Burning Cold

by Lisa Lieberman

  Once we were underway, I claimed the smaller of the two piglets for my own. “Her name is Princess,” I informed the others, having checked to make sure that Princess was a girl. I lured her into my lap with a piece of bread; it didn’t seem right to feed her sausage.

  Jakub picked up the other piglet and ascertained he was a boy. “This one’s ours. What should we call him?”

  “How about Karamazov?” proposed Zoltán.

  Gray, who admired Dostoyevsky, approved. His first play in London was an adaptation of The Brothers Karamazov. Yet again, I was struck by the similarities between my Hungarian and American brothers.

  Princess and Karamazov liked playing fetch with my gloves. We’d toss one in the back corner of the truck bed and they’d both race off after it as fast as their stubby little trotters could carry them. Karamazov, being bigger and heavier, rarely reached it first, so we’d throw the other glove for him to retrieve, once Princess had hers. This game amused us for much of the trip, but it proved to be our undoing.

  We’d gotten as far as Sárvár, a town in the northwest county of Vas, which bordered Austria. It had a sorry history, Zoltán told us. Sárvár’s Jewish population had been persecuted by the Reds and the Whites in turn, and many fled the country, leaving behind their businesses and their property. Gradually, calm was restored, and the community rebuilt itself. On the eve of World War II, Sárvár had two synagogues and a religious school that enrolled over a hundred children. Between the town and the surrounding villages, close to a thousand Jews lived in the area. All were rounded up and interned in a sugar factory that was turned into a Jewish ghetto, from which they were deported to Auschwitz. Poles and Serbs were also interned in Sárvár under brutal conditions, and many died of disease and starvation.

  “How do you know so much about this place?” said Gray.

  “Sárvár was Anna’s town.”

  Was there nobody in Hungary who hadn’t suffered? I didn’t know if Anna was Jewish, whether her family had vanished like Zoltán’s and György’s, but even if she weren’t Jewish, simply enduring the war in such a place would have taken its toll. People you’d known, neighbors, friends, shopkeepers, taken away. A woman who devoted her life to caring for the abandoned children of the regime’s victims could not have observed this with indifference. I wondered if Anna’s experiences in Sárvár did not determine her subsequent choice of career. She might have been powerless to prevent wrongs from being committed, but she would do what she could to repair the damages.

  “We seem to be stopping,” said Jakub. Peering out through the slats of the tailgate, he reported seeing soldiers standing with automatic weapons, heavy artillery stationed nearby, along with tanks and armored carriers. A line of vehicles stretched behind us.

  “Get away from there and lie down!” hissed Zoltán. He crawled from one of us to the next, covering us with straw. Burrowed inside my little cocoon, I heard the sound of him heaping straw on himself, then all was still. The piglets were both sleeping, exhausted after the game with the gloves. Our truck inched forward. I knew we’d reached the checkpoint when I heard voices shouting in Hungarian, followed by the sound of the door to the cab opening. Were they arresting György?

  Now the voices had moved around to the back of the truck, and I recognized György’s among them. He was still at liberty, thank goodness. I couldn’t understand the conversation, but I heard him express a series of denials, and at one point Magda joined in, lending support to his case. Their answers seemed to do the trick; the soldiers’ tone softened and I dared to hope we’d be let through. Perhaps they’d peeked in at the sleeping piglets.

  Then a new voice entered the dialogue, a more commanding one. “Otkroyte gruzovik!” The tailgate opened with a bang, awakening the piglets, who began squealing. I heard laughter from the group, and someone must have picked Karamazov up, because now only Princess remained in the bed with us. Her squeal was higher-pitched than Karamazov’s, and it was growing closer, accompanied by a snuffling sound just inches from my right hand. I felt her teeth biting my fingertips, and then she was tugging at my glove. The next thing I knew, she’d gotten it off, exposing my hand to the cold air.

  “Kifelé a kocsiból azonnal!”

  “They want you to get out of the truck, children,” I heard György say in a defeated voice.

  Sitting up, I instinctively reached for Princess, but the sound of the shouting had terrified her, for she’d scurried away.

  “Be brave, najdroższa,” murmured Jakub as he helped me down. I took one last look at Princess, who was cowering silently in the corner with my glove in her mouth, and stepped out to join the others.

  György and Magda were standing with their hands in the air, covered by a Hungarian soldier holding a submachine gun. He motioned for us to raise our hands as well. Another soldier was holding a squirming Karamazov, who continued to squeal, incurring the wrath of a Soviet officer who stood a few paces away.

  “Pomestite svin’yu obratno v gruzovik!”

  The soldier put Karamazov back in the truck. Gray, who was last to descend, realized what was coming before I did.

  “Cara, don’t watch.”

  The Soviet officer pulled his pistol out of its holster, cocked it, and fired a shot into the truck bed. The squealing stopped. He aimed again. Hands in the air, I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could not block out the sound of a second shot. Then I had to look, and when I saw the bloodied bodies of the two little piglets, I had to clench my teeth to keep from crying out. I knew that Jakub would have given anything to comfort me at that moment; I could feel his concern although he was not in my peripheral vision. The Hungarian soldier, whose face I could see quite clearly, had tears in his eyes, but my own eyes were dry.

  I was enraged by this act of gratuitous cruelty, enraged but possessed at the same time with a cold awareness. I knew, for example, that I must not let the officer see the hatred burning in my eyes. Bowing my head, I looked fixedly at the ground, not daring to raise it until I’d regained mastery of myself. When I did so, I saw that we were now surrounded by Soviet soldiers, all of them armed.

  “Uvedite ikh!” In response to this command of the officer’s, the four of us were marched away under guard. From behind us came the sound of more shouting, and we all turned to look back. I was afraid that György and Magda might get shot next for having tried to hide us, but the shouting was not being directed at them. Rather, the Soviet officer was berating the two Hungarian soldiers, who hung their heads as a stream of abuse was directed toward them.

  György and Magda remained standing motionless beside the truck as this harangue was taking place, no doubt expecting to be arrested the moment it ended, but that is not what happened. The shouting stopped, the Hungarians clicked their heels and saluted, were dismissed, and the officer indicated with a dismissive motion of his hand that György and Magda should get back in the cab. Then he waved the truck away.

  Zoltán let out a sigh of relief. We were all glad to see them go. Magda’s resourcefulness would keep them both safe. Whatever lay in store for Zoltán, Gray, Jakub, and me, at least somebody would know what had happened to us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sárvár, Hungary

  November 4, 1956

  Zoltán said, “I could have told you it would end like this.”

  “We risked our lives trying to get you out of Budapest,” said Gray. “If you had any gratitude, you’d thank us.”

  Countless hours spent in the pitch black, four of us sharing a two-man cell, and tempers were fraying. I couldn’t stop thinking about the piglets’ deaths. The casual cruelty of the act was somehow more upsetting than Magda’s cold-blooded murder of Frankie. Even József had been killed for a reason, whereas the Soviet officer had shot Princess and Karamazov for no reason whatsoever, simply because he could. And yet he’d chosen to be merciful toward György and Magda when he might just have easily shot t
hem—and with justification. This is what it meant, I realized, to wield power over others. You were free to exercise your whims.

  But we were not his to toy with, and thinking back, even Frankie’s toying with me in György’s kitchen had been halfhearted, a way of passing the time, nothing more. Someone who wielded power over both Frankie and the Soviet officer had sent orders to have us detained, not killed, and that someone could only have been Nicholas. We’d been the target of an extensive search he’d set into motion from afar. They weren’t arresting people en masse; we were the sole occupants of the Sárvár prison. I’d never have guessed that Nicholas had such clout, given his pedestrian role at the American embassy, but he’d deployed considerable resources to track us down. A Soviet army unit had been mobilized to find us—probably more than one unit—because we might have taken any of the multitude of routes to the border. We possessed something that Nicholas wanted. What was it, I wondered, and would it be enough to buy us our way out of Hungary?

  Voices sounded in the corridor and the overhead light was switched on. The warden appeared, holding a ring of keys. He looked sleepy, and no wonder. According to my watch, it was two in the morning.

  “Valaki itt van önökért. Kövessenek.”

  “He wants us to follow him,” Zoltán translated. “He says that someone has come for us.”

  So, Nicholas had arrived. Instinctively, I moved closer to my husband, who put an arm around my shoulders and drew me in for a kiss, a tender moment to fortify us for whatever lay ahead.

  “Jöjjenek,” said the warden gently. He wasn’t a bad man, but he had his orders.

  The four of us made our way upstairs, passing through the main office of the police station on our way to the front door. The warden ushered us out and retreated back inside immediately, locking the door of the police station behind him, as if he wanted no part in what was about to transpire. We were left standing on the building’s stone steps, looking down at the deserted town square.

  “Isn’t that your car?” said Zoltán, pointing across the street. It didn’t seem possible, but there stood the Škoda. Leaning against it, his white hair illuminated by the streetlight overhead, was Nicholas.

  Gray made to descend the stairs. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Wait.” Jakub held him back. “Let him come to us.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “He’s not alone.”

  We followed his gaze. Parked behind the Škoda was a black sedan, identical to the one we’d seen at György’s. It must have been the standard-issue vehicle for the secret police. Through the glass, I could just make out the shadowy forms of two passengers in the back seat. They seemed to be slouching, heads down low as if they were trying not to be seen.

  My husband squared his shoulders, anticipating a showdown. “Najdroższa, get behind me.” I didn’t budge. If there was to be a showdown, I was determined to face it by his side.

  “What’s he up to?” said Gray.

  Once it became clear that we would not be coming down to join him on the street, Nicholas had gone over to the sedan and rapped on the window to get the driver’s attention. The man got out of the car and went back to open the rear door of the vehicle, urging the passengers to come out. A small woman emerged first. She had a scarf tied around her head, and I didn’t recognize her right away, but then she turned to help the other passenger, who was hindered by her crutches. Zsuzsi. The girl looked around confusedly. Then she recognized Zoltán and before anyone could stop her, she was half running, half limping across the street, crutches soon abandoned on the sidewalk in her rush up the steps.

  “Apa!”

  Zoltán stooped and gathered the child in his arms. “Zsuzsi, az én kis Zsuzsim!” He was overcome with emotion and there were tears in my eyes too, I was so pleased to see the child again. Of course, I knew that Nicholas had brought her and Anna with him as hostages. The driver of the black sedan was pointing a revolver at Anna, who remained indifferent to the threat, her attention fixed on a shadow cast on the sidewalk by the streetlight. In the meantime, Nicholas had crossed the street and was now mounting the stairs.

  “Icarus,” he said, ignoring the three of us and focusing on our brother. “I’m delighted to see you alive.”

  Zoltán scowled at him. “What do you want?”

  “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

  I reached out my arms and Zoltàn transferred his daughter into my care.

  “Apa kérlek ne menj vele, rossz ember!” Protesting, Zsuzsi grasped hold of her father’s coat sleeve. I saw him wince; she must have been pulling at his wounded arm.

  “Ne aggódj, kicsim,” he said. “Cara nénéd vigyáz rád.”

  “Nem, nem,” she insisted, unwilling to let him go.

  Nicholas grew impatient. “Leave the child and come along. We don’t have all night.”

  “Shhh, shhh,” I whispered, gently detaching Zsuzsi’s fingers from her father’s sleeve. Reluctantly, she gave up the fight, but her body remained stiff in my arms as she watched him and Nicholas stroll down the sidewalk. I leaned against the doorpost for support, not wanting to let go of her because I was afraid she’d run after them, crutches or no crutches. I knew she wouldn’t catch up, but she might provoke action from the driver. He still had his sights trained on Anna but was keeping a wary eye on the rest of us while his boss conducted his business with our brother.

  “Is she too heavy? Give her to me,” offered Jakub.

  “Thanks, but I can manage.”

  It wasn’t long before our brother returned, an undecipherable expression on his face as he strode toward us and climbed the stairs, two at a time, leaving Nicholas below. He’d retrieved Zsuzsi’s crutches and had me put her down on the step next to him. Keeping a reassuring hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he told us the terms he’d agreed to: our freedom in exchange for his services to the new Soviet-backed regime.

  Jakub was the first to raise an objection. “What kind of services?”

  “He believes I might be useful to the Hungarian state, in the transition phase.”

  “After the revolution is crushed, do you mean?” said Gray.

  Zoltán acknowledged the question with a curt nod. “The new government will need to rebuild the people’s trust. Artists, poets, intellectuals. Hungarians have great respect for high culture. My support, he believes, will lend legitimacy to the regime. I’m to be rehabilitated.”

  “I suppose that’s something,” said my husband, digesting this information. “A reason to keep you alive at the outset. But surely there’s more. What aren’t you telling us?”

  Our brother looked down at his feet. “There will be trials, eventually. I’m to testify against the others.”

  “Which others?”

  “The other members of the Writer’s Union.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Counterrevolutionary activity.”

  Gray had heard enough. “That’s all he wants, is it? Betray your principles and send a bunch of your friends to the gallows. How will you live with yourself afterward?”

  “That’s my problem, not yours.”

  “No,” said Jakub firmly. “It’s our problem too. I’m not sure how I feel about buying our freedom at such a steep price.”

  “It’s her freedom too.” Zoltán tilted his head toward his daughter. “Hers and Anna’s. Miner has promised to let them both go with you.”

  I reached over and smoothed Zsuzsi’s hair, mussed from having slept on it wrong. She’d probably drifted off on the car ride. How much was it worth, a clear conscience? This child’s future, certainly. We were already complicit in József’s death. If we had to make a deal with the devil to bring Zoltán’s daughter out of Hungary, so be it.

  “Take a look behind us and tell me what you see,” said Gray. The four of us were in the Škoda, closely trailing the black seda
n. Miner had kept Anna and Zsuzsi with him, as insurance. When we reached the crossing at Sopron, we’d make the trade. None of us trusted him to hold up his end of the bargain, but we didn’t have much of a choice.

  Zoltán, who was in the passenger seat next to my brother, adjusted the side mirror and scrutinized the traffic behind us. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  “Two cars back,” Gray told him. “A livestock truck. Watch how it moves.”

  Jakub and I turned to look out the rear window, but the truck was too distant for me to determine whether it was the same one we’d traveled in from Mád.

  “See that?” Gray applied the brakes. “When I slowed down just now, the truck could’ve caught up with the car in front of it, but instead of closing the gap, it hung back.”

  Zoltán was displeased to know that György and Magda were following us. “I wish they’d gone home. They’ll only end up complicating matters.”

  “Maybe so,” said Jakub, “but they’ve been cautious so far, and we’ve got the benefit of surprise.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Miner doesn’t know how we reached Sárvár. He’s got no reason to suspect that we’ve got accomplices. If we can maneuver him away from your wife and daughter, we may be able to overpower him with their help.”

  Gray raised an objection. “What about the driver? He’s got a gun, remember? Miner won’t leave his hostages unguarded.”

  “I’m less worried about him than I am about Nicholas,” said my husband. “I don’t think he’ll act without orders.”