Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  I felt Tibor push past us and heard him talk softly to the hunters. I was too tired to listen and clung to Milos, my head on his shoulder, my eyes closed. For the first time I became aware of how bitterly cold it was. The cold air stung my face and burned when I sucked it down into my lungs. Milos held me tightly in his arms, sharing his warmth. He kept telling me to be strong and to be brave but his soft words were like a lullaby.

  ‘We have to leave the trail.’

  I wanted to cry out and object but Tibor, as usual, left no room for dissent. How could we leave the trail? I couldn’t imagine anything more difficult than the trail we were on. We walked on for a bit and then cut hard left uphill. The hunters seemed to be following some kind of path but as far as I could see there was no trail. Branches whipped off Milos and slashed me across the face and body. My coat protected my body but nothing protected my face. I tried to fend the branches off with my hands but how can you fend off something you can’t see? I pulled my hat as far down as I could and buried my head deep into the collar of my coat. I gave up trying to fend off branches and clung to the back of Milos’s coat. He towed me up the hill, kept my aching, weary legs moving. I kept telling myself that Mount Nagy-Milic was only nine hundred metres high. How many metres could there possibly be left to climb?

  An hour passed but the detour brought the hunters no comfort. I could hear them muttering and arguing again. But at least the going had become easier as the hornbeam and larches gave way to ash. The hunters stopped once more and just ahead of them I could see the outline of a ridge. We’d made it! We’d reached the top. I collapsed to the ground and slipped my pack off. Milos lay down beside me, the two of us gasping for air. I could hear Tibor arguing once more with the hunters. I heard Janos say how they’d followed pig trails but had found no sign of pigs. Why had there been no startled pigs or deer crashing away from them through the forest? Where were the animals? Laszlo crept up to the edge of the ridge and lay peering into the dark on the other side.

  ‘Drink.’ It was Tibor. He knelt over me with a bottle. ‘Have some barack. It’ll help fight off the cold.’

  I took a sip of the fiery liquid and another. I could feel a glow all the way down to my belly. It also seemed to clear my head. I passed the bottle to Milos who gave me a bottle of water in exchange. The water was freezing. I don’t think I could have drunk it if it wasn’t for the barack.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ I asked.

  ‘There shouldn’t be,’ said Tibor.

  ‘But is there?’

  ‘I don’t know. We have a steep descent before we rejoin the trails. That is the source of the dispute. Our friends do not believe the trails are safe. They are convinced there are border patrols and that the border patrols have scared off the animals. I believe that is unlikely. However, we have no choice. The trails bisect our path; at the very least we must cross them. But we’ll reach our boat a lot sooner if we use them. So that is what we will do.’

  Tibor rose and rejoined the hunters, placating them with his barack.

  I tried to listen in but the barack and my weariness got the better of me. The next thing I knew Milos was shaking me.

  ‘Gabi! Wake up! Wake up!’

  Unbelievably I’d fallen asleep, for how long I don’t know. Everyone was waiting for me. Just as I got to my feet I heard the sound I feared most in the world. Not even the entire bottle of barack could have prepared me for it.

  ‘Dogs!’ Tibor spat out the word and charged towards the two hunters. ‘Scum! Who did you tell?’

  ‘No one! We told no one!’ Janos was quick with the denial.

  ‘I should shoot you and leave you here!’

  Tibor was carrying a gun? Something in the hardness of his voice convinced me, and doubtless the hunters too, that he was prepared to use it. Milos let go of my arm and confronted his brother.

  ‘Tibor, we have no time for this.’

  Tibor ignored Milos. ‘How much did the AVO pay you?’ Janos spat in disgust. Laszlo took a frightened step backwards.

  ‘Who are you? Why do the AVO want you?’ Laszlo turned on his cousin. ‘Janos, who are these people?’

  To my relief Tibor started laughing and put his gun away.

  ‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘Now get us to the boat. Try to run away and I will shoot you. Understand? Now let’s go. Milos, hold on to Gabi. Don’t let her fall. If she falls we all die.’

  The hunters leapt over the ridge with Tibor hard on their heels. Milos grabbed me and we followed. I had never been so terrified in my life, not even in the camps. I could see nothing and the hillside was so steep I kept stumbling. We slid as much as ran. How Milos held me up I don’t know. I thought we were making good progress, despite everything, but the voices ahead of us were getting fainter all the time. I could hear Tibor yelling at the hunters to slow down.

  ‘Come on, Gabi, come on!’ Milos was yelling at me but I was going as fast as I could. My legs were like rubber, I had no control over them. They let go when I needed them to be firm.

  ‘Stop!’

  Janos and Laszlo were standing in our way.

  ‘Give me the girl,’ said Janos. He ripped my rucksack off and threw it to Laszlo. He picked me up as though I weighed nothing and slung me over his shoulders, the way I suppose he carried the deer he’d shot. ‘Try to keep up,’ he said to Milos and started to run.

  We plunged down the mountainside so quickly I was sure he’d trip and we’d both be killed. Again branches whipped across my face and I was powerless to prevent them. Behind us I could hear the chilling baying of the dogs. Suddenly I was praying that Janos would run faster. I was less scared of falling than of the dogs. But his breath was coming hard. He stumbled, cursed and lurched to his right. I could feel his body twist, to protect me, I suppose, but he was only partially successful. His shoulder slammed into a tree and so did my face. My mouth filled with blood but I felt more numbness than pain. Someone fell behind us and called out. It had to have been Milos but I didn’t respond, couldn’t respond.

  ‘Keep going, keep going.’

  I recognised Tibor’s voice. He was also behind us. I assumed he was helping Milos back to his feet. I found my voice and called out, ‘Milos!’

  His name came out all thick and fuzzy but he heard me. ‘I’m okay!’ he yelled back. ‘Keep going!’

  Janos carried me until we reached a trail. He was a big strong man but the effort of running with me over his shoulders had exhausted him. He put me down.

  ‘You must run now,’ he said.

  ‘I want to go back for Milos.’

  ‘No!’ said Janos sharply. ‘You must run! Run with me. Your friends are coming. Listen!’

  Sure enough I could hear twigs breaking and leaves scrunching underfoot. Two people were cursing. Two! That was good enough for me. I turned and ran, Janos holding my arm, pulling, dragging me. Blood blocked my nose and filled my mouth. I spat like a man just so I could breathe. Suddenly there was a burst of gunfire and I couldn’t help crying out.

  ‘Keep running!’ said Janos. ‘For God’s sake keep running!’

  But Milos was behind me. They were shooting at him. No matter what happened I wanted to be with him. If he got shot then I wanted to be shot with him. I couldn’t imagine life without him. But all the time Janos had hold of my arm. Dragging me, pulling me, making me run. The track steepened without warning. I nearly fell.

  ‘We’ve made it, we’ve made it!’ said Janos.

  We were running into a clearing and I thought it must be Czechoslovakia. But suddenly I found myself knee deep in water and the dark shape ahead of me was our boat. Laszlo was holding on to it, as though preventing the boatman from rowing away into the darkness. Janos lifted me up and threw me into the boat. The impact knocked out what little air was left in my lungs. I lay there, hurting, gasping for air and weeping, when another burst of gunfire split the night. I saw the flashes and heard the sharp agonised cry.

  ‘One of your friends has been shot!’

  ‘N
o!’ I tried to get up but Janos held me down. I lifted my head as high as I could so I could see over the side of the boat. Someone had been shot. Milos or Tibor? Someone was coming. Milos or Tibor? I heard the splash as running legs hit the water. Heard the shouts of the pursuers, so close now. Heard more gunfire. I could make out the shape of someone just metres away. Milos or Tibor? I couldn’t tell. But I wanted with all my heart for it to be Milos. Dear God, let it be Milos! Please let it be Milos! I don’t know if I spoke my plea out loud or just prayed to a sympathetic God. Any God!

  Whoever it was, Janos grabbed him and hauled him into the boat. I heard a thump as he landed in the bottom, heard the rasp of his breath. The oars bit into the water and the boatman pulled us out towards the centre of the river. Soldiers were shouting at us and firing their weapons.

  ‘Milos? Milos?’ I was shouting. I had to know.

  I heard a groan and immediately wanted to die.

  ‘They shot Milos,’ said Tibor. ‘The bastards! They killed him.’

  ‘You’re Tibor?’ Neil turned the question into an accusation.

  ‘I have suspected this,’ said Ramon. ‘That is why you chose to use the third person.’

  ‘You are Tibor?’ asked Lucio. He also was clearly shaken.

  ‘Does it make any difference?’ Milos pushed back his chair. ‘I am Milos to you.’ He put his arms around Gabriella, who had buried her face in her hands, and gently lifted her to her feet. ‘Come along, Gabi. We are both tired. Besides, our friends have a lot to discuss.’

  ‘Is this the end of the story?’ asked Ramon.

  ‘No. The story ends next week.’

  The three friends sat silently, each with his own thoughts, while Milos led Gabriella from the restaurant.

  ‘Milos is Tibor?’ said Neil. ‘Bastard!’

  FIFTH THURSDAY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Who will be telling the story today?’ asked Ramon. ‘You or Gabi?’

  ‘Gabi will begin. She has yet to tell you about the eggs. I will take over to finish the story.’

  ‘What do we call you?’ said Neil. ‘Milos or Tibor?’

  ‘You call me what you have always called me,’ said Milos. ‘Milos is the name on my passport. It is the name on my driver’s licence, my credit cards and my Medicare card. I am Milos. If you want proof I will show you.’

  ‘Yes, but you know, and now we know, that you’re really Tibor.’

  ‘I am who my papers say I am,’ said Milos. ‘No purpose is served by calling me by any other name.’

  ‘Will Gabi continue her story while we have our lunch?’ asked Ramon.

  ‘No,’ said Milos. ‘We will eat our lunch and then Gabi will begin. The day will be hard enough for her as it is.’

  They ate in brooding silence. It was hard to come to terms with Milos’s switch of identity. His friends felt betrayed.

  The Hernad River is fed by melting snow from the Carpathian Mountains. In spring it is in full flood and the current flows swiftly. That is what saved us. It swept us away into the night. Away from the dogs and the soldiers. Away from Hungary. Away from my poor Milos. Janos had to sit on me so I couldn’t jump overboard and try to swim back to the shore. I wanted to hold my Milos one more time, kiss him one more time, look into his beautiful face. But no one listened to me. No one took any notice. Milos was dead, we were alive. Staying alive was all that mattered.

  Janos sat on me until we reached the opposite shore in Czechoslovakia. He lifted me up then and held me tightly against his chest. I don’t know how long he held me but I cried until I thought my heart would burst. It could not have been long. I was just a girl, a weak link in a dangerous game. Time was precious and they had none to waste on my tears.

  Janos, Laszlo and the boatman pulled the boat up onto the river bank and hid it among bushes. The boatman wanted to stay with his boat but Janos insisted he came with us until we found our Czechoslovakian contacts. He and Laszlo had to get back across the river and they didn’t want the boatman losing his nerve and going without them. Tibor was worried that the contacts had heard the gunfire and decided not to wait around. Czechoslovakia also had border guards and there was no reason to expect they’d be any friendlier. We had to tread carefully but we made noise blundering through the Czech forest; at least, I did. Every step took me away from Milos and I resisted. I think they were all losing patience with me when our contacts found us.

  ‘What happened?’ they asked the boatman.

  ‘Border patrol,’ he replied. ‘One man was killed.’

  One man was killed. That was all my Milos meant to them.

  ‘Tell them they still pay for three.’

  The boatman turned to Tibor who quickly agreed. He must have been still in shock over Milos’s death because what he did next was both ill-considered and dangerous. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. He gave some money to Janos.

  ‘My friend, I apologise that I doubted you. It is more than we agreed. But for you, we would all be dead.’

  Janos pulled Tibor close as though to embrace him but instead whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Go carefully,’ he said. ‘These men are Slavs. They are not to be trusted. Look after the girl.’ He turned to me and took my hands in his. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Then he, Laszlo and the boatman disappeared back into the forest, back to Hungary.

  ‘Pay now,’ said one of the Slavs. He couldn’t have seen much in the dark but he’d seen enough. ‘Pay double. Shooting.’

  Tibor peeled off a few notes. ‘You get that now. More later.’

  ‘No!’ said the Slav. ‘Now! Pay double!’

  Tibor slammed his fist into the man’s jaw. The Slav didn’t see the punch coming and was totally unprepared. He hit the ground hard as he fell. Tibor grabbed the other Slav by the throat.

  ‘Pick him up,’ he snarled.

  As soon as Tibor let go the Slav picked up his fallen comrade.

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Tibor. ‘No more trouble.’ He thumped his fist into the palm of his other hand to make his point.

  The Slavs led off with Tibor following close behind and me hanging on to his coat for dear life. The darkness was near absolute and tears filled my eyes but Tibor was close enough for me to notice what was missing. At some point he’d got rid of his rucksack, probably so he could run faster. My rucksack weighed heavily on my back but my heart was heavier. We were climbing again but on reasonably wide trails. Czechoslovakia seemed no different to the Hungary we had just left. Why would anyone shoot my Milos just for wanting to cross a river?

  I knew we were heading for Kosice and I also knew how far away that city was. It seemed an impossible distance. The loss of Milos, the exertion and the cold had all taken a toll on me. Tibor took my rucksack and threw it over his shoulder. That helped but not enough. Every step was an effort and every one felt like my last. I don’t know how my legs kept supporting me, how they knew what to do. I didn’t want to go to Kosice. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to be with my Milos. I wanted to die.

  I don’t know how long we walked but eventually the Slavs led us to an abandoned stable with only half a roof. The stable had fared better than the house, which had been reduced to rubble, but not much better. Still, it provided shelter from the wind and the chance to lie down and rest. I dropped down onto a pile of straw the moment I was inside, wanting to curl up and give my frozen body a chance to thaw out. I wanted to be left alone to weep, to weep until I fell asleep. But Tibor kicked my leg. Suddenly any thoughts of sleep vanished. His warning was unmistakeable.

  One of the Slavs found and lit an oil lamp. The chimney was full of dust and cobwebs but the lamp threw enough light for me to see that the other was holding a solid length of timber like a club. The man with the lamp hung it on a hook dangling from a beam above his head. He pulled out a knife. They didn’t say anything. They had no need to. Their intentions were plain: they’d brought us here to kill us. Now that I could see the men they terrified me. Their skin was dark and we
athered, their hair and beards as black as the night. Their black eyes showed no compassion.

  I dived behind Tibor for protection. As I landed my knee cracked painfully on a broken cart handle buried in the straw. Maybe it was a plough handle, I don’t know. But it hurt and I cried out. One of the Slavs laughed. Tibor raised his hands chest high, placatingly.

  ‘This isn’t necessary,’ he said. ‘You want money, I give you money. See? See, I give you money?’ He reached into the inside pocket of his coat. I expected him to pull out a wad of money but instead he pulled out a gun. Tibor carried a gun! He pointed it at the man with the club.

  The Slav holding the knife leapt at Tibor, slashing with his knife. He was so quick, this man, so fast. Tibor parried with his left arm just as the knife flashed towards his throat. There was a deafening explosion and the man reeled backwards. Tibor turned towards the man with the club but he was too slow. The club smashed into his shoulder and Tibor fell. I heard the gun fall from his hand. The Slav was shouting at Tibor and swinging his club. Tibor kept rolling and the blows thudded into his body and arms. But the beating he was taking was fearful. He tried to roll away but his body jammed up against some collapsed timbers. I could see he was trapped. The Slav grinned and raised his club, lining up Tibor’s head for the final fatal blow.

  I grabbed the plough handle and leapt to my feet. I was behind them so the Slav couldn’t see what was happening. I swung that plough handle with all my strength and smashed it against the man’s head. He fell to his knees, dazed but by no means beaten. He turned to look at me, his face a mixture of pain and fury. I hit him again and he fell to the ground. I couldn’t help myself. I stood over him and smashed the handle into his head over and over again. Over and over and over. Each blow made the same sickening sound. Like the cracking of eggs.