Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  ‘It’s time for me to move out,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Gabriella, alarmed.

  ‘It’s not safe for me to remain here. And not safe for you either.’

  ‘But you’re not strong enough,’ she protested.

  ‘What’s this?’ Aunt Klari squeezed into the tiny room.

  ‘This is not a safe place for me to hide,’ said Tibor.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Milos. ‘I have been saying this all along. The gendarmes have already come here looking for him. They may well come again. Besides, we’re not the only people who know Tibor is hiding here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about my friend,’ said Tibor. ‘Even if the AVO torture him he will never tell. You see, he has many secrets, dark secrets, and I know them all. If he betrays me he knows I will get my revenge. The AVO have many unpleasant ways of killing and he would certainly experience one of them.’

  ‘Then why move?’ asked Gabriella.

  ‘Like Milos says, the gendarmes or AVO will be back. They won’t give up looking for me. When they’ve looked everywhere else they’ll come back.’

  ‘Why, what have you done?’

  ‘Sit down, Gabriella. There are things I haven’t told you.’

  Gabriella sat on the edge of his bed.

  ‘When the AVO raided the warehouse where we were unloading the coal, a lot of people got killed. My deputy, Pal Szarbo, was killed. So were some of Benke’s men. Some AVO officers were also killed and for that they hold me responsible.’

  ‘Did you kill anyone yourself?’ asked Milos.

  ‘That’s the thing,’ said Tibor. ‘That’s why I can’t stay here.’ He looked directly at Milos. ‘I killed Sandor Kiraly.’

  ‘You what?’ said Milos.

  ‘I killed Sandor Kiraly,’ said Tibor evenly.

  ‘Sandor!’ Gabriella stared at him in horror. ‘How? Why? What was he doing there?’

  ‘I saw him at the station when he left for Budapest,’ said Milos. ‘He told me he was joining the gendarmes.’

  ‘He joined the AVO.’

  ‘But why kill him?’ said Gabriella.

  ‘I had no choice. Sandor was never very bright but he was a tough kid and as brave as they come. I was trying to escape. My driver was dead and the AVO were chasing me in their cars. I guess they put Sandor on the gate to keep him out of harm’s way while he was gaining experience. I wasn’t supposed to get that far; they should have killed me as I left the warehouse. God knows, they tried hard enough. Sandor stepped out into the middle of the road and, as calm as you like, started taking shots at me with his rifle. I had no choice but to aim the car at him.’

  ‘You ran him over?’

  ‘No, Milos. He jumped out of the way but my car doors were open and swinging uncontrollably. One of them hit him. End of story.’

  ‘So it was self-defence?’ said Gabriella.

  ‘I doubt the AVO see it that way. Besides, it gets more complicated.’

  ‘How?’ asked Milos sharply.

  ‘There was a photograph in the newspaper of two AVO officers inspecting the scene; one was a senior officer called Major Bogati. His reputation is fearsome. He calls himself Major but he is far more senior than that. He gets about in a Zis and only very senior officers enjoy that privilege. Alongside him was a man described as the case officer. A lieutenant. I recognised his rat face immediately.’

  ‘Istvan!’ said Milos. The name came out more as a hiss than a word.

  ‘We should have killed him, Milos, when we had the chance. That little prick has the ear of Major Bogati. He’s not going to rest until he has me slow-roasting on a spit.’

  ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you tell us this sooner?’ snapped Milos. ‘You’ve endangered us all.’

  ‘What could I have done?’

  ‘You could have told us so we could have hidden you somewhere else. Aunt Jutka’s, for example. She’s perfectly capable of looking after you. You put us all in danger.’

  ‘Will she take me?’

  ‘Of course she will take you,’ said Aunt Klari.

  ‘Then take me there now,’ said Tibor.

  ‘I’ll help Andras get the sleigh ready,’ said Milos. He left in disgust.

  ‘So this is where you sleep?’

  ‘It is comfortable,’ said Milos.

  ‘It reminds me of where I slept before I went to Budapest. The difference is, I had to live with cows farting. You have to live with pigs and a mare.’

  ‘I am used to it.’

  ‘Really?’ Istvan smiled thinly. ‘Then who sleeps on the floor alongside the bed in the small bedroom?’

  ‘Gabi has nightmares. About the camps.’

  ‘When did you learn your brother was in trouble?’

  ‘My brother has been in trouble for years.’

  ‘When did you learn he was on the run?’

  ‘Matyas told me. You remember Matyas from school? He’s a gendarme now. He came looking for Tibor.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Not much. Only that the AVO had tried to trap him and that he’d managed to escape. That’s why he came to look under our beds.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  ‘You mean there’s more?’

  ‘Yes, there’s more.’

  Istvan turned so that his eyes looked directly into Milos’s. He looked for indications of nervousness, prior knowledge, curiosity, anything that would give him a hint how Milos was thinking. There was a time when Milos had been transparent but that time was long gone. The trembling boy in the oversized railwayman’s uniform and the young man now fielding his questions could be two entirely different people. Milos met his gaze and revealed nothing.

  ‘Tibor killed my brother.’

  ‘Tibor what?’

  ‘Killed Sandor.’ His eyes bored into Milos’s. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know.’

  ‘Tibor killed Sandor? How? When? Matyas said nothing.’

  ‘You link the two events — the AVO trap and Sandor’s death. Why?’

  Milos hesitated fractionally. Istvan sensed the indecision.

  ‘You said there was more. I assumed one followed the other.’

  Istvan stared into Milos’s eyes unblinking.

  ‘You are quite correct. I did say there was more and the two events are connected.’

  ‘I thought so because Sandor had joined the gendarmes. Like Matyas.’

  ‘Who told you Sandor had joined the gendarmes?’

  ‘Sandor.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I saw him at the station. When he was leaving for Budapest.’

  ‘He joined the AVO. He was taking part in the operation. Your brother drove his car at him, knocked him down and dragged him along the road and across a railway line. When Sandor broke free of the car your brother stopped and drove back over him. Back and forth until he’d killed him.’

  ‘That’s a lie! Tibor can’t drive.’

  ‘Can’t drive? How do you know if you haven’t seen him for two years?’

  ‘He had a driver. He boasted about it. He had no need to drive.’

  ‘When did you last try to contact him?’

  ‘After I saw Matyas. The same day.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I rang from the station. I ring a number, leave a message and Tibor calls back.’

  ‘Did you leave a message?’

  ‘No. The person who answered the phone gave the wrong signal.’

  ‘And you haven’t heard from Tibor since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I have information that he came home for Christmas.’ Milos laughed. ‘Tibor was never a Jew and only nominally a Catholic.’

  ‘He came here because he was wounded and needed help.’

  ‘Tibor was wounded?’

  ‘Yes. Judging by the amount of blood in the car, I’d say quite badly.’

  ‘How badly, for God’s sake?’

  ‘Badly, but not badly enough.’

  ‘Then he’d go to a d
octor. If he was wounded this is the last place he’d come.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He wouldn’t do anything that would put us in danger.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me and Gabi.’

  ‘You and Gabi. It was always Tibor and Gabi. Could he have come back for the girl? The two of them were like that.’ Istvan crossed two fingers and held them up to Milos’s face, taunting him.

  ‘Now Gabi and I are like that.’

  ‘Really? I made a mistake, Milos Heyman.’ Istvan stared at Milos thoughtfully. ‘I should have interviewed the girl. I still might. Not in this cosy little barn you no longer sleep in but at AVO headquarters. If anyone has anything to say they are usually more than eager to tell us there.’

  ‘Leave her alone. She’s suffered enough.’

  ‘Perhaps she has. But you, Milos Heyman, you haven’t.’

  Istvan turned and dropped expertly down the ladder to the floor of the barn, leaving Milos gasping for air like a stranded carp. Milos slumped down on the bed, heart pounding. It had never occurred to him that the AVO might use Gabriella to get to him. Just the thought of Gabriella in Istvan’s hands terrified him to the point of paralysis. He knew the threat had not been made idly; Gabriella was his weakness and Istvan had recognised it instantly. Somehow he had to get Gabriella beyond his reach and soon.

  Andras glanced anxiously at the sky but it told him nothing he didn’t already know. High thin clouds put a yellow cast through the pale blue and the sun shone weakly from the south-east, powerless to prevent the temperature plummeting. Andras hoped anyone watching would regard his mission as prudent, but doubted it. The first big storm of winter was imminent. He knew, his mare hauling the bags of pig feed on the sleigh knew, and so did every living animal between them and Siberia. But he’d been left little choice. He shook his head. Once Milos had calmed down and thought things over, his logic had been unarguable. Tibor had to know and Andras was the only one in a position to tell him.

  The mare spotted the farmhouse ahead and quickened her pace. The sooner she did her job, the sooner she’d be back in the warmth and safety of the barn. The prospect of lightening her load was all the encouragement she needed. Her breath steamed from her nostrils in twin jets.

  Aunt Jutka’s husband, Ferenc, emerged from the cottage to help carry the pig feed into the barn. He shot one quizzical look at Andras and wisely decided not to pursue his curiosity.

  ‘How are you, my friend?’ he said instead.

  ‘Cold. How’s the boy?’ asked Andras.

  Ferenc’s wry grin was all the answer Andras needed. He could imagine Tibor entertaining them with his stories. Winter was a time for sitting around indoors and repairing things. A good storyteller could fill the hours and make winter pass more quickly, particularly if the stories were new and exciting.

  ‘Take two bags,’ said Andras. ‘I need to talk to him.’

  Ferenc nodded.

  Andras took off his boots and entered the cottage. He left his coat on because he didn’t intend staying any longer than it took to impart his message. The warmth inside made his face sting. He pulled a chair over to Tibor who was sitting in front of the fire reading.

  ‘Do you know why engine drivers and firemen don’t freeze?’ said Tibor. ‘They have a firebox to keep them warm. All you have is the wrong end of a horse.’

  Andras pulled off his gloves and held his hands out towards the fire. Aunt Jutka brought him some fiery plum brandy which he downed in one swallow. He paused a moment to allow its warmth to infuse his body.

  ‘I have a message for you from Milos.’ Andras told Tibor about Istvan’s visit. ‘Milos believes the threat to Gabriella was an attempt to scare him into doing something rash.’

  ‘Like contacting me.’

  ‘Exactly. He said we had to assume he was being watched.’

  ‘Why didn’t he also assume you were being watched?’

  ‘He did. He made me wait two days and deliver pig feed to three farms before coming here.’

  Tibor smiled. ‘My little brother is learning. Tell him to stay calm. I’ll think of a way to draw attention off him. Tell him I think his assessment is right: Istvan was just fishing. Nevertheless, for the time being you should continue to assume someone’s keeping an eye on you.’

  Ferenc came in and poured Andras another plum brandy.

  ‘If you are staying I’ll put the mare in the barn. If not you’d better go. The wind is beginning to pick up.’

  ‘I’ll go.’ Andras stood and shook hands with Tibor. ‘Milos wants to leave Hungary as soon as possible.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Tibor. ‘First we have to wait for spring. Then we have to mislead the AVO. We will leave together.’

  Andras turned and walked to the door. Tibor called after him.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Uncle. Could you stop off at one more farm before you go home?’

  ‘That was always my intention.’ As Andras pulled on his boots he could hear the mare stamping and snorting impatiently. Charcoal clouds green-hued with snow gathered in the east.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Tibor waited until April before putting his plan into action. His old friend with the horse and cart smuggled him into Sarospatak under the cover of night. The following morning he walked to the station wearing the cap and uniform of a railway guard. He made one phone call using Geza Apro’s phone, then boarded the train for Budapest.

  Now that preparation for their escape was under way, Tibor hoped his brother would calm down. All through winter Milos had been impatient, fearing a knock on the door. Only the storms had brought respite, causing every living soul to take shelter, and not even the AVO had dared venture out. Milos had wanted to make their bid for freedom in winter, arguing that the AVO would not be expecting them to try then. Tibor had countered that neither could they expect to survive if a storm blew up. Andras had backed Tibor and Milos had given in.

  Whenever the weather cleared, Milos had kept himself busy selling pigs, taking gold in preference to cash so he’d have something to trade once they crossed the border. With Tibor no longer his major customer, Milos had to travel to the markets at Satoraljaujhely and Miskolc to sell his pigs. From Tibor’s point of view, it was exactly the diversion his younger brother needed.

  Tibor travelled towards Budapest well aware that he could no longer use any of his safe houses or hideaways. Pal Szarbo had been killed but some of his men had been captured. He had to assume the AVO had extracted every piece of information they could from them, and that every part of his previous enterprise had been compromised. He also had to assume that men he had trusted had been turned by the AVO and released to act as informants in the event that he returned. Indeed, he was counting on the fact.

  As the train approached the outskirts of Budapest, it slowed deliberately to allow Tibor to jump off. All the stations were seeded with informers and AVO officers trained to look for people considered to be enemies of the state. Even in the guard’s uniform, Tibor could not be certain that he wouldn’t be identified. He ran from the train straight into a stand of trees. He’d chosen the spot for its isolation, but still he paused to see if there was anyone about who might have noticed him. Despite the risks he faced, he couldn’t help smiling. His senses were reawakening to the thrill of danger. For the first time in months he felt alive. He was back where he belonged, tap-dancing on the edge.

  Satisfied that he’d slipped off the train undetected, he changed into street clothes, put on a heavy overcoat and hat, and made his way west towards a line of poplars that marked the course of a stream. Although the water level was high the stream had carved a deep enough vee through the flat farmland to provide cover. Tibor made straight for the road half a kilometre ahead. It led to a small village which was unremarkable in every respect except that it had a tractor repair shop. All going well, the shop was Tibor’s rendezvous. Despite the anonymity of the hat and coat, he felt uncomfortably out of place. His clothes were appropriate for the streets of Budapest
but not suited to a quiet back road leading into an insignificant village.

  Tibor had only four hundred metres to cover between the stream and the village and he walked them as quickly as he could. He knew from previous experience that no gendarmes were posted in the village and it was rarely visited by them. It simply wasn’t worth their attention. Nevertheless, any exposure brought risk and he had no reason to believe that the village didn’t have its share of informers. Once the fields gave way to houses, Tibor slowed his pace. The village was built around two main streets which bisected each other. He had to turn right at the intersection and walk eighty metres to the tractor repair shop. He forced himself to relax, turned the corner and immediately wished he’d been more circumspect. There was a car parked outside the tractor shop, a black Poboda, the kind provided to mid-ranking officers of the AVO. However, Pobodas weren’t used by the AVO exclusively and the car could just as easily belong to the owner of the repair shop or one of his customers. Tibor proceeded cautiously, scanning both sides of the street, doorways and gardens for anyone who looked out of place. All he saw were two old women carrying shopping, their faces grim within heavy scarves. They ignored him. He kept walking, senses on high alert.

  ‘Tibor Heyman?’

  Tibor froze. Despite everything, they’d managed to catch him unawares. He’d been focusing on the car, trying to determine if there was a driver sitting at the wheel, when the two men had slipped out of hiding and come up behind him. Each took an arm and marched him to the Poboda. Yes, there was a driver. That should have warned him. The two men pushed him into the rear and sat either side of him. Their coats and hats were typically AVO.

  ‘Drive!’ ordered one of the men.

  Neither had drawn a weapon on him and Tibor admired their restraint. Killers of AVO officers were not usually accorded such civility.

  ‘Where are you taking me? Andrassy Street?’

  Neither man replied, although one allowed a grim smile. When they drove into Pest one of them pulled Tibor’s hat down hard over his head and forced him down in the seat. He could no longer see where they were going and wondered why they hadn’t simply blindfolded him. What didn’t they want him to see? Maybe they were taking him to a secret place for interrogating prisoners who weren’t expected to live much longer. But that was true of Andrassy Street, of all the gaols. He heard a mournful wail which he recognised instantly as belonging to the tug boats which propelled barges along the Danube. Why were they taking him across the river into Buda? Almost immediately the car began to slow. It turned sharply and pulled to a stop.