

  “I’ve read the first six chapters of his book,” Lacy responded. “It indicts the governments of three countries. It seems they have knowingly allowed organized crime to infiltrate their political parties and, indeed, to move into some very high positions in government.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me very much, after what I’ve seen in my lifetime. My parents survived the Nazis, and I survived the Russians, and now I’m trying to survive the present so-called free market economy and democracy.”

  Dr. Szilard’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Just what did Igor hope to accomplish with this book? What made it worth risking his life and yours? The life of a woman he professed to love.”

  Lacy fought to maintain control of her voice. Why was this woman so angry? “He names names,” she said. “He documents his claims. If it’s published, governments may well fall.”

  “And do you think the governments that follow will be any better?”

  Lacy was shocked. “Governments can be better. Surely you’re better off now in a free Hungary than you were under the communists?”

  “Whatever makes you think that?”

  Lacy was stunned speechless.

  Dr. Szilard took a deep breath and spoke more calmly. “My parents were peasants. As were their parents and their parents’ parents. They lived a village near the Russian border and scratched out a meager living from the land. They couldn’t read or write. Such schools as were provided for peasants went only to fourth grade. Besides, we children were needed to work in the fields if the family was to have enough food to survive the harsh winters. Even our language wasn’t that of the governing classes. Our native language wasn’t considered good enough for the city dwellers and the elite who governed. They spoke German in preference to Hungarian.”

  Lacy was caught up in the woman’s narrative.

  “And then,” the doctor continued, “in the closing days of the war, three old men at a meeting in Yalta divided up the world and placed our poor country under Russian domination. It wasn’t enough we had survived the Nazis, now we had to survive the Russians.”

  “But, Dr. Szilard, a moment ago you said you weren’t opposed to communism.”

  “Call me Zsuzsa. I think it’s going to be a long evening. Perhaps we should have some palinka.” She rose and went to the table. There she poured two small glasses and handed one to Lacy.

  Lacy took a sip of the clear apricot liquor and looked at Zsuzsa questioningly.

  “No,” Zsuzsa said in a tired voice. “I’m not opposed to communism. If it hadn’t been for the communists, I’d still be living in that village. I’d be illiterate, like my parents. In a period of twenty years, communism brought the peasant class in Hungary out of the fifteenth century and into the twentieth. It offered us access to universal education, health care, and employment. It changed the lives of the masses of Hungarians for the better.”

  Lacy shook her head. “I never realized. My grandparents were born and raised
in Hungary, but in Budapest, not out in the country. They were those city people you talk about. Their views of recent history were somewhat different from yours. They were adamantly opposed to the Communists.”

  “City dwellers. What can you expect? No doubt from a long line of well-educated, well-housed, and clothed city dwellers.”

  Lacy was silent. It was true. Her grandparents had both been teachers at the university. They’d spoken German as fluently as Hungarian. The war years hadn’t been easy for them, and they’d been much reduced in circumstances under the communists, but Lacy suspected their lives had still been easier than those of the large Hungarian peasant population.

  Zsuzsa continued, “For the peasants, communism was a God-send. Today, under this new regime, under so called democracy, I’m watching our government whittling away at those hard-earned rights and privileges, all in the name of freedom. Freedom for what? Hunger? Bad housing? Inadequate medical care? As a doctor, I see the use of street drugs on the rise. Unemployment is at an all-time high, and our crime rate has soared. So do I care about your democracy? Do I think Igor’s attack on organized crime in government will make any difference?”

  Lacy said, “We can hope so.”

  Zsuzsa downed her palinka, Hungarian style, in one quick swallow. “Perhaps. For a little while, it might. But I have little hope for the world and even less for my poor country.”

  “But surely not everyone feels the same way?” Lacy said. “What about the Hungarian Revolution? Wasn’t that about overthrowing communism?”

  “Of course not.” Zsuzsa shook her head. “We were living in a militarily occupied country. The Revolt of 1956 wasn’t about getting rid of socialist ideals. It was about getting the Russians out of our country.”

  The two women sat in uneasy silence. The chasm separating them seemed bottomless.

  Lacy thought it wise to change the subject. “How did you come to know Igor? I mean, he was a Russian and you…”

  For the first time, Zsuzsa smiled. “Igor. He was another thing altogether. He was at the Russian Consulate at the time, an information officer, whatever that means. I’ve always suspected it meant he was a spy of some sort.”

  She sighed. “I met him in the university canteen. I was having lunch, and he sat down at my table. I was in the final months of medical school, and I took my classes very seriously. He spoke Hungarian fluently. I didn’t even realize he was Russian until much later, and by that time I was too much in love with him to care.” She smiled. “We used to go to Mátyas Pincé and he’d sing along with the Gypsies. We’d walk along the Duna, and make love in the grass on Margit Szigert, the little island in the middle of the river. We had no money, either of us, but we were happy just being together. When we were married in 1984, I was just starting my practice. As you’ve probably gathered, I’m a specialist in childrens’ diseases.”

  Lacy absorbed the shock. Igor and Zsuzsa Szilard had been married? And he had never thought to mention a previous wife?

  “But your name, Szilard?”

  “Many women in Hungary, especially women in the professions, choose to keep their family names. In my case it was doubly important. I wouldn’t have had many patients if I’d taken my husband’s Russian surname.”

  Suddenly there was a commotion at the door and a little girl of about four burst into the room followed by a tall handsome man in his mid-thirties.

  “Nagymama!” The child ran to Zsuzsa and climbed into her lap.

  Zsuzsa laughed. For the first time since Lacy had met her, the woman’s face lit with joy. She turned into a beautiful woman.

  When she spoke, her voice held a warmth Lacy hadn’t heard in it before. Zsuzsa nodded toward the young man. “Lacy, this is my son, Imre. Imre, this is Lacy, a guest from America.”

  Was the omission of her last name deliberate, Lacy wondered?

  The young man nodded briefly to her. “Készi csokolam.”

  Lacy responded in Hungarian to the courteous, old-fashioned greeting. “Jó estét ki vánok. Good evening. I’m happy to meet you.” She studied Zsuzsa’s son, puzzled. Why did he look so familiar?

  “And this irrepressible bundle of energy is Irenke,” Zsuzsa said.

  Lacy looked at the little girl in Zsuzsa’s lap. The child turned her eyes on Lacy. Beautiful, emerald green eyes. Igor’s eyes. Her name, Irenke.

  Lacy was confused. It was impossible. And yet Igor had left half his estate to an Irenke Telchev. “Irenke is Igor’s child?”

  “Of course not.” Zsuzsa laughed. “She’s his granddaughter. Igor was Imre’s father.”

  “Oh.” Lacy she looked again at the young man. Of course. She could see Igor in Imre now. His mouth, the lines of his face, his high cheekbones. How could she have failed to see it before?

  The young man spoke in Hungarian. “Sajnalom Anjam. Sorry, Mother, for interrupting your meeting. Irenke wanted to say good night.”

  Zsuzsa kissed her granddaughter. “Good night, Irenke, my little one. You must go to bed now.”

  Imre smiled and nodded formally to Lacy, then took Irenke by the hand and led her out of the room.

  “They live upstairs,” Zsuzsa explained.

  Lacy was still trying to absorb the shock of Igor’s previous marriage, of his Hungarian family. How could he have left her in the dark about something so important? How could she have lived with him for five years and not have known anything about these people?

  “I didn’t know Igor had a family here. He never told me,” she said, looking into Zsuzsa’s eyes.

  Zsuzsa was silent for a moment. Then she said, “He didn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “Igor never knew he had a son. Our marriage was already failing when I discovered I was pregnant. Igor was talking about defecting to the west. My future was here. I had no desire to leave Hungary.”

  She took a deep breath. “Igor was a perpetual adolescent. He couldn’t keep his eyes, or for that matter, his hands, off other women. I overlooked it for a while, but then, when he asked me to leave Hungary with him, I chose to stay. He never knew I was pregnant.”

  “But…” Lacy was confused. “How could he not have known? He must have returned to see you from time to time?”

  “Once Igor escaped from Hungary, once he defected, he couldn’t return. The borders weren’t open to defectors. If he’d come back, he’d have ended up in prison either here or in Russia. It wasn’t possible for him to return to Hungary until the Berlin Wall came down and the Russians finally retreated from all their occupied territories. That was in 1989. My son was four. I saw no reason to upset Imre’s life by presenting him with a father he’d never known.”

  “But surely later…” Lacy was stunned by the other woman’s deceit.

  Zsuzsa shook her head. “Imre never saw his father until he was grown. He met him for the first time last year.”

  “You kept his son a secret from Igor, for what? For more than thirty years?”

  Zsuzsa shrugged. “It isn’t as if he’d been around asking questions. For Igor, the past was past. He rarely looked back. Surely you must know that. Did he ever talk to you about any of the women in his life before you?”

  Lacy answered reluctantly. “No.” She thought of the times she had tried to draw Igor out about his past, and she remembered his evasions.

  Still, she had difficulty accepting Zsuzsa’s decision. “Didn’t you think he should at least have known when he became a grandfather?”

  “Why?” Zsuzsa stared absently at the empty glass in her hand. Then she looked directly at Lacy. “He found out quite by accident. I hadn’t seen him in more than thirty-five years. He just showed up on my doorstep. Odd how little he’d changed. He still had that same animal magnetism about him.”

  She laughed a small bitter laugh. “He came to see me about this book he’d written. To ask for my help, as if it had been only yesterday we were together.” She shook her head. “He never for a moment thought I’d be able to refuse him anything. Women so rarely did.
Then, just as happened tonight, my granddaughter ran into the room, followed by her father. It took only a few moments for Igor to put it all together.”

  Zsuzsa frowned. “My son’s initial reaction was anger. He couldn’t forgive his father for deserting us. He at first wanted nothing to do with Igor.”

  “How sad,” Lacy said, “for them both.”

  “Imre came around, of course. Igor could charm the birds out of the trees and the pictures off the wall when he wanted to. They’re so alike in so many ways, Igor and his son. With one big difference. Imre is happily married and has no interest in other women. I’m glad he didn’t inherit Igor’s roving eye.”

  “And Igor’s granddaughter?” Lacy asked.

  “Irenke…” Zsuzsa smiled. “Irenke adored Igor from the first moment. And he was besotted with her. He made special trips to see her three times in the last year of his life.”

  Lacy laughed. “Igor always had a way with the opposite sex.” Then serious again, she said, “You know he left Irenke a sizable bequest?”

  “Yes, I know. He discussed it with me, and I’m grateful for it. In today’s uncertain world, it could make a considerable difference to her future. I approved of it, and I persuaded my son to accept it on Irenke’s behalf. Igor wanted to leave money to me and to his son. But we declined. Better it should all go to Irenke.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments, caught in their memories.

  Then Zsuzsa spoke. “You came here for the computer device. I should have told you when you first came, I don’t have it. I wasn’t willing to endanger the life of my son or of my granddaughter. I wanted nothing to do with it.”

  Lacy felt a stab of disappointment, but she said, “I can understand that.”

  “I suggested to Igor he might ask a friend of mine who has a vineyard at Lake Balaton with a cave for wine storage. I thought it unlikely anyone would connect it with Igor or with me or my family. I assume he followed up on my suggestion, but I don’t know for certain. I told him I wanted to know nothing about what he did with it.”

  The woman’s strength astounded Lacy. She wasn’t sure in the same circumstances she’d have been able to say no to Igor.