But Bela only realized how many people loved his grandfather when he passed away. The wake was held at the house and Bela, barely four years old, sat perched at the top of the staircase watching as long rows of neighbours and friends came to pay their respects. It seemed the lines lasted days. When they took the coffin away to the cemetery in a fancy horse-drawn carriage, Bela was allowed to sit in the front with the coachman. The seat was high and he was amazed at how much he could see from above. He felt very important sitting up there, not quite realizing at such a young age what it was all about.
After his grandfather died, the full house he was used to as a child began to change. First, his dearly loved older brother, Tibor, went away to high school in nearby Kassa. There were ten years between them. Although Tibor was already a teenager when Bela was growing up, he always made time for his little brother. Tibor pursued hobbies that were out of the ordinary, like photography and assembling ham radio receivers. Everything Tibor did fascinated Bela. Tibor owned an attention-grabbing motorcycle and taught himself how to disassemble and reassemble the motor. Bela swooned at the chance to grab a ride on the motorbike with his brother. Bela sat behind Tibor, wore a special safety helmet, and hung on to his brother's waist for exhilarating rides in the countryside.
Tibor also dated the best-looking girls. The estate had a guest bungalow more than a kilometre up from the main house, a cozy place with sleeping accommodations in three bedrooms and an expansive patio balcony. Tibor frequently took young ladies up to the guest house. Bela wasn't sure what they were doing up there, but Tibor made his little brother promise not to tell their mother about the mysterious female guests and vowed to make earlier and more frequent payments in ice cream.
When Bela's older sister, Picke, turned thirteen, she went away to school as well, first in Beregszasz, and then later in Munkacs. Bela was seven at the time and was attending a primary school in Nagyszollos at the Catholic elementary school. He really missed her when she left. She was closest to him in age, just four years older, and they got along well except when he teased her about her blossoming breasts and boyfriends - always in front of her friends, of course.
His father, Domokos, was also rarely at home. Bela felt instinctively, as a child does, that there was something wrong. Bela saw that his mother often wiped away tears when he asked where his father was. He knew it had something to do with the Czechs. He hadn't actually met any Czech children - there were none in the Catholic and later Polgari school he attended or among the Rusyn boys he played with. The only contact he had with Czechs was with the stern detectives who sometimes came to search the house. His mother told him they were looking for guns and ammunition. Then the Czech detectives took his father away for interrogations and Mother said they did this because the family was Hungarian.
After they took Father away, the house searches became more frequent. Sometimes as many as twenty detectives descended on the house. They would rummage around the house, two searching each room, emptying drawers, desks, armoires, closets, and trunks, often overturning mattresses, tossing everything on the floor. Once, Bela came home to find all of the storybooks in his bedroom scattered on the floor. Sometimes the searches went on relentlessly all day, sometimes they lasted just for a few hours. The detectives searched the packing houses and stables as well, and ordering all the employees out of the distillery while they rummaged through each nook and cranny of the buildings. While the house and grounds were being searched, his mother was taken away to a separate room and questioned for hours by two or three detectives.
One rainy afternoon, Bela arrived home from school to find the front door bolted from the inside. Several Tatra cars were parked ominously in front and he knew the detectives were inside conducting their searches again. His mother had locked the front door from the inside as a prearranged signal. It meant that Bela should go to the neighbours' house until the search was over. But Bela's curiosity got the better of him and he thought maybe he could distract the detectives by being inside the house, so he crawled in through the lower-level bathroom window. This was something he did quite often, especially when he forgot to take his key. But it was a rare occasion that no one was at home. Usually Mother or Anna neni, the cook, would be waiting for him with a glass of milk and a freshly baked fank (donut) or kalacs (cinnamon bun).
Once inside, he inched his way toward the main front entranceway and, without making a sound, crept into the living room where two detectives were scouring the drawers and bookcases. One of them had taken a particular interest in Bela's toy soldier collection, which Mother had let him set up in one corner of the living room so that he could be near her when he played. Bela looked sadly now at the elaborate battlefield he had created with hundreds of toy soldiers, bridges, barricades, cannons, horses, and a fortress. One of the detectives, whose wire-rimmed glasses sat on the rim of his very straight nose, was examining the battlefield intently. The detective picked up a toy soldier - a flag bearer who was a particular favourite of Bela's - and was studying the flag held by the miniature figure. Bela had painted the flag red, white, and green, using toothpicks to put the tiny bits of colour on the rubber flag. He knew it was forbidden by law to display the Hungarian tricolour in Czechoslovakia, but the toy soldier was small, only about three centimetres tall, so the flag was tiny.
When the detective spotted Bela, he turned to him and asked the obvious: "And whose toy soldiers are these?"
Bela scanned the meticulously assembled battlefield and exclaimed proudly, "They're mine!"
Suddenly, the detective's face turned red with anger. Still holding the toy soldier in one hand, he raised his other hand and slapped Bela across the face with such force that the eight-year-old flew across the room, landing at the edge of a chaise-lounge and hitting his head. The pain of the slap was searing into his face, his head was pounding from the blow, the shock of it all was already stinging his eyes, but despite all, Bela was determined not to cry or yell out. As he instinctively put his hand up to the spot on the side of his head where he hit the furniture, he felt a bit of blood. The phrase "Never let the enemy know how much they have injured you" popped into his brain. He remembered it from one of his books. He conjured up the most hateful look he could muster and glowered at the detective in anger, determined that someday, when he grew up, he would repay this horrible man.
The detective studied the boy's contorted face and, in broken Hungarian, growled at him, "You could kill me, couldn't you, you little shit?"
At that moment, the senior detective entered the room with Karola, asking her questions as they walked. They both stopped and stared at the child fighting back tears on the floor, a red welt streaked across his face. The embarrassed detective noticed them and hurriedly placed the toy soldier back with the others. The head of the search team made a show of looking around but ignored the incident and kept talking to Karola as if nothing had happened. She, however, turned white when she saw Bela and clasped her hands together, heading straight to the child.
"What happened to your face, darling?" she exclaimed.
The head detective grabbed her by the elbow and kept talking, hoping that what she had seen would frighten her into telling them what they wanted her to confess. But she had stopped listening. She seemed to shut down as she stared at her young son, both of them silent and passive, frozen to the spot. The head detective finally ordered the group to leave, seeing that no confessions would be forthcoming today from the wife of the man they wanted to indict. When they left, Karola gathered her son in her arms and they sat huddled together on the carpet, each crying bitter tears and comforting one another.
chapter 5 | 1938
BY MARCH 1938, HITLER'S armies were being welcomed by cheering and flower-waving crowds in cities across Austria. Soon the Anschluss, the reunification of the two German-speaking countries of Germany and Austria, was complete and Hitler was jubilantly welcomed at his glorious homecoming to his place of birth.
In June of 1938, Tibor graduated with a degree i
n Engineering Technology from the Royal Hungarian Industrial Technical College in Kassa. His grades were outstanding. The graduation ceremony was a muted affair since the war was looming just beyond their borders. Despite this, Vilmos Koch, Director of the College, made a point of congratulating Karola on Tibor's ranking.
"Tibor has excelled in the fields of electrical, mechanical engineering, and drafting," the wiry little man began. "During the two-year course, he has hardly missed a few days of class." Koch looked over his spectacles at Karola. "I am confident that, with his new technical education and skills, Tibor will be able to find work practically anywhere."
Karola shook the distinguished man's hand and thanked him for his kind words. She was secretly hoping that Tibor would come home to help run the family business. Each time he returned home, though, Tibor was anxious only to talk to his tutor Marton, to discuss and debate, to question and learn more about the complicated state of geopolitical events around them.
By September, Hitler had managed to convince the British, French, and Italian leaders of Germany's right to the part of Czechoslovakia known as Sudetenland. The Great Powers met in Munich to accept the reversal of their previous agreement with the Czechs. They handed the Sudetenland back to the Germans and, without firing a shot, the German army occupied the Sudetenland.
This agreement also included a clause that granted immediate amnesty and release for all political prisoners being held in Czechoslovakia. Domokos Aykler was one of the thousands released. His clothes and the original amount of money taken away from him upon his imprisonment were returned and he was free to go. After months of interrogation and torture, he was a shadow of his former self. He had lived for so long on thin gruel and stale bread that he found it painful to swallow anything but liquids and, although he was bone-tired, Domokos was unable to sleep, afraid of what he would dream.
Once he was on the departing train, though, and the train pulled out of the station heading east, he dozed off. Floating in and out of consciousness, Domokos imagined himself back in custody. The method of torture they had used on him was referred to as "The Spanish Boots." He was forced to wear extremely tight rubber boots that cut off all circulation to his legs, and the detectives beat his feet with rubber truncheons until he was paralyzed with pain. Afterward, Domokos was hardly able to walk without assistance. It was a popular form of torture because, due to the rubber constriction, there was little bruising.
Lunch on the back terrace overlooking the vineyards.
On the train, he was suddenly awoken again by someone yanking on his long beard. "Dirty Jew" is all he heard in his semi-conscious state as he was pulled off the bench. Domokos had no strength to fight back and couldn't comprehend what this man wanted from him. The man in civilian clothing lifted the barrel of his machine gun. Domokos closed his eyes and raised his hands to protect his face when he heard, "Stop! That's Domokos Aykler. Don't you know him? He's the leader of the underground resistance and was just released from prison."
As suddenly as he had been assaulted, the men lifted him back onto his seat, apologized, and departed.
Conscious, Domokos peered through the window trying to make out the place name of the station, then realized the train wasn't moving. He saw the station name, "Bene Borsova," and heard yelling all around them. Then he noticed that the train next to them - the train going westbound - was under some sort of military siege. Civilians with machine guns were ordering hundreds of soldiers to disembark and strip. All their clothing and equipment (boots, socks, undershirts, side arms, guns) were put into one enormous pile. Domokos recognized the Czech uniforms. As his train lurched forward again, Domokos took one last look and saw gasoline being poured on the pile. He watched as a match was lit and thrown. He could see the enormous bonfire for miles as his train headed eastward.
WHEN THE TRAIN PULLED into Nagyszollos, Tibor was there, waiting for him. News of the amnesty had travelled fast and Tibor reassured his mother that he would go every day to wait for the train that arrived once a day from Kassa. Karola had prayed each day and waited anxiously for her husband's safe return home. Now, when she heard the horse-drawn carriage arrive at the front of the house, she flew to the front door.
Tibor and Istvan Schroeder at the vineyards.
Istvan Schroeder's wedding.
Karola abruptly stopped running when she saw Tibor extend a hand to assist his stepfather stepping down from the carriage. She was stunned and walked more slowly down the long stairs leading out of the house. Fighting back tears, she willed herself to stay calm and strong for him.
Domokos, with Tibor by his side supporting him, saw his wife coming toward him and tried to stand straighter, pulling his shoulders out. When she reached him, they melted into each others arms. Sobbing softly, she repeated over and over again, "I'm so glad you're home. Thank God you're home. I will never let you go away again." She looked up at her thin, pale husband, gently stoked his cheek, and smiled. "We've prepared your favourite meal, Domokos." She glanced at her son and saw that he was choking back tears as well.
With his wife on one side and Tibor supporting him on the other, Domokos made his way slowly up the stairs to the house. Their daughter was away at boarding school in the nearby town of Beregszasz and their younger son, Bela, hadn't yet come home from school. Karola was grateful for their absence.
After soaking his battered feet in a gentle, saltwater solution, Domokos lay down in his clean, comfortable bed and slept soundly for the first time in many months. Karola lay next to him, gently wrapping her arms around him.
The next morning, Bela knocked on their door as soon as he woke up, anxious to see his father again. Karola calmed her son. "Your father will be dressed and down for breakfast soon, darling. Just be patient."
When Domokos did come down for breakfast, Bela simply ran to his father, burying his head in his lap. A single tear slipped out of Domokos's eye as he gently stroked Bela's hair.
News of Domokos's return spread quickly through the town and, by ten o'clock the next morning, a long line of people wove its way down the lengthy driveway on Kaplincka ulica. The local residents waited patiently to speak to Domokos Aykler. In their eyes, he was still the man who could take care of local problems in Nagyszollos, even if he had just been released from a Czech prison. Karola was frantic when she saw the lineup and begged him not to go out of the house.
Domokos smiled at his wife and patted her hand. "The entire town knows what I have been through and where I have been. It is important that I make an appearance. People need to see that the Czechs have not succeeded in breaking me."
She knew she would not deter him in this, as she had not been able to influence him in any of his political activities. "At least sit on the terrace to receive them."
Domokos knew he wouldn't have the strength to deal with all of these people individually and decided to address them as a group and speak for a few minutes. He inhaled deeply and pulled himself out of the armchair. The crowd grew silent as soon as he appeared and they pressed closer.
"I speak to you today as a free man," he began. From the corner of his eye, Domokos caught a glimpse of Karola, her forehead wrinkled with worry. "My wife is worried about me. You know the way wives are ...." There was a smattering of laughter in the crowd. "I stand before you as a man who has been charged with treason in this country and has been condemned to death." An audible gasp went up from the crowd. Domokos raised an arm to calm them and continued. "Yet, here I am in front of you today. I am not worried and want you to stay calm too, to be patient." He paused and chose his next words very carefully. Raising his right arm high into the air, he cried out, summoning all the strength he could, "Our sufferings as a minority in this country will be over soon." With that, Domokos turned and started for the house, nearly collapsing before he made it to the nearest chair.
People continued milling about outside until noon, and then everyone was told to go home. Later that evening, Senator Karoly Hokky, a close family friend, came to visit. He didn
't call ahead as he usually did, and apologized to Karola for arriving unannounced. He asked to speak to Domokos in private and had a request. He asked if one of the maids could put a few logs in the fire. The fall evenings were starting to get cool, he told her, and he had caught a bit of a chill coming over. Karola nodded her head and led him into the drawing room where Domokos was sitting.
The men sat quietly as the maid brought in the logs and lit the fire. When she left, Domokos began to talk but Karoly Hokky put his finger to his lips, directing the conversation to the weather. As he spoke, he walked over to the wireless radio, turned it on, and tuned it to a Czech station where the news was just being read. He turned the volume up as Domokos watched him intently. Then Karoly Hokky opened the desk that sat in the corner and pulled out a handful of stationery, drawing his pen out of his waistcoat pocket. He began to write something and handed the note to Domokos.
"This house is probably bugged," the note began. "Detectives have searched your home many times while you were away. They could easily have planted listening devices at any time. I have warned your wife of this as well."
Domokos read the note and nodded his understanding. He handed the note back to Hokky who threw it into the fire and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. Then he continued writing. "They have probably already issued a warrant for your re-arrest. This time they will undoubtedly not postpone the sentence." The senator handed the note back to Domokos and looked gravely at his dear friend. When Domokos gave him the paper back, he smiled sadly. Hokky continued. "Yesterday, a group of Rongyos Garda (Ragged Guard) sabotaged a train and ordered some three hundred Czech soldiers off. They burned their equipment and uniforms."
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