The Upside of Hunger

by Roxi Harms

  "Come in," she said, standing back from the doorway to let Adam pass. "Sit down."

  Adam collapsed onto a chair beside the rough wooden table in the middle of the small, dimly lit kitchen.

  "We can't let you starve, now can we? Let's see. . . I haven't looked for eggs yet today. Maybe we'll be lucky." Giving Adam another smile, the woman turned and let herself out a door at the back of the kitchen.

  A couple of minutes later she returned, carrying two eggs in each hand. "Four chickens, four eggs," the woman said with another smile at Adam. "We are having a lucky day." She grabbed a bowl down from a shelf and began cracking the eggs into it. Disappearing again, this time through a curtain on the side of the kitchen, she reappeared with a jug in one hand and a small clay pot in the other.

  "A bit of milk," she explained while she poured. "And we'll sweeten it up a bit," she continued, spooning in a little dab of honey from the pot. She stirred the contents of the bowl vigorously. "Here you go. This will fill you up and give you some strength. Drink it all," she said, placing the bowl in front of Adam before sitting down in the other chair.

  With both hands, he lifted the bowl to his mouth, closed his eyes and drank until it was empty, feeling the raw eggs slide down his throat. Setting the bowl down on the table, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  "Thank you," he breathed, and then grinned.

  "How far do you have to go?" she asked.

  "Across to the other side of Hungary by the Romanian border."

  "I've never been far from here, but it sounds like a long way. What are you doing so far from home?"

  "Well," Adam sighed heavily, "I took off from home to fight for Germany, to help win the war. For years we heard the German news on our radio and it sounded good. Thought it would be exciting. I was pretty stupid."

  The woman's smile had faded. She looked sadly at Adam for a few moments, then took a deep breath and put her smile back on. "Well, you're one of the lucky ones. And I'm sure you'll have some stories to tell your kids about Germany's great victory," she said, her last words tainted with sarcasm. Standing up, she disappeared behind the curtain for a moment and returned with the end of a loaf of bread.

  "Now, you'd best be on your way if you're in a hurry to get there. Take this for a bit of supper tonight. No need to do any chores for me, I'm just happy to help you get back to your mother and father where you belong." Moving towards the door, she opened it wide. "Good luck to you," she said, grasping Adam's hands in both of hers for a moment as she smiled up into his face.

  "Thank you again, ma'am. You're very kind," he said, returning her smile.

  He thought about the woman at the farmhouse as he curled up in the corner of an empty barn that night. Her warmth had felt almost as good as that egg concoction in his belly. He couldn't wait to see his mom and sit down at the table with everybody. He wondered if they knew about the deportation plans yet. They'd probably heard it on the radio, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  A couple of days later, Adam reached Vienna. From what he could gather, it was another four or five hundred kilometres to Elek. Anxiously, he walked through the streets of Vienna looking for the train station. Block after block, there were jagged smashed walls, partial floors suspended in mid-air, broken staircases that led nowhere, and empty, gaping windows. What if there were no trains? The occasional person he came across moved away or looked down as he passed.

  Finally, he found the station, in a part of the city that had suffered less bombing. Pushing the door open, he peered nervously inside. Clerks stood behind a couple of the ticket windows that lined the front of the massive lobby, and a few people milled about. Stepping inside, Adam's scan of the waiting area stopped at the back of the big room where several rows of seats were filled with soldiers. Without moving, he looked them over, then let out his breath slowly. The uniforms were a mix of Hungarian and German, and a few were in civilian clothes. They looked at ease. Some chatted quietly. A couple were leaning against the wall smoking, staring into space. Here and there a soldier was slouched in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed. Cautiously, Adam headed in their direction.

  A few of the soldiers glanced up as he approached. He lowered his tall, bony frame onto an empty seat at the end of the row, wincing slightly as he stretched out his left leg.

  "Where are you headed?" he asked the soldier closest to him, speaking in Hungarian. Nervously, he glanced around the room every few seconds.

  "Who wants to know?" the soldier answered after a few moments.

  "Name's Adam Baumann. I was released by the Americans a couple months ago. I'm trying to get home to my family east of Budapest now, near the Romanian border. How are you getting across the border into Hungary?"

  "We received our papers from the Americans yesterday. There's an agreement with the Russians allowing us to go home, and a train organized to take the whole lot of us to Budapest."

  Hope stirred in the pit of Adam's stomach. If he rode with them, he could get to Budapest today and home tomorrow, or maybe even today if they left soon!

  "Do you think I could get on that train?"

  The soldier shrugged. "Don't see why not. They told us the train has been arranged to transport Hungarian soldiers back home."

  As they rolled rhythmically towards the Hungarian border a couple of hours later, Adam closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the seat and thought about home. His mom and Theresa would cry when they saw him. George might be happy, but he wouldn't say much. His dad would probably yell and give him a licking for taking off in the first place. He smiled faintly as his head rocked gently back and forth with the swaying of the train. No more lonely nights in empty barns. No more begging for food or stealing from starving people. And no more walking.

  Feeling the train begin to slow, Adam opened his eyes and unwound his legs from under the seat. It was too soon to be in Budapest. A sign for Komarom came into view. They were in Hungary. As the platform came alongside and the train lurched to a stop, Adam's thoughts of home vanished. There were too many uniforms rushing around on the platform. And too many guns.

  "What the hell's going on?" One of the soldiers sitting near Adam voiced the question in everyone's mind.

  "Hammer and sickle on the uniforms. Communist police," someone answered quietly. "Get your papers ready."

  Adam looked around desperately for somewhere to hide, but before he could move, the door of the car slammed open. A uniformed man strode on board and glared at them menacingly.

  "Inspection! Everyone off and line up outside!" He spit the words at them in Hungarian. Obediently, the soldiers disembarked in silence and formed a line. Hungarian and Russian voices shouted all around them. Adam's mouth had gone paper dry.

  "March!" barked the commander who had ordered them off the train, motioning for them to follow a policeman waiting near the front of the line.

  "We have papers from your American allies," one of the soldiers said loudly, holding the papers out to the commander.

  The commander strode over to the soldier who had spoken, his eyes blazing. He lifted his rifle and pointed it at the soldier's forehead. "I SAID MARCH!" he roared.

  "Yes, sir," replied the soldier, his eyes wide. The commander lowered his rifle and waved impatiently for his comrade at the front to proceed, then took up the rear.

  Adam's stomach churned. The Russians didn't take prisoners. A few blocks down the street, a prison gate loomed ahead, open. Inside, the leader stopped and waved his rifle towards the centre of the yard, motioning the soldiers to keep moving as the gate clanged shut behind them.

  The yard was in shadows, the sun already below the top of the high walls. Half a dozen guards in communist uniforms lined one wall. As the Hungarian soldiers filed in, the guards raised their rifles, keeping them trained on the incoming men. The commander strode back to the front of the line.

  "Shirts off! Everybody! Now!" he roared, waving his rifle menacingly.

>   Adam fumbled for his buttons, his fingers paralyzed with fear.

  "Approach the table, one by one!" the commander barked, motioning to a table at the side of the yard where an officer sat with a book open in front of him.

  When no one moved immediately, the commander jabbed the soldier at the front of the line in the ribs with his rifle. "You! Move!"

  As the first soldier got near, the officer at the table took over.

  "Name?" he demanded.

  "Becskei, Alpar," answered the soldier in a quavering voice.

  The officer wrote it down, then looked up and barked another command. "Arms up!"

  Dropping his bag and shirt on the ground, the soldier raised his hands above his head. The officer studied the underside of the soldier's raised arms.

  "Papers?" the officer asked next.

  Alpar Becskei lowered his arms and reached down to fumble in the pocket of the shirt he had dropped, then handed over his papers.

  After unfolding and scanning the papers, the officer spoke to the commander. "Hungarian army."

  "Approved for release," the commander announced, motioning towards the gate through which they'd entered. Several heads swivelled to look back at the gate as one of the guards swung the gate open partway. Alpar Becskei grabbed his shirt and bag from the ground, and walked nervously to the gate, glancing over his shoulder as he walked. When he'd slipped out, the gate clanged shut.

  "Next!" called out the officer standing behind the table.

  Several more soldiers who had served in the Hungarian army were processed and released. The ones still waiting shifted from foot to foot, waiting nervously for their turn. Adam swallowed repeatedly. He didn't have any damn papers.

  "Name?" the officer demanded as a soldier in a German uniform approached the table.

  "Lehmann, Heinrich."

  "Arms up!" barked the other officer.

  No sooner had Heinrich Lehmann lifted his arms than the officer yelled again. "Interrogate!"

  Two of the guards along the wall sprang into action. Striding forward, they grabbed Lehmann and forced him towards the commander who had brought them from the train station.

  "Lehmann, what position did you serve in the German army?" the commander demanded.

  "Infantry, machine gunner," Lehmann responded clearly, standing tall and looking straight ahead.

  "Were you a Nazi, Lehmann?"

  "Yes, I was."

  "That makes you an enemy of the State," the commander yelled, putting his face close to Lehmann's.

  Lehmann didn't respond. The commander stared at him for a moment, then turned and spoke to the two guards who had led the soldier over to him. "Show Lehmann how we treat enemies."

  Before Lehmann could move, one of the guards had both his arms held behind his back and the other had punched him hard in the stomach. Lehmann jerked forward, gasping for air. The officer held him firm, giving his comrade an easy target. The officer in front wound up and punched Lehmann again, then twice more. As Lehmann slumped forward, the officer punched him in the face. Lehmann's head snapped from side to side as the guard kept hitting. The yard was silent except for the sounds of fists connecting with Lehmann's body and face, and the soldier's corresponding grunts. Suddenly, the officer behind Lehmann let go of his arms and he crumpled forward onto the ground. The captives watched in horror as the guards wound up and began kicking their heavy boots into Lehmann's torso.

  "Okay, enough for now," the commander said finally. "Take him downstairs."

  Lehmann's head hung forward as they lifted him, one under each arm, and dragged him to a doorway on the opposite side of the yard, disappearing down a dark flight of stairs.

  The next soldier was of German descent as well.

  "Are you a Nazi, Gunther?" the commander barked into his face.

  "No, sir!"

  "Why are you lying to me, Gunther?" the commander's voice was low and ominous.

  "I'm not lying, sir." Gunther's voice wavered.

  "If you're not a stinking Nazi, Gunther, why do you have that tattoo under your arm?" Bile rose in Adam's throat. A few minutes later, the non-responsive Gunther was dragged across the yard and down the stairs.

  The next captive was in civilian clothing. He had a German name.

  "What position did you serve in the German army?" the commander

  began.

  "Commanding officer."

  Raising his rifle, the commander aimed at the German's head and pulled the trigger.

  The watching soldiers gasped as the side of the man's head sprayed across the yard and his body slumped to the ground.

  "Get rid of this piece of shit," spat the commander, kicking at the body before turning to listen to the next soldier's answers. A couple of the guards along the wall came running over and dragged the body away and through a different door at the side of the yard.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  When Adam came to, he was lying on his side on the floor of a prison cell. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked around without moving his head. He could see four others. The guy directly in front of him was sitting against the wall crying softly, and somewhere behind him someone was praying fervently. Holy Father, have mercy. Loud footsteps interrupted the prayer. The door of the cell creaked open, and another soldier staggered in and fell to the floor.

  Cautiously, Adam sat up. The side of his face was throbbing. Reaching up, he touched his cheek gingerly, then felt his blood-caked hair. His nose had stopped bleeding. He crawled to an open space along the wall and carefully maneuvered into a sitting position, then looked around again. There were eight of them in the cell. Adam looked sideways through the bars. The other cells stood open and empty. A stairwell, presumably the one they'd all been dragged down, and a tiny window at the other end of the short corridor that ran past the cells, were the only sources of light.

  "Fucking communists!" one guy spat out. Adam looked at him and realized it was Lehmann. His swollen face was horribly discoloured. Blood had congealed where his distended lip was split wide open.

  The unfortunate beside Lehmann crossed himself, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

  Lehmann continued. "Who the hell do they think they are? They're breaking the treaty. The Americans promised us safe passage, said it was all agreed to in Potsdam. Stalin agreed that we could all be released and travel home safely. The fucking war is over!"

  Adam put his head back against the cold wall. He hadn't thought it through well enough. A train to Budapest had sounded too good to pass up. But he should have stayed on his own, dammit! He'd been so close. Adam felt tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! A tear ran down each cheek. No one could see him anyway.

  Suddenly a shot rang out, then another. The crying and praying stopped and the prisoners sat in silence. A couple of minutes later, the sound of boots clattered down the steps. The prisoner who'd been praying to be spared started up again, louder. The commander came into sight. Stopping in front of the cell, he stood with his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels for a moment, looking at them through the bars with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he leaned forward and jabbed his finger viciously between the bars.

  "Did all you Nazis hear that?" he said in a low, menacing tone. "That was a couple more of your commanding officers. They were enemies of the State, and they deserved to die. Just like you." He spit out the last words, then spun on his heel and strode away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  When the weak light finally reappeared, the prisoners stirred. Those who had lain down sat up. Some stood up and peered towards the stairs, waiting.

  All day they waited, praying, crying, swearing intermittently. Every now and then someone got up to relieve himself in the corner.

  "I wish they'd fucking hurry up," muttered Lehmann.

  A week passed. The only sign that anyone remembered they were there was a serving of watery broth delivered silently by a couple of guards each evening. Every now and then one of the captives talked a bit about where he wa
s from, or about his family. But mostly they just sat, hungrily drifting in and out of sleep as the weak light in the corridor appeared and then eventually faded again, marking the days.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Adam sat in his usual spot, shivering. It was morning again. He hadn't moved much in the last day or two, except to grab a bowl of the watery soup when the guards came. The stink from the corner and the sour smell of filthy bodies were sickening.

  Suddenly his ears perked up. There were boots coming down the stairs. It wasn't soup time. Maybe today was execution day. When the sound of the boots stopped in front of the cell, he opened his eyes a crack. It was the guards with more soup. He shook his head to clear it. Had the day passed already?

  As the guards filled the bowls and passed them through the bars, the prisoners grabbed at them. They were filled with meat stew! Adam shovelled his portion hungrily into his mouth.

  Later that day, the guards returned with another pot of stew, and twice a day for the next two days. On the fourth day, the prisoners were awoken at sunrise.

  "Okay you stinking Nazis, let's go, we've got some work to do," said the guard as he unlocked the door. "Follow me."

  Several horse-drawn wagons filled with long wooden boxes waited in the street outside. A farmer sat in each driver's seat, watching the scene apprehensively. Two men in uniforms with red crosses on the sleeves sat beside one of the drivers. Behind the men sat two large dogs who gazed around calmly at the activity in the street. At an order from the commander, a couple of guards stepped forward and herded the prisoners onto an empty wagon, then climbed in with them.

  The wagons moved slowly with their heavy loads. The early morning sun hinted at a warm autumn day, but cold sweat ran down Adam's back. The guy beside him stank. Adam looked out at the wheat fields rolling past, golden under the bright blue sky. It would have been beautiful in other circumstances. That day he just stared at it numbly. A couple of kilometres further, the wheat gave way to rough, unplanted fields. Adam turned and looked in the direction they were driving. Fallow fields as far as he could see.