That’s when she spoke forth. I’m not sure if she comprehended the political atmosphere askance this capsule, but she informed me that getting to Munich and reemerging in Hungary would be gruelsome. To portend the truth, I think she subsumed correctly with regards to me. I had some interactions with the Freedom Fighters. Okay, I was one of them for a while. And now I have a jail sentence straddled atop me. How would I make it forth after all of these penalties? And how would I reemerge in Hungary? That is the upmost of importance, Uncle Lanci. For Adrienne.
So I hastened my ears to listen to her. That’s the junction, Uncle Lanci, she uncovered a tidbit that surprised me so much.
“Well, I have some tricks I am aware of on how to make it to Munich,” she said.
Okay, Uncle Lanci, I am most certain and awares of her potential insanity, but I had to pursue the offer she put before me.
“Tell me now,” I commanded.
“You need outer help, and there are envoys that go in and out of Hungary to Austria, and you can reach Germany from there,” she informed me. “Uncle Lanci, of Radio Free Europe, should announce every week the pinpoints of where these escorts convene.”
I wished you had informed me of this potential earlier, but I understand the danger in doing so and why you didn't, Uncle Lanci.
“Where do these pinpoints exist?” I queried.
She said nothing. Before I instigated further inquisitions, the woman voice expired for the evening, muttering goodnight three to four times. My excitement threatened to climb out of my chest and hug the woman voice. When it dragged away from me and I finally calmed downward, I slipped into sleep.
When I awoke, it was to the sound of metal lugging itself through the latches. Before me stooped the most awful man I have ever witnessed. He must have been one of the beasts from yesterday in the woman voice’s capsule. He smiled, petitely, and that’s when I awared that I would endure something awful.
He clamped my mouth one hundred percent closed with some cloth. He commenced beating me everywhere: Blood. Blood in my nose. My teeth. Oh, the blood in my teeth tasted like a coin smashing about in my mouth. I couldn’t produce a single noise in defiance. I was a person incapable of defending myself, I was what they wanted me to be. I understood at that junction what the woman voice meant when she said she was nothing.
He continued pushing my face into the ground until it almost merged completely with the floor of the capsule. My blood insisted on persisting through me, and out of me. I heard another one enter and then utter, “Kick him toward the stomach.” But he misstepped, and it was my arm that became the victim. Like a sentinel angel, Moris appeared. When the rest of the harem witnessed Moris standing there, with a cigar limping from his mouth, they absconded from me and evaporated around the corner. I listened to their trots, until finally, their footsteps grew faint and I heard zero noise.
“You’re going to leave here now,” he said.
“Gurgle-gurgle,” I replied. What I genuinely longed to utter was “No!” because I needed to acquire more time to ask the woman voice questions. I had to discover how to leave through her channels.
Moris said I just had to stand up and I could go. But my body said a definite no to lifting itself up. I was hurt. So I could remain!
But when Moris observed me unmoving, he called the guards back to my capsule. They coalesced in front of me, sending dust straight into my mouth.
They said, “Come with us,” and I said, “Where am I going?”
The inquiry I placed before them, however, was indication for them to commence beating upon my beloved arms and legs. With each push of force, I was shackled into passivity.
They split my arms between the two of them and dragged me on my back past the woman voice. I fixed my glimpse into hers, attempting to communicate that I am a loyalist to her. Her hair constrained of matted fluffiness with gray gobs of something in it. Her eyes were like extinct diamonds. Her entire body wore the same dirtiness of the cell walls. She looked toward me, and her eyes drooped then squinted and then wailed, bearing her pounds of abuse. I pressed my back to the ground so I could slow the guards as we passed her. They dragged me forth more slowly, and I looked at her. They dragged; I looked. You withstand the picture.
“What,” I stooped my voice to a much less strident tone as I was dragged. “What is your name?”
“Please, stop! Stop!” she said, but they continued with their dragging.
Her eyes squinted, her lips vanished, and my total view was her yellow teeth smushed together as she recited, “Eszter.”
Sincerely,
Mike a Korvinközből
Desire is fuelled by all, but fulfillment. —Ernő Osvát
Dora Turján
January 24, 1965
Sweat seeped from Dora’s forehead and back as she sat in Joszef’s office, facing him. Joszef combed his hair, or whatever remained of it, with his stiff, arthritic fingers. He sighed and turned to Dora, “We’ve had a development. It may come as a shock to you ….”
Dora’s mind trudged through the possible scenarios. She didn’t know if Joszef was aware of her recent theft from his office or her encounter with the police, or both. She tried to speak, but couldn’t think of an intelligible response. He had called her in on a Sunday. This couldn’t be good.
Joszef studied Dora, his beady eyes doing laps around her face. Dora hoped he didn’t notice her right eye twitching or that she couldn’t take a deep breath.
“Today I was briefed on the new inmates we’ve acquired,” Joszef said. “Some of them were listening to Radio Free Europe when they were arrested.”
“Radio Free Europe?” Dora felt the twitch in her eye spread to her lips, which began to tremble.
“Yes, Dora.” Joszef leaned back in his chair. “And, now that we are on high alert for these Uncle Lanci letters, it’s a problem when anyone is put in jail who is a Radio Free Europe fan.”
Joszef placed a stack of folders on his desk, his eyes returning to Dora. “These folders seem to have been … disturbed.”
“I can look into that, sir.” Scarcely allowing herself to breathe in even a modicum of air, Dora put all of her energy into sitting up straight, meeting Joszef’s gaze, and soothing her shaking.
“We have more important things to do.” Joszef combed through the folders. “As you know, the Uncle Lanci fans use code names.”
“Yes, almost every letter is signed with one.”
“You also know we can decode these names, if need be.”
“Right, though we determined it wasn’t worth our time.”
“Well, now it is,” Joszef smiled, pulling a folder and opening it on his desk. “I did some digging. It just so happens, one of the men in jail writes to Uncle Lanci regularly.”
“Who …?” Dora tried, though failed again, to take a deep breath. “Who is it?”
Joszef turned the folder around for Dora to see. Pointing to a picture tacked to the top corner, he said, “This is Mike a Korvinközből.”
Now Dora’s breathing stopped all together. Her knees and legs shook so forcefully she heard them, like rain, pitter-pattering on the leather chair.
Dora was staring at a picture of Ferenc. Ferenc was Mike. Mike was Ferenc. He was smiling, his dark hair combed in a side part—this must have been an old school picture. He looked out at Dora with that gentle expression. It was the one that made Dora feel like she could tell him anything, that it wouldn’t be taken out of proportion. Whatever she said would just exist in space without being tied to expectation or pain. In the back of her mind, Dora suspected this was where her conversation with Joszef would lead, her logic guiding her intuition. And as it caught up with her emotions, she knew it made sense. The Mike she grew to know over the years was the playful and kind Ferenc from two nights ago.
Dora heard Joszef’s voice surround her, but she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to know what he was going to ask her to do.
“This is a delicate situation, Dora. It’s also one that
must remain secret. Can you promise that?”
“I can.” Dora heard herself speak, but couldn’t feel the words coming out of her mouth.
“Good, because Ferenc is going to be released from jail today. They wouldn’t normally release him so soon. But, I pulled some strings because I want us to monitor him. I want us to build a case against him and prove to the administration how lethal these Uncle Lanci writers are. So, wherever he goes, you go. He is not to leave your sight.”
Dora couldn’t believe it. Joszef wanted her to stalk Ferenc, and with the explicit purpose of getting him in trouble. This was the last thing she wanted to do. He didn’t deserve that. He was harmless. Dora needed time to find a way out of this.
“I don’t understand … isn’t this a job for the secret police?”
“Not this one.”
“But, how will I do it?”
Dora was not trained for stalking people of interest. She was a bureaucrat who censored mail for a living, behind a desk.
“Before I go further, I need you to agree to this mission,” Joszef said.
Dora realized this had to be one of Joszef’s personal crusades. He must be doing it to prove his worth at the agency. She noticed that, lately, Joszef hadn’t been invited to key strategy meetings. Meanwhile, younger, sharper bureaucrats were on the rise. This was a last ditch effort to succeed, and it was a secret because Joszef didn’t know if it would work. Dora had very little choice in the matter. If Joszef was personally tied to the mission, it was hers.
“I …,” Dora started. “I agree to the mission.”
“Good.” A tiny smirk escaped from Joszef’s lips. “You’re just the right person for this.”
“What are my duties under this new … mission?” Dora clutched her pen and notepad, her knuckles turning bone white.
“You are expected to maintain a half-block’s distance from Ferenc at all times. If a letter is mailed, you will retrieve it immediately. You can check in to the office once a day, for ten minutes. All other hours you’ll spend following him.”
“Including after hours?”
“Especially after hours.” Joszef took out his wallet and handed twenty-thousand forints to Dora. “This will cover your meals, and then some.”
The money must have come from Joszef’s personal account. There was no way he would expense this mission. Dora began to fear that she would let Joszef down, risking her position with the postal agency and the protection it provided her. She had worked her whole life to stay safe and accept the sacrifices that such safety demanded. She couldn’t put herself or her dad in danger. That was the promise she made long ago. It was the promise Eszter could never keep—or make, for that matter. She would have to do this mission, and do it well.
Dora cleared her throat and sat up straight. “When do I start?”
“He gets out of jail in two hours.”
“Which jail is he being held at?”
“You must also promise …,” Joszef narrowed his eyes, “that you will not tell anyone where he is.”
“I promise.”
“He’s in a secret prison in the basement of the Ministry of Interior.”
Dora recalled the building was once used as a prison, but ever since the revolution, the government had transported all prisoners to camps at Kistarcsa or Tӧkӧl.
“There is no longer a prison there, though.”
“That’s exactly right, Dora,” Joszef winked.
*
Two hours later, in the deceptively bright light of the cold afternoon, Dora found herself crouching behind garbage bins outside a restaurant, yards away from the ministry. The smell of food made her queasy as she waited for Ferenc to appear. Every so often the murmurs of restaurant-goers drifted toward Dora, their voices heightening her anxiety.
Dora buried her head in her scarf, trying to cover her ears. Tiny snowflakes melted on her clothes, like little spiders crawling across her body. She was too distracted to realize they had completely overrun her, covering her jacket and amassing in its folds. Soon she’d be wet and shivering.
Dora closed her eyes, and as she did, the eyes from the ministry’s basement came into perfect view. Dora tried to convince herself that they belonged to some common criminal being held there for a short period of time, like Ferenc. But Dora had recognized something frighteningly permanent and familiar lingering in their gaze.
Trying to find some comfort, Dora touched the note tucked away in her pocket, a habit she developed years ago. It always calmed her down when she needed it most. Crumpled and softened from wear, Dora held the note to her cheek, breathing in the faint opium scent lingering on it still. Dora could no longer make out its words, but she knew them by heart.
Dearest Dora,
Now that Boldiszar is gone, I think of you constantly. He loved you like a sister. The day before he was killed, I talked to him briefly. He said, if anything happened, to tell you he loved you. It was a simple request, but I’ve had a hard time doing it. Your father said we can have no communication, but I want Boldiszar to be remembered exactly as he wanted. I’m leaving you this note in hopes you’ll find it. I hope that when you’re cold, you’ll reach your hand into your pocket and find comfort in the memory of my son. He would want that.
Sincerely,
Agnes
Dora wondered what Boldiszar would think of her now—would he be proud? Whenever Boldiszar asked her what she wanted to be, Dora always said she’d work for the government. She never thought twice about it—that’s what Ivan did, and that’s what she would do. Despite his anti-communist ambitions, Boldiszar never pushed anything on Dora. He always seemed so pleased when she told him she wanted to follow in her dad’s footsteps. But, now Dora wondered if Boldiszar would suggest she seek a different position—one that didn’t involve stalking a seemingly harmless young man.
Boldiszar thought he would lead an illustrious career as a politician, though there wouldn’t have been a place for him in Hungary’s government now, anyway. The revolution he fought for died just as quickly as it started. Gerő had been ousted but once Imre Nagy, the revolution’s reluctant leader, declared Hungary’s withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact, the Soviets moved in. They captured Nagy and replaced him with his second-in-command, János Kádár.
Kádár complied with Soviet wishes, promising to put an end to the country’s counter-revolutionary elements. Authorities rounded up thousands of people, many of whom had only minimal involvement in any sort of underground activities. Regardless, they disappeared with everyone else. Meanwhile, those who aligned themselves with the Soviets, and their distinct wishes, like Ivan, came out ahead.
The thud of a door opening reverberated near Dora. She wished she hadn’t heard that thud. She wished she wasn’t standing there in the cold and that she hadn’t been assigned this job by Joszef. She wished for yesterday, even. Anything would be better than this.
When Dora saw Ferenc emerge from the ministry’s large doors, she closed her eyes and made one last wish—that he would be safe. She pressed her back against the wall, hiding in the shadows, and watched him. He put his hat and gloves on at the pace of a stiff old man. He looked hurt, wincing with every movement. He wobbled slowly on the sidewalk, his hands flared out, ready to break a fall. Witnessing Ferenc make his feeble ascent into daylight, an unwelcome sensation overcame Dora—she wanted to hug him.
He increased his pace as he adjusted to navigating the icy sidewalk. Soon, he crossed the street and Dora, running on her toes, lunged to keep up with him. Strangely enough, Ferenc headed straight for the university. He walked through the courtyard and the maze of gothic buildings, then slipped into the back entrance. Sidling through that same door, Dora snuck in behind him.
Dora found herself in a library with high ceilings and light-yellow bricks that reached up to an expansive skylight. The library was virtually empty, which meant Dora would need to hide quickly before Ferenc saw her. She crouched behind the bookcase opposite Ferenc and watched him search the shelves. A con
stellation of cuts and bruises spread across his face, and through his scabbing lips, she could see him mouthing the words “Radio Free Europe.” She wished he would just stop his obsession with the radio program and lie low for a while. She thought about writing him some sort of anonymous letter warning him to cease interacting with and talking about Radio Free Europe for a few months, until further notice. Knowing Ferenc, that would encourage his obsession even more.
Without warning, his eyes shot up from the spines of the dank and moldy books and peered through the bookshelf. They ran straight into Dora, who jumped back against the bookcase behind her, knocking two books onto the floor. She nodded at Ferenc, as if greeting a stranger, and scurried away.
“Excuse me,” Ferenc said, following her. “Wait.”
Dora found herself heading toward a dead end.
“Sorry, I think I’m lost,” Dora said, looking down as she scooted past Ferenc.
Ferenc stopped her, gently grabbing the crook of her arm. “You look familiar.”
Dora studied Ferenc’s lips. She almost forgot she had heard him speak that night at the bar. He didn’t sound anything like Mike, who she only knew through his broken English. Ferenc’s voice had a soft yet masculine quality to it, as if there was something important he had to say, if she would only listen.
“What is your name?” Ferenc asked.
Craving to hear him speak more and rationalizing it as a ripe intelligence-gathering opportunity, Dora conceded. “Anika.”
Ferenc’s mouth shot open, stretching his entire face into a look of shock. “Anika! That’s right. Of course. What are you doing here?”
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