by D K Bohlman
‘Of course, of course. May I call again if there is anything I have forgotten or if my research throws up some extra questions?’
Marton looked thoughtful. ‘If it is important, of course.’
She wasn’t sure how well meant that was, but accepted it graciously, before making a prompt exit.
Aliz Gal was at the front desk when she made her way out through the hall. The manager flicked her head in acknowledgement at Sarah as she passed and said goodbye. Sarah felt her gaze follow her back, as she skipped down the entrance steps and out into the cold afternoon air.
Something about Marton didn’t feel quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it. But a sixth sense told her she should go back: whether or not her research needed her to. Right now, though, she had some catching up to do with Eszter. She made her way back to the library, thinking she might manage a hot chocolate in the cafe first.
*
She bought two hot chocolates and sat down with Eszter to check where they were both up to.
‘There was just something a bit edgy about him. For a very old man that seemed strange, you’d think he’d not be bothered about anything. Mostly old people get like that, think they can say what they want, upset anyone without any consequences. Like my grandmother. But Marton wasn’t like that. He was careful and deliberate, courteous but edgy. Well, I can’t put my finger on it exactly but I’d guess there was something he didn’t want to talk about.’
‘OK. So maybe go and see him again? Think up some more specific questions. What exactly was he nervous about?’
‘Well, no one particular question, but he didn’t really go into any detail about things he said the party should have been ashamed of … though I didn’t press him too hard to be fair, and … well, what’s going on right now with any kind of a re-birth of the ideas: that was a no go somehow.’
‘Go for it then. Want me to come with you?’
‘No, that’s fine, I might make another appointment, I’ll see. I’d rather you dragged through those other Hungarian texts, save my poor brain. He is an old man, I don’t want to pressurise him with an extra person in the room, even if I do go again myself.’
Eszter smiled. ‘Well, let me tell you about what I’ve found from my work today.’
Sarah took a deep sip from her hot chocolate, licked the foam from her lips and listened to what she had to say.
Marton & Peter conspire
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After some deliberation, Marton picked up the phone to his son. He felt his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs. It seemed worse today, he didn’t want to speak for long.
‘Father, I have already heard about this woman, from Beata. She is being watched, together with her friend. I suggest we do only that for now. They will probably do their research and then go away. They will know nothing. We should just be calm.’
‘You’re probably right, Peter. I just wanted you to know. You know I am close now. I don’t want this kind of thing. I can’t have stress. You know this, don’t you?’
‘Of course, Father. Trust me, I will keep an eye on her. Of course, we don’t want to have to do anything drastic … but if it becomes necessary, I will take care of it. You mustn’t worry.’
That was exactly what Marton was worried about. Peter taking care of it. But what could he say? He hadn't the energy anymore to deal with it and his old colleagues in Budapest were either dead or infirm to some degree. He pressed his lips together and cursed his age and his failing health.
‘Alright, Peter. If she asks me more questions, I will agree to answer them, of course. I don’t want to arouse any suspicions without need.’
‘Yes, naturally. But tell me if she does start to dig too deeply or seems overly interested in certain aspects. You must, Father.’
Marton dipped his head, without saying anything.
He replaced the receiver. There wasn’t anything else to say, really. So now he would have to wait to see if Sarah McTeer wished to talk to him again. That was too much to bear, though, waiting for it to happen … or not. And how long would he have to wait to be sure she wasn’t going to come back? A week? A month? Until the day he died?
The more he thought about it, he developed the conviction that it would be best if he took matters into his own hands. Invite her over, give her the chance, then maybe she would go away happy. Yes, that seemed better to him, he could put an end to the uncertainty that way.
She’d told him where she was staying, so after a few moments composing himself, he telephoned the front desk of Sarah’s hotel and left her a message.
Eszter uncovers some history
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‘So, you’re saying that you think Marton Kovacs might have been implicated in some kind of war crime?’ said Sarah, staring hard at Eszter.
‘I can’t be sure. It’s just this reference I found … but it isn't that detailed and it refers to another book. But when I looked for it, it didn’t seem to be on the shelves. Maybe I’ll ask at the desk tomorrow. To be honest, I’m not sure whether we want to be interested in this aspect, so I left it for the moment. Funny though, there was that book about the new Arrow Cross movement I read about the other day and that wasn’t available either.’
‘But was there any clue on what he may or may not have done?’
‘Look, there were lots of articles I found that referred to Jews being hunted down across this city over 1944-45. There was stuff organised by Arrow Cross and there were also lots of unofficial groups running around, loosely attached to the party, doing pretty much what they liked.
So, well, you know, for the young men in these groups, it was probably exciting, an adventure almost. Some of them got carried away I expect. The author of the book I read suggests lists of people who may have been involved. I’ve no idea whether it is true, whether any of them were tried for crimes successfully or anything like that.’
‘But Marton Kovacs’s name was on these lists?’
Eszter straightened her face into a colder version of its usual self.
‘Yes, in some, he was.’
Sarah leaned back into her chair to absorb the information.
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure this is worth the hassle and intrusion of following up. I got some good input from my interview with him. I haven't finished going over it and I may need to add to it later but for now … well, maybe let’s just sleep on it until tomorrow?’
Eszter agreed. She seemed pleased with Sarah’s conclusion and her face measurably brightened.
*
When Sarah returned to her hotel to find an invite from Marton for a follow-up meeting, she felt her heart suddenly start to pound erratically. To add to the tension, he’d suggested the next day, which put her under an unpleasant pressure: if not to go, at least to decide whether to.
More importantly, she would have to decide whether to press him to talk in detail about the sorts of crimes that were committed under the Arrow Cross banner. Well, at least if she felt her research, rather than just her own curiosity, could benefit from it. Right now, she definitely wasn't sure about that.
She needed to make that decision with a full stomach and a glass of red inside her, to steady her racing thoughts. Flinging her books and papers onto the hotel room floor, she set out in search of somewhere she could find that sustenance. The hotel restaurant had already become routine, so she was trusting that a walk into the city’s heart would offer up some possibilities along the way.
As she walked along the riverfront from the hotel front door, she tried to recall what she’d expected of this trip. Whatever it was, it was turning into something rather more challenging.
Marton re-visited
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Sarah tapped on Marton’s room door the following afternoon at 5 p.m., as requested, with a nervousness that transmitted to her hands and turned an intended knock into a fluttering drumroll.
Marton shouted her through and she turned the l
arge oak knob, entering as if under coercion. She took a deep breath as she came face to face with her host.
‘Good afternoon, Sarah,’ said Marton, in a voice that reminded her of daddy bear from the Goldilocks story. She shivered fleetingly, as that story scuttled through her head, unsettling her even more. Maybe those two glasses of red wine last night had given her unwarranted Dutch courage.
‘Take a seat please, dear.’ He motioned to the armchair next to his.
‘Well, firstly, let me say I know we agreed you would call me if you had any further questions. Now I have invited you here myself. I think I should explain that I felt I should do this. I have told you I am unwell. Well, I fear that it is now a little more than that, I don't think I have long at all.
So, I thought I should give you the opportunity to talk again sooner rather than later. I want to make sure you have all the material you need for your research. So, I hope I can help you a little more today.’
Sarah dipped her head in acknowledgement, whilst blinking slowly and feeling bemused. Was that really the reason?
‘Well, thank you for that, though it’s not been long since we met and so we haven't done too much further work yet. But I really appreciate you wanting to help me like this.’
‘I know. I know. But I have remembered some more about my family and friends which might be helpful background. It’s hard to remember everything quickly when you are my age. One day you will find the same I expect. Shall I talk you through what I wrote down?’
Sarah felt some inner relief and nodded agreement.
As Marton wove his way slowly around various anecdotal clumps of his memories, interspersed with his views about the causes and beliefs of Arrow Cross, some of which he had covered on her first meeting, Sarah became more unsure as to why she was in the room. It just didn’t seem that new or important. She was feeling vulnerable too, despite Marton’s age and infirmity. As he rattled on, she was having a running discussion with herself, wrestling with whether she should raise the matter which Eszter had pointed out to her the previous evening.
A large mantle clock was ticking slowly in the background as Marton spoke. It drilled into her head. It felt as if time was running away from her, out of her control.
Marton stopped his discourse abruptly. He looked down then back up, fixing her with his rheumy, vein-ribbed eyes. ‘So now your turn, my dear. Is there anything you’d like to ask me? I noticed you hadn't taken any notes while I was speaking?’
Sarah’s heart leapt … then leapt again.
She decided to go for it.
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.
Sarah lurched sideways, almost fell out of her chair with the shock of it.
Marton shouted for the arrival to enter. The door opened slowly and creaked to a halt. Something metallic clanked against the door, then a maid carrying a coffee tray appeared and placed it on a table, before making a goodbye curtsy.
‘Coffee, my dear?’
Sarah declined.
‘Would you mind pouring me some, just a little milk please?’
She stood up and obliged him, handing him the cup with a slight tremble.
‘Now, where were we?’
Sarah took a deep breath to recover.
‘Well, you asked me if I had anything else to ask. So, yes and no. I think what you’ve just run through is a nice addition to our chat yesterday, thank you. There’s also something I wanted to ask, about some research my colleague was doing yesterday in the background.’
Marton dropped his eyelids momentarily then looked more alert.
Sarah continued, ‘Look, I know Jews were being hunted down across Budapest in 1944-45. We discussed this before. I suppose what would be interesting is to understand how those young men involved actually felt about it.
Our research listed names of those in the loose groups that were involved in what went on in Budapest, in the final months before the Russians entered the city. And, well, your name came up on the lists. Well, we think it was your name unless it is a common one? Anyway … I was hoping if indeed it was yourself, that you could tell me how that all felt. Why you did it, what you did, how you felt. I’d like to understand the motives, just from an academic point of view?’
Marton coughed. It was a nervous cough. He looked distracted and started to move himself into his wheelchair.
‘I understand. You’ll have to excuse me, though. I need to use the bathroom. I’ll only be a moment or two.’
He wheeled himself close to Sarah’s chair, keeping his gaze away from her and then toward the bathroom door on the far side of the room.
‘Of course.’
The door slid shut behind him and she heard a faint clink as it was locked.
She looked around the room. Was she feeling so nervous for no reason? The clock was still making her feel unsettled. Now, it was the only sound.
She began to scribble some notes onto her pad, to distract herself. The sound of running water started to tinkle from under the bathroom door.
*
Marton ran the tap at half-throttle, to mask any other noise he was or wasn’t going to make. For all his infirmity, his wits were still sharp.
He leant forward from his chair and pulled open a small door fronting a tiny cabinet underneath his bath. He dialled his personal code number into the safe inside and pulled out a parcel wrapped in oiled cloth, together with a small, transparent plastic box. He unwrapped the parcel and assembled its contents with an item from the plastic box. He pushed the whole thing down by the side of his right thigh and then flushed the toilet, leaving a moment or two before pressing the open button on the bathroom’s electronic lock.
*
Sarah registered the click of the opening lock. It resounded in her head like a pneumatic drill. She heard Marton’s chair softly brush across the carpet as he wheeled his way back towards her. Then it stopped, still out of sight behind her.
She looked around quickly.
Marton was by his large desk, retrieving something from a pile of books spread untidily around one side of it.
He picked a book up and rolled back next to his original seat. He stayed in the wheelchair.
‘I have something for you. It might be of interest.’
He handed Sarah the book. It was a thin text and had a title in Hungarian that she didn’t understand. She opened it and flicked through the first few pages. There were some sections with photographs in. She stopped at one section. It was full of black and white photographs of bears and what appeared to be hunting parties and weapons. She looked at Marton quizzically.
‘Carry on. A bit further. Around page twenty-five.’
Flicking the page once more, she found an image of a young man with a weapon in one hand and a fur pelt in the other. It was Marton, you couldn’t mistake his head and facial features. She looked back at him … thought she half-understood.
Not quickly enough to react though.
Something flicked past her outer field of vision and was followed by a heavy thump in her left arm. Then it was painful. Her arm started to burn and she yelled loudly. She looked at the pistol Marton was holding in his right hand. Something was missing from the scene. There wasn't a loud bang. There wasn’t any smoke. But her arm hurt like crazy. Now her head was hurting too. Aching. Her head drooped as she felt herself falling into a soft faint.
‘My dear, I’m sorry, but you can’t ask me these things,’ he said as he rolled towards her, with a blanket in his other hand.
Sarah slumped forwards into her own lap, becoming aware of a darkness enveloping her head. She realised he’d pushed his chair blanket over her. She tried to yell again, but the volume didn't quite match her first scream. She felt dizzy. She was sinking, her senses spiralling down below the surface of consciousness.
‘Shhh, shhh, my dear. You will be asleep soon. Don’t struggle.’
She felt herself fall forwards, crashing onto the floor, shouting as her hand banged against the floor, sparking a pain that
bounced endlessly around her head, twisting her face into agonies.
Her head thumped into Marton’s right knee as she fell and he too yelled out, cursing and moving his wheelchair back, crashing into the wall behind him.
*
All the time he watched Sarah, though. Watched her wilt, slump, fall to the ground. She scrabbled at the floor as her body succumbed to the tranquiliser dart. He’d measured the dose the previous evening, so she should be just temporarily disabled.
He wheeled over to his desk and grabbed a roll of strong, wide tape and started to bind Sarah around her ankles, wrists and mouth once she had gone completely still. It was almost too hard for him. He did it step by step, taking a rest between each binding. Finally, he lay back in his wheelchair, wheezing heavily, feeling very faint himself and perspiring unnaturally.
The next step would be the problem. He knew there was only one way. To ask Aliz to help him. She was the only one he could trust with this.
He called her from her office behind reception and she appeared at his door two minutes later. As she walked into the room he put an unsteady finger to his lips and motioned for her to be silent.
‘Shut the door quickly,’ he whispered.
Aliz’s face crumpled in horror as she surveyed the bound body of the young woman in front of her.
‘Marton, what have you done?!’ she hissed.
‘Aliz, I know I have trusted you with a lot and it is much to bear. However, trust me please that this was unavoidable. I had to do this to prevent our shame and to protect our hotel and family. And you. Please help me hide her. It is all I need from you. Except then you must not speak of this incident.’
Aliz stared at him, with some hostility in her face. They both knew though, that she would do this. There was too much history that trapped them both together in this. She had no real choice. She let out a huge sigh.