‘And?’
‘You can’t imagine. It’s ghastly! I don’t even want to write to you about it. Do you mind me complaining?’
Miklós’s facial muscles were frozen. He had no breath. He could hardly form the words. ‘Don’t worry.’
He was playing for time. He tried to massage his face with stiff fingers. Dr Lindholm was suffocating him too, standing so close that Miklós had to hunch over in order not to touch him.
‘What’s it like? Tell me,’ he asked.
‘Wooden barracks, bumpy paths, awful…I can’t sleep at night, it is so cold. I wake up with a sore throat and a temperature.’
‘I see.’
‘There isn’t even anywhere in the barracks where we can sit. No chairs, no table! All day we just wander around the place like stray dogs.’
‘I see.’
My father went blank. He felt empty. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes.
Lili realised that Miklós wasn’t himself. Most of the time she could hardly get a word in. Now there was a heavy silence. ‘I’ve been in a bad mood and terribly uptight the whole day,’ she tried again. ‘All I want to do is cry. I don’t know where I should be. I’m so homesick.’
‘I see.’
That didn’t sound like Miklós’s voice. The tone was icy. Almost hostile. They both fell silent.
Yesterday’s call—it was dreadful. I couldn’t speak properly. I wanted to say how I love you beyond measure and feel for you. Forgive me if I didn’t say that. Only a few days now and I’ll be seeing you!
‘Well, then,’ Lili whispered.
‘I see. I see.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’
Lili turned pale. ‘I’d like you to write to my mother an airmail letter, now that we’ve got her address, and tell her everything about us,’ she mumbled.
Lindholm could see that all my father wanted to do was sleep.
‘Right. I’ll do that.’
Silence.
Yesterday when I put down the receiver I was overcome with a strange sensation…it was as if someone had thrown cold water on me! Your voice sounded so alien and icy that I couldn’t help feeling that perhaps you don’t love me any more.
Click. The line was cut. Lili was white as a sheet. Sára put her arm round her.
‘His voice was so different. Something has happened.’
‘His friend who committed suicide,’ Sára said. ‘That’s what’s behind it. He’s got so much on his mind, poor thing.’
They walked back to the barracks arm in arm. Lili didn’t sleep at all that night.
Thirteen
A DANCE was scheduled for the next day at Berga to celebrate the arrival of the new patients. A band was to play in the cavernous hall, which they jokingly called the snack bar. A three-piece playing Swedish tunes: a pianist, a drummer and a guy on the saxophone.
Some girls danced. It didn’t seem to bother them that the musicians were the only men in the hall. Most of them, though, stared into space at the wooden tables that had been specially laid out for the occasion. Beer, scones and sausage were on offer.
Lili, Sára and Judit were sitting at a table on their own when two men came into the dining room and, after making enquiries, headed straight for them.
‘Are you Lili Reich?’ one asked in Swedish, taking off his hat.
Lili remained seated. ‘Yes, that’s me,’ she replied in German. The man pulled a thin strip of fabric out of his pocket. ‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked, switching to German.
Lili stood up and took the piece of material from him. ‘Yes, I do!’ She ran her hand over it, feeling the nap with her fingertips. ‘Look,’ she said, handing it to Sára, ‘it’s my coat material, isn’t it?’
The other man took off his hat. ‘Let me introduce myself, ladies. My name is Svynka, I’m the district representative from Eksjö. And this is the hospital caretaker, Mr Berg.’
Mr Berg nodded, and took over. ‘During the investigation at the Eksjö hospital, we found three and a half metres of the cloth that you reported missing at the bottom of a cabinet in one of the corridors. Do you follow me, Miss?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. The cloth had been cut into strips.’
He asked for the piece of fabric and held it up. Lili was stunned. The band was playing a slow number, and several girls were swaying around each other on the parquet floor.
Lili wanted to make sure she had understood. She turned to Sára. ‘Did I hear right? It was cut into strips?’
Sára nodded, mystified.
‘It seems the thief wasn’t intending to keep the material, just to destroy it,’ Svynka added.
The music had changed. A lively polka started up. Only a few girls were left on the floor, but they danced with gusto. Lili stared at the single strip of cloth dangling from the burly caretaker’s fingers.
‘It will be difficult to find the culprit at this stage. But, if you wish’—Berg made a sweeping gesture towards the other tables—‘we’ll question everyone.’
‘It won’t be easy, but if that’s what you want,’ Svynka continued.
Lili shook her head. She couldn’t speak or take her eyes off the remnant of the never-to-be winter coat between the caretaker’s thumb and index finger.
Without a word, the three girls tramped the paths between the barracks in the dark, their hands in the pockets of their quilted uniform jackets. It was freezing and the wind howled.
Lili stopped. ‘Who can hate me that much?’
‘Someone who envies you your luck,’ said Sára, with a sympathetic smile.
Judit was angry. ‘I wouldn’t let it go if I were you. Make them investigate to find out which girl did it. I’d like to look her in the eye!’
‘How could they find out?’ asked Sára.
‘How should I know? Question all the girls. Search their belongings.’
‘Should they look for a pair of scissors? Or a knife?’ asked Lili wryly.
Judit was adamant. ‘Who knows? Scissors, knife, something! Maybe a scrap of tweed!’
They walked on.
‘Of course, the girl would have it on her! Next to her heart!’ said Sára. ‘Really, Judit, you’re incredibly naïve.’
‘All I’m saying is that this kind of thing should be sorted out. It shouldn’t be left to fade away. That’s my opinion.’
Lili was looking at the muddy, icy path. ‘I have no wish to know. What would I say to her?’
‘What it calls for. You’d spit on her,’ Judit hissed.
‘Me? Come off it! I’d feel sorry for her,’ claimed Lili, even if she wasn’t sure she would be so kind-hearted.
Dr Lindholm didn’t ask Miklós where he’d gone on that desperately long day, or why. He prescribed a hot bath and something to bring his temperature down. Three days later, however, he felt it his duty to inform him, in person, of his final decision. They were sitting on the couch like old friends.
‘I know this will be upsetting you, Miklós,’ the doctor said, ‘but I am forbidding your cousin to visit you at Christmas.’
‘Why?’
‘Is no room for her. Everywhere is full. But this only one reason.’
‘And the other?’
‘Last time I tell you, say goodbye to her, remember? But even if you were healthy, and you are not, I don’t allow female visitor to male hospital. As a reading man you must understand that.’
‘What should I understand?’
‘You once mentioned The Magic Mountain? Sensuality is…how I put it…unsettling. Is dangerous.’
Miklós stood up and went to the door. Dr Lindholm’s decision seemed irrevocable. What had changed in the last few days? How could Miklós have lost the doctor’s sympathy? He urgently needed to do something different, something that would break Lindholm’s resolve.
Gripping the doorhandle, he turned back. ‘I’d like that in writing, please, Dr Lindholm.’
‘Come on, Miklós, our relationship—’
‘I don’t care about our relationship,’ said my father. ‘I want your decision in writing, please. Three copies. I want to send your letter to a superior authority.’
Lindholm got to his feet. He lost his cool. ‘Go to hell!’ he yelled.
‘I’m not going to hell; I’m going to the Hungarian embassy. You are restricting my rights. You are obliged to permit family visits. I’d like your opinion in writing.’
No one had ever spoken like this to Lindholm. He was stunned. He stared at my father. ‘Get out!’ he said.
Miklós slammed the door and set off down the long corridor. He had surprised himself with his quick thinking. A doctor was restricting his freedom of movement. This was a good argument, effective and true too, more or less. On the other hand, this country had taken him in. And was treating him. Dr Lindholm had every right to claim that restricting his freedom was in his medical interest. In reply, Miklós could point out that the International Red Cross was picking up the bill, not the Swedish state. In other words, he owed his thanks and accountability ultimately to the Red Cross. If he wanted, say, to spend Christmas in a nightclub in Stockholm, who could stop him?
But what, in fact, was his status here? It was confusing. Was he a patient, a refugee, a dissident or a temporary visitor? His status, yes, his status should be determined somehow. But who should determine it? The Swedish government? The Hungarian embassy? The hospital? Dr Lindholm?
Behind him, in the distance, a door opened and the doctor dashed out. ‘Miklós! Come back. We talk it over,’ Lindholm shouted down the corridor.
But my father had no intention of arguing his point.
My darling, my one and only Lili,
I’m furious and depressed. But I won’t give up. I’ll think of something.
In the afternoons the canteen practically yawned with boredom. It was the only communal area in Berga. The girls didn’t have much choice: they could stretch out on their beds in the barracks, go for walks in the biting wind or sit around in this hall crammed with tables and wait for supper.
That afternoon, Lili decided she would have a go at August Bebel’s Woman and Socialism. Miklós had written to her about it a few times and it was now two months since he had sent her the paperback. Lili had stored it in different places to keep it out of sight. The cover wasn’t very inviting: a woman with dilated pupils and bulging eyes, as if she were suffering from goitre, stared out at the reader, her long hair ruffled by the wind.
Lili read for ten minutes, and became more and more angry. By the fourth page, she was incensed. ‘This is unreadable!’ she said, banging the book shut and hurling it into the furthest corner of the hall.
Sára was knitting a pullover out of Miklós’s ugly mud-grey wool, which she had brought with her from Eksjö. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Even the title irritates me. How can a book have a title like that? Woman and Socialism. Inside it’s even worse.’
Sára put down her knitting and walked over to pick up the book. She dusted it off, returned to the table and handed it to Lili. ‘It’s a bit dry, I agree. But if you keep going—’
‘No chance of that. I’m sick of it! I’d rather read nothing. Sick of it, you hear?’
‘It could teach you a thing or two. How Miklós thinks, for example, if nothing else.’
Lili shoved the book away from her as if it were contagious. ‘I know how he thinks. This book is unreadable.’
Sára gave up and went back to her knitting.
Darling Miklós,
I’ll be sending the Bebel book back shortly. Unfortunately the circumstances here—and my nerves—aren’t conducive to my having the patience for a book like that.
Grey light filtered through the big, dusty windows of the canteen. Judit Gold peeped through to see whether Lili and Sára were in there together. Even like this, when they were having an argument, they clearly belonged together. Judit felt superfluous beside them, but her loneliness had never tugged at her heart as keenly as it did now. Would it always be like this? Would she never have anyone for herself? There’d be no men. Fair enough, she’d given up on them, but would she never have a girlfriend, a true, lifelong girlfriend? Would she always have to accommodate herself to other people? Humiliate herself for a caress? Be grateful for a kind word, a piece of advice, a hug? Who was this Lili Reich anyway?
Judit turned away from the window and hurried towards the barracks. Their dormitory was furnished with twelve iron beds. There were metal lockers in an anteroom. Judit walked over and unlocked one. She took out the yellow suitcase with its brass buckle that her cousin from Boston—her only surviving relative—had sent her in August, stuffed with tins of fish. All the sprats, mackerel and herrings had already been eaten or shared with the other girls, but now and then Judit took out the suitcase and ran her hands over it, imagining that one day she would carry it triumphantly down the main street of Debrecen. But perhaps she wouldn’t return to Debrecen. Who of her friends and relatives there had survived? She might settle here in Sweden. She would find work, a husband, a home. Yes, a husband! Who knew? Fate is sometimes kind to the determined.
Judit was alone in the barracks. She took a purse out of one of the side pockets of the yellow suitcase where she had hidden it. And now she took the remnant out and clasped it in her hand. Why she had hidden it? Or kept it at all for that matter? It could have been discovered at any time. But she wasn’t really worried about that. Who would dare search her suitcase? Unless! Unless those two unpleasant-looking guys from Eksjö were bent on getting to the bottom of the mystery. Better to get rid of it.
The fabric almost burned her palm—this expensive cloth she’d taken such delight in cutting up into strips. She had good reason for doing so. No one on earth could condemn her for that. No one!
Judit ran to the bathroom and locked the door. She took a last sniff of the material and threw it in the toilet, sighing as she pulled the chain. The rushing water hissed and frothed.
Fourteen
DR LINDHOLM had a few sleepless nights before he made up his mind to phone Lili. He shared his anxieties with Márta. Miklós’s wandering off into the forest had disturbed her. She, too, felt that everything had got confused and a talk to clarify things wouldn’t do any harm. Dr Lindholm asked Márta to be present as an impartial observer when he called Lili and to warn him, with a sign, if he went too far.
After the formalities, he began to make a little speech. ‘Miklós’s walk in the forest was part about wanting to escape, and part…’
Lili pressed the receiver to her ear in the caretaker’s office at Berga. She had hoped it was Miklós calling her and had sprinted for the phone. She waited for her heartbeat to slow after hearing Lindholm’s voice. She wished he would get to the point.
‘Part?’
‘Part about facing facts. For five months have I now am treating him, dear Lili. Never, not once, has he faced up to how sick he really is. I mean it. I am going to say something cruel, Lili. Are you ready for it?’
‘I’m ready for anything—and nothing, doctor. But, anyway, go ahead.’
Dr Lindholm was sitting in his comfortable armchair. He took a deep breath. ‘Miklós must look death in the eyes. Four times we have to drain his lungs. We can treat his illness but we cannot cure it. Out of misconceived heroism he has ignored the diagnosis. As we doctors say, he is denying it. Are you there, Lili?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Now, when he went into the forest, is the first time for five months that he allowed reality to climb up the ivory tower he builds around himself. We have come to a turning place, Lili. Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Unpredictable traumatic effects are normal. Can you help me in this, dear Lili? The answer is not to let Miklós cook his absurd pies in the sky. Are you still there, Lili?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘This marriage that he is planning with you is not just absurd and sheer madness. At this stage it could even be damaging.
Miklós is no longer able to tell difference between reality and his imaginary world. You realise how symbolic this rambling was?’
‘Symbolic? In what way?’
‘A signal of alarm. A warning for me, his doctor, and for you who love him.’
‘What do you expect from me?’
‘You must end this foolishness. With sincerity. With love. With feeling.’
Lili was leaning against the wall in the caretaker’s office, cradling the receiver. Now she pushed herself away from the wall. ‘Look, doctor, I respect your exceptional expertise, your rich experience. The sensational achievements of medical research. The pills you prescribe, your X-rays, your cough mixtures, your syringes…I respect everything. But I implore you to leave us in peace. Leave us to dream. And not worry about science. I beg you on my knees. I pray and beseech you, doctor, let us get better! Are you still there?’
Lindholm had beckoned Márta to come over to him so she could hear Lili’s passionate plea too. All he could manage now was a sorrowful ‘Yes, I am’.
Two days before Christmas 1945, Miklós made a desperate decision. He persuaded Harry to go to Berga with him without permission or money.
He had weighed up his options. He would not seek official approval—that would probably mean labyrinthine battles in an unfamiliar legal system. He knew he should stick to the straight and narrow, but his instincts were telling him otherwise.
To get to Berga, they would have to change trains three times. Three trains, three ticket collectors. Both Miklós and Harry were good at talking their way out of things. They were skinny, badly dressed, unwell. No official could help taking pity on them. They would ride their luck.
On Monday afternoon they walked to Avesta station and boarded a train.
Dear Lili,
What do you think of this? We could place an announcement in the next issue of Via Svecia saying, ‘We’re engaged to be married’. Just that and our names.
Dear Miklós,
Do write and tell Mama too. How will you get the money? Have you written to your acquaintance the bishop yet?
Fever at Dawn Page 12