Bela's fear dissipated into an unbelievable sense of relief. No one had noticed all the food he had taken - they just wanted him to get back on the porch and be a doorman!
Each morning from then on, he left the fenced in prison encampment, walked past the private guarding the main entrance, made his way over to the administration building, and saluted everyone going in and out until noon. Then, he dutifully went down to the basement and brought up the lunch rations and distributed them to everyone in the offices. He was courteous, friendly, and helpful.
His English was improving rapidly, as was his ability to deftly gather and hide foodstuffs in his pants. He learned to walk effortlessly as he smuggled cans and packages of condensed milk, spam, corned beef, cookies, and chocolates in his pants pockets. He took a lot less than on that first day, and learned how to pilfer it - one can here, one package there - without anyone noticing a large stash missing from any one box.
Other inmates were also given the chance to work. The camp commanders asked for volunteers to work outside the camp. Everyone who was still healthy volunteered for such a chance. Tibor was chosen to work in such a brigade, and he and his group were taken to a lumber mill to sort wood. The volunteers were not paid, but were given real food. Tibor brought back pieces of wood for a tent frame.
Food became the currency of the camp, and Bela and Tibor were able to trade for a better spot, further up and away from the first row, directly beside the latrine and the horrible smells. As the days became warmer, the smell became worse.
With the wood Tibor bought from the lumberyard, they had a new centre pole and created a makeshift frame. In camp terms, they started to become relatively well-off.
Bela and Tibor were hounded by others to share their tent and food. It was an impossible situation - they couldn't share their food with thousands of others, no matter how much Bela took from the American food-storage facility. They did, however, take in two others who they knew from their hometown.
Hungarian army officers who ended up in this camp received the same treatment as the rest. They were still in a position of authority visa-vis their own men, but could do little except share in the hunger and humiliation of their prisoner-of-war status.
A few commanding officers pretended nothing had changed, such as Major John J. Varga, who was constantly barking orders at everyone. Varga surrounded himself with yes-men to reinforce his own delusion that he was still in charge. The major was a tall man with big bones, somewhat overweight, with thinning hair. He wore black-framed glasses, sported a goatee, and always had a stern look on his face. Everyone was convinced he was crazy as, on hot days, he stripped off all his clothes and walked around naked.
Once a week each company received flour rations. While there were several military cooks in each company, they didn't have anything to cook with. Without any ingredients or utensils, they tried in various ways to make something with the flour.
Major Varga surreptitiously stole some of the company's communal rations, gave it to his camp cook, and ordered him to make langos (fried bread) for himself and his entourage. Tibor became aware of this thievery and threatened to expose the major if he didn't stop stealing the company's flour rations, especially when everyone else was always hungry.
Bela's job as doorman gave them the kind of independence and security others simply didn't have. But while Tibor's stomach was full, his heart still ached from witnessing the miserable conditions of the others around them. Tibor couldn't tolerate that an officer, someone whose rank still commanded respect, was stealing from those entrusted to his care.
The major found out about Tibor's accusations through an assistant. He was incensed.
"What is this little nobody, a reservist, accusing me of?" he screamed at one of his assistant's. "You tell this nobody to report to me for a hearing tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. promptly."
Tibor was informed of the "obligatory" hearing and told Bela where he was going. Bela was furious.
"Why are you going? Major Varga has no power over us!"
"I'm just gonna have a chat with him."
"He has no right to order you to such a hearing," Bela snapped. "Who does he think he is, and where does he think we are?"
"The whole thing is ridiculous," Tibor replied. "If I don't go, he'll just call me a liar. Plus, who knows what stupid things he'll say about us."
Bela insisted on going with his brother.
Major Varga sat like a king holding court, stark naked, but fortunately for everyone around him, the overhang of his belly covered most of his genitalia. Tibor and Bela stood before Major Varga, who looked at them sternly and shouted, "How dare you come before me like this, undressed. Your buttons aren't done up all the way!"
The brothers shot a side glance at one another, not quite believing what the major had said. They didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Sir, this war is over. You are just as much a prisoner of war as we are," Tibor replied in a quieter tone.
Major Varga's face became crimson, and contorted with anger. He started shouting even louder.
"I will report you to the authorities!"
"What authorities?" Bela shouted back.
By this time everyone within hearing distance started to pay attention. Major Varga seemed startled that someone had yelled back. He started to say something, but Bela cut him off.
"If you don't stop stealing the company's rations, we'll tell everyone what you've been doing. You know men here have killed each other for a piece of bread. As an officer, you should be ashamed of yourself!"
Major Varga took a hard swallow, collected himself, and yelled in a steady dictatorial tone, "I will have you both court martialled -"
But before he could finish, Bela once again cut him off.
"I look forward to that, Major Varga, but before we get there you will be dead, torn from limb to limb and decapitated by our fellow prisoners once we tell them what you've been doing."
The beady eyes of Major Varga glazed over. Something registered. The message slowly sank in. His massive chest seemed to collapse under the weight of comprehension. The argument was over. The half-crazed major felt the pain of defeat at last.
In the middle of June 1945, after roughly forty days in captivity, an unexpected announcement was made at Tittling:
"The Hungarians can gather their gear - get whatever belongs to you. You are being transferred."
Nothing was said about where they were going, and no one asked anything.
Tibor was elated - they were finally leaving - but Bela looked disappointed.
"Now, when we have shelter, work, and a whole system of survival worked out - now we are probably going to be sent to a new place where we have to start all over again," Bela said with a long face.
"Don't be so pessimistic, little brother. You'll see we're going to a better place."
The Hungarian prisoners of war were assembled, put on open trucks, and, within a day, transferred to a refugee camp called Pocking, inside Germany near the border with Austria.
chapter 23 | june 1945
KAROLA AYKLER SAT INSIDE the little chapel in Micheldorf, immersed in prayer. Her favourite spot was the pew directly in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary holding a plump, but serious-looking baby Jesus. The statue was of carved wood, but Karola marvelled at how the painted cloak on the statue seemed to flow, as if it were real blue cloth. She stared at the face of the Virgin as she prayed. Possibly it was the candlelight falling onto the statue from below, flickering and dancing, that lent a soft, mysterious glow to the face of the Madonna, but Karola was convinced that the countenance of that wooden statue softened and occasionally looked right at her. Local residents claimed that this chapel was a holy place and there were numerous reports that, at certain times of the year, the eyes of the statue came to life. During the war, worshippers provided sworn testimony that wet droplets appeared on its face of the statue.
Karola felt calm, safe, and serene inside this place. Gazing at the statue brought back t
he warm memories of when her children were young. In her mind she was transported back to the place and time when she held them in her arms and cuddled them, played with them, kissed their tender, dewy skin. She realized that giving birth and raising her children was the happiest, most fulfilling part of her life.
Here, in the chapel, Karola felt she could bare her soul to the Virgin Mother. Mary alone understood her heartache at this juncture in her life - as a devoted wife and mother. Each day she prayed for her sons Tibor and Bela. No one seemed to know where they were. It was June 1945, the war had officially been over two months now, and still there was no sign of them. Karola felt at peace here, praying for them, but as soon as she left the chapel, the feeling of restlessness and panic about their fate swept over her like a bitter windstorm from the nearby mountains.
Since leaving their home in the fall of 1944, Karola and her family had endured six months as refugees, scattering from one temporary shelter to another - sometimes not knowing where their next meal would come from or where they would rest their weary heads at night. For a while they lived in a tiny apartment in Sopron, the westernmost city closest to the Austrian border, yet still inside Hungary.
Karola prayed for her husband as well - prayed that all of them would have the strength to accept their present situation and bear all their adversity with dignity. After months of uncertainty, when the war finally ended, they were herded into a displaced-persons camp near Micheldorf in Austria in the American Zone. It was fortunate for them that Domokos spoke English reasonably well. He went to pay an official visit to Colonel Arthur Harris, the local American commander of the district, in order to offer his services as a translator. Domokos knew they needed someone who could oversee the repatriation of the Hungarian enlisted men and their families. The rules of military conduct dictated that when a war ends and peace treaties are in force, the displaced enemy combatants are sent home, including prisoners of war. Colonel Harris accepted the offer.
A few days later, Harris took a tour of the displaced-persons camp where they were living. It was housed in a cavernous school where the refugees slept in large classrooms on floors, tables, benches - wherever they found space. Colonel Harris hardly had a few square metres left to walk through the enormous rooms. One communal bathroom was used by about three hundred people. When he asked where Colonel Aykler and his family were housed he was shown to a niche at the end of one of the rooms. The entrance to their small living area was blocked by a blanket hung on a rope drawn across two dresser drawers, providing the only bit of privacy. As her husband drew the blanket aside to welcome Colonel Harris into their tiny abode, Karola could see on the look of embarrassment on the face of the sympathetic American officer. Inside, four cots and a few trunks shoved together offered the only place to sit or lie down. They offered to make tea, but Colonel Harris kindly refused, seeing how impossible it was to make and serve tea or anything in the cramped quarters.
After the tour, Colonel Harris was overheard saying to one of his deputies, "Shame on the Hungarians for subjecting their commanding officer and his family to such appalling conditions. I hope if we are ever in such a situation, my men will treat me and my family with more decency."
Colonel Harris gave Aykler Domokos the mandate to make lists of all the Hungarian ex-enlisted men under his command. A mutual respect and friendship developed between the two men, both of the same rank but one on the victorious side, the other on the side of the vanquished. It would take time and resources to organize the repatriation and Harris looked upon Colonel Aykler as someone he could rely on to get the formidable task accomplished.
Massive prisoner-of-war camps run by the Americans for ex-enemy combatants were rumoured be operating in several places in the American zone. Domokos Aykler was informed that such places were merely clearing centres where the military sorted out war criminals among the ex-enemy. Domokos heard that his sons might be in such a place near Tittling. When he informed his wife of this possible lead, Karola felt her heart was being crushed by the news. After the initial shock, she peppered her husband with questions.
"How could they possibly be considered enemy combatants? Tibor was a reservist - he didn't take part in any fighting during the war. Bela was in military school - he had no rank. Can't they see he's still a boy?"
Domokos replied with silence.
Domokos went to Tittling, with a letter from Colonel Harris, asking the commanding officer of the camp "to extend all courtesy to the bearer of this letter in finding Bela Aykler, sixteen years old, and Tibor Schroeder, twenty-seven years old, both Hungarian nationals."
Domokos returned with the news that Tibor and Bela had been transferred out of Tittling just two days earlier. No one could tell him where they had been transferred to or why. Karola was dazed and shocked by the news. For a few days, she stayed in her cot, feeling like an empty shell. But seeing the helpless, stunned look on her daughter's face, Karola realized she had to collect her strength again - her family needed her. It was from that point forward that Karola decided to put her trust in Mother Mary. No one else could possibly understand her complete and utter devastation upon hearing this news.
chapter 24 | june 1945
TIBOR AND BELA WERE part of a mass movement of millions of displaced refugees on the move across Europe, all trying to get back to someplace called "home." Tibor in particular felt the pull of home and Hedy and their life together. After surviving Tittling as prisoners of war, they were discharged to a refugee camp called Pocking. Following ten days there, a surprising announcement was made: everyone born in Karpatalja was now a Soviet citizen and would be provided papers to go home. Bela and Tibor reported along with a group of about thirty men and teenagers who assembled for the journey.
Railway lines were bombed out - only partial lines were running sporadically here and there. No one had tickets, currency had no value, yet everyone was trying to get somewhere. The trains were crammed, at each stop more and more people jumped on. There were even people lying on top of the railway cars, everyone covered in black soot - like chimney sweepers - from the smoke belching out from the front of the coal-fired locomotive.
SUTI STARTED HIS JOURNEY home by hitching a ride on a U.S. Army truck leaving Linz and going east. Let off at Melk (still in Austria), he crossed the Danube on a river ship, as all the bridges were either bombed out or blown up. He entered the Russian-occupied part of Europe.
Here he joined with other refugee teenagers and became a group of almost twenty. They "borrowed" a cart with a horse from a farm for the next leg of their journey - stopping by farmhouses along the way to ask for, and if refused, take food. They went from Wiener Neustadt to Bratislava - a distance of thirty kilometres. After days of travelling by foot, by cart, and whatever means, they arrived in Bratislava, from where they knew there were some trains running.
This is where Suti met Kornelia Weisz, an older girl and neighbour from Nagyszollos. Although they had the same last name, they were not related.
From Bratislava they took the train.
THE TRAIN TIBOR AND Bela travelled on, headed east through Czechoslovakia. When it reached the Slovak-inhabited eastern part of the country, they were told that most of the bridges had been destroyed and that each time they reached a crossing the train would stop and disgorge all of its passengers. They would have to walk through the town or village and find the other end of the destroyed section of track where the railway continued. The first couple of times they had to do this they didn't notice anything unusual about the townsfolk, but the third time, it was as if the locals had been forewarned of their arrival.
"Filthy Hungarians - you started all this!" yelled one man at the side of the road as he watched the group walk by. Tibor couldn't help but notice the man's ugly wife and children, who were all screaming at them, taunting them.
"We hope you die, you pigs. We should kill you ourselves, with our bare hands," a nearby neighbour yelled.
"War criminals!" screamed a woman who was carrying a pitchfor
k.
To Tibor, it all seemed surreal. He remembered how the Slovaks became rabid Nazis early on in the war. They set up a special, homegrown Nazi regime run by a de-frocked Catholic priest. Slovakia had the dubious distinction of being one of the first countries to deport their Jewish population to Auschwitz-Birkenau and to willingly fight on the side of Hitler. When the Slovaks terrorized and finally ousted their Jewish population, many fled to Hungary.
War criminals indeed, thought Tibor as the group became more belligerent.
Their steps quickened as the local mob started ripping the knapsacks off their backs, throwing stones, and kicking dirt.
"Don't ever come back here, rotten Hungarian scum!"
By the time they reached the next railway station they were exhausted and filthy. Tibor, still breathless, looked behind him and noticed his brother had fallen back a bit. Tibor waited for him and saw that Bela was short of breath and fighting back tears.
"I don't have the strength to go on. They stole my knapsack and boots, and my last clean shirt is gone." Tibor looked at his brother and noticed for the first time how thin he had become. His prominent nose had become even more pronounced, as had his high cheekbones. A fine coating of dirt covered his face, interrupted only by little streams of tears. The look on his face was like a child who had been beaten up by a bully. Tibor wanted to just put his arms around Bela and comfort him, but he didn't know how he would react. While they were prisoners, Bela had stayed tough - it was as if every obstacle became a challenge. Bela provided for both of them. Now he had reverted to childhood again, not knowing what to do about all the cruel things that happened around them. He looked to Tibor for every decision.
It was almost dusk and they found an abandoned farmhouse and took a drink of water from a well. Tibor washed the spit off of Bela's back - the saliva was mixed with dirt and stuck to the back of his shirt. The washing left a sizeable mud stain on his back. Tibor didn't want to tell him how he looked now - Bela was always so meticulous about his appearance.
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