In the fall of 1943, Hedy started noticing that her mother was becoming tired more and more frequently. Normally, their mother was constantly on her feet; always working from the moment she woke up in the morning until she placed her head on her pillow late at night. Lately, however, even when she was performing simple tasks around the house, Terez became short of breath. And she was losing weight as well. Vilmos worried as he watched his wife growing weaker and finally insisted that she go to a doctor. Terez resisted, explaining away her weakness and breathlessness. Lots of women, she told them, went through the same symptoms. Then, one day, she fainted in the garden while hanging laundry on a clothesline.
Within a few weeks after her visit to the doctor, they received the dreaded news: Terez Weisz had cancer, which had already metastasized and spread to several other organs in her body. Vilmos sat down with his older children and explained the gravity of the situation to them. They agreed to shield the younger ones, Suti and Icuka, from the full extent of their mother's illness.
Tibor was desperately worried about the emotional toll her mother's health was taking on Hedy, and offered to help in any way he could. He suggested that she come in later in the mornings so she could help get Suti and Icuka off to school and insisted she leave the office earlier in the afternoons so she could help with dinner and be there when her little brother and sister got home.
Hedy took on more household chores and tried to spend more time with Suti and Icuka, explaining to them as gently as she could that mother was sick and that, until she got stronger, they would all have to look out for one another and help around the house. Suti and Icuka recognized the situation for what it was and quickly adapted, becoming much more sensitive to the needs of the family, hardly ever complaining or quarrelling. Hedy's eyes welled up with tears of emotion as she watched her little brother struggling, without a word of complaint, to drag in large buckets of water from the well or set the table and, with the help of his sisters, wash dishes after dinner.
Before bedtime, they still gathered around their mother for story time but she usually sat, bundled up in blankets and shawls, resting her eyes while Hedy or Aliz read the story. Every once in a while, Terez opened her eyes and smiled faintly, as if acknowledging how pleased she was at how the family was coping.
As her family's need of her grew greater, Hedy turned more and more to Tibor for comfort and advice. It was debilitating to watch her family crumbling around her. Terez became increasingly fragile with each passing week and she had already lost more than twelve kilograms. For Hedy, it became impossible to maintain a brave front. As time passed, words of encouragement became painful to verbalize as the lump lodged in her throat grew larger whenever she tried to speak to her mother, even just to calm her. She couldn't imagine the day they would have to say goodbye to her. She simply couldn't get the words out without feeling like she was going to burst into tears. There was no one else but Tibor she could talk to about her mother's ever-weakening health and the effect this was having on her family.
In December 1943, through their family doctor, they learned of a specialist in Budapest who might be able to offer a cure. But how would they get their mother to Budapest when Jews were not allowed to reserve a place on the train? As always, Hedy turned to Tibor and he offered to make all the arrangements.
A cold mist hung around the hillsides surrounding Nagyszollos on that bleak morning in December as Hedy secured a spot for her mother on one of the few benches on the platform as they waited for the train. She pulled the extra shawl around her mother's frail body and gazed lovingly into her hollow eyes. She smiled and tried to sound cheery as she offered words of encouragement. "Tibor will be here soon, Mother. Don't worry."
The platform was packed with people awaiting the arrival of the train to Budapest. Because of the nighttime bombings, the evening train to the capital had been cancelled a year ago, so this was the only scheduled train route of the day. When the train pulled in, Hedy didn't have any idea how she was going to find Tibor. The crowd was clamouring on board, shoving and jostling each other for a good seat. Hedy couldn't imagine how she would manage the two light bags they had packed and her sick mother who could only walk very slowly and with much assistance. And what if they didn't get a seat? She knew there was no possibility her mother could stand for any amount of time.
Hedy stood on the platform, her eyes welling up with tears, and desperately scanned the crowd looking for Tibor. Suddenly, he appeared from the throng, smiling broadly, and confidently leaned in and spoke directly to Terez. "Are we ready to board, ladies?"
Hedy watched as her mother nodded and closed her eyes in relief and agreement. Without another word Tibor tenderly gathered Terez in his arms, gave Hedy a loving look, then winked as he turned and deftly carried her across the platform and up the narrow metal stairs of the car and onto the train.
It all happened so fast Hedy barely had a chance to realize her worries were over. She grabbed the two light bags and hurried after Tibor as he entered the compartment with her mother. Then she noticed the sign on the compartment door that read: FIRST CLASS. RESERVED - DO NOT DISTURB.
As she clambered in with the bags, she realized that they were the only passengers in the compartment. Tibor must have boarded the train earlier that morning at Kiralyhaza, one stop before Nagyszollos, in order to reserve the first class compartment. She put the bags in the rack above the seats and looked around. There was ample room in the private compartment for her mother to stretch out comfortably and Tibor had already made sure everything was in order. He stood up after tucking the blanket around Terez's legs and told Hedy to lock the door from the inside when he left. Then he asked her if there was anything more they needed. Hedy could hardly speak, she was so moved by what he had done. She simply shook her head and smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears of love and gratitude. All the way to Budapest, her mother slept peacefully and no one knocked or attempted to enter the private compartment where they sat.
IN JANUARY 1944, TEREZ Weisz was sent home from Budapest. The doctors were unable to do much for her because the disease was in such an advanced stage. Within two weeks of her return, she passed away in the hospital in Nagyszollos. Her twelve-year-old daughter, Icuka, whom the rest of the family had tried to shield for as long as possible, sat on the floor near the entrance to her mother's room and cried uncontrollably upon hearing that her mother was gone. No matter what her family tried to do for her, she was inconsolable.
Vilmos Weisz felt as if his life was over. He had lost the love of his life, the woman who meant everything to him, and the pivot around which his family revolved. Even though all the children were in deep shock and mourning, Aliz and Hedy realized they had to forge ahead and organize the funeral.
The news travelled fast and soon relatives from Beregszasz, Munkacs, and Fancsika started arriving for the funeral by train, horse-drawn cart, bicycle, and even on foot. The funeral procession, from the synagogue to the Jewish cemetery, was long and the extensive line of mourners wound its way directly through the centre of town. At the front of the line, directly behind the family, walked two Christian men - the younger Baron Zsigmond Perenyi and Tibor Schroeder - both dressed in black suits and hats, showing their respect for Jewish tradition. According to religious law, all the women were barred from entering the Jewish Orthodox cemetery, but Hedy stood outside the gate, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude as Tibor and Zsigmond stood next to Vilmos, Bandi, and Suti when they placed the coffin of Terez Weisz into her final resting place.
The participation of the two Christian men at this Jewish funeral was a flagrant violation of the anti-Jewish laws. But, despite all the grumblings, the two men were untouchable. It was understandable, and considered a great honour, that the son of the baron, the young, Oxford-educated Zsigmond Perenyi, would demonstrate his family's respect for the Weisz family in their loss. After all, Vilmos Weisz had been an integral part of the Perenyi estate since 1923 when he had taken over management of the distillery.
To anyone who wondered why Tibor Schroeder, the son of a high-ranking military officer, was walking side-by-side with the Weisz family, well-meaning relatives and friends replied, "Well of course. Tibor Schroeder is Hedy's employer. It is a profound sign of respect that he has also come to the funeral."
But for those who suspected that their relationship was more involved, the answer became obvious when they caught a glimpse of Tibor looking at Hedy. The look was undeniably that of someone in love. The secret was out.
After the funeral, young Jewish men vented their anger at Tibor. "How dare this Christian man become romantically involved with one of the most talented, beautiful young women in our community?" Tibor heard about their indignation through Jaszli Berliner and he received written and verbal threats to leave Hedy alone or "he would suffer the consequences." But he remained unperturbed. The funeral was a turning point for Tibor. Despite all the warnings, he no longer made any attempt to conceal his love for Hedy. Considering he was going to marry her, he felt it was only natural that he walk alongside his fiancée and her family as they mourned the loss of their mother.
A few weeks after the funeral, Hedy pleaded with Tibor to let her return to work earlier than they had planned. Home without her mother was an empty dwelling and being there all day every day only made the loss more profound. At least at work she could focus on other things. Tibor agreed, but wouldn't let her work much or stay long hours. When she didn't feel well, or became overwhelmed with grief, Tibor escorted her home. As they walked, Hedy talked at length about the shock of losing her mother, about how life could be cut short cruelly at any time. Tibor told her he regretted not having asked for her hand in marriage before her mother died. He felt in his heart that it would have been the right thing to do and that Hedy would feel comforted in the fact that her mother had known of her plans for the future before she died. He said he felt compelled to speak to her father as soon as possible. Hedy agreed.
In early March, a few months after Hedy's mother passed away, Tibor went to see Vilmos and formally asked for Hedy's hand in marriage.
Suti near the house in April 1944.
"I am deeply in love with your daughter, Mr. Weisz," he began confidently, "and wish to ask for her hand in marriage."
Vilmos looked into his daughter's eyes as Hedy and Tibor sat side by side, and realized it would be useless to object. It didn't take much to see that the two were very much in love and, after what his family had been through, Vilmos didn't have the heart to disappoint his daughter. He consented to their union. Overjoyed, Hedy and Tibor decided they would wed as soon as the war ended. Tibor shook Vilmos's hand and promised his future father-in-law that he would love, honour, and take good care of his daughter.
chapter 12 | march 1944
TIBOR SAT ON THE train as it chugged its way toward Budapest on its slow, tortuous journey. Because of the frequent nightly bombing raids in the countryside, the train engineer and conductors had to slow down, stop, and inspect each spot on the line where possible damage had been reported. Tibor's nerves grated each time the train slowed and came to a screeching halt and he was having trouble focusing his mind on the purpose of this trip: the meetings he had scheduled with a group of engineers at the firm of Weiss-Manfred.
To take his mind off the interminable trip, he concentrated on the dinner he would be having with his family on Sunday. He was looking forward to spending time with his mother, his sister, Picke, and their father, Domokos. He hadn't seen Picke for a while because she had spent the last year in Budapest attending a finishing school for young women. His father also hadn't been home in some time and he had specifically chosen this get-together to announce to his parents that he had asked Hedy Weisz to be his bride and that she had accepted. He very much would have wanted to bring Hedy with him on this trip but he realized that was impossible to do at the moment. But the war would be over soon - he was sure of it - and its end would herald a new beginning for both of them. He smiled as he remembered the meeting he had already had with his older brother, Istvan, and Istvan's wife, Eva. They were both thrilled at his news. Tibor had sworn them to secrecy, at least until he could announce the news to the rest of the family, but he had had to tell someone that he was engaged.
Both Hedy and Tibor were counting on the war being over soon, but the dismal state of affairs all around them just seemed to be getting worse. Once the Americans entered the war, everyone, even the loud-mouthed politicians, realized that Germany and its allies would eventually be defeated. Rumour had it that the Hungarian government had already tried to surrender to the Allies but had been thwarted by the Germans. Tibor closed his eyes and concentrated on Hedy's face. The Russians continue to make gains on the eastern front, he told himself. It is only a matter of time.
Tibor sat on the train daydreaming, his mind obsessed with plans of emigrating to some faraway place with Hedy once the war was over. He shook his head as he remembered his last meeting with their family doctor, Daniel Szabo. In the middle of dinner at a nice little café in town, Dani had announced that he had a brilliant scheme for getting to America at almost no cost. Intrigued, Tibor asked for details.
Daniel Szabo put down his glass and wiped his moustache on the back of his hand. "All right," he said looking around to see if anyone was listening. "Let's volunteer for the western front, surrender to the Americans, and then be transported to the United States for absolutely no charge."
They chuckled and Tibor looked at Dani with affection. "Everyone should be so lucky," Tibor said as he waved Szabo's scheme away. What fond memories he had of the good doctor. Unfortunately, Dr. Szabo was never able to follow his own advice. He had been shipped off to the eastern front as a military physician and had never returned from the catastrophe on the Don.
Finally, the train came to a stop at the station in Budapest and Tibor gathered his things together. He was always amazed at the atmosphere in this city. People continued to flock to restaurants, to shop, to eat and drink well, and to carry on business as usual. It was as if they were completely oblivious to the war thundering all around them. As head of the press corps, Colonel Aykler had been assigned an apartment on Kiraly-hago ut, on the Buda side, and Tibor stayed there whenever he went to Budapest. He settled in and got ready for his meetings. He would get them over with and looked forward to an evening out with his friends the next night.
Tibor was out late on Saturday night with his friends and they all had a bit too much to drink. On Sunday morning he was still asleep when he heard knocking at the door. Reaching for his dressing gown he stumbled to open the door and found Picke standing there.
"What are you doing here?" Tibor asked, still in a daze.
"Have you seen what's going on outside?" she asked, glancing at his dishevelled state. "Obviously, you haven't been out yet."
She pushed him aside gently as she walked into the narrow, long hallway of the apartment and Tibor closed the door behind her. "Get dressed and shave. You look terrible. Where were you last night?" She stood with her hands on her hips and frowned at him. "There are German tanks everywhere, they've invaded the city," she continued in an excited tone.
"Calm down, my dear sister," Tibor said, stopping her in mid-sentence. "If you don't slow down and calmly tell me what is going on, my head will explode. What are you talking about, German tanks?"
"They're everywhere. I walked over from school and I saw German tanks on every major street corner. After two blocks, I was so intimidated by them I started taking side streets."
Tibor walked over to the short wave radio and flicked it on. Classical music came wafting through the airwaves into the room. He tried another station. "More Mozart. Great!" he sighed, and he padded off to the kitchen to make coffee. "There are hundreds of hours a week of information about the war but, when something drastic happens right here in the capital, there is nothing about it on the radio." As he took a shower and dressed, he tried to make sense of it.
Nazi Germany invading Hungary? Their ally? It d
idn't make any sense. It was true that the Horthy regime had tried to surrender to the British, but Hitler's spies had found out about it and quashed the attempt. If it was truly an invasion, then what was the purpose?
As they headed down into the streets, Tibor soon realized that what Picke had witnessed was in fact true. German army tanks lined all the major thoroughfares of the city. They stopped at a newspaper kiosk and Tibor asked for the most recent edition of the Magyar Hirlap.
Tibor Schroeder as a reservist in the Hungarian army in 1942.
"It's all yesterday's news," the kiosk manager said in a flat monotone. "We haven't received anything yet this morning."
The fact that no one seemed to know what was going on was frightening.
Tibor and Picke were meeting their parents at noon and the two of them took their time as they made their way through the side streets toward the restaurant. The Zoldfa, well-known in Budapest for its exceptional cuisine and great service, was owned by their mother's uncle and it was full of well-dressed patrons. As soon as Tibor and Picke walked in, the maître d' greeted them warmly and told them their father had already reserved the table. Picke spotted their parents and hurried ahead to kiss her mother and father. Tibor followed and leaned down to kiss his mother. More reservedly, he shook his father's hand then took his place at the table. The waiter handed everyone menus and began stuffily, "I would strongly suggest the goose liver as appetizer, followed by the chicken schnitzel. This is the finest meal on our menu today and, who knows, it might be the last good meal any of us will have in this city for a long time."
Tibor stared at him, aghast by his casual attitude. As the waiter walked away, he turned to his father. "I can't believe the attitude of the people of this city. What is going on?" He was getting angrier by the minute. "There are German tanks everywhere yet there is nothing on the radio or in the newspapers and no one seems to be taking this situation seriously. It seems like everyone is ignoring the facts at hand and talking in some kind of code."
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