Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  ‘Thank you again.’

  ‘Remember, you can always rely on the church.’

  Both boys hugged their godfather, made their farewells and descended the stairs. Tibor strode purposefully out of the signal box and along the track to the first set of points, Milos hard on his heels. Each carrying a spike Mr Zelk had given them, they prodded the points like a couple of fettlers, squatted as though studying them, rose and continued on. Nobody took any notice of them; the loading of the Jews was so much more interesting. Once they’d put some distance between themselves and the crowd of spectators, Tibor dropped the spike where he knew Mr Zelk would find it and led Milos down from the line and over the wooden railing to the street.

  ‘Mr Zelk was right,’ said Tibor. ‘We’ll keep our uniforms on.’

  In fact the uniforms gave them more than an identity, they also gave them anonymity. Two youths wandering the street may have aroused interest but not two railwaymen. Their uniforms announced who they were and what they did, and people’s interest extended no further. Even if anyone had noticed them slip down the side of what had been the stationmaster’s cottage, they probably wouldn’t have given it another thought.

  Tibor found the back-door key exactly where he expected it to be, jammed between the downpipe and the brick wall, hanging on a wire hook from the bracket. It had let them in every day when they’d come home from school and on the nights when they’d been late home from their forays for food. Believing that the railway cottage would have been handed on to Geza Apro or used as a temporary billet for other railway staff, Tibor didn’t hesitate to open the back door and enter. He grabbed the meat knife from its drawer as he passed through the kitchen but he needn’t have bothered. On this busiest of days for the railwaymen of Sarospatak, he expected the house to be deserted.

  Ever cautious, Jozsef had kept some emergency money in the house, in a baking-powder tin jammed behind two loose bricks in the cellar wall. It wasn’t the cleverest of hiding places but Jozsef had always felt that if they ever had need for it, they’d also need to be able to get to it quickly. Tibor ordered Milos to stuff the money into his pocket while he grabbed whatever was left of the potatoes, onions, beets, dried vegetables and chillies and shoved them into a hessian sack. There was disappointingly little. Either their father had been very good at giving their stocks away or the basement had been plundered. They took off upstairs to their bedroom. The room was a mess with a mattress thrown between their two beds, both of which were strewn with clothing. Their father’s room mirrored their own. Clearly the cottage was temporary lodgings for someone. Milos opened the wardrobe door expecting to find railwaymen’s clothes jammed in with theirs, but instead stopped dead in his tracks.

  ‘Tibor!’ Milos stepped back in shock.

  Tibor stopped rifling through the drawers and looked up to see the gendarme jackets and trousers draped over hangers.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Milos. Fear has a way of focusing the brain and, for the first time that day, Milos forgot about his father and Gabi.

  Tibor laughed. ‘Piss on them. Grab what we want. Piss on them again before we leave.’

  ‘What if they come back?’

  ‘And leave the Jews to load themselves onto the trains?’

  Tibor continued to open drawers and stuff underwear, socks and gloves into his sack. He grimaced angrily when he looked up and saw Milos still staring at the wardrobe. ‘Come on, Milos! Our coats!’

  ‘Ssshh! Listen!’

  Tibor froze. Milos wasn’t looking at the wardrobe but at his feet. The boys stood stock still, knowing full well that any movement would bring a squeak from one of the floorboards. They had lived with the squeaks, knew there was no way of avoiding them and had even tried to make tunes out of them. They heard the back door close. Tibor shot a quizzical glance at Milos who nodded in response. Yes, he’d closed the back door behind him. So someone had come in. Was he still inside the cottage or had he gone straight back out again? The boys waited, as immobile as statues, hardly breathing. If someone was still in the cottage, the floorboards would tell them. And they did. There was someone downstairs, walking lightly. The boys looked at one another. There was another sound, quite unmistakeable, of a chair being pulled out from the dining table and someone sitting on it. They were trapped. There was no escape from their window and, given the state of the floorboards, no way of sneaking up on the intruder. They had only one choice.

  Tibor picked up the meat knife he had lain on top of the tallboy. He nodded to Milos. The boys could be quick down the stairs and they knew exactly what they had to do. But would they be quick enough? Could they get down there faster than a gendarme could pick up his rifle or pull out a pistol? Tibor motioned to Milos to take the sack of food and clothing, took a deep breath and charged.

  Tibor didn’t run down the stairs so much as leap down them, one hand on the banister to steady himself. He’d done it a hundred times before and hit the hall floor on the balls of his feet. He launched himself into the main room ready to kill. And found Istvan, rocked back on a chair, his feet on the table and a knowing smile on his face.

  ‘Checkmate,’ said Istvan calmly.

  Tibor stopped so abruptly Milos collided into the back of him. He glared at his one-time classmate.

  ‘I could have killed you!’ he hissed. He turned to Milos. ‘Relax. It’s just Istvan, playing his games.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ gasped Milos. His heart was still pounding so hard it threatened to break his ribs.

  ‘I saw you in the signal box,’ said Istvan. ‘Nice touch. Your father certainly appreciated it.’

  ‘Did you follow us?’ asked Tibor.

  Istvan shrugged dismissively. ‘I left before you did and hid in the back garden. I knew you’d come here.’

  ‘Why didn’t you report us?’ Tibor still had hold of his knife.

  ‘We made a deal,’ said Istvan. ‘You said I’d know when it was time to pay.’

  A slight smile crossed Tibor’s face.

  ‘How did you know?’ asked Istvan. ‘Back then, how could you know?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Tibor. ‘I took out a lot of insurance. But I always felt you were my best investment.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You were never going to stay on the farm. You’re far too clever. I watched the way you played with the other kids, how you trapped and manipulated them. I figured one day your skills would make you a powerful man, probably in politics. I thought it might be handy to have someone in a position of power owe me a favour.’

  ‘Were they Milos’s boots?’

  Istvan was clearly flattered by Tibor’s comments and sought to change the subject.

  ‘He’d outgrown them.’

  ‘Sandor’s looking after them as best he can. Unfortunately, his best is not very good.’

  ‘What now?’ said Tibor. The time for pleasantries was over. His voice turned cold. ‘Our house is being used to billet gendarmes.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Istvan, obviously alarmed, ‘I had no idea.’

  He pushed his chair back and stood.

  ‘What do you want from us?’ Tibor towered over Istvan.

  Istvan looked at the knife in Tibor’s hand as if noticing it for the first time. ‘Acknowledgement. That’s all. That all debts are paid.’

  ‘They’re only paid if you keep your silence,’ said Tibor. He pointed the knife at Istvan’s throat.

  ‘That’s understood,’ said Istvan. ‘If I wanted to report you, I would have.’

  He held out his hand. Tibor hesitated momentarily then threw the meat knife so that it thudded point-first into the top of the table. He took Istvan’s hand and shook it solemnly.

  ‘We’re all square,’ said Tibor.

  ‘Hopefully next time we meet we’ll be on the same side,’ said Istvan.

  ‘Aren’t we now?’ said Milos.

  ‘No,’ said Istvan evenly. ‘Now go.’

  Back on the street, Tibor and Milos were acutely aw
are of the difference in their appearance. Two railwaymen did not attract attention but two railwaymen carrying a sack would. They realised it was only a matter of time before people’s curiosity led to recognition.

  ‘We need to find somewhere to hide till dark,’ said Tibor, ‘and we need to find it quick.’

  ‘What about your contacts?’

  ‘You tell me who I can trust,’ said Tibor. He looked around him but the street was deserted. ‘First we’ve got to get out of these uniforms in case Istvan blabs.’

  ‘He wouldn’t,’ said Milos. ‘You made a deal.’

  ‘Grow up,’ snapped Tibor. ‘He didn’t sell us out at the station because we had unfinished business. It’s the way his mind works. He followed us all the way to the cottage just to tell us he’d seen us. Just to even the score card, to let us know that he finished on top with us in his debt. We’re not dealing with honour here but ego. Now that everything is settled, now that he’s had his little victory, I wouldn’t bet against the little shit reporting us for the bounty. Now think, Milos! Where can we go that’s safe?’

  ‘Mr Zelk’s?’

  ‘He’s risked enough for us.’

  ‘Geza Apro’s?’

  ‘I trust him. Do you trust his wife?’

  ‘Then we only have one choice,’ said Milos.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The church. Like Mr Zelk said.’

  His brother nodded reluctantly.

  They walked quickly, sticking to side streets as best they could, grateful for the fact that most of the people who wished them harm were still down at the station while the rest kept to themselves indoors and uninvolved. When they reached their destination, the boys quickly climbed the stone steps and ducked in through the open doorway as quietly as they could. There were women at prayer up near the front so they slipped into one of the rear pews before anyone had a chance to turn around. They knelt and Milos closed his eyes, welcoming the chance to pray for the safety of his father and Gabriella.

  ‘There’s no time for that!’ hissed Tibor. He too knelt as though in prayer, but kept his head partly raised and his eyes wide open watching the confessional. If he was right in assuming the women were saying their penance, Father Hegedus would soon emerge to see if anyone else was waiting. All they had to do then was catch his eye.

  Both boys bowed their heads lower and covered them with their hands as though deep in prayer as a woman rose and walked up the aisle towards them. The vulnerability of their position became immediately apparent. Two railwaymen in church, midweek, at this hour? Of course she’d want to look to see who they were. The boys held their breath, listening for a change in the sound of her footsteps as she passed by.

  ‘God be with you,’ they heard her murmur as she passed their pew. They tensed. What did that mean? That she recognised them? Or that she simply sympathised with two young railwaymen who, God knows, had much to unburden themselves of on this terrible day.

  Moments later an old woman left the confessional and knelt down a few rows back from the altar. There were seven women in all, scattered among the first few pews. Milos turned his head so he could observe the confessional. He expected Father Hegedus to appear at any moment.

  ‘Come on, come on!’

  Tibor’s strained whisper startled Milos and he glanced quickly at his brother. Tibor was growing increasingly anxious and this was not something Milos had witnessed often. To his dismay, a woman rose from among the front pews and shuffled over towards the box to make her confession.

  ‘For God’s sake, Milos, get over there and make sure you’re next to confess. If we stay here much longer someone will recognise us. I’m going to sneak over to the side away from the doorway.’

  Tibor quickly checked each of the women. None looked like leaving. ‘Go now,’ he hissed.

  He watched his brother slide away along the pew to the side aisle, rise and walk quickly to a pew near the confessional. He took a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching and shook his head. He had to keep Milos busy and on edge to prevent him sinking into despair. He needed his brother to keep his wits about him.

  Milos knelt and fixed his eyes on the confessional. For once he had the leading role not Tibor, and this gave him the courage to hold his nerve. He had to get the timing right and keep his head down when the woman in the confessional left, yet be quick enough to take her place before any of the other women could. Then he’d have Father Hegedus to deal with. Milos prayed silently but didn’t dare close his eyes for fear of the unwelcome images he would see. He had to put the memories of the day aside, close the door on them, until better, safer times when they could be released and dealt with. Behind him he could hear Tibor shuffling to a new position, dragging the sack along with him. To his surprise, he could also hear soft murmurings from the confessional although the words were indistinct. But at least he knew Father Hegedus was taking confessions. There was no mistaking the sound of his voice. Milos had heard it often enough. He tried to imagine how his confession would go.

  ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I neglected to board the train with all the other Jews.’

  The curtains parted, interrupting his thoughts. Milos covered his face with his hands and peered through his fingers. To his horror, the woman took only a couple of steps from the confessional before pausing and gazing intently at him. Unbelievably she took a tentative step towards him. And another. He expected her to point a finger at him and denounce him as a Jew. Instead, to his utter amazement, she knelt alongside him.

  ‘Milos?’ she whispered.

  Milos’s throat was as dry as parchment. He turned to look at her, eyes wide with apprehension.

  ‘Milos?’ Realising how much the scarf she wore over her head masked her face, the woman eased it back so Milos could recognise her.

  ‘Aunt Klari!’

  He had a sudden urge to throw his arms around the big woman but fought it back. Such affection in church was bound to attract attention.

  The woman smiled and then bit her bottom lip as though to stop herself from crying. How many times had Milos gone to Tokaj Street when the two peasant women were making jam? How many times had he helped them stir the pots? How many times had Aunt Klari or Aunt Jutka given him the ladle so he could lick it clean?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered urgently.

  ‘What are you?’ said Milos. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

  ‘They took Mrs Horvath and Elizabeth and Gabi, my two beautiful girls. They were always good to us. I came to ask God to protect them.’

  At the mention of Gabriella, Milos couldn’t help but bow his head.

  ‘Though why I should think God will protect them when He allowed them to be taken is beyond me.’ The big woman sighed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘God disappoints me.’

  Milos didn’t know what to say.

  ‘But why are you here? Why aren’t you hiding somewhere safe?’

  ‘We thought we could hide here,’ said Milos.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Aunt Klari. She waited while another woman shuffled past into the confessional, fortunately too preoccupied with her sins to glance in their direction. Aunt Klari waited until the curtain was drawn before turning back to Milos and snorting derisively. ‘Father Hegedus would hide you until nightfall but Old Ignac would make sure the gendarmes were waiting when you left. Come, you and Tibor are safer with me.’

  Milos rose obediently, caught Tibor’s eye and nodded towards the door. Milos left with Aunt Klari and Tibor followed soon after. Suddenly the streets seemed safer for the addition of Aunt Klari. Two young railwaymen carrying a sack for a large, middle-aged woman was the very picture of ordinariness. They strolled along as though they didn’t have a care in the world, chatting and even laughing occasionally, as would be expected. But their manner belied the nature of their conversation.

  ‘The bridge is safe,’ Aunt Klari assured them. ‘There are no patrols. All the gendarmes and Arrow Crossmen are at the station. Fo
r them, today is a festival,’ she added bitterly.

  ‘Did anyone recognise you at the church?’ asked Tibor, ever cautious.

  ‘I rarely go,’ said Aunt Klari. ‘Sometimes Easter, sometimes Christmas Eve. I confess even less frequently. I doubt Father Hegedus even knows my name. As for the other women, I am just a peasant woman they sometimes see in the street or at the market. They would have to search a lot of houses to find where I live.’

  ‘Even so, we will leave tonight,’ said Tibor.

  ‘No. Stay, rest up, get back some strength,’ insisted Aunt Klari.

  ‘We have another problem,’ said Tibor, and told her about Istvan. ‘If he’s talked, the gendarmes will be looking for two Jews dressed as railwaymen. Someone will remember seeing you walking with us.’

  ‘Then stay tonight at Jutka’s,’ said Aunt Klari. ‘If he has talked, the gendarmes will come for you tonight. I will tell them two nice railwaymen helped carry my bags and point to the horizon when they ask where you went. If they don’t come, tomorrow you can come back and stay with me.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ said Milos. ‘Tell me, did you offer to hide Aunt Katy and the girls?’

  ‘Of course! So did Jutka. Mrs Horvath wouldn’t hear of it. She said it was too dangerous for us. I offered to take Elizabeth and Gabi, both or either, but they wouldn’t leave their mother. Your father tried to persuade Gabi to go with him to join you two, but again she refused. She was determined to stay with her mother. Now they are all gone, all gone.’ Aunt Klari sniffed and began weeping softly.

  All gone. Once again Milos was enveloped by sorrow and a sense of loss that left him feeling empty and hollow inside. It was a day filled with shattered hopes and dreams. He’d lost his father to the Germans and Gabi to both the Germans and Tibor. Tibor had never mentioned marrying Gabi before and Milos had never even considered it. He’d never imagined Tibor marrying anyone. His brother was just too independent, too aloof. In his dreams, his brother had moved on and he had stepped into the void and Gabriella’s love for Tibor had become love for him. That was how he’d always believed events would transpire. The Germans had broken his heart but his brother had ground the remnants to pulp.