The Angel Makers

by Jessica Gregson

  Sari is neither, though she goes down to the camp with the other woman to say goodbye. She is genuinely fond of some of the men, particularly Bruno, who had been a good friend of Marco’s, and Umberto, despite, or perhaps because of his buoyant idiocy. She feels pleasantly removed from the emotion surrounding her – she’s had her turn, and she’s done what she has to do. But she understands now Judit’s voyeuristic interest in the affairs of others and she can’t deny that she’ll be interested to see what comes next.

  Things change so quickly. It’s as if the Italians leave overnight and the village contracts to cover their absence. The Gazdag house stands empty and its emptiness seems to change its entire character. It now squats malignantly on the outskirts of the village, and Sari finds that she can’t bear to look at it at night, as its black windows remind her of the still eyes of corpses. Too many ghosts, she thinks, and it’s true that the two ghosts most likely to haunt her both have connections with the place. She has no desire to bump into the insubstantial forms of either Ferenc or Marco.

  She’s sure by now that the Gazdags are never going to come back to the village, crammed as it is with memories of Ferenc, and she wonders what they will do instead – sell the house, or install a caretaker? She hopes for the former, for while she could always stay out of the caretaker’s way, she would far prefer that the Gazdag family sever all ties with the village, to leave her and her baby in peace.

  The village seems quiet and brittle, almost at a loss without the Italians. Even those few people who never formed personal attachments with any of the prisoners realised the village was enlivened by their presence, and there’s nothing to do now but wait until their own soldiers come home.

  And then they come. At first in a trickle and then in a gush, the men come home. Sari and Judit watch it happening, Judit with prurient glee, and Sari with detached curiosity and a modicum of sympathy. The village breathes out as it expands to receive the returning men, and the visual change is immediate and startling. They seem to be everywhere, and the first market day after their return Sari is struck by it.

  She hasn’t been to the market for a while, as Judit has insisted that she stay home rather than risk the baby, but Judit relents and lets Sari accompany her this time, to satisfy her curiosity. The change is immediately noticeable, more as a taste in the air than anything more tangible and Sari instantly feels uncomfortable. Looking down, she realises that she and the other women of the village have become used to dressing in a rather more casual way since the men have been gone, and now she feels embarrassed and exposed.

  There aren’t many men around, as the market is traditionally the women’s domain, but every now and then she catches sight of a man on a porch, or a glimpse through a window. The main change is in the behaviour of the women. There’s little laughter about, none of the bawdy jokes that have become common currency in the past few years. Everyone is acting like children on their best behaviour. There’s a sense of unsettlement, as if everyone is watching everyone else to see how they are dealing with the change, as if no one is quite sure how this is going to work out yet.

  Then Sari catches sight of Anna out of the corner of her eye, and feels suddenly sick. Anna is sporting a series of livid purple bruises down one side of her face, but horrible as that is, it’s not what shocks Sari the most: it’s the change in every other aspect of Anna. Last time Sari saw her, she was tall and straight-backed, and now she seems to have lost inches in height as a result of a frightened hunch, as if her friend is denying her own existence, trying to disappear into herself, swallow herself up. Her hair swings loose and untidy over her face, and her clothing, while neat, is ugly, a dull, oldfashioned dress that Anna hasn’t worn at all since Károly has been away. The eyes of all the other women slide away from her, the way they used to do with Sari. Sari can’t bear to be a part of it.

  ‘Stay here,’ she says to Judit and approaches Anna, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  Anna jumps in a way that’s a painful reflection of Sari’s own behaviour at the start of the year, but to Sari’s surprise she doesn’t keep her head down or try to scurry away. Instead, she slowly raises her face until she’s looking straight at Sari. The extent of her injuries are revealed – her left eye is bloodshot and swollen mainly shut, her lip is split and when her mouth opens in a joyless smile, Sari notices a gap in her teeth that she’s sure wasn’t there before.

  ‘Hello, Sari,’ Anna says, her voice rasps slightly and an image springs into Sari’s mind, unpleasantly vivid, of a shadowy Károly gripping Anna around the throat.

  ‘You’ve hurt yourself, Anna,’ Sari says gently.

  Anna nods, wincing slightly.

  ‘Walked into a door,’ she says, each word unnaturally distinct as she manoeuvres her tongue around her swollen lip.

  As Sari raises her eyebrows in disbelief, Anna’s mouth quirks upwards in a supremely sarcastic smile. ‘Should be getting home,’ she says.

  ‘Wait! Do you want to come around to Judit’s? I could have a look at your face, give you something—’

  ‘More trouble than it’s worth, Sari,’ Anna replies. The travesty of a smile drops from her face so quickly that it’s as if it were never there. ‘I don’t know what to do. I thought that maybe the war would have made him better, but he’s worse than ever. Won’t leave me alone.’

  ‘Anna—’

  ‘Why couldn’t he have been killed? I’ve stopped believing in God, you know. Can’t believe in him, because I don’t want to believe in something that would let Lujza’s husband be killed, while bringing Károly back safe.’

  ‘Anna, please—’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Anna says abruptly. She swivels on her heels and walks away and Sari watches her go, thinking that if she didn’t know that it was Anna, she would never have recognised her from that cowed, nervous walk. Sari realises that she is shaking, and turns back to where Judit is standing, leaning on one hip, clearly having watched the entire encounter.

  ‘I’m going home,’ Sari says. She feels as if her legs won’t hold her up any longer.

  For the next few nights, Anna haunts her dreams – Anna dead, Anna being beaten by Károly, Anna being beaten by Ferenc – so when, three days later, Károly arrives at Judit’s door, she’s disoriented. She hasn’t seen him in the flesh for four years, but he’s been so lifelike in her head at night that she feels that she could draw him blindfolded, every crease, every mark on that stupid, craven little face.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asks. She knows she should be polite, that it’s only going to hurt Anna in the long run if she can’t be civil to this man’s face, but she feels as if she’s filled with rancid, boiling bile, and she can’t possibly keep it all in.

  ‘Where’s Judit?’ he asks.

  ‘She’s out. Looking after Zsofia Gyulai. Can I help?’ If it were anyone else, she would stand aside and let him into the house, but she can’t bear to do that with this man, not just because she loathes him, though that is part of it, but also because she doesn’t trust the way that he will behave alone in a house with her.

  ‘Can’t I come in?’

  ‘No.’

  He looks discomfited, glancing around to see if there’s anyone watching him, and Sari hopes that he’ll get spooked and leave. Let him come back when Judit’s there to deal with him, she thinks. But he doesn’t, and instead lifts his right arm.

  ‘It’s my hand. I hurt it, and it’s not healing properly.’

  His knuckles are bloody and scabbed, and the surrounding skin is flushed red with infection.

  ‘Wait there,’ Sari says, and without hearing his reply she slams the door and leans on it heavily. She must behave, she must, for Anna’s sake if nothing else, but Károly turning up at Judit’s house expecting treatment for a wound resulting from beating Anna, while she is covered in bruises and won’t dare to get help. She wants to spit in his face, slap him, rake her nails down his cheek, kick him where it hurts most.

  Moments later, when she ope
ns the door again, she halfexpects him to be gone, but he’s still there, a dumb, mulish expression on his face.

  ‘Here,’ she says, thrusting a bottle at him containing pounded, boiled anemone root. ‘Clean it with this. It should help.’ She pauses for a moment, wondering whether she dares. ‘You might want to offer some to Anna, too,’ she says at last, and is gratified when a flicker of uncertainty passes over his face.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Late in her pregnancy, Sari has taken to napping in the afternoon. She hates the way her previously energetic nature has been eroded, but she can’t fight the exhaustion that overwhelms her sometimes, and it’s yet another reason to look forward to the birth of the baby. So she’s sleeping when Anna comes to see her, and she’s woken by Judit gently shaking her shoulder.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Anna’s here. She says she wants to see you, and it’s urgent.’

  Sari is so comfortable; her feet have been hurting badly lately, and the thought of standing up again is far from pleasant. She groans.

  ‘Can’t you deal with it?’

  Judit shakes her head. ‘Sorry, love, but she says that I won’t do, that she has to see you – in private, too. Not sure what it’s all about. She looks rather battered about, but then, she always does these days.’ The scowl that crosses Judit’s face at these words makes Sari think that perhaps Judit wouldn’t have had the same compunction about not spitting in Károly’s face a few days before.

  Five minutes later, Sari’s heaved herself to her feet, and made a few token efforts to make herself presentable. Still grumpy about being woken up, she tells herself to behave as pleasantly as possible. After all, Anna’s having a tough time at the moment, and Sari’s sure that she wouldn’t have come to visit without genuine need, not after her words at the market the other day hinted that Károly wouldn’t want her coming there, so it wouldn’t do to be unfriendly.

  ‘Sorry to wake you, Sari,’ Anna says from where she is sitting at the table. Sari runs an eye over her as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. The bruises she’d had when Sari last saw her have faded to a liverish yellow, but she has a new bruise on her right cheek, some ugly-looking marks on her throat that make Sari suppress a shudder, and she seems to be carrying her left arm in an odd way, as if her shoulder has been wrenched. She looks bad, but no worse than she did the other day, so there are no obvious clues as to why she’s seeking Sari’s help now. Perhaps it’s something unseen, some sexual violation that Anna’s too ashamed to share with Judit?

  ‘Well, then,’ Judit says, with false heartiness. ‘I’ll just … go and see to the geese, or something.’ She shrugs a little, lost for words, and heads out the back door, towards the little herb garden.

  ‘Do you want a drink of anything?’ Sari asks Anna. Anna has an oddly set expression on her face, as if she is trying to build up the confidence to say what’s on her mind, and Sari senses that some coaxing might be needed.

  ‘Coffee would be good. You sit down, I’ll do it.’

  Sari doesn’t protest, and eases herself down at the table, biting back a groan. That’s another thing she hates about pregnancy, these unwarranted groans and moans and whimpers that spring all too readily to her lips!

  Anna sets down a cup of coffee in front of Sari, and circles around the table to sit down herself. Sari notices that she’s walking with a slight limp, holding herself very carefully erect, and that she winces slightly as she sits down.

  ‘I can’t stay for long,’ she says. ‘Károly has gone to visit Zsigmond Kiss, but I have to be home before he is.’

  ‘All right,’ Sari says. ‘So, what’s he done to you this time?’

  Anna gives a humourless laugh. ‘Oh, the usual. He’s worse than he ever was before, now. He drinks all the time. I think the war made him depressed, and he drinks to try and forget it, and maybe he does forget it the next day, but at the time, it just makes him worse, sad, and then angry. He’s just – just unbearable.’

  ‘Your arm – what happened?’

  ‘He was – he was holding me down. He had my arm twisted behind my back, and he was holding it so that he could – you know.’ Anna blushes, and Sari remembers how open she was when talking about sex with Giovanni; this embarrassment and coyness is new to her and linked, Sari supposes, to the humiliation inherent in sex with Károly. ‘I think he likes it better – enjoys it more – when he is hurting me at the same time.’

  ‘Bastard.’

  Anna nods, with a wry smile. Does she just want to talk? Sari wonders. She doesn’t mind. She recalls how isolated she felt when she was living with Ferenc and feeling that she was the only person who had ever gone through what she was going through. She wishes she could tell Anna that she understands, but just then Anna lifts her head, looks straight at Sari for the first time, and says: ‘I need you to help me, Sari.’

  Sari is nonplussed. ‘Well, of course I’ll help you, Anna! What’s the problem? What do you need? I’ve got plenty of stuff that will help with the bruises, and—’

  Anna is shaking her head. ‘No. You don’t understand. I need you to help me deal with Károly. In the same way that you dealt with Ferenc.’

  Sari’s vision goes black, and for a petrifying moment she is sure that she is going to faint. And then it clears, and she hopes desperately that she misheard what Anna said, that there’s been some mistake, that she’s misinterpreted and that Anna means something silly and simple and utterly different to what Sari thinks she means. But when her eyes settle on Anna again, she’s still staring at her with that fixed and desperate and determined expression, and Sari knows that she knows, and, God, there’s an ocean, a world, a universe of difference between the idea of Anna suspecting, and the certainty that she knows for sure.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks weakly, playing for time.

  ‘You don’t have to lie to me, Sari. I don’t blame you. No one blames you.’

  ‘What do you—? Who—? Does everyone know?’

  Anna looks surprised at the strength of Sari’s reaction. ‘No, no, not everyone, of course not. A lot of people believe that he just got ill and died. But some of us – we don’t blame you, Sari; the only reason we guessed is because we know how he was treating you, and what he did to Marco. Anyone would do the same under those circumstances, anyone.’

  ‘How do you—?’

  ‘I can tell, Sari. When it’s happened to you, you can tell when it’s happening to someone else. That story about Marco being killed trying to escape – well, a lot of people believed that. You were pretty discreet, and I think some people never even knew that you two were lovers, but I always thought that was suspicious. And for it to happen at exactly the same time as you moving in with Ferenc, and never being seen in public any more – that just made it even more suspicious. And on the few occasions that you did come out of that house … You hid it well – I’ll give you that, but when you know what to look for, like I do, it was easy to work out that he was beating you. It was hard to believe at first. I always used to like him, and respect him; I thought that a man like him wouldn’t behave like that. But I suppose the war can change people.’

  Sari struggles not to put her head in her hands, forces herself to keep looking at Anna, who keeps talking. Now that she’s started it’s as if she can’t halt the rush of words.

  ‘And when I heard he was ill again, I’m sure a lot of people believed it, because I almost did, too, but I couldn’t quite. Because I knew you had a motive, you see, and because I know,’ her voice becomes bitter, now, ‘I know that for women like us, God, or fate, or whatever it is doesn’t intervene so neatly. So when he died, I knew that you had to have done something to cause it.’

  Sari’s mouth is bone dry, and she takes a large gulp of her coffee, nearly scalding herself. ‘Oh God,’ she says, her voice shaking. ‘Shit.’ Inside her belly, her baby jerks suddenly, as if sharing Sari’s terror.

  Anna’s hand darts across the table to grasp hers.

  ‘Don’t
you understand? You don’t have to worry. I’m on your side. I understand why you had to do what you did, and I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise.’ Anna forces a laugh. ‘It’s not so unusual, what you did – women have been dealing with things in that way for centuries. Ask Judit; she’d tell you.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Sari whispers.

  ‘Not many of us. Me, Lujza, Lilike, I think – a few of the other girls who used to work down at the camp. Just people who know you, Sari, and like you. You can trust us. You can trust me. No one’s going to say anything.’

  ‘All right,’ Sari says, ‘All right.’ She takes a deep breath. It’s not that bad, she thinks. It could be worse. Anna’s not going to run to the police, and neither are the other girls. It’s not as bad as it could be.

  ‘So will you help me?’ Anna asks. Sari remembers – Oh, yes, it is very bad, after all.

  ‘Anna,’ she says pleadingly, ‘It’s not like it was for me. You’re not pregnant. Ferenc’s family know people in all the villages around here. You could run, but if I’d run, he would have found me and killed me. He would have killed my baby.’

  Anna leans across the table. ‘You think Károly hasn’t said the exact same thing to me?’ she asks. ‘That if I ever left, he wouldn’t rest until he found me and killed me? Oh, of course, he probably wouldn’t do it. He’s not as intelligent as Ferenc was, and he doesn’t have the connections that Ferenc did. So maybe I could run. But with what money? Károly may not have the resources that Ferenc had, but neither do I have the resources that you have. I have nothing of my own, nothing, and I don’t have the knowledge of the countryside that you have, all those things about plants and animals and how to hide, things that you learnt from your father and from Judit. I wouldn’t last a day out there, on my own; I’d die, or be killed, or be found by the police, and that would be the end of me.’