Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  Tibor ducked down as low as he could and still see the road. He was stunned when one of the AVO officers stepped out into the middle of the road and calmly and deliberately began firing at him. The Zim’s left headlight shattered. A bullet passed over his head and thudded into the roof. Another smashed through the top rim of the steering wheel and deflected out through the rear window. Tibor wrenched down on the wheel and aimed the car at the officer. In the split second he lined him up, Tibor saw a face he’d all but forgotten, pinned in the light of the one remaining headlamp. The officer jumped back out of the way. The Zim missed him by mere centimetres. The man might have thought he was safe but the flailing passenger door caught him, smashed him hard against the gate post, hooked up his coat and began dragging him along the ground.

  Tibor heard the man’s scream but almost immediately it was drowned by the shriek of the locomotive whistle. The engine driver was warning of his approach. Tibor eased off the accelerator momentarily to line up the corner and turned hard left towards the level crossing. The Zim skidded, lost speed and power. The motor groaned and spluttered. Tibor needed to change down a gear but wasn’t sure how. He simply pointed the bunny-hopping Zim across the tracks and hoped for the best. All too slowly the car picked up speed.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’ he screamed.

  Behind him the AVO cars were less than fifty metres away. To his right the train was bearing down, whistle shrieking, with no chance at all of slowing.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’

  The Zim bounced onto the railway lines, the interior lighting up in the full glare of the train’s headlight. Suddenly the light was above him and Tibor realised he had only seconds to live. Or escape. He closed his eyes.

  The train missed the car. It whistled by, centimetres from the back bumper, buffeting the Zim with shockwaves of air. Tibor was dimly aware of the body of the AVO officer disentangling from the passenger door. He held on as the Zim finally reached a speed appropriate to third gear. Behind him, the AVO cursed and waved their fists at the seemingly endless line of wagons passing in front of them.

  Milos felt faintly ridiculous but the goose didn’t seem to mind. It followed behind him as faithfully as a dog on a lead, but Milos knew its only interest was the little inducements he handed out every few hundred metres. Every so often it banged its bill against his leg to remind him. He stopped again, reached into his pocket and brought out another palmful of grain, angling his hand so that the goose could get to it more easily. Christmas was just two weeks away and he was determined to make sure it was one he and Gabriella would always remember. The goose was destined to become part of those memories.

  With Gabriella back to full strength, the time was fast approaching when he would ask her to take to the road again, this time on a journey away from Sarospatak. There was nothing left for them in Hungary and no reason to remain, other than the fact that the AVO seemed determined nobody should leave. Milos planned to marry Gabriella after her nineteenth birthday and cross the border some time in the month that followed.

  They had at last become lovers, an event as inevitable as the seasons. Gabriella had simply faked a nightmare and Milos had come to her rescue as he always did. Their deception had fooled no one. Aunt Klari had simply waited a decent interval before politely enquiring when the wedding would be.

  ‘Spring,’ Gabriella had replied.

  ‘Then tell Milos to stay in the house at night. Winter will be hard. Tell him to stay and keep you warm.’

  The snow had an icy crust, making it treacherous to walk on, but it was nothing Milos hadn’t experienced before. The pathway was familiar and he knew exactly where the ditches and potholes were. Nevertheless he kept his eyes on the path immediately ahead, which was why he failed to see the gendarme waiting where the pathway intersected with the cart track leading to Aunt Klari’s.

  ‘Milos Heyman,’ said the gendarme.

  Milos stopped dead in his tracks and looked up. He recognised the gendarme immediately. They’d been classmates.

  ‘Matyas! What brings you and your bicycle out here?’

  ‘Orders, Milos. I’ve been ordered to question you and search the house you’re living in.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m looking for your brother.’

  ‘Tibor! I haven’t seen him for more than two years. He lives in Budapest.’

  ‘I know.’ The gendarme looked unhappily down the track to Aunt Klari’s, not thrilled at the prospect of having to navigate it with his bicycle. ‘Are you sure he hasn’t come back?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure! If he’d come back he would have come straight to me. What makes you think he’s come back to Sarospatak?’

  ‘Apparently the AVO set a trap for him but he got away.’

  ‘The AVO are always setting traps for him and he always gets away. But he never comes back here. You know Tibor, he’s not stupid.’

  ‘You’d tell me if he did?’

  ‘No.’ Milos started laughing and the young gendarme joined in. ‘Tell me, Matyas, why did you join the gendarmes?’

  ‘No choice. It was gendarmes or nothing. I was tired of nothing.’

  ‘All of Hungary is tired of nothing. Listen, do you want to come down for a coffee? You look like you need warming up.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Of course. If you want, you can search the house at the same time.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll bother. My sergeant knew Tibor wouldn’t be here. He was just following orders. That’s why he sent me and my bicycle.’

  The two men set off for Aunt Klari’s, one pushing a bicycle, the other towing a goose. The coffee turned into lunch when Aunt Klari insisted the young gendarme join them for chicken paprika. Matyas ate ravenously and gratefully, amusing them with stories about the dreariness and pettiness of his duties.

  ‘You know the difference between a gendarme and an ordinary citizen?’ he said. ‘I can put my hands in my pockets without being ordered to empty them.’

  Milos laughed.

  ‘No, I’m serious. I can stand around doing nothing and not be questioned. I think this is what freedom is: being able to stand around doing nothing with your hands in your pockets.’

  Andras grunted approvingly and a wry smile spread across his weathered face.

  Milos offered to walk back into town with his friend, claiming he had business to attend to. Once they’d parted company, he headed straight for the station and Geza Apro’s telephone. He dialled Tibor’s number and waited impatiently while the operator seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to make the connection.

  ‘Who is this?’ said a voice.

  Milos slammed the phone down. If Tibor had changed the person who always answered the phone, he wouldn’t have changed the codes. And even if he had, the person wouldn’t begin by asking who was calling. Only one organisation would do that. Milos had always suspected that one day Tibor’s world would crack apart but it came as a shock to have his fears confirmed. So Tibor was on the run and his organisation had been penetrated. Where would Tibor go? Milos knew how his brother’s mind worked: he’d have emergency plans and an escape route. He also realised there was nothing he could do to help him. When he was somewhere safe, probably in Austria, Tibor would contact him through Geza. Until then he would just have to wait. But of one thing he was certain: Tibor would not risk coming back to Sarospatak.

  Milos put Tibor out of his mind by keeping himself busy. They slaughtered a pig, kept what they needed and turned the rest into sausages to give away to the needy. For many people in Sarospatak the end of the war had not brought an end to their suffering. Whatever else they managed to put on their plates on Christmas Day, the sausages would be the highlight.

  That night, over dinner, Gabriella again asked Milos what he wanted for a Christmas present, even though he knew she’d been plotting his gift with Aunt Klari for more than a month.

  ‘I’d like a wedding ring,’ he replied. ‘I can’t wait until spring.’

 
Gabriella smiled coyly. ‘You’ll just have to. I decided when I was a little girl that I’d have a spring wedding. Now, I’ll ask you for the last time, what are you getting me?’

  ‘Nothing you haven’t seen before.’

  This answer always annoyed Gabriella but not unpleasantly. She knew it was a clue but it frustrated her that it was so enigmatic.

  ‘Listen!’ said Andras suddenly.

  The banter stopped instantly. Milos strained his ears to hear any sound that wasn’t everyday background noise to life at Aunt Klari’s. He ignored the crackling of the fire, the moaning of the wind and the privets scraping against the windows. There was something else but he couldn’t quite identify it.

  ‘A horse,’ said Andras. ‘And a cart. Someone is coming.’

  Milos listened and suddenly he heard what Andras had picked up. Yes, there was a horse approaching. He could hear the slow muffled slap of hooves on packed snow. And wheels. They made a hissing, crunching sound as they broke through the ice crust.

  ‘Maybe they will just drive on past,’ said Aunt Klari.

  ‘Even if they don’t, there’s no cause for alarm,’ said Milos. ‘I’ll go see.’

  ‘No! Stay.’ On the way to the door Andras reached under his bed and dragged out his rifle and a round tin. He took a single bullet from the tin, pulled back the bolt on the rifle and slipped the bullet into the breech.

  ‘Let’s talk first,’ said Milos quickly. ‘I’ll see who it is.’ He pushed his chair back and dashed to the door before Andras could object.

  Milos grabbed the lantern off the wall, his mind racing. Whoever was coming down the cart track was coming to see them, of that he had little doubt. The track beyond had not been used for weeks and past Aunt Klari’s the snow was both deep and heavy. He doubted the gendarmes would come in a horse and cart, but who else had any reason to come at all? The wind was bitterly cold and more snow threatened. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until morning and daylight? He pushed open the door and stepped outside. The cold hit him like a slap in the face. He recognised the horse and cart immediately.

  ‘You! What do you want?’ he snapped.

  ‘Home, bed and a hot meal. And an amenable woman. But like I told you once before, little brother, when Tibor asks you to do something, you don’t argue.’

  ‘Tibor? You’ve heard from Tibor?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  The black marketeer who had helped Milos bring Gabriella to Aunt Klari’s glanced back at the small stack of hay on the tray behind him. Milos held the lantern up so he could look into the cart but saw nothing of interest.

  ‘Pull back the corner of the blanket. Under the hay.’

  Milos did as instructed, perplexed and unprepared for a shock.

  ‘Oh my God!’ His lantern flickered and its light was weak, but there was no denying what was in front of him.

  ‘Hello, Milos.’

  His brother, his face gaunt and grey as winter, stared weakly up at him.

  ‘Well done,’ said Ramon. ‘A perfect time to break for coffee. Your story gains pace.’

  ‘About bloody time,’ said Neil.

  ‘So you think the story of our friends here is dull?’ said Lucio. ‘You think their lives are not worth recounting?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said Neil defensively. ‘It was always engrossing but now it’s exciting. It was a victim story and now it’s a crime story. I prefer crime stories.’

  ‘I think Tibor turning up like that, half dead, was the turning point of our lives,’ said Gabriella. She let go of Neil’s arm.

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Neil.

  ‘Aha,’ cut in Milos, ‘suddenly this refugee’s story is not so boring, no? Now Neil is like a child with a bedtime story, wanting to know the ending before it is ready to be told. Gabriella, tell him nothing. No, tell him to be a good boy and wait like everybody else.’

  ‘Very funny, Milos. But I don’t see how Tibor’s sudden arrival was a turning point. Gabriella still married you. You’d planned to marry and escape to the West. She came to Australia with you, so I can’t see what difference his turning up made. Everything turned out the way you planned.’

  ‘The way we planned?’

  ‘Yes, Milos, and I don’t think I’ve missed anything. Isn’t this Gabriella sitting here alongside me? Wasn’t it Gabriella holding on to my arm? Like a Rottweiler, you said, and, mate, you’re not wrong. In truth, the only thing that has eluded me is why Gabi married you and not your brother. I mean, Tibor was everything you weren’t. He was sharp, courageous, resourceful, a real character. Gabi had many of the same qualities.’

  ‘She still has them, Neil,’ said Milos quietly.

  ‘All the more reason why she should have given you the flick and taken off with your brother.’

  ‘That’s enough, you two. Here comes Gancio with our coffee.’ Gabriella leaned towards Neil so that Gancio could serve her.

  ‘Do you still wish Milos had told another story?’ asked Ramon.

  ‘No. I still wish I’d been allowed to tell my story. This hasn’t exactly been a bundle of laughs.’

  ‘Our lives haven’t exactly been a bundle of laughs,’ said Gabriella. ‘But, Neil, are you better off for having heard our story, for having sat through the sifting of our baggage? Have you learned anything?’

  ‘Learned anything?’

  ‘Yes.’ Gabriella put her hand over his. ‘We have opened our hearts. We have admitted you into our past. A past we’ve kept locked away for more than fifty years. Does it mean anything to you?’

  ‘I’m sorry I ever used the word “baggage”. I’m sorry Milos chose to tell this story. I’ve seen the effect it has had on you and on Milos. But it has also had an effect on me and I admit it. I’m accustomed to going home after our Thursday lunches buoyed up and stimulated. Some of the women I’ve lived with have even been jealous of the lunches — I come home so high and happy. But this story, your story, it’s something else. Particularly with you sitting here. I know Milos also did it tough, but you went through the camps and the selections. You survived Auschwitz. My current live-in isn’t jealous of these lunches; she pities me. She sees them as an ordeal and wonders why I put myself through them.’

  ‘Explain,’ said Ramon.

  ‘I take the story home with me, I can’t get it out of my head.’ Neil made the admission sound like a shameful confession. ‘The things that happened to Gabi … I don’t know. My girlfriend accuses me of not listening to her, of ignoring her. Sometimes after our lunches we go out to a movie but I can’t even remember what we saw; I drift off. All I see is Gabi abandoned on the station at Krakow, or hearing her name called out in Theresienstadt. I see her walking home across Europe, starving and alone, trying to survive the Russians. I guess I kind of always knew this sort of stuff went on but having Gabi sitting here beside me really brought it home. You ask have I learned anything? Yes. I have.’

  ‘What?’ asked Gabriella softly. She took Neil’s hand in hers. ‘What exactly have you learned?’

  ‘I’ve learned not to come here when Milos is telling a story.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Milos was not just relegated to second fiddle, he was knocked completely off the podium. When he insisted it was too dangerous for Tibor to sleep in the house, Gabriella overruled him and gave up her bed. Once more Milos found himself sharing the barn with the pigs and the mare. If Gabriella’s life had lacked purpose since her return, she found it in nursing Tibor. She threw herself into the task with the same enthusiasm she’d shown when they’d made the preserves, but this time her dedication was overlapped with genuine concern and affection. She slept on the floor alongside his bed, exactly as Milos had done for her. When Tibor’s fever raged, she was there to soothe his brow with damp cloths. When he was beset by bouts of shivering, she used her body to give him warmth. She spoon-fed him, read to him and changed the dressing on his wounds. Tibor became the focus of her every waking moment. The only thing she didn’t do
was bathe him because Aunt Klari ruled that inappropriate for an unmarried woman and washed him herself.

  Christmas approached but Milos no longer viewed it as a Christmas to remember, rather, one to regret. The spring wedding no longer seemed inevitable. When he joined Gabriella and Tibor in the tiny bedroom he felt he was intruding and was assailed by the same feelings of inadequacy and not belonging he’d experienced as a child. He felt excluded from their orbit.

  Apart from a little seepage from the exit wound where the bullet had passed through his shoulder, Tibor’s main problems were a bad cold, residual infection and exhaustion. After five days, although too weak to get out of bed, he was able to sit propped up by pillows and tell parts of his story.

  ‘I was stitched up by a vet who was the son of a stationmaster. He claimed he’d treated wounded soldiers during the war and that bullet holes held no mystery for him. He cut me open so he could stitch me up inside then sewed me back together. Afterwards he gave me a bag of oats and told me not to roll in the sandpit for a week.’

  ‘What about anaesthetic?’ asked Milos.

  ‘Ah. If I’d known I was going to get shot I’d have taken some with me. And some American antibiotics.’ Tibor closed his eyes and put his head back. ‘Szilvapalinka. Plum brandy. That was my anaesthetic.’ He opened his eyes and smiled wanly. ‘Milos, let me tell you something. It doesn’t work.’

  ‘You poor thing,’ said Gabriella in horror.

  ‘But you have American antibiotics,’ said Milos. He picked up the bottle of pills next to the bed and tried to read the label.

  ‘I arranged a pick-up at Nyugati Station before he operated. You won’t believe how much they cost.’

  ‘Couldn’t you also have arranged to pick up some anaesthetic?’

  ‘The vet said the operation couldn’t wait, I’d lost too much blood. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if my nurse had been with me. Then I would have let them operate on both shoulders.’

  He smiled at Gabriella and squeezed her hand. She kissed him on his forehead. Milos could take no more and left to help Andras.