As she devoured the pastries with such quickliness, she asked me, “Why did you bring those to me?”
Squishing my voice betwixt the vent holes, I explained to her that a nice woman named Anika asked me to bring them to her. Without helping myself, I launched into an aggressive description of Anika. As I departed Anika’s wonder upon Eszter, she cried softly. Juggling her head backward and forward, she spoke in between her gusts of sobs.
“She,” Eszter said, “She is a nice woman. She sounds so nice. So nice. Deliver her a thank you from me.”
Waiting persistently for Eszter to move on from her tearhood, I slumped my head against my arms. Awareness donned on me that Eszter would need to speak firstly. She was so far removed from experiencing interactions that too much discussion would send her back into herself—a realm that scared me beyond fear.
Finally …, “What are you doing here?” she asked, a smile on her face as if she already knew I was guaranteed to utter back.
“Munich,” I said. “I need to know how to get there. I desire your help.”
“Do you know what this entails?” she asked, her head bobbing as she grasped the vent. (I was still there in the squatting position.) I believe she stood on her tipstoes just to see me.
I nodded vigorously, even though I was fearful Eszter would take me for a fabricator. There would be no excuse for me if I failed. I would not be able to utter something to Adrienne that would even describe my failure.
“I’m not so sure,” Eszter said, her fingers now poking through the vent. “It means I must accompany you. I must adorn your side with my knowledge so that you can know how to accomplish this fruitfully.”
“You want to come with me?” I said, because I did not envision this, Uncle Lanci. Did you? I wish you warned me of this so I could have pondered how to act.
“Yes, I do not want to live out here.” Eszter’s subdued, gray-filled eyes tried to make a unification with mine.
“If I leave without you, it’s a minor step to deviance, that could be overlooked,” I began to explain. “If I help you escape, I may never be able to return to this country.”
Uncle Lanci, why is it that you refuse to write to me the plan? You have given me a choice out of zero choices. I am reaching anger now just reminiscing on my conversation with Eszter. You have suggested I ask an empty canon to fire. It’s impossible. I want to give up, and at the same time, it’s endlessly reckless what I am proposed to do.
She said nothing and nothing and nothing. Minutes surpassed us, and the fear that I would not get out became as real as her gray eyes. Adrienne came into my head. I pondered my sweet, petite sister whose main goal is to procure a mom who will wrap her bulky arms around her and just simply utter tender remarks. When I witness Adrienne crying about it, my insides drop away. All my pursuits are so unnecessary in my life when Adrienne sinks.
“Okay, I will take you,” I gasped. (Uncle Lanci, now I’m really going to need your help.)
“Then first, you will mandate to listen to Uncle Lanci. He has awareness on where the envoys pick up and leave. He can inform you over the radio. He does this for people who are important.”
“I have already made communications with Uncle Lanci,” I said.
When I uttered this, it was as if an electric shock scuffled across Eszter’s spine, up its nodules, and then into her eyes … her one hundred percent terrifying eyes. Retracing from the vent, she glared up with me, making a crossbow with her arms. “How could you have spoken with him?”
“He transcribed me a letter.”
“And what does Uncle Lanci impart on you?”
“He said that you will help me with a code, but I am not entirely positive how it is that will happen.”
I felt the uncertainty of the moment flood over my insides. Eszter twisted her hair, and I wondered what could be circulating through her brain at that instance in time.
“How is it, exactly, you received Uncle Lanci’s letter?”
“It appeared in my pocket.”
“Ahhh,” Eszter said in a trouble-burdening tone. “So … it was not delivered to you by way of the posta?”
“No, it was not.”
I do wonder how you got me the letter, Uncle Lanci. There are mysteries you hold that I cannot begin to unfold because I have to focus on my main, supreme task of finding my mom. But, one day when I go to Munich, I envision sitting down with you and laughing about all of this because the explanations turned to be more simple than I could ever envision.
Eszter became silent, but physicality speaking, manic. She forced her way around the capsule, prancing to and fro. A wildness sprung forth from her that I can’t capture precisionly. It felt morbid, like she would sacrifice anything to achieve an end (but what end that is, I do not know). I infuriated with Eszter more than I ever experienced before.
“Stay calm,” I forced a whisper to Eszter. “Someone might hear you.”
But, Uncle Lanci, she really could not heed a bat even if it flew by her and made the decision to suddenly open its mouth and speak. I heard Andras dragging his boots around above me at a high loudness. I wondered if he was trying to warn me about something.
“Okay!” Eszter suddenly screamed at the pinnacle of her lungs.
I thought at that moment my location would most certain be divulged to the guards and I would summarily be vanquished back to these cells again. I launched backward in the vent, hating myself and hating her more for the situation she placed upon me. Why did I assume she maintained a level of sanity in this place?
She froze in her places, her hands by her side, and she made a clear of her throat. I predicted she would scream forth again and I just froze too to make a brace for myself.
“I can tell you how to interpret the radio,” she said.
I evolved to be very quiet. Did she just say she would be assistance to me? Did Eszter come away from her craze to reach forth to me? I centimetered on my belly very close to the vent. My attention was one hundred percent on Eszter in that moment. I would not have even cared for the guards if they came about us.
In the most clear voice I have heard her maintain in my entire existence, she uttered to me, “I’m sorry, I seem to be inhabiting outer space to you. I have been in here too long and the attention you don on me is powerful to my ego. I will help you, I promise, but please allow for the interruptions of my spirit as I divulge in you the secrets of how you will accomplish your goal.”
At that concurrence, I desired to hoist Eszter up and impart on her the most chief of hugs I could. She was aware and she was human. To harbor ill feelings toward her at this juncture would be to defy my sense of forgiveness.
“I would like a radio too.”
“You request me to bring forth a radio to you? You will get caught.”
“I will not.”
“You will,” I said. “Can you proceed to don on me the code first?”
“If you bring forth me a radio, I will don you the code soon,” Eszter said. “The important thing is that you learn from me what to do.”
“Fine.” I cannot explain why I said that because it would put Eszter in trouble and if she was caught, my whole plan would be ruined.
She got a petite smile atop her face. “Do you trust me?”
What a confusing question. I wanted to say a mighty no, but I could not disturb the fragileness of Eszter. “Yes,” was all I uttered.
“You make lies!” she yelled. She started spinning in cycles, and as she spun she repeated, “You make lies!”
How can I keep up with Eszter? She will be an adult and then a child. She will be present around me, and within seconds will retreat to another realm that I am not in the slightest familiar with, as if she sees an oasis, knows it, has tasted its water, but gets lost anyway in the bareful desert.
I vigorously lunged toward the shovel of my words to dig, dig, dig myself out of the hole. “Trusting you one hundred percent will take time for me, but I will backtrack toward you and learn from you again.”
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I left her there. I knew if I said more she would turn on me again. As my final foot disappeared up the vent I averted my head toward Eszter. She assembled herself back into her bed as if she was any typical person preparing for slumber. I let myself think those thoughts, and then, in a second, I instantaneously realized how dangerous they were.
I possess awareness that Eszter’s brain does not coincide with our world, Uncle Lanci, but I also must ask you why she harbors minimal trust toward you. I wouldn’t be a one hundred percent man if I didn’t confront you on this topic. Are you helping me in earnestly? Or is Eszter in the correct to be weary with you? For now I will trust you (and that is a real feeling). I will do as you say and make returns to Eszter, but I persevere an explanation from you on this matter. In plus, I have now made an agreement to bring forth Eszter with me, so I do hope there is an added space on this envoy for her!
My brain is swimming in fear and possibilities, but I won’t drown because I have been swimming my entire life. I will brave the unstable tides and get to the place I determined, where I can make a life for Adrienne, and maybe for me.
So, please, receive my letter. I’m delivering it to your Varga secretary tomorrow. I’ll be made aware of you receiving it if you just play “If I Had a Hammer.” If I had a hammer, I would hammer out all the danger too.
Sincerely,
Mike a Korvinközből
Desire is fuelled by all, but fulfillment. —Ernő Osvát
Dora Turján
February 18, 1965
Dora hadn’t planned on kissing Ferenc, let alone ever talking to him again. She hadn’t planned on breaking her agreement with herself, or with Joszef, to maintain her professionalism, no matter what. She hadn’t planned on any of that. But the second she slipped the forged letter into Ferenc’s pocket, her connection to his cause—and her mom’s—solidified. She had officially entered their world, making it impossible to turn back or observe from afar. She now lived, breathed, and walked inside the realm of subversion that shaped—no, contorted—so much of her life.
Dora ran her fingers along her lips, as if they could somehow absorb the remnants of her kiss with Ferenc and give her another chance to feel it. She wanted so badly to kiss him again, and again. She hadn’t felt that excited about anything since Boldiszar kissed her. She hated that whenever she fell for someone, something always stood in her way. Dora’s narrative of love was not a narrative at all, but simply a series of all-too-quiet, yet distinct conclusions. She hated to admit it, but deep down, she didn’t believe in love, though she still searched for someone who could prove her wrong. She wanted to find someone who could love a person with consistency and endurance. Yet, time and time again, she saw the reverse.
Dora sat at her favorite perch in the cemetery, indulging in her memories of Ferenc, until they ran head-on into thoughts of Eszter. She imagined her mom in one of the nameless graves before her. It would be Eszter’s name, instead of Boldiszar’s, Dora would search for at the Bureau of Missing Persons. And through pursed, dry lips, some government employee would tell Dora that he had failed to locate records for an Eszter Turján.
The gate behind Dora let out a shrill squeal, and Dora turned to see a heavyset man in a tattered coat fumbling with the latch. He had with him a shovel, and after prying the gate open, lumbered into the graveyard as though, at any moment, he would be the one needing to be buried.
“This isn’t a place to be in the winter,” he grumbled as he punctured the hard, frigid dirt.
“I was just leaving.” Dora stood up, her legs a little wobbly from sitting on the cold, stone bench.
The man stopped digging and fixed his gaze on Dora. “Hey, I recognize you.”
Dora’s heart quickened. “I don’t think we know each other.”
“You are a Turján. You look just like her,” the man said, stepping closer to Dora.
“Excuse me, but who are you?”
“I’m Bence. I was a Freedom Fighter.”
Dora had never been confronted by one of her mom’s counterparts before. She never even fantasized about that happening. But this Bence seemed so intrigued by Dora that she wondered what kind of impact Eszter had on his life.
“Did you work at the paper with her?”
“No, we met her the first day of the revolution,” Bence said. “I’ll never forget it.”
“What happened?”
“She escorted one of our comrades to American troops.”
“There were no American troops.”
“Exactly.”
After the revolution, Dora remembered people blaming the Americans for instilling false hope in the Freedom Fighters by suggesting the U.S. would come charging in and save them from the Soviets. Dora thought that sounded like a cruel trap, and now it upset her even more to hear her mom fell victim to it as well.
“What happened when she escorted your comrade to this so-called aid?”
“You’re her daughter and you don’t know?” Bence snorted, piercing the dirt again, which had started to give way.
Dora, embarrassed, studied the ground as Bence unearthed its dark, tender interior.
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”
“I’ll find out through my own means.” Dora stepped over the fresh mound of dirt. “Have a nice day.”
“Wait, there is something you should know.”
“What?”
“I heard they’re having a hearing for her.”
“I’m already aware of that.”
“But, I heard it’s today, and I don’t know who I’m digging this grave for. I’d like to think it’s not for her.”
Dora stopped. Her mouth went dry. How many shocks to her life could she handle before she became delusional like her mom? The hearing couldn’t be today. She wasn’t ready. She didn’t have a plan. She wasn’t even close to having a plan. And how much longer after the trial would Eszter be sentenced? Would it be right away? Dora reminded herself to focus on her actions, on taking the first step. Nothing more.
“What time is the trial? Where?”
“In two hours. At the ministry.”
“I’ll go now.” She shook Bence’s calloused and grimy hand. “Thank you.”
Bence squeezed Dora’s hand back. “If you get a chance to talk to her, tell her Boldiszar’s comrades know it was a mistake.”
Dora froze. She was almost certain she imagined his name. “Whose comrades?”
“Boldiszar. He was our commander. He died in that trap too. Such a shame, they really believed so much in Radio Free Europe.”
“I knew him. I knew Boldiszar,” Dora gasped. She wanted to fall to the ground and never get up again. She wanted to blend into the dirt and weeds and graves because this was too much information. This would finish her.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I can’t … I have to go. I can’t stay.” Dora rushed out of the cemetery, dodging the decrepit headstones, not even bothering to close the gate on the way out. She wished more than anything she could run to Boldiszar, but she would never be able to do that. She next thought of Ferenc, but she couldn’t go to him, either. Marta would get too excited by the drama. Her dad would see right through her. Dora didn’t know what to do or to whom to turn.
If her mom led Boldiszar to the trap that killed him, then Eszter was, in some way, responsible for Boldiszar’s death, even if it was a mistake. And how did Eszter survive this trap? Surely Boldiszar was stronger and faster. It should have been Eszter who didn’t get away. Dora had to know the answers, because knowing was the only option now. No longer could she ignore her mom’s past or sit at unmarked graves and wonder what happened to Boldiszar. The information was out there. It existed, muddled and volatile, in a cold basement, underneath the ministry. It resided in Eszter, and Dora needed her now more than ever. She had to get to Eszter’s trial, and now.
Eszter Turján
February 18, 1965
It smells. Everything smells in th
is room. It was smelling before I arrived. The worst illnesses come from within and eat without until we become them, like we always suspected we would. Under my nails lies the scum of nine years, and it crawls into my throat, and I want to throw up. Never once did they bathe me, but can I tell them that? Sitting in squalor, shitting too, my body infested my mind; my mind infested my body. To let me back out in this country is not freedom. I’d rather endure an eternity of punishment than receive the exoneration of a government that deserves to never be forgiven.
The bureaucrats are here in my courtroom. When they see me, they realize what it feels like, for a second, to be trapped. It washes over their eyes and then out. They look so bored and proud, as if mediocrity was some medal they could wear across their chests. Everything they do, I watch. “Beware,” my cat eyes warn, and when they look away, I know I’ve scared them.
They said this isn’t my trial. It’s just my pre-trial, but I do not believe them because I never believe them. Do not believe them. They think they wield the ultimate truth. But they carry the lies deep inside. I see them. I feel them. They are numb, but I am not, except my hand is, because I am sitting on it. It has been hurt ever since my rat tore through it, so I hide it to increase my chances here. The judge wears a simple suit—brown tweed. It seems there are two judges, a woman too.
Antal is here. His pink face is now ashen, preparing for his impending cremation because he will die soon, I know. I mouth to him that I know what he did. I know he betrayed me to the Soviets. He is still a little worker bee in the government’s hive. He cannot look at me, but I stare at him forever. I stare until his soul becomes riddled with my eyes. I’m not strong enough for revenge. I wonder if he can tell.
He gets up to leave, and that confirms my theory that he betrayed me, and he betrayed Boldiszar. And, if he had really been on our side, he wouldn’t have kept working for the regime all these years. He would have done what Laszlo did, become a émigré. It was him. I always knew it, but now I know it for sure. I have no strength. I have no strength to follow him, but I’ve killed him in my mind anyway.
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