by Derek Hansen
CHAPTER SIX
‘Coal!’ cried Tibor. It was Saturday morning and he and Milos had dressed in their most threadbare clothes. There was no doubting their apparent poverty as they pushed an old, battered pram which they’d partly filled with three scoops of railway coal. The grubby hessian bag hanging from the handle of the pram held six potatoes, a turnip, a parsnip and a large onion. Rain slashed diagonally into their faces, driven by a bitter wind.
‘Coal!’ echoed Milos. He paused in the middle of the road as if waiting for a response. There was none. He caught up to Tibor. They continued on up the slight grade towards the corner where two gendarmes stood in the shelter of the doorway of a shop once run by a Jewish tailor. The shop, like so many others in Sarospatak, was closed.
‘Coal!’ cried Tibor as they drew level with the gendarmes. They stopped again, scanning windows and doorways for a response. The rain intensified with a gust of wind. ‘Coal!’ called Tibor again and despondently resumed walking. The gendarmes watched them pass without showing any sign of interest. Harsh rationing was in force and they could see the boys were trying to trade coal for food. Coal was always scarce in spring but the gendarmes doubted anybody would be foolish enough to exchange precious food for warmth.
The boys turned left then right, all the while drawing nearer to Tokaj Street with their precious cargo. Milos was standing in the middle of the intersection, pretending to look at windows for any response to their offer, when he heard Tibor curse. Halfway up the street four gendarmes were putting their boots into two men cowering on the ground. Even through the rain it was obvious who the victims were. There were few orthodox Jews in Sarospatak but the gendarmes had caught two of them walking home from the synagogue. Tibor wanted to turn back but realised it was too late. They’d been seen and to retreat would only arouse suspicion.
‘Coal!’ cried Tibor, knowing damn well he’d get no response. Nobody wanted to witness what was happening in front of them, on the pavement of their street. The gendarmes were laughing and taunting the Jews; Tibor quickly realised that it was only a matter of time until the Jews lost consciousness and the gendarmes looked elsewhere for another target to amuse them. ‘Do what I do,’ he hissed to Milos.
Tibor and Milos were now so close that the gendarmes had begun to eye them suspiciously. Two of them made a move towards the centre of the road as if preparing to block the boys’ way. Tibor didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a lump of coal from the pram and hurled it expertly at the Jews. He heard it thud into an overcoat where the harm it would do was minimal.
‘Dirty yid!’ he screamed.
Milos followed suit but without the accuracy. His lump of coal hit the road in front of the Jews and shattered, showering them with dust and shards. The gendarmes laughed.
‘Coal!’ cried Milos. ‘Coal for the filthy yids! One pengo!’
‘Yes!’ shouted Tibor. ‘One pengo per yid!’ He held a lump of coal in his outstretched hand as if offering it to the gendarmes.
‘Keep your coal, you little thieves,’ said one of the gendarmes amiably. ‘We’ll keep our money. Besides, I wouldn’t give you a pengo for all the yids in town.’
The gendarmes laughed and waved the boys on. Tibor couldn’t help thinking the Russians were an awfully long way away.
When the boys reached Tokaj Street, they slipped through the side gate and around to the back door of their aunt’s house. Gabriella opened it before they even had a chance to knock.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said. ‘You must be frozen. Elizabeth, look how wet they are.’
‘Put some of that coal on the fire and start taking off your clothes,’ said Aunt Katy. ‘Elizabeth, Gabi, go get some of Balazs’s clothes for them to put on.’ She looked at the pram the boys had dragged with them into the kitchen. Dirty coal-stained puddles were forming beneath it on the timber floor. ‘You boys must stop taking such risks for us.’ She tried to make her voice firm but couldn’t keep the smile out of it.
‘If Balazs was here he’d do the same,’ said Milos, but he felt as proud as any boy could be. He felt like a hero, at last the equal of his brother.
‘I’ll fetch you some towels.’
Once Tibor and Milos were dried and dressed, they began unloading the coal into the kitchen coal bucket.
‘What’s that?’ said Gabriella. She pointed to a package wrapped in newspaper which had been lying under the coal.
‘A surprise,’ said Tibor. ‘You can thank Milos for this.’
‘No!’ said Milos, ‘that isn’t fair!’ His face began to blush cherry red.
‘Believe me,’ said Tibor, ‘I know what’s fair.’
‘What is it?’ asked Gabriella again.
‘Something to go in the soup with the vegetables. Good Catholic food.’ Tibor laughed and removed the first layer of newspaper. He handed the package to Gabriella. ‘Here, you unwrap it.’
Gabriella shrieked when she saw the bacon bones.
‘Look, Mamma!’ she said. ‘Look what they brought us.’
Tibor had given Milos the credit but Gabriella knew her boys well and knew what each was capable of. The look she gave Tibor went beyond admiration to adoration. Though she hugged both boys she might just as well have slapped Milos’s face.
Milos smiled through his bewilderment. This time he was also a hero. Tibor had said so. All he wanted was half the admiration and half the adoration. It was his due. He’d earned it. And he loved Gabriella without reservation while his brother only loved her as much as he deemed necessary. Dismay and disappointment were bitter pills but Milos had become accustomed to swallowing them.
‘We thought it would be better if you made soup with it today,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘so the flavour can go through. Three bones aren’t much for six.’
‘What a treat!’ said Aunt Katy. ‘Where on earth did you get it?’
‘Make us a coffee and I’ll tell you,’ said Tibor.
‘You bring us coal, vegetables and now this,’ said Aunt Katy. ‘I don’t know how we’d manage without you.’
‘What about Aunt Jutka and Klari?’ asked Milos.
Aunt Jutka and Klari were two peasant women who came once a week to clean the Horvath home and every autumn to make jam and preserves. Thomas had treated them and their families whenever needed and the two women were almost as close as family.
‘We’ve asked them not to bring us food any more. It’s too dangerous.’ Aunt Katy ran her fingers through her hair tiredly. ‘The gendarmes have also taken our bicycles so we can no longer ride over to see them. We have our rations and what we’ve managed to put aside. We’ll get by.’
‘Till the Russians come,’ said Tibor bitterly.
‘Yes,’ said his aunt, ‘till the Russians come.’
There was a time when Jozsef and his boys had gone to Tokaj Street as an act of kindness on the part of the Horvaths. When they had been the poor guests in a house of plenty. That Sunday they learned how much their roles had reversed. With their bank account frozen, Aunt Katica and her girls no longer had the cash to buy black-market goods, and no jewellery or gold to sell because that had been confiscated on the day the gendarmes had come for their bicycles. Jews were no longer allowed to own gold and Gabi had nearly burst into tears when she described how the gendarmes had taken the gold bracelet her father had given her on her twelfth birthday, bruising her wrist in the process. The gendarmes had also taken their radio and gramophone, their silver coffee set, silver cruets, silver picture frames and any ornament or trinket they thought might have value. They’d also helped themselves to the preserves and jars of jam and pickles stored in their cellar and taken their last bag of flour, claiming Jews weren’t allowed to hoard flour.
‘Jews aren’t allowed anything,’ said Aunt Katy bitterly. She’d adopted the habit of wringing her hands ever since her husband had been sent to the front. It was a habit induced by stress and now she wrung them vigorously as though she was washing them under a tap. ‘Except what is so worthless the gendarmes don’t
bother to steal it.’
‘We’ll help you out,’ said Milos.
‘No,’ said Aunt Katy. ‘You have done enough for us. It’s too dangerous now. They shoot people for smuggling food. They shoot black marketeers. And they shoot Jews who don’t wear the yellow star,’ she added pointedly.
‘Still no word from Balazs?’ asked Jozsef.
‘No,’ said Elizabeth quickly. ‘We’ve asked around. Other people have received messages from the camps but no one has received any message at all from the men who were taken with Balazs. No one’s heard a word from them or from other workers in the labour camps about them.’
‘It’s like they just disappeared,’ said Gabi.
‘Don’t say that!’ said Aunt Katy. She turned back to the bowl in front of her, tilting it so she could scoop out the last drops. When she laid her spoon to rest she noticed that Jozsef and both boys had stopped eating and left half of their soup. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said. ‘You don’t like my cooking?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ said Jozsef.
‘Big breakfast,’ said Milos.
‘I’m not used to such rich food,’ said Tibor and laughed. Their lies were so transparent he could not resist turning it into a joke.
‘But you must eat,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Keep it for tomorrow,’ said Jozsef. ‘We have food at home. Much more than you have.’
‘Thank you,’ said Aunt Katy simply. The leftovers plus the soup still in the pot would probably see them through two more nights if she stretched it with a little water. The sudden, shameful realisation that she was saving soup left in her guests’ bowls made her bow her head. ‘I never thought it would come to this. Who would have believed it!’ She began sobbing quietly.
‘The war must end soon,’ said Jozsef softly. He reached across the table and gently stroked Katica’s arm. ‘The Russians will come and we’ll be able to live as normal human beings again. That’ll be something, no?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
May 1944
‘When they start killing people it’s time to go,’ said Tibor. He’d given up pleading and trying to argue rationally.
‘Isolated incidents like that will always occur,’ said Jozsef stubbornly.
‘These isolated incidents are happening every day.’ Tibor pushed his chair back from the table in frustration and turned to Milos who’d started clearing their dishes from the table. ‘Sit down! Leave the bowls where they are. What’s a few dirty dishes at a time like this? Sit down and tell Father about the Germans.’
‘What Germans?’ said Jozsef.
‘We saw Germans on the bridge,’ said Milos unhappily. He hated confrontation, especially when his father’s authority was being challenged. Hated it even more when his father was in the wrong. ‘A contact across the river has some kolbasz. We were on our way to inspect it and negotiate. People can put anything in sausage, as you know. That’s when we saw the Germans and heard about the shootings. We could see them from the corner of Attila Street, there were four of them in an open car. People were milling around too scared to cross the bridge to go home.’
‘Are you sure they were Germans? I didn’t see any Germans arrive,’ said Jozsef.
‘Maybe they came by car,’ said Tibor angrily. ‘Who cares? Train, car or push-bikes! The only thing that matters is this: the town is full of Arrow Crossmen, many of whom have suddenly become gendarmes. They’re not sneaking into town on the train any more but driving in on the back of army trucks. There are gangs of them and they no longer care who knows they’re here. Now the Germans have come to town. Jews are being stopped on the bridge and thrown into the river. The Arrow Crossmen then use them for target practice. Can you believe that? If the bullets don’t kill them, they’re so badly wounded they drown. The Arrow Crossmen are doing this for their amusement and no one is stopping them. Don’t you see what that means? No one is stopping them. They stand there laughing like they have every right to shoot and drown people. We’re being softened up for whatever they intend doing to us next. Can’t you see that?’
‘We?’ said Jozsef suddenly. ‘But you two are Catholics.’
‘We’re Jews,’ said Tibor. ‘Being baptised counts for nothing if you’ve got Jewish blood. That makes us Jews and there’s a bounty on Jews, half-Jews, quarter-Jews and, for all I know, one-eighth Jews. People who inform on us get extra food. A piece of bread or sausage. About what you can buy for a few pengo. That’s all we’re worth now.’
‘I got asked at school today why I wasn’t wearing a yellow star,’ said Milos.
‘What did you say?’
‘I told them I was a Catholic. What else could I say?’
‘Forget the church,’ said Tibor disgustedly. ‘I’m surprised that Misery Guts Old Ignac hasn’t already sold us out. Maybe he still will if one of our rivals doesn’t sell us out first. I can think of at least ten people who would be happy to have us out of the way so they can move in on our contacts.’
‘But they haven’t,’ said Jozsef. ‘That has to mean something. They could but they haven’t.’
‘Not yet. But they will. Someone will. Come on, Father!’ Tibor leaned forward on his elbows so that he towered over Jozsef. ‘None of this is new to you. You have eyes and ears. You know everything that’s going on in this town. It’s time you stopped kidding yourself. It’s time you faced facts. We can’t wait any longer. We can’t wait for the Russians because they’re too long coming and the Germans are already here. You knew one day this might happen. You’ve been preparing us for it for the last two years!’
Jozsef’s shoulders slumped. He’d been deceiving himself but he couldn’t deceive his boys.
‘They’re not asking me to schedule the movements of trains any more.’
‘Why? Because you’re a Jew or because they’ve got something to hide?’ Tibor showed no sympathy. He realised Jozsef was giving in and pressed his advantage.
‘I don’t know.’ Jozsef hung his head in defeat. This latest development completed his fall from grace. ‘Someone high up has been protecting me. There’s no other explanation. Probably someone I helped a long time ago. Someone smart enough not to be seen to be helping a Jew. Maybe they can’t protect me any more. Maybe you’re right, maybe there’s something they don’t want me to know. I can’t even talk to the engine driver or fireman any more. Or the conductor or the guard. That is also forbidden.’
‘It’s time to go, Father,’ said Tibor firmly. ‘How much more evidence do you need?’
‘I just can’t believe they’ve come here to round up Jews, which is what you’re saying. I was certain they’d take the Jews from Budapest first. Why would they bother with sleepy Sarospatak? Why take twelve hundred Jews when they could take four hundred thousand? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe they’ve started taking Jews from Budapest,’ said Tibor impatiently. ‘Maybe they’ve started taking Jews from all over Hungary. All I know is the Germans and the Arrow Crossmen haven’t come to Sarospatak just to take our names.’
‘Do you have a plan?’ Jozsef stared at the table in front of him.
‘I want to head north tonight with our winter clothes, around Satoraljaujhely and into the hills. If the snow comes before the Russians, at least we’ll have warm clothes to wear. I’ll bury them in the little cave Milos found so they won’t be disturbed by animals. I’ll bury some dried vegetables too, and some jars of pickles.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
‘Two days, three nights,’ said Tibor. ‘All going well, I’ll be back Friday morning. I want you and Milos ready to leave Friday night. If anything happens before I get back, I want you to leave and hide out in the woods above the farm with the Nonius horses. Do you both remember it?’ Jozsef and Milos nodded. ‘We’ll head north first into the hills until things quieten down, then double back around to the north-east and make our way to Romania.’
‘Why Romania?’ asked Jozsef.
‘Because the Russians will take Romania first.’
/> Jozsef nodded.
‘One change of clothes and one blanket each and as many vegetables as we can carry comfortably. Okay?’
‘What about Gabi?’ said Milos.
‘What about her?’
‘I’ve sworn to look after her.’
‘Forget it,’ said Tibor. ‘She is not your responsibility. She can’t keep up and she won’t survive in the open. You cannot protect her. I can’t protect her. It will be hard enough finding food to feed the three of us. She’s better off taking her chances here with her mother and sister.’
‘She stays, I stay,’ said Milos.
Tibor turned angrily to his father. ‘Tell him.’
‘I’ll speak to Gabriella,’ said Jozsef. ‘But you must understand this, Milos. As much as I would like to believe otherwise, I concede Tibor is correct. Our decision has been made and you will abide by it. It is time to go and we all go. I will explain the circumstances to Gabi and make sure she understands the difficulties and hardships of joining us. If she decides to stay with her mother and sister, that is her decision. Her decision does not affect ours. Do you understand?’
Milos nodded reluctantly.
‘The risks in running away are at least as great as the risks of staying. If we are caught we will be shot. Food and shelter will be hard to come by. We could die of hunger as easily as by a bullet. We will have no friends, only enemies who can profit by betraying us.’ Jozsef looked solemnly from Tibor to Milos. ‘It is no small thing, what we are proposing to do. Let us think on this one more time before we commit ourselves. Let us all be sure we are taking the right option.’
