Radio Underground

by Alison Littman

  There is a singular hope that I do contain within me. It’s that you do not possess infuriation with me. I possess knowledge that you might, but please know, that I strove to write you as soon as I possibly could. As soon as I learned how to do it with safety.

  When she fled in the car, I presumed the world had finished (I cannot utilize her name for your safety, but you are aware of who I am writing on). As I succamb to the desire to lie next to you, I embraced your tears on mine. You felt so warm, and that is when I knew a sickness had entered your bones for once and total. It was a sickness I once felt, and I remember it occurring when I knew my mom was gone away forever. When I mandated you sleep in my bed, you lay so peacefully that I couldn’t awake you. I meandered outside, because, Anika, to witness you suffer the loss that I once did made me gasp for air. As I cornered the curb, a man reproached me. It was the passenger in the car, the man who stunned us and ignored our pleadings.

  He told me that he could not place me on that envoy, but that if I followed him, he could show me where I could get a passage to Germany. I am not a fool, and inquired then why he concerned to exit the car and aid me. He said he harbored zero knowledge that she would be the passenger in the car. He knew if they were caught, they would all suffer from executions and he made a flee. (Anika—is it potential that she was protecting us by lying to us? She knew that if we accompanied them we might suffer to die?)

  I quiered him as to why they did not take us with them. He said that in typical it’s harder to get more than one person across the border, and that Laszlo (the real Uncle Lanci) had made it arranged that it was solely her they would pick up. She was such a largely threat that they could take her and only her. (Okay, you catch my meaning of who we are mentioning, yes?)

  He grabbed my arm and said to follow him if I wanted to leave, that he would really take me there. At initial, I wanted to yelp, “No! Anika is asleep in my room!” Then I did commit that, and he told me if I did not follow him, I would not depart the country ever. He said the place he was taking me would be leaving soon, and there was no time to do anything else. I compiled to follow him, and still at this juncture feel regrets that I ever committed such a thing. I should have made firmness and told him to force the car to wait for me because I had to say goodbye. But, with my father being departed until the nighttime, I made the calculation that you would awake before he returned home. I hope that you did that in peace, and assembled the courageness to depart my house, and that no one perturbed you. I worry about it every day.

  The man, who would never reveal to me his name, led me to a paved entrance behind a government building. We went to a car, it was black and had shades on the windows, but was more cumbersome than a Zis, if you can envision. He opened the trunk and said, “Get in.”

  I should have said no because I wanted to take shits right there. How would it be possible for me to get into a trunk of a stranger? It felt wrong, but Anika, I have to say, I am a one hundred percent risk taker. Maybe it is because I am stupid (we should not make pretends that I am a genius), or maybe it’s because I had your love in me, and it lended me foolishness (it does!), or maybe it is because I couldn’t make face with the loss of my mom, and I would do anything to reverse it. Have you ever been so desperate that you feel like survival isn’t as important as acquiring your goal? Let me explain: I felt like if I didn’t go, my life would always be missing so much. I would remain the seventy or sixty percent person, and really, that’s like being a zero percent person, because all that I miss consumes me all day. And I didn’t want to keep being defined by what I was missing, and by my sadness. So I went. Please forgive me, Anika, but I went.

  The man said the drivers possessed no awareness of my presence. I had to make flees the second the car stopped in Germany. I nodded, but I really did not want to do this.

  After our departure, I hunched in the trunk for hours and hours and hours as the car went forth, until I felt it stop. I commenced waiting for more hours, maybe even three. I had to reach certainty that they fled the vehicle. When none of that happened, I placed matters into my own muscle-full arms and opened the trunk. I came to face a man so terrified of my presence, he stood there without moving. Since I possessed the knowledge of why I was there, I gleaned the upper position and assumed action. I leaped out of the trunk, pushed him askance, and made my getaway to the streets.

  I had presumed we were somewhere near a city, but they had convened somewhere in rural. I harbored no notions as to my location. I walked for days, Anika, until I could not decipher the difference between my feet and the ground. I found an old man on a bike. He told me, in his English to mine, that I would have to bribe someone to drive me to Munich. He possessed a farm where I worked for two weeks until I secured the money for a bribe.

  When I assembled myself to leave his farm, he presented himself in front of me and outstretched his hand for his money. He would drive me. I leaped with joy and hugged him very hard. We went forth to Munich, which was only a thirty-minute jaunt. The old man trickered me, because I could have walked there.

  But, now I am here in Munich and I am happy. There are too many things I want to share to you about this glorious place. The streets here don’t smell like dog piss. There is no trash everywhere, and people listen to music together in the openness.

  There’s no Uncle Lanci. Instead, you simply just hear rock emitting from the radio liberally. Betwixt the daytime, I’m lost in the loveliness that is freedom. You can grow to whatever you please here and no one cares a tidbit.

  At night, for the first months, I used to sleep in a park. I had a blanket that I found. I learned many facets about myself, as I grabbed the blanket across me and went through shivers. When not one other person is around who is aware of you, Anika, you can become whoever you want. The old me would have been too scared to assume any action. He would have gone home by now. He would have been weak and sad and scared. But, without a singular person near me, who knows that version, I could become a braveful man. I realized I was being Adrienne’s hero in that moment, embracing struggle to find the missing part of her life too. I was the person I always wanted.

  Of course I thought of her, your mom. I keep my eyes skinned so I can foster attempts to see her. When I discover a haggard woman on the streets, I always ponder if it’s she.

  I’m so one hundred percent sorry, Anika, that it happened that way. I neglected to ever trust her, and I wish that I had listened to myself. At where do you think she resides in Munich? I queried myself this often. Sometimes, I would venture to the radio building to attempt forth to get a view of Uncle Lanci, but also of her. When I passed a dark alley, I always went into it to see if she was hiding somewhere behind a trash. Once I heard a person discuss her name, and I proceeded to follow him for many lengths.

  Then one day I discovered a woman drabbed in numerous coats atop a park bench. When I glimpsed her, I started to scream, internally, so vibrantly that I was one hundred percent that she would hear. It was her. Finally. She did not wear the gown of homelessness. She appeared clean, Anika, and even a man sat adjacent to her conversing. Similar to a bird, I remained to observe her until they both departed together, after thirty minutes. I regressed to that precise location multiplied times, and the precise scene occurred over and over again. She would be a perch, and the man would attend her, and then they would flee.

  I followed them because of you. I knew I could not write backward until I had something to inform you. I did not possess the courageousness for her to see me though, Anika. I felt like one million birds chattered inside my gut, trying to eat it all at once as I followed her. I was abound with nerves that she would see me.

  You will be so overjoyed with where they went. The man accompanied her into a building that had crowds of people just like her sitting outside of it and going into it. I went back there many times and when I finally possessed the courage, I asked a worker there what it was. She said it was a home for women who had no homes. What more could we pray for with her?
>
  But, I possessed even more courage, one day, to inquire her escort of his identity. You wouldn’t make believe what he said. “I’m Laszlo, who are you?” I almost jumped atop of him. “Uncle Lanci?” I pondered. And he smiled so at large and thundered, “Yes!” I readily explained who I was, indicating my code name. He mentioned that he failed to recall me (were you hoarding my letters to yourself?), but if I so envisioned, I could make a stop at the radio station to greet him there. I will do that soon!

  I did not inquire about her or inform him of our relationship. I am still scared to talk to her, but, Anika, please, can this find comfort for you? It has to, because you envision I can’t even speak to her. I want to, but every time I venture close to her, I hear the screaming internally within me. I promise one thing—I am going to further follow her so that I consistently possess knowledge of where she is. When you come to me here (you will, yes?) I will be aware of exactly how to take you toward her.

  As for me, I finally did it. I found my mom. It didn’t consume a long time as I originally pondered it would. There are only so many Marikas here, and she has not strove to conceal her identity. I simply discovered her listed in the magnificent German record books. Before I absconded to see her, I made sure to find a shower and a suit. Thank God, because as I fled to my mom’s apartment, I realized I had entranced the most richly part of town. I endeavored to imagine my mom, with her spindles of arms and blond hair, fitting in amongst the Germans. She must have felt more at home here, I promised myself. I possessed no ideas what I would say to her. That part I hadn’t practiced. As I went to knock on her door, panic had swamped my brain, making me feel like I sauntered through a maze.

  I knocked three times before someone answered. A petite girl who wore blond hair split in half answered the door. Her lower lip jostled outward as she took in me standing there. She said hello gently and I asked her for my mom. She ran back into the house and I heard a person trot to the door.

  She stood before me. Yes, it was her, can you make believe it? Wrinkles made crowds around her eyes, her blond hair was pricked with gray, her skin bore more veins, but it was her. I knew because her cheeks still tightened ferociously at the cheekbones, and her eyes still curved oddly upward as if she was physically incapable of looking down. I halted breathing completely. We both said nothing. She stared onto me. I stared onto her. Our eyes combed each other’s features for minutes, but I swear it was hours. Turning to mush, my mind slopped around in my head and failed to produce any words.

  “I came to see you,” is what eventually shambled out of my mouth and then lumped into the space between us.

  I thought she was about to close the door on me right there, but she bent down and made herself busy with picking up the petite toys scattered atop her floor.

  “It’s so dirty in here,” she said.

  I really reached confusion why my mom regarded the floor with so much concern when I stood before her. Well, I couldn’t ponder how to react toward her, so I simply lowered beside her and contributed to her efforts. It was similar as if I intruded her area because she instantaneously sat upward and touched my head. I fail to understand it, but I had desired to just slap her hand away. She didn’t earn the right yet to act affectionately. I had questions, and I would demand answers. Except she wouldn’t stop even when I winced. She brought her fingers together on my arm, held it firm, and gravitated me inward to her. We hugged. I started crying when I understood she remained smelling like green tea. I had forgotten that was her normal smell. When we finally made our way upward, she herded me to the kitchen. I was a stranger to this house ruled by a little girl and my mom.

  “Is she your own?” I asked as I pointed toward the girl latched on to my mom’s legs.

  My mom nodded. “She’s your partial sister.”

  A joy broke atop of me as I saw this petite girl before me. Younger than Adrienne by many years, she still possessed the same defying look on her face, like she would soon take charge of me. I succumbed to laugh only a bit.

  My mom told me when she fled Hungary, she became abused on the way. I will not indulge the details now. It’s too much for this letter. She lived atop the streets for a time when she came into Munich. With no food and no money, she pursued as a homeless person for nearly five months until an artist took a liking to her balloon belly. He never once asked that she share with him her history. His concerns remained that she simply be there. She birthed my second petite sister, and they lived together, like a tricycle. The old man lived for five more years, but then his age took him. When he died, he left his apartment and his everything to my mom. She has been living there ever since.

  When she finished her story, I understood this man gave her what my father never would. He was not terrified of kindness. It was not a thing embarrassing for him. It wasn’t a thing that you declined to exhibit because then someone would not be learning a thing or because then maybe they would view a part of you that is asking for love back. But for this old man, kindness was everything he was composed of and he gave it to my mom one hundred percent. I loved the old man in that instance for loving my mom in that way. My thoughts reversed to selfishness then and I thought—Can she love me now? Has he shown her how?

  When I inquired of my mom why she didn’t return after he died she said not much. At initial she grinned, the embarrassment sending shockwaves around her lips. I am not sure what she said next, but I burst up from where I sat, making attempts to harpoon the anger gurgling atop my lips. I demanded to learn why, you envision.

  “Tell me now!”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “You have to.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, but you will not enjoy it.”

  “I know.”

  She performed an elongated sigh, and requested I perch next to her. A vacuum sucked her eyes away from me as the instances occurring inside her mind prepared themselves for viewing. She placed her head atop my shoulder like a petite Adrienne begging for forgiveness.

  She told me something that I knew, but it finally became a real thing. She always had it, a depression that originated from childhood and was her bedside enemy her entire life. She had enough with it. When I was petite, she tried to kill herself, but suffered a lack of bravery. She said she would make an attempt every day, in the after time when I went to school. We had a clock that tocked atop a shelf, and it sounded admist our apartment. She would count one thousand tocks of it, and on that one thousand she would try to kill herself again. Sometimes the most she would do was tie a sewing string across her neck. Sometimes she utilized a larger rope. Sometimes she placed a bag surrounding her neck and waited until something in her maneuvered it off.

  I wished I had the knowledge of this—I would have declined to go to school. I would have remained next to her so she could absorb my child happiness. But the other fold of me knows that it was prime that I did not know. That I could at least remain a child for a little longer (unlike Adrienne, who never got to be a child), and maybe this childness has made it so I still believe in something perfect transpiring. I still possess hope that I can make the world I want, like when you’re petite and you think you can do anything.

  My mom decided to leave because she couldn’t hold up her end as a mom or as a wife. Also because she thought she would die in her escape. If someone else killed her then she would be handed the fate she pined toward. I do not possess memory of this, but she swores she kissed me goodbye before she left. She swores she kissed me one thousand times to erase all the one thousand times she counted on the clock.

  I inquired what has transformed now in Munich. Why could she stay alive now? She informed me she discovered a peace that she did not know in Hungary before. It was a lighter feeling in Munich. There were many shops open, and restaurants to maneuver her mind from her sadness, and people that spoke with her in freedom. In Hungary, there were not many things lively and she felt watched one hundred per
cent of the time by the government (which I comprehend). My mom said she felt immense disdain at her factory job but there was not an option to transform. She was assigned to that duty, and it was a final.

  She pulled her head away from my shoulder, stood tall, and then kissed me atop my cheeks all over. I know what you are wondering, of course. I told her about Adrienne. I told her about you. When I asked if she would come back to Hungary, only for a vacation, to see Adrienne, her eyes once again got slurped into the vacuum.

  She never gave me a definite answer.

  My new petite sister (Béla) already twiddled her way onto my lap, asking me to read to her. I spent my life devoting myself to Adrienne, and now this new petite person is asking for my attention. It felt so uplifting and then so depressing since Adrienne could not be there to witness it.

  Since I cannot make force of my mom to depart Munich, I will stay here until I come forth with a plan to get Adrienne, and even my father, here. I don’t prospect my parents to rekindle a unit, but I do believe that my father wouldn’t suffice without Adrienne, so I cannot leave him out of my plans. When I settle to sleep at night, I envision Adrienne’s face when she learns about my plans. It will be the most crystalline vision of happiness, undisturbed by anything. It will be one hundred percent.

  There’s something other too—I desire for you to be here, Anika. You have time to make ponders on this, but you should acquire awareness that I am one hundred percent committed to you. I comprehend that it does not make a proper equation that I would manifest these mighty feelings so quickly, but I cannot say no to what’s inside of me. Our bond is more strong than reasoning, time, or space. We will eventual be together, I know that more than I even know anything. I love you.

  Sincerely,