Dora tried to follow Ivan’s advice. She wanted to for her own good, hoping things would go back to the way they used to be. She focused all of her attention on resuming her normal lifestyle. She continued following Ferenc everywhere, but with one little change. During the day, if he ever even went by the Ministry of Interior, Dora would meander off in the opposite direction.
Her stalking skills grew increasingly better. She learned little tricks, like if Ferenc walked into an empty street, she would wait until she could barely make out his footsteps before slipping behind him. She would leapfrog from doorway to doorway until they entered a more crowded area, where she could hide between people, cars, and the debris of everyday life. Since Ferenc followed a predictable course throughout the day, she learned how to go unnoticed in and out of his daily activities. Usually when she stepped away from him for long periods of time, it was only for lunch, dinner, or sleep. She refused to meet him as Anika either, though a part of her wanted to, especially when she noticed him talking to other women.
Dora’s feelings for Ferenc grew stronger as she observed his life more and more. She found herself particularly taken by Ferenc when he was interacting with his sister, especially the way he shuffled her hair or how he made sure to hug and kiss her before she went to school every morning. Dora had spent her life surrounded by people who saw kindness as a weakness. It wouldn’t get you far in this country, she had been told. But Ferenc somehow possessed the courage to believe it would. It mystified Dora, and drew her to him.
At night, as Dora fell asleep, she thought about kissing Ferenc, exploring their relationship while only on the brink of consciousness. She wanted to be with him, but in a different time and place. She imagined herself wearing a white cotton dress, standing on a beach in France, and meeting Ferenc for the first time. Relaxed, yet full of energy, she’d strike up a conversation with him, smiling and blushing at the appropriate times. They would stay at the beach, forgetting about the plans they made, and instead feeling like every second was the best second of their lives. When the sun set, he would ask her to accompany him to dinner, and she would say yes, not even worried about getting ready or refreshing her makeup. Dora usually drifted off to sleep at that point, excited for what would never happen.
Meanwhile, Ferenc hadn’t written a letter in weeks. With increasing persistence, Joszef asked Dora about Ferenc, and if she had found any proof of his deviance. Dora still held on to the first two letters, unable to let Joszef see the horrifying descriptions of her mom or Ferenc’s admission to teaming up with Eszter to escape, which would be a certain jail or death sentence for him, and maybe the latter for her mom. She didn’t know what she was going to do. Sometimes, when she stopped in to work, she would find Joszef examining the documents neatly stacked on her desk. He always acted so cavalier about it, as if he had a right to sort through her things.
Once, she came back to work to see a memo on her desk detailing the repercussions leveraged on a colleague who had hoarded mail in his desk for years. Once they discovered his crime, they sent him straight to a labor camp. On top of the memo sat a note that read, “Please file —J.” Dora understood Joszef’s warning, and even took it with a modicum of appreciation. She would rather he do that than discuss her transgressions with her. She still didn’t have a plan, but at least she had some time. Joszef never acted quickly. If this was truly a warning, it would be weeks before a second or third one came, and even longer, hopefully, until he pursued any sort of disciplinary measures.
Dora had always harbored strong feelings about right and wrong. It was right for her to avoid any relationship with Eszter. She understood the rightness of it, not from her own perspective, but from a global one too. It was right for Eszter too. She enjoyed a life independent of Dora and Ivan. Dora remembered the moment she realized that, on some level, Eszter didn’t belong to them, nor did she want to.
*
Dora couldn’t fall asleep that night, a common problem that scared her as a child. At the age of eight, she had just been introduced to the notion of death, and ghosts, for that matter. She imagined them surrounding her at night, terrified that if she closed her eyes, they would invade her bedroom. Boldiszar had advised her to sleep with the lights on, but the light in her room had gone out, and she needed someone to fix it. She would have woken up Ivan, but he always jumped up violently in shock whenever she roused him in the middle of a deep sleep. Dora heard someone in the kitchen, as she usually did late at night. Eszter never went to bed when they did.
Dora wandered toward the kitchen, eyes straining to adjust to the brightness—her room had been so dark—when she saw her mom talking on the phone. Though she couldn’t make out what Eszter was saying, Dora could sense her excitement. Eszter’s free hand gestured colorfully, and she kept smiling. Dora couldn’t even remember a time when Eszter truly smiled, rather than straining her lips into a lop-sided grin. When Eszter did finally turn around to see Dora standing there, her eyes froze, mid-rise, before sinking into her cheeks. Her smile retreated. She placed the phone on her shoulder, and sighed, “Are you okay?”
Dora burst into tears. She was only eight, but she knew the difference between love and indifference. She shuffled to her parents’ room, shocking Ivan out of sleep, and cried in his arms. Eszter never rushed to comfort her. As Ivan stroked Dora’s hair, she could hear the faint murmur of her mom’s voice still on the phone.
So when Dora agreed to avoid speaking to Eszter all together, she didn’t feel like it was a completely selfish decision. It was the right thing to do, given that Eszter inhabited a completely different world, by choice. And it was to that world she went, whatever consequences it bore. She would be relieved of Dora, and Dora of her.
*
The thought of her mom dying, and disrupting the steady balance of worlds that made up her universe, terrified Dora. Without Eszter, Dora wouldn’t have anything to measure rightness against or structure her perspective. Eszter deserved the fairest trial she could get. It was her only hope, really, and seemed like a virtually impossible feat, given her current state.
As the days moved on, and the gravity of Ferenc’s letters and Eszter’s trial bore down on Dora, an unlikely calm began spreading through her. It was the type of calm that only comes when a decision has been made, and one can relinquish all questioning and anxiety, simply ready to follow a pre-determined course. Someone else decided for Dora. Her mom, years ago, decided, and Ivan decided too. Dora had been placed in this position before she could even protest it. She would have to find a way to help her mom.
Dora didn’t feel any sort of hesitation, even knowing her mom confessed to murdering someone. Rather, Dora reminded herself that since she didn’t know the details of Eszter’s crime, she couldn’t make any assumptions. Dora only knew she wanted to set things right. And, if the government caught wind that Eszter still plotted to escape the country, they would surely do away with her. Ferenc’s letters would seal her fate before she even took the stand.
With all doubt banished from her mind, Dora picked up her pencil. Tracing Ferenc’s words, she followed the erratic loops and dips of his penmanship, until she could fabricate it perfectly. In a matter of ten minutes, Dora composed a compelling letter that appeared to be in Ferenc’s handwriting. Lighthearted and inundated with sexual innuendos, it would hold off Joszef for a little while, at least.
Quietly resting her pen down, she moved to her desk where her typewriter sat. Dora needed to make sure Ferenc never mailed another letter through the postal service again, just in case she couldn’t intercept it. Her back straight and eyes glued to the loaded paper, Dora took a deep breath and prepared to compose her second letter. This one would protect Eszter and Dora. It would give Ferenc the hope he craved. It would be the beginning of something that Dora wasn’t ready for, but for which she had been preparing her whole life.
Dear Mike a Korvinközből,
Please, let’s not communicate anymore via the mail system. It’s too dangerous, especially
with your encounters with Eszter. Instead, please write “Varga” on your letters to me and deliver them to the secretary at 3 Wesselényi út. She will not know who you are, or what you’re doing there, but she knows the letters must get to me.
You have my full respect and confidence for trying to escape Hungary. My explanation to you is long, but the short version is that I will help you.
My letters will not give you instructions on how to escape. That would put anyone in our envoys at serious risk, and I can’t forgo their safety. Please continue to foster your relationship with Eszter. She will tell you how to safely leave the country. She knows a code. It’s the only way.
Sincerely,
Uncle Lanci
Mike a Korvinközből
February 15, 1965
Dear Uncle Lanci,
Thank you from the top of my lungs for your letter. It is truly the most gorgeous specimen I have encountered. You will help? You will help! I almost squelched Adrienne as I told her the momentous news.
I admit that I harbor no clue as to how your petite letter landed in my coat pocket, but my heart lumbered with excitement when I read it. I always thought admist the ranks of those who fight for the Hungarian cause, your radio stands first in line. But I had my doubts recently with your none response. Your Hungarian is genuine. I am glad to see that you have not pardoned it to flee after living in Munich for so long.
I was so taken on by overjoyousness that I wanted to leap up and tell Anika, who had just departed from me. She was placed in my presence so lovingly because Andras and I spotted her and Marta at an underground bar the night previous. We were domineering the dance floor, when Andras’ matty, pink, sweaty face turned to me and said, “Do you remember those beauty queens we faced?”
The delight in my interactions with Anika nested softly in my heart. My range of words for Andras proved more limited than I even planned. I nodded imminently and sincerely for Andras to witness.
Andras took hold of my hand and whiskered me to the other side of the bar. He forced me in a forward movement and then to an abrupt halt. He pointed forth. “There they are!”
I tripped with excitement. “Let’s go light conversation with them!” I jaunted forward, but Andras caught my chest in his arms. I could tell that he refrained me due to his nerves.
“What do we say?” he spattered.
“Let me take the lead,” I courageously exclamated. I crossed the line above him and around him. Andras shagged behind me, like he was prepping to pick up the balls from a football practice. I could tell his lumpy figure was very close to me.
When Anika’s face pivoted toward me, Uncle Lanci, it was like I was sliding on ice and may plunk onto my tailbone. Her glance was more severe than the coldest winter. When our eyes began to intercourse, a petite frown drooled upon Anika’s cheeks. It forced Andras and I to hang backward in fear.
“She simply failed to recognize us,” I made a whisper to Andras.
“I don’t know,” he said.
But I persevered to walk toward her, and surely as my superb face approached closer, she realized my identity. A smile rang from her and she alerted Marta, who was the beacon of Andras’ lustings, for when I peered behind me he was in full salivation mode.
“Hello,” was all I could mutter, Uncle Lanci, before I persisted sounding more ridiculous than I could imagine.
“Hi,” Anika said in the sweetest of simple tunes.
Her friend Marta nodded behind her, as if the hello Anika uttered was the most profounding academic theory in the universe.
Politely, and so delicately, as Anika’s usual custom, she asked me, “How are you feeling?”
“Great!” I informed her, bugging my chest wide and far for her to see the greatness of my health.
“Good,” she said.
“How are you?” I perpetuated the conversation.
“I am fine,” she said, but her eyes looked the reverse of fine. I viewed her sadness, which I did not view before, but I hypothesize was consistently present. It was so big, and I desired to take it off of her. Anika is a student in the Hungarian way. She says a small amount of words, but holds behind her an immense accommodation of emotion.
I couldn’t perceive whether she wanted us standing there before her or not, but I settled with it. How would you inform someone, Uncle Lanci, that you have been pondering their whereabouts for ages?
I chattered forward about the petite number of happy occurrences I encountered so that our conversation could shine brighter than her sadness. We carried forward like this for a portion of time, discoursing on meaningless things. Andras made a heroic offer to Marta to dance, and she complied with much rapidness.
I continued perceiving Anika as unhappy, but then why did she not depart? She went forth standing there. Unmoving! That did a sign for me, Uncle Lanci. I longed for her hand and grasped it. She put her eyes up at me, and I viewed, through the sadness, the miniscule hope in her. I am aware of hope when it’s miniscule. I know what it is like to place it in storage, majorly back inside. She saw this part of me too and she began to be easeful. She even started saying light things and dancing.
The night swam from underneath me after that, the perfect coincidence of affairs carrying me forward to greater lengths than I could perceive. What I discovered leap-frogged beyond what I had ever witnessed before. Anika and I could converse, and we enjoyed each other’s company so endlessly that the conversation rarely pitter-pattered to a hault on any occasion.
After dancing and chattering, a sofa became available in the bar and I slopped on it, like a smooth whale. When she skimmed close to me (I think purposely), I touched my fingertips to her thighs. She jolted. I thought she’d go forth to leave, but instead she scooped away and made a pivot to face me.
“So tell me about what it was like in jail,” she said, shocking me, of course, because that night in jail was the farthest parts from my mind.
“Oh, let’s not be concerned with that,” I said, aspiring that Anika would pick on the fact I hoped to go nowhere nearest the topic.
“What was it similar to?” she said, her voice masquerading a sweetness that I must say I strangled to believe in.
Paddying the area on the sofa right by my side, I beaconed her close to me.
Staring, she just kept staring, until with much slowness, she scooped next to me. I didn’t know what to commence—with her so close and her eyes so severe. I just simply leaned over to her and placed my lips atop of hers. I permitted them to sleep there for a moment, like when you place your lips against a cool peach. I luxuriated on them. When she persisted in not fleeting the situation, I kissed her. I experienced my one hundred percent then. I was one hundred percent! Finality. Her lips were so silkness.
After a volume of kissing, her neck craned upward for mere seconds and she asked again, “Please, just tell me some tidbits of jail. I always heard, but I never really knew what it was similar to.”
Heaving sigh atop sigh, I nodded and launched into my in-depth story. I even told her regarding Eszter, which I shouldn’t have even ventured toward. She asked questions all along, even when I butted up against the Eszter story. Her head jolted a little when I discussed the rapes that I beared witness to.
Then the most betwixting thing occurred. She produced a demand on me. She pondered whether we could maybe do a favor for Eszter such as bringing forth her some food from the outside or something nice. She almost resembled a baby asking me that. It produced a love for her even more than I had before.
Actually, I thought it was a luxurious idea, all accreditations to Anika’s sweet, sweet being. We concurred upon just some petite pogácsa for me to bestow upon Eszter. Upon confirmation of our plan, Anika’s whole being just reclined into me. With no words, she bestowed upon me her lips again. I must be in possession of strong feelings toward her, because it produces shyness in me to indulge you with all the details of Anika’s miraculous kissing.
After, I read that Eszter is my key to escape and upon my ag
reement with Anika, I decided to approach my work shift at the ministry with one hundred percent vigor. With me were stored a total of five pogácsa reserved for Eszter specifically. When I told Andras, he reacted in abysmal ways, his eyes frowning to complete close, his head knocking back and forth.
“I will not venture with you. I am a coward,” he proclamated.
“I would not want you to venture with me either. It does not mean that you are a coward. It means you possess a sense of wits. I am going still,” I said.
Andras observed as I crawled back into our beloved vent. He promised he would stay in the office until I surfaced again. If danger lurked near me, he would yank the rope and I would return back upward.
When I faced Eszter through the vent, I noticed she resembled an old, wrinkle-filled potato on the floor. When Eszter’s eyes absorbed me one hundred percent crouching at the vent, she stretched through her stiffness, and I thought she might just decide to pass over me on her way back to sleep. She maintained her open eyes though, and I persisted to wait for minutes and minutes.
“What time is it?” she finally asked.
“It’s two hours past midnight,” I informed her.
She indicated her finger in the direction of the guard post and then placed it on her lips to tell me to quiet severely. Shuffling her body over to the vent, she peered into it. I squeezed a total of two pogácsa through the vents toward Eszter, who plucked them from me at instant.
Radio Underground Page 17