Red-face interrupts him. ‘We know what we know. But it is your job to tell us what you have done. This is how we work. If you admit your mistakes we shall say that you slipped. Now tell me, why are you here?’
Márton tries to make sense of the twisted logic. It’s like being made to play a cruel parlour game where no one will explain to him what the rules are. The only thing he can be fairly sure about is that he is going to lose.
‘I have done nothing wrong, as far as I am aware.’ He’s so tired, he just wants to get out of this room and lie down on his wooden plank. It must be well past midnight by now.
From the exasperated grunting sounds coming from behind the desk, Márton takes it that Red-face is not satisfied with this response. He addresses the guards.
‘Take him to a typewriter. He will write his autobiography until four in the morning. Then take him back to his cell but do not permit him to sleep.’ Red-face moves to stand in front of the desk, his wide girth mercifully blocking out most of the light from the desk lamp. Still, a white glow shines around his features like a parody of a halo. ‘You will have plenty of time to think about what you have told me because you are not going to sleep. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’ What can he tell him in writing that he hasn’t already told him verbally? It seems like a pointless exercise.
One of the guards takes him to a small windowless room with a typewriter on a wooden desk and orders him to start typing. There’s a pile of paper on the desk beside the typewriter. He’s going to be here a long time. With a heavy heart, Márton lifts his fingers to the keys and starts to type.
Chapter Four
Still no news. It’s the third day since Papa’s arrest and Katalin has heard nothing. He told her to take care, and by that she understands that she shouldn’t kick up a fuss with the authorities. That never does anyone any good. But she can’t sit around doing nothing, it’s driving her crazy.
Her childhood friend Liesl has been haunting her dreams. They are playing together in the forest, a game of hide-and-seek. Katalin closes her eyes and counts slowly down from ten. When she opens her eyes Liesl is in the jaws of a big, black wolf, her body limp and bloody. She wakes in a cold sweat, her heart thumping. Oh Liesl, she thinks, I let you down. I couldn’t save you from those Arrow Cross thugs. She imagines Liesl’s thin body sinking to the bottom of the Danube and she wipes away a tear. No, this time she must act.
After work she catches a tram that will take her across the River Danube from Pest on the east side of the city to Buda in the west. She is going to call on Professor Károly Novák, Papa’s colleague and long-standing friend at the Technical University. She takes the lost Mozart aria in her bag, thinking she can return it to Ilona. It’s a reminder of happier times.
The tram is packed and there is nowhere to sit down. Katalin holds onto a pole and sways in time with those around her. An old woman in a black headscarf clutches a loaf of bread under one arm, a look of defiance on her weathered face. Katalin closes her eyes and lets herself be carried along by the gentle rocking movement. She remembers a tram ride to Buda before the war with her mother when they took a picnic to the top of Gellért Hill. Katalin was amazed at how far she could see, the whole of Pest laid out before her, the Danube snaking its way between the two halves of the city like a giant silver serpent.
A squeal of brakes and her eyes fly open. Are they already in Buda? No, it’s just the stop on Margaret Island in the middle of the Danube. The bridges have all been rebuilt since they were destroyed by the retreating Germans at the end of the war. She peers out of the window at Castle Hill in Buda, the jagged remains of the Royal Palace just visible against the darkening sky. The last stronghold of the Germans, the Palace was reduced to rubble by the advancing Red Army. She has heard there are plans to renovate it. The tram doors close and they are moving again. This time she keeps her eyes open. She mustn’t miss her stop.
It’s years since she’s been to the Novák’s house, but she’s sure she remembers the way. She has a mental image of Professor Novák as a jolly man who enjoys his food and recounts amusing anecdotes around the dinner table. She pictures his wife, Ilona, a raven-haired beauty and an opera singer. Before the war there were parties at the Novák’s house or her parents’ apartment. Ilona would entertain everyone with her beautiful clear voice, singing arias from Mozart and Puccini. Katalin was allowed to stay up late if she behaved herself and didn’t get in the way. It was a musical education to be cherished.
She disembarks in the heart of Buda. It’s quieter here than in Pest, the atmosphere more modest and homely. Houses with steeply pitched red-tiled roofs line the hilly, cobbled streets. Accordion music drifts from an upstairs window. A cat darts across the road and slinks into a courtyard.
As she makes her way up a leafy hill she mentally rehearses what she’s going to say to Professor Novák. He won’t be able to intervene directly with the authorities. He would be sure to get himself arrested if he did. But could he act as a character witness for her father? She has no idea how these things work. She experiences a moment of doubt, thinking she shouldn’t have come, that her visit won’t do any good. But she’s here now isn’t she? She might as well see it through. At the very least he might know something about why her father was arrested.
She stops outside an ivy-clad house with blue shutters. A small car is parked in the drive. She doesn’t remember the Nováks owning a car, but maybe they’ve acquired one somehow. She’s sure this is the right place though. Lights are on in the downstairs rooms, so someone is at home. She walks up the garden path and rings the doorbell.
The door is opened by a middle-aged woman wearing a black dress. Her grey hair is tied up in a severe bun. ‘Yes?’
Katalin hesitates. This woman is certainly not Ilona, unless she’s aged badly. It must be twelve or thirteen years since she last saw the Nováks. The woman looks at her expectantly but doesn’t smile or offer any form of encouragement.
‘I’m sorry, I thought this was Professor Novák’s house. I must have been mistaken.’
‘This is Professor Novák’s house,’ says the woman briskly. ‘Is he expecting you?’
‘No, but if he’s at home I’d be very grateful for five minutes of his time.’
‘What name shall I give?’
‘Katalin Bakos. Professor Novák works with my father, Professor Márton Bakos.’
‘Wait here a moment, please.’
The woman leaves Katalin standing in the hallway whilst she bustles off with an air of being terribly busy. She must be the housekeeper, thinks Katalin. She didn’t know the Nováks had a housekeeper, although now she thinks about it, she doesn’t suppose Ilona prepared all the food for those parties herself. There must have been someone else slaving away in the kitchen. She looks around. An oil painting of the Mátra Mountains hangs on one wall, a scene of Lake Balaton on another. A modern telephone stands on a side table beneath a mirror with an ornamental frame. Sounds filter through a closed door: voices, laughter, a tinkle of glass and cutlery. She’s chosen an inconvenient time to call. She smells roast chicken and her stomach rumbles. She should have eaten before coming here.
A door opens and the woman reappears followed by Professor Novák. He’s wiping his mouth with a napkin. It’s definitely him, but he’s put on weight since she last saw him and his hair has thinned.
‘This is the young lady,’ says the housekeeper. She stands very erect, her hands crossed in front of her.
‘I see, well, er…’ The professor scratches his head and looks momentarily alarmed, before appearing to collect himself. ‘Thank you, Erzsébet.’ He dismisses her with a wave of his hand. She’s clearly reluctant to leave, but turns and walks through a door. Katalin glimpses a well-equipped kitchen. She imagines the housekeeper listening at the keyhole. Professor Novák is probably thinking the same thing, because he hurriedly ushers Katalin into another room and closes the door before she has a chance to say anything. They’re in a book-lined study at the front
of the house. He doesn’t invite her to sit, but stands with his arms folded, regarding her with a frown on his face.
‘I’m sorry I’ve interrupted your dinner,’ she says. ‘I could come back another time.’
‘No, no, you mustn’t do that.’ He flaps the napkin impatiently. ‘But you’re here now. What can I do for you?’
Does he really have to ask?
‘It’s about Papa. The AVO took him away two nights ago.’
Professor Novák presses his fingers into his forehead as if he has suddenly developed a severe headache. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Well, it’s just that, I’ve had no news about where he’s being held or how long the AVO are going to keep him under arrest. I wondered if you knew anything. Do you know where he is?’
He looks her directly in the eye. ‘Does anyone else know you’re here?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ He goes to the window and closes the curtains.
‘Do you have any idea why he’s been arrested? Does his arrest have anything to do with his work?’ It’s a bold question, but one that Katalin is determined to ask. ‘Is it to do with the nuclear programme?’
Professor Novák gives her a sharp look. ‘What do you know about that?’
‘Nothing really, just that there’s talk of building a nuclear reactor at Csillebérc. Papa said it was for research into atomic energy.’
‘He shouldn’t have discussed his work with you.’
‘He didn’t go into details. I wouldn’t have understood them if he had.’
Katalin is frustrated with the way the conversation is going. They’re getting off topic. She’s not interested in the nuclear programme, only in what might have happened to her father.
‘I just want to know where he is and what is happening to him.’
She can feel a lump starting to form in her throat. She grits her jaw, determined not to cry.
Professor Novák seems to deflate and the fight goes out of him. He drops his hands to his sides and a look of sorrow passes across his face. Or is it regret?
‘Listen,’ he says, ‘your father is a good man. I’m sorry about what has happened to him, truly I am. But I can’t help you. You’ll just have to be patient. His arrest must have been a high-level political decision. It’s probably best to let things take their natural course.’
‘So there’s nothing I can do?’
‘There is nothing anyone can do.’ He throws his hands up in despair. ‘I would like to see your father released as much as you, but you know how things work in this country.’ Beads of sweat have sprung up on his brow and he dabs at his face with his napkin.
He’s afraid, she thinks. Afraid that if he gets involved they’ll come for him too. It was a mistake to come here.
Behind Professor Novák the door opens and Katalin hears Ilona’s crystal clear voice. ‘There you are darling. We wondered what had happened to you. Erzsébet is about to serve dessert. You mustn’t keep the guests waiting.’
Professor Novák moves aside, revealing Ilona to Katalin’s view. Her long hair is still dark with only a hint of grey at the temples. She’s lost none of her Slavic good looks – the almond-shaped eyes fringed by thick lashes, the high cheekbones and the full lips, painted a shade of deep pink. When she sees who her husband’s visitor is, the smile freezes on her lips.
‘Do you remember Katalin Bakos?’ Professor Novák asks his wife. ‘Márton’s daughter. It must be years since you’ve seen her.’
‘I remember,’ says Ilona. Her pure soprano voice is cold and brittle. She turns to face Katalin. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought your husband might be able to help…’
Ilona cuts her off. ‘You should never have come to this house. What were you thinking of?’
Katalin doesn’t know what to say. Even if the Nováks couldn’t offer help, she had at least expected some sympathy. What has happened to those years of friendship? Professor Novák stares at the carpet and shuffles his feet. Ilona glares at her, stony-faced. Katalin reaches into her bag and takes out the copy of the Mozart aria which Ilona left in the apartment all those years ago. It might remind this brittle woman of old friendships – beautiful moments of sweetness and pleasure.
‘I think this is yours.’
Ilona looks as if she’s been stung and refuses to take the music, crossing her arms.
Katalin shrugs and drops the music onto a side table. She should leave before Ilona picks up the phone in the hallway and denounces her. Something must have happened to sour relations between Ilona and Katalin’s parents which is why she never returned for the music and doesn’t want it now.
‘I’m sorry I interrupted your dinner,’ says Katalin. ‘Please don’t keep your guests waiting on my account.’
The Nováks refuse to look her in the eye as she crosses the hallway – Erzsébet is hovering in the kitchen doorway – pulls open the front door and walks out.
She hurries down the street and doesn’t look back. It’s not until she’s well out of sight that she pauses for breath. Her heart is pounding with a mixture of fury and fear. Mostly fear. But they were frightened too, she thinks. That’s why they won’t help me.
A cold drizzle is starting to fall and she hasn’t brought an umbrella with her. The people she passes all have their faces down and their collars turned up against the inclement weather. It’s still some way to the tram stop. Katalin picks up her pace, keen to get home.
After a few minutes she becomes aware of the sound of a car engine behind her, crawling in a low gear. She expects it to overtake her but it doesn’t. She glances behind and sees a black Pobeda, like the one that took Papa away. Her heart skips a beat. Is it the bulldog and his men? Are they following her? The tram stop is just up ahead, about two hundred yards away. A tram is already there, waiting, the small queue of people climbing aboard. She breaks into a run and the car accelerates behind her. The last person in the queue, an elderly lady laden with shopping bags, starts to board the tram. Please take your time, thinks Katalin. But the old woman is surprisingly quick on her feet and hops on board. Katalin sprints the last few yards, but the tram moves away from the stop just as she reaches the last carriage. She doubles over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath.
As she straightens up, the car drives past the tram stop and then accelerates away. She is sure it was following her. She huddles under the shelter and waits for the next tram to come along. After about fifteen minutes she hears the clatter of the rails as it trundles into view. She finds an empty seat and sits shivering as she crosses the Danube back into Pest. All she wants to do now is get home and be safe. But what if the men in the black car are waiting for her? Maybe she should go to Róza’s place instead. But didn’t Róza say she was working late at the hospital tonight? Katalin is so tired, she can’t remember. She doesn’t want to risk going all the way to Róza’s to find she’s not there.
When she gets back the street is empty. There are no parked cars waiting outside her building. She starts to relax. As she climbs the stairs she decides that she’ll heat up some soup then have an early night. At the turn in the stairs she freezes. A man is standing outside the door to her apartment, ringing the bell.
*
Ilona fixes a smiles to her face and returns to their dinner guests – a Party official and his wife. Like the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro she will remain outwardly calm and dignified. She hopes her acting skills are good enough to carry her through the rest of the evening. But inwardly, she’s a jagged mass of nerves. How dare Katalin turn up unannounced like that and put them all at risk? It was a foolish and selfish thing to do. The girl should have had better sense. Opposite her, at the other end of the table, her husband looks badly shaken by their unexpected visitor. He would probably have tried to help Katalin if she hadn’t intervened in time, and then where would they be? She takes a large mouthful of wine and apologises for the interruption, dismissing it as one of the neighbours calling about some trivial matter. Whilst
Erzsébet serves dessert – crème caramel followed by cheese – she smiles at the couple and turns to the husband.
‘You were just telling us about Gerő’s Five Year Plan for transforming the Hungarian Economy. Do please continue. It’s such a fascinating topic.’
The Party official – a pallid man who looks as if he doesn’t get enough sunshine – wipes his mouth with his napkin and picks up where he left off. His wife – a rather dour woman – nods her head at every other sentence. Ilona smiles and nods and does her best to appear interested, but she’s no longer listening to the production figures of the factories, if she ever was.
The housekeeper appears in the doorway to announce that coffee is served in the lounge, thankfully bringing the lecture to an end. Ilona rises to her feet a little too quickly. ‘Shall we?’
As she ushers their guests through to the other room, she gives Károly a hard stare, warning him to pull himself together. Once in the lounge, she notices the Mozart aria left by Katalin on a side table. Dove Sono – Where are the beautiful moments of sweetness and pleasure? She scoops it up and slides it under a copy of the Party newspaper, A Free People. She hasn’t sung that aria for so many years. The memories it evokes are too painful. She doesn’t want to be reminded of those times. She has made her choice and she must live with the consequences.
*
Katalin’s instinct is to turn and run, but it’s too late. He’s already seen her. She stands frozen at the turn of the stairs, clutching the banister. The low-wattage bulb on the wall behind him is casting his face in shadow, but she sees a tall figure in a long trench coat. He’s wearing a beret set at a crooked angle. Not your typical AVO dress code, but you can’t be too careful. He could be in plain clothes.
He takes a couple of steps down the stairs.
‘Who are you?’ she asks, stepping backwards. ‘What do you want?’ Her heart is beating fast and her limbs are tensed, ready to take flight.
He stops on the third step from the top and holds his palms up in a gesture of reassurance. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. My name is Zoltán Dobos. I live in the building opposite.’ He points across the street. ‘I’m a friend of your father’s.’
Goodbye to Budapest Page 6