‘I thought you might want to know what happened to the man who saved your life.’ Now that the words are out, they sound sharper than she had intended.
She hears Eva clearing her throat and sees her tearing at her thumbnail, and knows that she is apprehensive about her mother’s reaction.
Marika leans forward, and her eyes narrow with anger. ‘Well, you were wrong. You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t know anything about. Especially when I’ve already told you I don’t ever want to hear about that man.’
Annika’s heart is pounding. It’s hard to overcome the decades-long nervousness she feels at confronting her grandmother, especially about such a personal issue, but no matter what happens, she knows she has to forge ahead.
‘I know this is painful for you, and you don’t want me to talk about it, but there’s something you have to know.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Eva running her tongue along her lips to moisten them. Marika’s face is averted. She looks as if she longs to run from this room and from Annika’s persistent voice which threatens to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.
‘Annika, don’t meddle in things that don’t concern you.’
‘Grandmamma, this does concern me. Please listen.’ Annika takes Marika’s hand between her own hands, and looks into her eyes. ‘The last thing Miklós Nagy said on his deathbed was your name.’
Marika stares at her. ‘What’s this nonsense you’re telling me?’
‘It isn’t nonsense. Please listen to me.’ She is gripping her grandmother’s hand. ‘You have to know this. When Miklós Nagy lay dying, his last words were I’m sorry, Ilonka.’
In a strangled voice, Marika whispers, ‘It isn’t possible. I don’t believe you. Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because it’s true, Grandmamma. That’s what he said in the hospital just before he died.’
Marika repeats Annika’s words in a voice that’s almost inaudible, as if she is talking to herself. Sorry Ilonka. When he lay dying. In the hospital. Then she turns to Annika and in an accusing voice, she says, ‘You’re making this up. How can you possibly know that?’
Not taking her eyes from her grandmother, and speaking as gently as she can, Annika tells her how she came to meet Miklós’s grandson Eitan Nagy, who told her about Miklós’s last words. Then she tells her about her conversation with Shmuel, who cleared up the mystery by telling her who Ilonka really was.
Marika’s face is white. She grips the arms of the sofa. ‘Miklós dead? He can’t be. When? Was he ill? What happened?’
Annika tells her about the assassin who shot Miklós because he believed he was a collaborator.
Marika’s hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen in horror. ‘Miklós a collaborator! After everything he did! He was a hero! That man must have been insane!’
Without going into the details of the trial, Annika sums up the accusations that were made against Miklós, and the verdict of the District Court judge.
Marika sits motionless as she hears the story unfold. She looks dazed, shakes her head in disbelief, and can’t stop trembling. Her voice rises with indignation. ‘How could the judge say such a terrible thing about the man who confronted Eichmann and risked his life to rescue all those people?’ Then she whispers, ‘After all we did, after all the risks we took!’
‘We?’ Annika asks, wondering if she heard correctly.
‘We,’ Marika repeats, and there’s pride in her voice. ‘That’s something you should know. He and I planned the rescue together.’
Annika is stunned. Her grandmother’s collaboration in the rescue wasn’t mentioned at the trial, or recorded in the transcript. Marika is rocking backwards and forwards on the couch, arms folded tightly as if she is trying to hold her body together as she repeats, ‘If I could have been there, I could have told them. If only I had been there…’
‘That terrible verdict was later overturned by the Supreme Court,’ Annika says, ‘but unfortunately Miklós died before they announced their decision, so he never knew that he’d been exonerated.’
Annika scans her grandmother’s face anxiously. There’s no sound in the room, and she can hardly bear the suspense. Then she hears a sound she has never heard before, a frightening, visceral sound that seems wrenched from the depths of her grandmother’s being. Marika is sobbing. The granite facade has crumbled, and a lifetime of sorrow and regret is pouring through the cracks.
Eva moves to the sofa, and puts her arms around her mother’s shoulders.
‘Oh Miklós,’ Marika sobs. ‘Dearest Miklós, my dearest Miklós. How could they do this to you? There was never anyone else but you. Only you.’ She rocks backwards and forwards, her hands pressed against her face. ‘What have I done? Miklós, forgive me.’
And now Annika does something she has never done before. She takes her grandmother in her arms and holds Ilonka’s frail, trembling body, and they cry together for the man who died with her name on his lips, for the love that was lost and can never be regained, for the fragility of being human, and for the redemptive power of truth and forgiveness that might now set them all free.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
A shiver ran down my spine when I first heard about Rezsö Kasztner. I recognised this shiver: it meant that this incredible story in the footnotes of history had captured my imagination and I had to write it. I already knew it would be a novel.
I had never heard of this man nor the feat he had achieved against all odds in Budapest in 1944, during the Holocaust in Hungary. The proliferation of memoirs, history books and novels that deal with some aspect of the Holocaust has continued unabated, probably because they shine a light on our human condition in extreme situations.
But this was different from any story I’d ever come across. The first time I heard it was from a Hungarian Holocaust survivor I knew who mentioned a rescue train organised by a Jew in Budapest in 1944. It seemed that Kasztner had somehow managed to save over a thousand Jews from the death camps. But what intrigued me even more than Kasztner’s astonishing feat was this survivor’s ambivalent attitude towards him. Kasztner was clearly a controversial character, and this alerted me to the possibility that this could be more than a heroic rescue story with a happy ending. From that moment, I sensed that this might be a story spiced with moral ambiguity, but I had no idea at that stage just how extraordinary this story really was.
Surprising coincidences have occurred with every one of my books, and this was no exception. When I told my friend David that I had become interested in the story of a man called Rezsö Kasztner, he was astonished. ‘That’s the man who rescued my sister-in-law’s parents. They were on that train,’ he said. He lent me a non-fiction book about the rescue, a vivid piece of historical research by Anna Porter called Kasztner’s Train. By the time I’d finished reading it, I was thoroughly hooked. Kasztner had had the audacity to confront Adolf Eichmann, the most dreaded Nazi in Hungary, and, risking his life, negotiated with him for the release of a trainload of Jews at a time when Eichmann had arrived in Budapest to send the last surviving Jewish community in Europe to the gas chambers of Auschwitz.
As I proceeded to research the story, I became increasingly intrigued by the contradictory assessments made about him by historians and survivors. There was Kasztner’s own account of his activities and those of the Rescue Committee, naturally written from his point of view. Some writers deified him as a hero, while others vilified him as a collaborator. I have always been fascinated by the behaviour of ordinary people thrust into extraordinary situations, and the story of Rezsö Kasztner was an outstanding illustration of this.
The questions implicit in his story challenged me throughout my research. Was he a hero or a collaborator? Was it possible to be both? Was it a case of the proverb that no good deed goes unpunished? Can the end justify the means? Were human actions able to be judged in absolutes? Should a promise always be kept regardless of the circumstances in which it was made? What would I have done in his situa
tion? Would I have remained a passive onlooker, or, trusting that even one person can make a difference, would I have found the courage to take action?
As I continued to read about Kasztner, I was shocked to discover that the rescue had consequences that no-one could have foreseen. This wasn’t just a story about a daring rescue: it was a tale of vengeance and injustice ending in tragedy. And although it took place so long ago, to this day, Kasztner remains a controversial figure in Israel.
Absorbed as I was by the story of this extraordinary individual and his audacious feat, I discovered that the Kasztner affair had an unexpected historical background which blew me away with its revelations of behind-the-scenes machinations by top Nazi figures and the western powers. It seems that history, like personal relationships, is a complex tapestry interweaving infinite threads. Uncovering one leads to the discovery of unsuspected layers that lie beneath.
The Collaborator is based on true events. The Altalena incident took place in 1948, in the early days of Israel’s independence. Eichmann did arrive in Budapest in 1944 to exterminate the last Jewish community in Europe, and Kurt Becher was a prominent Nazi. Rezsö Kasztner did confront Eichmann at the Majestic Hotel, and later negotiated with Kurt Becher, for whom he wrote an incriminating affidavit after the war. After migrating to Israel, Kasztner was groomed for a role in the government when he was accused of collaboration by a pamphleteer. The trial scenes and their aftermath are also based on proceedings in the Jerusalem courts, as is their tragic outcome. The historical bombshell that was dropped during the testimony of some characters actually took place and is based on fact.
Writing a novel that is based on real people and historical events poses considerable challenges for a novelist. Although my protagonist, Miklós Nagy, is based on Rezsö Kasztner, I have fictionalised many aspects of the story. I have invented conversations and characters, and I have ascribed thoughts and motives to real people that owe more to my imagination than to reality, although I have tried to be psychologically consistent. For instance, although I know why Kasztner met Eichmann and Becher, I have fictionalised their conversations. And although the pamphleteer’s attorney did have a secret agenda, I have fictionalised him and his backstory.
While the character of Miklós Nagy is based on Rezsö Kasztner, I’d like to emphasise that the people in Miklós’s life and his relationships with them are entirely fictional. I have invented the characters of Judit, Ilonka, Ben, Gil and Eitan.
All the characters in the Australian strand of the plot — Annika, her mother and grandmother — are fictional, as is that part of the plot.
In the course of researching this novel, I visited Budapest, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, and read historical accounts of the history and politics of Israel and Hungary. I also read about the tragedies of Euripides and Sophocles which proved relevant in my exploration of what in many ways resembles a Greek tragedy.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First of all, I’d like to thank my publisher Jo Mackay. She had the foresight to see the possibilities of my manuscript right from the beginning, and her enthusiasm never wavered. I’m very lucky to have such a warm and understanding publisher, and such a supportive and enthusiastic team at HQ as the super-efficient Annabel Blay, Natika Palka and Adam van Rooijen.
It’s been a joy to work with my editor Linda Funnell. Throughout the editing process, I’ve been awed by her intelligence, attention to detail, patience and impeccable literary taste. Her insightful suggestions have eliminated repetitions and strengthened the plot. Any mistakes are my own.
The day Selwa Anthony became my literary agent was a very lucky day for me. Selwa has always been indefatigable in her efforts on my behalf, and she has championed this novel from the very first moment. Her encouragement and belief in me throughout the years have been very nurturing.
My friend Dasia Gutman has been a valuable sounding board for the anxieties and frustrations I’ve had while writing, and I appreciate her wise counsel. Every book brings its own set of challenges, and it never gets any easier, but pointing out that I’ve moaned about exactly the same issues while writing my previous books has been revealing and helpful.
Thank you to my friends Susi B, Susie W, Peter, Gabby and Egon, for helping me with Hungarian names and accents.
The encouragement and interest shown by my children Justine and Jonathan, my daughter-in-law Adrianne, and my granddaughters Sarah, Maya and Allie, have been heartwarming. Allie, you told me you couldn’t wait to read this novel, so finally here it is! Thanks also to Jonathan for his patience in taking the head shot.
I appreciate the work of Kate James, who did such a great job proofreading this manuscript.
Lastly, my deepest gratitude to Bert who shares my life. I handed you each chapter as soon as I’d written it, and I couldn’t wait for your reaction. You stopped whatever you were doing to read them, and your comments were always thoughtful, positive and illuminating. Living with an author who is obsessed with her novel is an excellent test of a relationship, but thanks to your understanding, love and support we have passed with flying colours!
SELECTED READING
The Kasztner Report: the report of the Budapest Jewish Rescue Committee 1942–1945, by Rezső Kasztner; edited by László Karsai and Judit Molnár, Yad Vashem (The International Institute for Holocaust Research), 2014
The Man who was Murdered Twice: the life, trial and death of Israel Kasztner, by Yechiam Weitz (translated by Chaya Naor). Yad Vashem (The International Institute for Holocaust Research), 2012
The Making of Modern Israel 1948–1967, by Leslie Stein. Polity Press, 2009
Perfidy, by Ben Hecht. Messner Press, 1961 (reissued 1997)
Kasztner’s Train: the true story of an unknown hero of the Holocaust, by Anna Porter, Scribe, 2008
Jews for Sale?: Nazi-Jewish Negotiations 1933–1945, by Yehuda Bauer. Yale University Press, 1994.
Reszso Kasztner: the daring rescue of Hungarian Jews, a survivor’s account, by Ladislaus Löb. Pimlico (an imprint of Penguin Random House UK), 2009
Into the Darkroom, by Susan Faludi. Metropolitan Books (an imprint of Henry Holt, US), 2016
The Theatre of War: what ancient Greek tragedies can teach us today, by Bryan Doerries. Scribe, 2015
ISBN: 9781489251671
TITLE: THE COLLABORATOR
First Australian Publication 2019
Copyright © 2019 Diane Armstrong
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