by D K Bohlman
She had an appointment at the central library with a local academic at eleven o’clock. Eszter Borbely had promised to help her with article retrievals and some questions today, given her own poor knowledge of the Hungarian language. A week’s crash course in the university languages department had only just got her to the point of making basic requests, never mind understanding natively-fast responses. Sarah’s university tutor, Professor Robertson had arranged for Eszter to help, through his contacts in academia. With a bit of luck, Eszter might be free to assist her for most of the week or so that she intended to be here.
With a final gulp of coffee, she rose from the table, picked up her rucksack and headed out along the riverside path.
It was chilly again but perfectly still, and the crisp air felt really good inside her lungs.
She went as far as Elisabeth Bridge and turned away from the river, taking a Google map-led route through quieter streets, past the colonnades of the Magyar Nemzeti museum. The forty-minute walk woke her up and she was feeling quite bright by the time she entered the Ervin Szabo library through the ornate wrought iron and glass doors on Revicky Street.
She checked her phone for the photo of Eszter and headed straight into the cafe where they’d arranged to meet.
She spotted her contact straight away, seated at a small table directly opposite the entrance.
It seemed she’d been checking her photos too, as she smiled broadly and waved at Sarah, beckoning her to sit. She offered her hand to Sarah. A bit formal, Sarah thought, but OK, they hadn't met before, only spoken a couple of times on the phone.
She was small and wiry, blonde hair cut short with curly tendrils dropping across her forehead. Maybe forty-five, Sarah thought. They ordered two americanos with milk.
‘So, how do you find Budapest so far?’
‘It’s a lot colder than I expected. But the drink I had in the hotel last night warmed me up. Pal… something, I think it was.’
‘Palinka! Oh yes, that’s very strong. Well, it sounds like you had a real Hungarian welcome. I hope I can give you some more of that, Sarah.’
The accompanying smile felt warm and genuine. Sarah was already beginning to feel like they could get along. That would really help. She brought Eszter up to speed with the latest position on her research and Eszter nodded her understanding at appropriate intervals.
‘So, yes, let’s get started then. I’ll show you to the best section, to begin with. As I’ve said, most are in the Hungarian language, but there are some German and English texts too.’
They made their way out of the cafe and into a wide lobby area before taking the lift up to the fourth floor. As they exited the lift, Sarah was struck by the stained-glass window on the landing.
Eszter noticed. ‘Lovely, isn’t it? Let me show you around here first Sarah, before we start work.’
Eszter led her across the floor and into a side room. It was very elegant and led into a network of other, even grander areas. The decoration made Sarah gasp. In one room, two ornately carved spiral staircases led up to panelled galleries. Beautifully formed and painted plasterwork lined the ceiling, and old wooden panels adorned the walls. Antique oak study tables around the room were topped with green glass and brass reading lamps. It took Sarah by surprise. She hadn’t expected the library to be this gorgeous. Filled from floor to landing with books, the grandeur lent it the air of a place of seriously civilised learning.
She felt hushed by it all.
‘This part of the library was an old Baroque palace. And this was the smoking room.’
‘Amazing. How great to be able to work amongst all this.’
Eszter smiled, then guided her to a small alcove at one end of the room, stopping close to one particular bookcase. She pointed at the third shelf down, which was easy to access with a stool.
‘There’s much of the material in this section, Sarah. And the two shelves below. These are mixed-language texts. So maybe best you have a look through yourself, to try to get a feel for what you want to look into. I’ll try and make a list of a few items in Hungarian which I think are essential, from what I know of your research outline. Then you can look at the English content cross-reference index and pick out any you think too? After that, we can draw up a list and work out what help you need from me?’
Sarah nodded quickly. ‘Perfect. I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready to exchange ideas, then we can go back down to the cafe to chat about what we’ve got.’
Sarah turned to the book-lined wall and started the process of choosing where to begin.
*
Ninety minutes later, Sarah was sat stooped over the English cross-reference index, feeling overwhelmed. It was always like this when she started a new piece of work. So much to read … just getting started was the best way, the first few things you thought about or read had a way of leading you on to other pieces that eventually started to take some shape. But it was still hard getting moving, especially with the shadow of a palinka hangover tailing her mind and body, tugging at her, slowing her down.
She stared out of the window framed with wooden shutters, looking for some inspiration.
The title of her research piece was: “Arrow Cross: an examination of the motivation and thinking behind its leadership.”
It had been her professor’s suggestion, based on her interest in the treatment of the Jews in the Second World War. And for a master’s topic, it seemed to fit the bill on lots of counts, one of which was to do a bit of travel as part of the research. So here she was.
Arrow Cross had been a neo-Nazi movement in Hungary in the 1930s and 40s, led by Ferenc Szalasi. When Regent Horthy had tried to pull Hungary out of the war in 1944, Arrow Cross won the support of the Nazis to take power and continue protection of Germany’s southern flanks against the Soviet army. At first Arrow Cross had run riot on the streets of Budapest, gangs of supporters, often as young as 15 or 16 years old terrorising the city into obedience. And killing a lot of people, especially Jews, in the process.
They didn't last long. At the end of the war, the party was shut down and Szalasi executed. But they had a strange blend of ideas, which had fascinated her. A unique mixture of nationalism, socialism and Jesus worship, which, in Szalasi’s view had global worth. Deluded or what?
There was a lot of material on the formation of the party in 1935 and the early rallies and meetings. That seemed a good place to start. The other thing she wanted to dig into was Szalasi's family and upbringing. What had driven and formed him to be the apparent monster he became? There were other key people in the leadership besides Szalasi though. She wanted to look at all of them.
With a scribbled list of texts to start working through, she looked over at Eszter and caught her attention with a silent wave. After a mute imitation of eating something, the two women set off back down to the cafe to compare notes and work out their plan of action.
Settled at a table, they ordered open salami sandwiches with some grape sodas which Eszter recommended. Sarah picked up the bill. She was hoping to somehow claim it against her research grant but wasn’t sure if she could. Best keep the receipts for now anyway.
After a quick lunch during which they discussed progress, they went back upstairs and continued before retiring yet again to the cafe around five-thirty. They’d both had enough reading and needed some downtime.
‘So, what have we got so far?’ Eszter said.
‘Loads of background articles to read. Some I’ve scanned through and made a note to copy. Others seem less useful. Probably got about twenty per cent through what I’ve noted down. And there’s more added to my list for you to read for me … with some pointers on what I need. Maybe you can double-check if there are translations available too, it will save us time if I can help with your list of Hungarian texts?’ Sarah was feeling tired. The first day after a flight and new faces and places had taken their toll.
‘Sounds fine Sarah. I made some notes from my readings. I think I just need to go through those with
you tomorrow, make sure I’m getting what you need?’
‘Yep, let’s do that. To be honest I’m a bit tired now. Probably best call it a day, I’ll maybe think through a few things after I’ve eaten in the hotel.’
‘Suits me. The family will be expecting some food tonight so I need to go anyway really.’
‘Who’s at home then?’ Sarah enquired out of politeness.
‘Just Richard, my husband and Janos our son. He’s fifteen now. The Xbox generation, you know.’ Sarah didn’t really know but could guess. She smiled sympathetically.
They bade each other goodbye with a brief hug and agreed to meet the following morning at nine-thirty.
*
Later that evening, when most visitors to the library had left and dusk had settled around the capital’s streets, Beata Sandor sat down on the large comfortable chair in her office. She looked up at the ceiling, wondering whether to call or not. She always wondered what the implications might be if she did. She’d heard things. Stories that might or might not be true. Hard to think they could be accurate, but some people were evil and would go to great lengths to protect whatever they had.
Still, she was bound up with the need to protect, wasn’t she? Even if she had her personal limits on how far she would go in that respect. In the end, though, she had to do this.
She always kept a close eye on that section. Today, there had been interest in it. Two women, for most of the day and they had been asking at the desk for further references. She couldn’t ignore this.
The head librarian picked up her desk telephone and dialled the Bucharest number. Five hundred miles away, a phone rang.
Peter Kovacs
____________________________
Dr Peter Kovacs had a sense of fateful bad timing.
His father, Marton, was very ill now. It might not be long at all before he had to do his duty with his father’s estate. Now he’d had a call suggesting someone else might be nosing around in their affairs. He didn’t need any more complications than he was already facing. Maybe it would all come to nothing, though. A few people over the years had sniffed around. None of them had delved beyond the recorded history. None of them had had the imagination, it seemed.
Beata had always kept him informed from the library, though that wasn’t the only source of threat. The world was full of self-righteous people, digging, scouring, wanting to find people with different ideas to themselves, so they could denounce them and pillory them for their beliefs. Social media hadn’t helped, it was full of left-wingers terrorising their keyboards into weary submission. Funny how people with right of centre political views seemed almost afraid to express their views in those channels. Facebook, the left-leaning tower of Menlo Park.
But, for some reason, this call unnerved him more than most. He’d keep a close eye on this one. Maybe he needed to have someone in Budapest keep a watch on their movements. He resolved to call one of the group there and put it in place. First, though, he needed to get more of a trace on who they actually were and where these women came from. Beata had suggested one was American and the other a local. But he needed to know more than that.
He’d seen his last patient out of the door ten minutes ago: the receptionist had gone early, something about her child’s concert. So he was alone in his Bucharest surgery with time to think, without interruption. He placed his large head in his even larger hands, planted his elbows on his desk and sighed.
After some deliberation he made two phone calls, the first back to his favourite librarian. She was probably still there, doing some paperwork after the busy part of the day had passed.
He ran his index finger up and down the ridge of a long scar on his left cheek until Beata answered. ‘Hello, Beata. It’s Peter. I’ve been thinking about what you told me earlier. I’m going to have these two watched. But I’d like you to find out a bit more about them if you can. Where they’re from, what exactly they’re looking for. As discreetly as you can. Maybe offer to help them with something? Assuming they come back, of course.’
Beata hesitated for a moment. Sniffed. Then remembered her duty.
‘OK. Of course. I’ll look out for them tomorrow and see what I can find out. I’ll let you know, Peter, as soon as I can understand what they’re here for. It’s probably nothing to worry about, as usual.’
‘Thank you, Beata. I know I can rely on you. It’s a great help. And maybe you’re right. But with Father so ill at the moment, somehow the timing seems like fate. Let’s keep a close eye, OK?’
*
Beata replaced the handset and looked around at the walls of books in her office. Some were her own, built up over the years, as her small house started to overflow with her reads. She couldn’t throw any out or even give a book to someone else. Loaning was OK, but she kept a list, in case she forgot who she’d lent to. Others were the library’s. There were one or two which really ought to be set out on the public shelves, but … well, at least one of them would tempt fate, wouldn’t it? So it was here, under her safe control, so she could know if anyone asked for it.
Keeping those particular texts at home had previously been a very bad move. It had caused her so much personal grief back then. Anyway, now they were safer here in her office. Maybe getting rid of one of them would be better. Safer … more logical. But she was a librarian. Somehow, destroying the only copy of a book, even for the best of reasons, was against all her lifelong held interests and principles. She’d done a damn good job of tracking down and destroying all the copies that she understood to exist, bar this one. Her position as a librarian had been a great help in that quest. But no, she should keep this one. Just make sure it was very safe.
She also needed to keep an eye on the two women. Maybe she’d check if they needed any help tomorrow, assuming they turned up again. In her experience, an offer of personal help from the head librarian was usually met with appreciation. She’d gauge their reaction carefully. In the meantime, she had a late meeting to go to.
Jenna starts work
____________________________
In the end, Calum didn’t wait very long to send his email reply, but kept it short and called Jenna soon after.
‘So, basically, she went off on a research trip and hasn’t come back?’
‘Seems so. At least that’s what her mother implied. So like I said, can you start with her flatmate? I’ve emailed the address over, name of Niamh Sampson. There’s time left tonight, can you pop over and see if you can make a start? I told her mother I’d, well, we’d, try to update her today. Tomorrow morning would be OK, though, I think.’
Jenna sighed. ‘Any other deadlines you haven’t told me about? I guess I can get over there in the next hour. I’ll let you know how I get on.’
‘Nope. But Sarah’s mum says her daughter is gay. Not clear to me whether she thinks Niamh is more than a flatmate, so soft-pedal around that one. OK?’
‘OK. Talk later then. Do I get a pay rise by the way?’
Calum was ready for this.
‘Yep, of course. Since you’ve been headhunted back to my employ. Ten per cent on your old rate.’
‘Can’t hear you.’
‘Ten.’
‘Fifteen,’ spat back down the line.
‘Ten and no coffee service required,’ he said.
A pause.
‘Fifteen and no coffee service? Done!’
‘Haha, cheeky. Ten.’
Another pause.
‘OK. For now.’
*
Jenna was on her way to Sarah’s flat within fifteen minutes, having already called to check her flatmate was in and willing to talk to her. Double tick.
It was thirty minutes’ walk, no more. The nights were drawing in early now and besides being inky black dark, it was pretty cold for November too. Jenna was bundled up warmly, with a thick coat, scarf and woolly hat. The leaves underfoot had started to coalesce into the annual mushy sludge that came once the rain had spoilt their crisp autumn colours. She skidded a cou
ple of times on slippery piles of them, cursing loudly.
The flat was in the centre of town, part of a converted old 30’s style semi-detached. Jenna was there sooner than she’d expected.
She strode up the two front steps and picked out the nameplate for McTeer/Sampson and plunged her thumb into the bell recess.
The door release buzzer sounded without pause and so she pushed her way in and across the hallway to flat 1a. The front door opened briskly, leaving her to knock on fresh air as she was presented with her first view of Niamh Sampson. Shortish, well-built rather than plump. A round face and red hair. A lot older than she expected. This woman looked like she might be approaching forty.
‘Hi. Better come in.’ Not a sniff of a question as to who Jenna was. Niamh showed her through a tiny hallway to a combined lounge and kitchenette. It was decorated to try to separate the two uses of the room. A big leather sofa split the lounge area off from the kitchen space. Jenna sat down on it, opposite an old coal fireplace, now filled with a fiercely glowing gas fire. Above it hung a large picture mirror and in front a thick woollen rug. Nice and cosy.
‘Drink? Tea, coffee?’ asked Niamh. Jenna thought she sounded nervous.
‘Mmm, yes please, a coffee. Black, thanks.’
Niamh turned into the kitchenette and started to busy herself with making it.
‘So, have you lived here long?’
‘Err, a couple of years.’
‘And Sarah?’
‘Yeah, the same.’
‘Ah, so you shared as undergraduates, same course?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
Jenna looked over her shoulder at her host. She was turned away from Jenna. Judging by the short answers so far, this might be tough going.
Niamh came over with a mug of coffee and placed it on the table in front of Jenna.
‘You not having one?’