When Lili emerged into the winter morning, announced by a yowl from the stable door, she was charmed momentarily into complacency. The sight called to mind the very first music she’d heard on a phonograph. It was some music by Mendelssohn her father had brought from Prague along with the phonograph itself. One record, one phonograph. David Bandel had said it was “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because it sounded like the woods and fields the composer had wandered through. What struck Lili that day, when she was no more than eight or nine, was that the notes sounded like the country they depicted, as free and as lively—she hadn’t realized until then that there might have been different kinds of country meadow. And that was what it would sound like here, too, sweet and lovely, to anyone who heard it with the blue mountains standing over these fields covered in white linen, awaiting their silver and their summer supper.
Dr. Beck had once said that one could fall for a piece of music as deeply as one did for a lover. He said it after he’d played a recording of Schubert’s songs without words. One piece in particular, which featured the cello, cried out at the listeners—seemed to fill them up—as they sat digesting their meagre dinner. When the music finished, Klari objected to what her husband had said about music and love, but then went about repeating it when he was not present as if it were wisdom newly distilled by her.
Lili heard the men’s laughter and turned to see the truck the woman had told her about the day before. It sat parked across from a ramshackle house with a red porch. A forgotten blouse flapped from the porch railing like a flag. How could she have missed the house as she’d made her way to the stable? She heard another guffaw from the parked truck and then saw a man with a rifle standing beside it. He set down his rifle to urinate into the field, but as he began, he saw her, too, and there was a flicker in the flow of the urine before he resumed. He took a quick look at his rifle. Lili was conscious, now, that all that stood between her and the remainder of her days was the whim of this soldier.
The soldier buttoned himself up and picked up his weapon again. He called out to her in Hungarian. “Get over here. Hey, you, get over here.”
A woman half-dressed in red and royal blue burst out of the back of the truck with a giggle and ran off toward the ramshackle house. Her hair was red, too, and half of its pins had fallen out so that she looked ruffled and plucked. The soldier who’d called to Lili turned and aimed his rifle at the woman’s back as she ran, wriggling to adjust her clothing against the chill air. Lili gasped and paused in her tracks. The man continued to aim but then turned his rifle on Lili before pointing skyward and firing in the air. The report alarmed the horses again. Lili could hear them screaming and bucking.
She resolved to proceed toward the man. If she turned and ran like the woman, the next bullet would certainly be aimed at her back and, if it missed, the one after that. She had no choice but to advance. “Hey,” the man shouted again, urging her toward him, the voice ringing around the mountains.
He aimed his rifle directly at her again, squinted one eye while locating her in his sights with the other. It might have been the forthrightness with which she now walked, the boldness of her stride, or maybe just the look of her, small, young, scrawny frame, maybe a look that reminded him of someone—his daughter, possibly, or a niece—but the man lowered his rifle again to his side and waited for her patiently.
When she got close, she saw he was a big man with a moustache and wore a Hungarian soldier’s brown uniform. A Hungarian officer—he had a sergeant’s three stripes on the arms of his coat. She remembered the Hungarians who’d rampaged through Tolgy, through her town and her house.
He said nothing to her but waited for her to speak. She heard a man’s voice inside the truck, then another guffaw. The horses behind her were still kicking and complaining.
“Sergeant Erdo,” someone called from inside. “You missed your turn with that red thing we had in here, and she was good and red all over.” They hooted and howled as Erdo stared at Lili, not once averting his gaze. They listened to the men inside laughing, but she, too, kept her eyes on Erdo.
She’d heard his name before. It had appeared in Simon’s letter. The nasty Erdo. A chill came over her. She felt for the satchel at her side, and he looked at it, too. “I would like to go to the labour camp where they make munitions,” she said in a measured voice, as if speaking too quickly would jeopardize her chances of succeeding. “My husband is there. I’d like to see him and give him a few things to make him more comfortable.”
“Your husband,” he said, “and who might that be?”
“Simon Beck. He has black hair and brown eyes.”
“An inmate. You don’t need to describe him to me. I know who he is.” Erdo stroked the barrel of his rifle. The steel must have been cold in the winter air. “Why don’t you come into the truck? It’s warmer inside.” He said it like a wolf, his eyes narrowing, and he pointed to the rear of the vehicle with his weapon. The men inside had heard their voices and had stopped talking. One broke out laughing again.
Erdo stepped up to the back and opened the door. Lili could see three men sitting inside, two of them in some disarray, and the third, the one in the middle, the more composed one, holding a knife. They all sobered up instantly. Lili smiled. She didn’t know she could have such a deadening effect on people and wondered how best, under the circumstances, to make use of the ability.
“Get in,” Erdo said from behind, “we’ll take you.”
The one who’d laughed, the one to her left, who was the most dishevelled but looked the youngest, as young as she was, a year or two older at most, snickered again but looked away. Lili got a sick feeling in her gut as she climbed in quickly, unobtrusively, hoping only to sit on the floor on her bag. “Please,” she said to no one in particular. She checked behind her suddenly, feeling Erdo might be smiling, but found him serious and earnest, almost gentlemanly looking.
As she stood uncomfortably in the back of the warm truck by the door, she could feel how musky it was and was grateful for the winter air pouring in behind her. She could smell the heat of sex, remembered the fresh scent of dung in the stable she’d crept out of.
Erdo had now climbed heavily into the truck behind her. She could sense his shadow on her back as big as a tree, could feel his breath on her. The soldier in the middle, directly in front of her, pulled a coiled sausage out of a bag beside him, a thick Romanian sausage big as an arm, and cut off a hunk and offered it to her with a greasy thumb and forefinger. She’d told herself never to refuse food but found lately she was doing so all the time. She shook her head. “Maybe later, thank you.”
He smiled and passed the hunk of meat to the dishevelled man beside him. She tried to share his smile. He cut off another hunk and jammed it into his own mouth. He chewed with relish. Erdo slammed the door behind him, shutting out the light and the cold. Lili could still not see him without turning around entirely. The sausage cutter gave a third piece to the third soldier, and a fourth he offered to Erdo. Erdo didn’t answer. She could hear him puffing, panting almost. The soldier held the piece up to her again. She felt she should accept it, but first she wanted to settle. The whole rear of the truck smelled of sausage now. It had overtaken the scents of sex and the winter air.
Lili made as if to sit down, setting her satchel carefully on the floor. The sloppy young man to her left shoved over, indicating she could sit with him, but then she felt a large hand on her side at her waist, then her hip. The man who’d offered his seat sobered up. His eyes widened as he saw what his sergeant intended.
Lili heard a belt buckle clang behind her and became light-headed, ready to faint away, but instead she picked up her bag and pressed it to her chest, as if lifting a bit of home with which to shield herself.
Erdo swung her around and tried to kiss her, but she turned her face and his clammy lips slid off to her ear. His pants were down around his ankles. The three other men didn’t move or make a sound. They receded into the darkness of the walls of the truck.
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“Please,” she said.
Erdo advanced and she slipped and fell back onto her haunches. Nothing was there to cushion her fall and no one to catch her. Her coat was open, revealing her green serge dress. When had Erdo managed to undo the buttons? She tried to brace herself, to clench her teeth. She lay down, let her head drop back, because she could not bear to look. She gazed instead into the calm darkness of the ceiling. She decided at that moment that, if she survived, no one would ever know it had happened, not Simon, not Klari, not Robert, not Paul, not her family, if she ever saw them again.
She felt her dress being flipped up to her neck. She didn’t want her dress torn. Then Simon would know right away. And how would she travel back? Would she even be seeing Simon now? Was this the price of admission into the camp? If not, would they let her go back? Could this be her last stop, this army truck?
Her underwear was torn from her body. She could feel the steamy draft between her legs. She’d be torn again, this time flesh. She struggled now to look up at her assailant. He was a bear, immense, with a dark battering ram ready to break open the gate. She managed against her slamming heart to squirm a hand into the pocket of her satchel beside her.
She remembered Mary. “Can I give you an egg instead?” She held it out to him in her palm.
He smiled broadly and snorted out a burst of laughter. “Yes, but not a chicken egg.”
She felt the ram softening slightly against her inner thigh, like a mollified beast. He bent to his target again, determined to press on. She saw the whites of his eyes now, grey in the darkness, like the bucking Arab stallion’s eyes, felt him between her legs, pressing against the opening, too immense by far for the opening, as big as the head of the baby, surely, that might pass out the other way. She must not imagine it. She must not think a single additional thought.
He wanted to tear open her dress at the neck, but she fought him, so he struck her hard across the face. She could taste the blood in her mouth, but she didn’t cry, felt she shouldn’t. The bear leaned forward to chew on her ragged lips.
She was plugged, felt she would be ripped in two. A fierce burning pain shot up from her loins, volcanic, and he was still not in her, not ready to proceed. Her innards tried to run from their assailant. He reared up below and slid over top. He grunted and huffed above her, his humid breath acrid and hungry with a bear’s hunger.
And then she heard a slamming noise. It might have been a gun, but it wasn’t, because light washed over the hulking mass above her and the cold fell over them again, fresh and alive. The back door was open. Behind her, upside down for her, were the three sausage eaters, boys now, she could see, no more, just boys who had left their fields and shed their ragged farm clothes to take up a proud uniform and bear arms more powerful than life itself, as powerful as heaven and Earth and the Lord and the devil.
“Get off her,” she heard someone say. He’d found the way into her again and shoved at it, stopped his own breath as he prepared to buck. “Get off now!” the voice said again, this time more insistent. Erdo smiled like a madman—now I have you, his eyes were saying, now you’re mine—and then his head took a crack and his face went silly, his own blood dripping into her hair, as he sank like a boulder on top of her. “Get him off her,” she heard the voice say. The boys scrambled to their feet, all three of them.
Erdo was heaved off her to one side, and an officer, the voice’s owner, a man with grey hair and stars on his epaulettes, flung the bear onto his back. “He needs an extra long rest,” the officer said.
Lili got up on an elbow to gaze at her assailant. The ram still jutted out from his loins like a tree growing out of dense shrubbery with heavy thorn fruit hanging below it. This was not an instrument of love but an instrument of force. How would it have been possible to house such a tree in his pants? She swallowed more blood, felt Erdo’s blood in her hair and on her cheek, looked between her outspread legs and saw none. She shut herself up quickly, dropped her dress, tried to sit up but took an extra moment. She should have felt humiliated. She did feel humiliated, but the beast had been vanquished, and she was alive to remember, even if not to tell. She took a wintry breath and let it out as quietly as she could. Her heart settled.
The officer ordered the men to button up their sergeant’s protrusion. One snorted out a laugh but swallowed it quickly and leapt to carry out the task. The officer pointed to a wooden bucket in the corner. “Fill it with snow for the young woman. Let her pack some against her mouth and cheek.”
Lili felt her cheek, could taste the swelling. She sat up and pulled herself toward the bench on the side opposite the officer. The soldier there shoved over. Erdo slept with a scowl on his face. Lili was more sore than she’d realized. She’d be unsteady if she stood.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said, feeling the flush on the cheek that was not sore. “If he’d succeeded, my life would never—I’d never—”
“Your life would have been over,” the officer interrupted. “He’d have used you up, killed you with a single slug across the face and thrown you out the back.”
For the first time Lili felt tears boiling up.
“Who are you?” the officer asked her, just as the men came back with the snow and set it beside her. They waited outside and whispered among themselves. Their colleague eagerly joined them. The snow in the bucket looked fresh and cool. She took some and packed it against her cheek, letting some of the crystals trickle into her mouth. She was so very dry. She took a bigger clump with the other hand and filled her mouth with it. It was an elixir. Then she took some for below. The officer turned his head.
After a moment, he cleared his throat to remind her of his question. She swallowed the cool snow. “I’m here to see Simon Beck, my husband. I’ve brought him some things.”
“Do you think this is a tour bus?”
“No,” she said. “Not any more than your camp is a proper place of business.” She looked down now, amazed at herself.
“You are impudent,” the officer said, and then added quietly, “and you are pretty, and brave.” She looked at him, saw kindness in his eyes. If this was what she was, pretty to all, she wished she could soften the effect or heighten it at will, like a firefly, turn it off for Erdo, turn it on for the officer, down for the Germans, up for the Jews, reduce it for Mary on the train—the woman did not need competition—let it burn bright for Simon. The smile was a switch, she began to see, but could not gauge yet what other gesture would help. She hadn’t been a woman very long.
The officer unbuttoned his breast pocket and fished out a handkerchief. He leaned across and offered it to her. It was monogrammed with an “F.” He saw that she noticed. “Fekete, it stands for,” he said gently. “Karoly Fekete. I am Commandant Karoly Fekete.” He offered his hand now, too, and she shook it, feeling a little queasy again as she leaned forward. She glanced at her assailant and wished he could be covered over entirely or carried across the road to be left at the house where the woman lived. He could wake up in bed there and continue with his business.
“What have you brought for your Simon?”
“Something to keep him warm and a little something to eat.”
“We don’t allow visitors. Did you not know that?”
“I did, but I’d heard something.”
“How could you have?”
She realized what path she’d stumbled onto and backed up. “Just a rumour, nothing more. I was hoping I could make it through. I wanted to appeal to someone.”
“Young girl, where is your family?”
“My family?” She hesitated. “In Budapest.”
“Aren’t you sure?”
She paused again. “No,” she said, and left it at that.
And so did he, softening his tone as he asked, “Are you indomitable?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what it means.”
“It means, not easily defeated.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“We don’t allow vis
itors,” the commandant said again and slapped the side of the truck. “Let’s get a move on,” he shouted. Two of the men clambered back into the rear of the vehicle, and the third, the one who’d sat on her right when she’d entered, jumped out and got into the front. She could hear the driver’s door slam, heard the engine start.
She was expecting Commander Fekete to escort her off the truck, make her return to the train, maybe even send one of his men to help her board, and then she would have to walk to the labour camp after all with extra pain and wearing one garment fewer. But what, then, would be the point, if the commandant had already barred her? Who would be there to overrule him or persuade him?
She was surprised, as were the soldiers, it seemed, that Commandant Fekete hadn’t taken a seat in the front with the driver. She tried to make sense of it. Surely it wasn’t to look after her. Surely she was no more than a curiosity to the commandant. He didn’t look at her across the darkness, or at anyone else. Maybe he just needed a moment to shut out the light and sit and think.
As for her, she was headed for Simon with the commandant of the camp to escort her in, albeit somewhat unwillingly. She felt bruised but hopeful. She was almost ready to ask for some sausage. She could have used a bite then, even if served by the greasy hands of the boy soldier sitting opposite her. She filled her mouth with snow again. It felt like a balm.
She would not tell Simon what had happened. He would take it upon himself to be gallant and react, and the commandant might not be there to intervene as Erdo slit their throats. As it was, she hoped she hadn’t created unnecessary danger for Simon. But how could she have? Surely the impact she had could not be so significant.
Oh, dear Simon. Her neshomeleh, sweet soul. How she’d missed him. She was coming to make him a little warmer. The trip was worth it for that reason alone. She needed to come for her own sake as well as for his.
Gratitude Page 38