He straightened up but did not release his grip. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You were in the café,” I said, pulling my hand away. He was more handsome than I remembered. He was wearing cologne that was familiar, I recalled the man who’d passed me on the street, after I’d left the café. He’d been wearing the same scent. It had reminded me of Max. I felt its impact in the small of my center, like hot melting wax. Gunter.
“That was the first time.” He reached for my elbow and escorted me toward the door to his room. The wool of his jacket rubbed against my breast as he led me. The scent of him surrounded me now. I looked up and saw the lightest shadow of blonde growth on his chin. “The second occasion was on the road. You were walking with your young friend.”
“You were in the car?”
He cocked his head to the side, and offered the proof I didn’t need to hear. “My assistant spoke to Jozef. I was sitting on the other side of the car. I doubt you could see me from where you were standing.”
I thought back to that evening. I’d been so frightened that I could barely recall the face of the German that Jozef had spoken to. I remembered he had consulted with someone else sitting next to him. I’d never considered how unlikely it was that we’d been let go so easily.
Gunter stopped at the closed door and released my arm. “You were lucky that I was in that car. Your evening might have turned out much worse if I weren’t.”
He leaned toward the door and opened it, stepping aside so that Deszo and I could enter first, and he could observe our reaction.
The room was as large as the living room, but as opulent and neat as the other room had been disheveled.
Tears of anger pricked the edges of my eyes as I entered the room of the trespasser.
Against the far wall a large bed sat on a pedestal, its frame draped with an overstuffed duvet most likely stolen from a rich man’s home. Beside the windowed doors leading to a small balcony overlooking the street, were two chairs covered in maroon damask silk.
Gunter lead us to a long narrow table covered in starched white linen with three place settings of fine china arranged around one end, a bottle of red wine decanting. The centerpiece was a candelabrum holding new tapers. The light danced under a breeze coming from some unknown source.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit at the head of the table,” he said moving to a tall ornately carved mahogany chair. “Please join me. Natalie, sit on my right, Professor Eckhart, you will take the seat on my left.”
I hesitated waiting to take my cue from Deszo. He didn’t acknowledge my gaze but took the seat he’d been offered. Gunter held my chair and both men waited until I was seated.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
“LET’S BEGIN,” DESZO placed his hands on either side of his plate. “You want information from me and we want Natalie’s sister and niece.”
Gunter picked up a small silver bell next to his plate and rang it. Instantly a young soldier appeared carrying a large tray holding three covered serving dishes. He set them on the table and the soldier stood back, waiting. Gunter waved him away and the soldier departed as wordlessly as he’d entered.
Gunter lifted the silver domed lids from each plate with a flourish. “I hope I’ve chosen dishes you’ll enjoy.”
My anger rose in my throat as I looked at meats and vegetables I hadn’t seen or been able to purchase at any price in the past year. Saliva filled my mouth at the memory of their taste. The injustice of the meal and its circumstances twisted my stomach and sent a shiver of wretchedness traveling the length of my spine.
What fine cuisine awaited Anna and Mila tonight? When was the last time they’d eaten? Perhaps that was the point of Gunter’s gesture, to show that he could provide what others could not.
“Excuse my manners,” Gunter picked up one of the dishes and deftly placed a thick slab of roast meat on my plate. “You don’t have a problem with pork do you?”
I ignored his reference and reluctantly savored the smell. I was so hungry. My hands remained in my lap. He offered the plate to Deszo and then repeated the motion with the other two dishes.
I looked to Deszo for guidance. His silence bothered me. Why hadn’t he raised an objection to this grotesque charade? How could he sit here as comfortably as if he were dining with colleagues from the university? He smiled at me, looking relaxed and enjoying the prospect of a well-cooked meal at the end of a hard day. All of the apprehension he’d shown when we were waiting in the alley was gone.
“Forgive me, you’re Catholic aren’t you?” Gunter said to me. “Perhaps you’d like to pray before we eat.”
I nodded and crossed myself. I prayed silently.
“Ah to be a mind reader,” Gunter sighed, picking up his fork.
I thought of the book of Genesis. There are two versions of Eve’s meeting with the serpent. I contemplated the disguises of the devil as I looked at Gunter’s handsome benign face.
“I understand you are a widow.” He took my hand in his and clasped it as if in understanding. His skin was warm and surprisingly smooth. In other circumstances, I might be his lover. Were we really so different? He was a man. I was a woman. Had this not been war, he would simply be a German, perhaps a businessman in town to close a deal. Maybe we had things in common, a love of literature, or music. We would go to Buda to visit the old castle. We would dine together after seeing a performance of La Boehme at the Opera.
“I never married,” he sighed. “You must find it difficult to be alone at a time like this?”
His tone surprised me, so comforting. “Yes,” I said.
His eyes were a translucent green, like the warm shallow waters of the ocean Max and I had visited on our honeymoon on the French coast. Perhaps he was a reluctant participant in this war. Certainly such an un-furrowed brow could not have worried over atrocities, he must have found a way to avoid being a party to them. It was late in the war everyone said that. He’d not been a party to the worst. He’d been drafted late, not willingly of course.
“You’re not eating.”
I looked at Gunter and then at my plate. Dutifully I picked up my fork cut a piece and raised the succulent meat to my lips.
“That’s better,” he smiled reaching for the bottle. “Will you join me in a glass of wine?”
Excerpt from Mrs. Tuesday’s Departure,
written by Natalie X,
published by the General Directorate of Publishing, 1952
AFTER HER GRANDDAUGHTER left, Mrs. Tuesday went to her bedroom, put her suitcase on her bed, and began to pack. She hadn’t been back in over seventy years. Now that the envelope had arrived, now that the end of her life was in sight, she was finally free to go home.
Not here, not this city where she’d lived since the age of twelve, hoped for years, given up hope, married, bore a child, made a career, grown old, this had never felt like home. Budapest was where she’d felt truly loved and now she would return. It was ridiculous to go at this time of year, but she didn’t have the luxury of putting off the trip until summer.
She walked back into the living room and placed a thick white envelope addressed to her granddaughter on the coffee table. It contained a letter appointing her as the executor of Mrs. Tuesday’s will, and provided instructions for the disposition of her belongings. Mrs. Tuesday wasn’t concerned with the fate of the furnishings; they suited her husband’s tastes more than her own. However, she wanted her granddaughter to have the journals, both the Aunts’ and the volumes Mrs. Tuesday had written herself over the years. She had written detailed notes to her granddaughter on where she would be able to find her thoughts on editing and the writing process. She hoped they would encourage her to use the material in the journals in her own work. Perhaps then the legacy of their lives would live on.
When everything was finished, Mrs. Tuesday went to bed. She poured a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand and swallowed the pills the doctor had prescribed. She set her alarm and climbed beneath the covers, but
left the light on. Her gnarled fingers gently smoothed the blanket around her and she picked up a book of poems, but did not open them. As she waited for sleep, she thought of finally going home.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
“PROFESSOR.” GUNTER PUT down his fork and turned his attention to Deszo. “I understand that you have many friends in the higher ranks of our army.”
“I have friends in many areas of society.” Deszo put down his knife and fork, raised his glass to his lips, and took a long sip.
“Those connections do not concern me. I’m interested in who you are talking to within my army, and why.” Gunter picked up the bell and rang it. The young soldier who’d brought in our dinner now appeared carrying another tray. He set the tray down cleared our dishes and set out cups of coffee, brandy glasses and a decanter. He served us quickly and departed.
Gunter picked up the glass of brandy and swirled the contents. He held the glass up to the candle light and studied the amber liquid. “Connections are important.” He spoke slowly, carefully. “It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you know the right people. Or what you can obtain.”
He looked at Deszo, “Take this brandy for example. I received a case of it as a present from a grateful man. Why?” He shrugged. “Gratitude.”
Deszo looked around the room, “You must have a lot of people who are grateful to you.”
Gunter brought the glass to his lips, took a long sip, held it in his mouth moving the liquid slowly around his mouth before swallowing it. “It lives up to its reputation.” He put the glass down and looked at Deszo as if just recognizing his comment. “You’d be amazed by how many friends I’ve made since coming to your city. I’d heard such nasty rumors about how uncivilized the Hungarians are, but that must be the village. They were not so hospitable to us.”
I cringed, remembering the stories that had reached the city, the massacres the Germans had wrought against the villagers who’d tried to defend themselves.
Gunter continued, as if talking to himself, “But the citizens of Budapest. Very nice people.”
Since his first sip of brandy he had withdrawn into himself, his questions to Deszo off-hand, his remarks slow in coming as if it were an effort to process Deszo’s words, though both men spoke in German.
The candles were burning low. Their life hurried by the mysterious breeze that caused them to dance too quickly.
“It’s a welcome relief to meet cultured people. Fine food tastes better when shared with those sophisticated enough to appreciate what they are being provided.”
Deszo steepled his fingers and looked at a spot somewhere on the wall behind me. “I’m sure a poor hungry man would appreciate this meal as much as a cultured one.”
“That’s not the point, is it?” Gunter’s brow creased in disapproval. “Clearly one’s more worthy than the other.”
“My sister would have enjoyed this meal as much as I did,” I whispered.
Gunter sighed as if explaining the most rudimentary principal to a thickheaded child. “Natalie, of course, there are exceptions.”
“I’m sure you understand the distinction, Professor.”
“Please, call me Deszo.”
Gunter re-filled his glass and once again went through the process of swirling the brandy and holding it up to the candlelight. He raised it to his nose, inhaled deeply, put his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes.
I looked from him to Deszo. Deszo was again staring at the spot behind my head. We sat in a collective silence of a minute, two, and then I heard Gunter’s voice, “Sometimes I understand that his mission has the best intentions. He’s really just trying to create a better world. Isn’t that admirable?”
I shivered.
“It’s a shame that it has to be so messy. If the English weren’t so damned determined to hold onto Palestine we could have simply shipped them out of the country rather than…well, rather than the other way.”
“You mean the camps,” Deszo matched his tone to Gunter’s.
Gunter ran his hand over his closed eyes. “Those camps are a nuisance, our military personnel would be better utilized in the field. You can’t imagine what a logistical nightmare it is to move so many people. You’ve got to wonder why the Allies haven’t bombed the railways we use to herd the cattle.” He laughed, “That’s an allusion, professor, you know we use cattle cars, right? Not as comfortable as passenger cars, but more efficient.”
Chapter Eighty
THE MEAL WE’D just enjoyed curdled in my stomach. The flickering candlelight exposed raised white scar tissue cutting across Gunter’s neck. I wondered whether it was self-inflicted or the remnant of battle.
His breathing deepened and he hummed a snippet of a waltz. He had no more than a glass of wine with his dinner.
Deszo took a sip of his brandy and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. He slipped one into his mouth, lighted it and took a long puff, exhaling a long stream of smoke over the candelabra. He watched the direction of the smoke change as it hit the current of air coming from the hidden source behind me. He examined the glowing ash and then absently tapped it on the edge of his saucer.
“What do you talk to my officers about?” Gunter asked from behind his closed eyes. “Are you a spy? Or more interestingly, are you working for us?”
Deszo continued to smoke as if he hadn’t heard the question.
“Of course you wouldn’t tell me either way,” Gunter smiled. “That wouldn’t be fun would it?”
Deszo leaned back in his chair and with a thrust of his jaw blew out one, two, three rings of smoke, following their progress with his eyes.
“You know your friend Jozef works both sides of the street,” Gunter continued, seemingly taking no notice of Deszo’s silence.
“He fancies himself a clever little businessman. He has been quite useful to us in gathering information. His prices are reasonable. I don’t understand his motives. At least not in this case. He’s quite loyal to Natalie. At first, I thought he was related, or at the very least well paid by her. But after extensive conversation,” here Gunter laughed and finally sat up and examined his fingernails. “Yes, quite extensive. He still claims that he hasn’t been paid at all.”
Deszo held out his packet of cigarettes to Gunter, who took one and then Deszo’s cigarette to light his own.
“He’s here by the way.”
“Where?”
Gunter ignored my question and turned to Deszo. “So do you convey information to the Swiss? That idiot Wallenberg, I’m sure you’ve come across him in your travels. He hides behind the shield of the consulate and prints up false papers to save the Jews. Do you know he worked for a Jew during his younger days in business? He’s probably being paid by them. You don’t actually think the Swiss are so altruistic that they are issuing passports for free?”
“I believe they are as appalled by your slaughter of Jews as other countries.”
Deszo crushed the butt of his cigarette on the rim of the fine china. I noticed that Gunter visibly winced as if he had felt the last burning embers. Gunter recovered quickly, dropped his cigarette to the floor, and slowly ground it under the heel of his boot. “Do you really think that the Allies don’t know what goes on in our camps? They don’t discuss it in the newspapers, but they know. Their planes carry cameras as well as bombs. They make insignificant gestures using men like yourself or Wallenberg so that when this is all over they can save face. We know the truth don’t we? They’re only slightly bothered that we are ridding the world of Jews.
“But I’m curious about your motivations Deszo,” Gunter continued. “You don’t appear to be a man in need of the spotlight. It would be much easier, no doubt safer for you to sit on the sidelines. We both know at this point that the war is nearly over. I’ve checked your background. You have no Jewish blood running through your veins. The mistress you cast aside is out of the way and you’ve got her lovely and sane twin sitting next to you.”
Deszo took a sip of h
is brandy and then spoke over the rim of the glass. “Your research is admirable but like your theories about the Allies, lacking in interpretation. I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to negotiate with you an exchange of information for Anna and Mila.”
Chapter Eighty-One
GUNTER SHOVED HIMSELF back from the table and stood. “You are not in charge!”
Deszo continued taking no notice of Gunter’s rising temper. “And now you want to spend the evening discussing politics. Well I am pleased to join you another evening for such a conversation. But not while these two innocent women are sitting in a ghetto.”
Gunter began pacing. “I give you the finest wine and brandy to be found in this God-forsaken city,” his fists punched the air. “I feed you food you haven’t tasted in years. You are so impatient! You want to see your messenger boy. He’s here!”
“Where?” I cried.
Gunter turned and looked at me. His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “You see this is what I don’t understand. Your interest in the boy. He’s a thief, you know.”
Deszo shot me a warning glance. “She has a soft spot for him because he’s close in age to Mila.”
“I think there must be more to it than that, eh Natalie?”
I looked from one man to the other. Both had become enigmas. Deszo downplayed our relationship to Jozef, but at what expense? Jozef’s safety? I shook my head and looked down at the table.
“Perhaps Natalie should leave now,” Deszo said. “One of your men could escort her home. Safely.”
“Again you are trying to direct things,” Gunter sighed. “No, Natalie is going to stay. It’s not every day that I get to look at such a beautiful woman.”
“From what I saw at the café you have plenty of beautiful women at your disposal,” Deszo countered.
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