by M. Ben Yanay
Ina was immediately awake. “Germans or Russians?”
“I don’t know. Come quick, perhaps you’ll be able to tell.”
“I can only guess,” she said, standing behind him. “It seems to be Germans.”
Bob joined them. “Germans?”
“I guess, from the general way they appear. They don’t seem like a victorious army. Look at them. See how disorderly their movement is?”
“What do you think we should do?” Bob asked Janos.
“Let’s be cautious. The tracks cross a junction. I have no intention of slowing down, but I’m not gonna flee either. If they’re Germans, they won’t harm us. Nevertheless, if we are attacked, I will increase speed immediately. Add coal, Bob. We need a great big fire so we can escape.” Janos increased their speed a bit, his hands never abandoning the lever.
Ina focused her attention on the junction and what was going on there. Her eyes followed the movement of the images.
“We’ll be there in a minute or two,” Janos said to her. “You’d better put something on or hide because there’s no telling what the sight of a woman might do.”
The tracks looked open, free of any barriers, without any guards in particular. To Ina, everyone around seemed peaceful, easy going. “They look like they’re all busy doing their thing,” she said.
“You never can tell,” Janos replied and took his head out of the right window. He kept his left hand on the lever, alert and ready to push it all the way and leap ahead if need be.
Near the crossing, he saw another road, which formed a T-junction right before the tracks. About a hundred feet ahead, he discovered a right turn to a road running parallel to the railway. The image became clear as they got to the junction. The traffic ran from east to west. He could see hundreds of soldiers walking by on either side of the road. They did not follow any particular order. He also saw all kinds of vehicles: trucks, armored cars, motorcycles with sidecars, and ambulances, as well as bikers who moved carefully between them all.
“I know this area, as well as this junction. I was here, conducting a reconnaissance flight at low altitude,” Bob told them as he stood behind Janos. Bob covered his head and his face so that only his eyes were free to observe the surrounding. “The tracks continue toward a mountainous area. We’ll see the first hills a few miles up ahead. The road stretches at least until the hills.”
“Hang on, so what’s next?” Ina asked him. “You probably do remember, or you’re trying to calm us down.”
“I only flew as far as the hills, but I do remember the rest from the maps. Next, we have ravines and mountains all the way to an Austrian border town. I cannot recall its name right now.”
“And how far is it to the border?” Janos asked him. “Could you give us an estimate?”
“Oh, a little over one hundred and twenty miles. But we will have to cross a major bridge, perhaps two of them. Let’s just hope they did not blow them up in the meantime.”
They crossed the junction without any disturbance.
“That was easy.” Janos sighed in relief.
Bob and Ina looked through the side windows to the edges of the tracks and the road. They saw burnt vehicles by the side— that had been moved to clear the way—along with bodies, some of which were already covered by light snow.
“I think the Allied forces hit them with a serious barrage here, perhaps it was the Russians. It all looks pretty fresh, perhaps even last night. Do you remember those Ilyushins?”
“We are approaching the hills,” Janos told them. He felt the engine working harder to climb up the tracks. They continued to follow the Germans with their eyes. The soldiers looked indifferent, as they marched on, followed by mechanized forces moving along the parallel road, undisturbed. Bob figured those were the remains of an armored brigade and one or two infantry battalions. They were yet to see the head of the column. I wonder where they’re headed.
“Where are they going?” Ina read Bob’s mind. “After all, they’re surrounded. Why don’t they surrender?”
“Well, I guess they hope the Russians do not get them. They’re hoping to escape westward and reach the Allied forces. They would rather fall into their hands. They’re more terrified of the Russians.”
“As well they should be,” Janos muttered. “The Russians will beat them to shreds. No gulag for them, not even Siberia. They will simply shoot them in the head without any mercy.”
“And do you think they’ll make it to the west?” Ina asked Bob.
“No, I don’t think they stand a chance. Even before I was shot down, the whole of Austria and most of Germany had already been occupied. Only Vienna and Berlin are yet to fall. Either way, occupation is a matter of a day or two at the most. In fact, maybe even a matter of hours.” Bob was excited at the prospect of a German defeat, and that he would be able to witness it. Even if not from the air, at least I get to see it before my own eyes, from this running locomotive.
“Perhaps Vienna and Berlin were already taken? What held the Allies up from entering the capital cities?” Janos was keen to know.
“I only heard some talk about it. It’s politics. Everybody wants a piece of Vienna and everybody wants to take Berlin. The Allied forces are coordinated. The Russians are careful not to step on any toes. Yet, they all want to march into Berlin together. When they do, the war will be over, and the city will be divided up between them into control zones.”
On the horizon, lightning flashes were dancing in a dazzling spectacle. There was not a single sound of thunder.
“I smelled a storm back this morning,” said Bob. “We smell such things, over in my squadron. What do you say?”
“Not enough for a blizzard,” replied Ina. “It’s early spring. I believe our locomotive will receive its fair share of a spring shower.”
Ina was barely done saying this when rain began to fall. The heavy drops tapped the engine’s roof strongly. Visibility dropped at once, but the engine kept going.
The Germans continued their way by the side of the road, undisturbed by the pouring rain. Within moments, their route was flooded, making their journey that much more difficult. Some soldiers seemed to be struggling, whereas others simply hopped over the puddles and running streams.
The traffic slowed. Janos noticed a truck blocking the road. A group of soldiers was trying to move it to the side of the road. When the locomotive was only a few dozen feet away, an armored vehicle came behind the truck and pushed it. Two soldiers jumped off the truck. It leaned sideways and cleared the center of the road. The armored vehicle rammed into it once again until it tipped it over.
The traffic resumed. The rain was relentless. It seemed to be washing the evil off the face of the earth. The sky got dim in the middle of the day. The outline of the hills disappeared into the darkness. There was practically zero visibility. Janos turned the headlight on.
Ina caught a metallic spark off the dusty dashboard.
“Give me your rag,” she asked Bob. “You no longer need it. No one will notice you in this darkness.”
She cleaned the dust off the dashboard and was surprised to discover a copper sign with an engraving over it. She kept rubbing until the word “MALAXA” appeared. Underneath, she saw additional letters: “Made in Romania, 1933.”
“Well then,” she said. “You have a date of birth and a country of origin. You were born in Romania, and your name is ‘MALAXA.’” She smiled.
“No, that’s not its name,” Janos corrected her. “That’s the name of the manufacturer—MALAXA!”
“Never mind, I’ll call it MALAXA the locomotive.”
“It’s too long,” Bob commented. “Find it a nickname.”
“Great idea. I shall name it ‘Lexy,’” Ina rejoiced. “Yeah, Lexy. This is what I’ll call it from now on.”
“Just don’t get too attached,” Bob warned her. “We will soon have to part with it.”
11. Janos’s Recruitment to the Fascist Army
“You’re welcome to take ove
r and replace me,” Janos told Bob. “Ina is right. In this darkness, you will call no attention to yourself. I must get some sleep.”
“First, I suggest we eat something; I’m famished. I have half a loaf and a few onions,” Ina said.
“Ina, you’re terrible!” Bob cried out happily. “I’m starving, what a nice surprise.”
Ina smiled. “That’s the last of the snacks.” She opened her sack and took out the parcel with the bread in trembling hands. Bob and Janos could not fathom the extent of the mental power she had to muster until now. She kept this ration from them as well as from herself. There were times she wanted to take a bite in secret but took great pains to keep herself from doing so. I mustn’t, she told herself. After all, we are all starving the same way. It would be dishonest. She succeeded in holding herself back, so she felt pleased and gratified. So much so, a tear of excitement ran down her cheek.
She pulled out a knife, cut three thick slices and handed them to her friends.
Janos leaned against the locomotive’s back wall and ate in silence. He grew less troubled by hunger as the hours went by. But as it rained and smelled of moisture, he did become thirsty. He stretched his hands out and wet his lips with his fingers. Ina and Bob followed suit and held their hands open to gather some rainwater.
Janos was feeling strangely calm. He closed his eyes. Sights and sounds engulfed him, still standing inside the train’s engine. He first heard the sound of strong knocking.
The knocking sound on the door on the sleepy second floor the St. Claire family residence woke the entire household up. It was 1941, so such surprise visits did not bode well.
The knocking grew stronger. Terry and Janos were now fully alert, albeit still in bed. Seven-year-old Sandor and three-year-old Arno came running into the bedroom. Andre, a year old baby, began crying. Terry held him and tried to calm him.
Janos looked at her, concerned.
“Police! Open Up!” They heard a loud man’s firm voice, followed by the sound of a rifle being charged.
“I’ll get it,” Janos said. He put on his woolen pants and got to the door as he buttoned his shirt. He gave no sign of alarm or fear.
The knocking never ceased.
“Open! Open, or we’ll shoot!”
“I’m opening,” Janos replied as he turned the key and unlocked the door.
Two gendarmes stood outside the door in their elegant uniforms, complete with helmets adorned with feathers. The third man, a stocky fellow, looked like an ordinary citizen. He wore a black long woolen overcoat and a brown fur hat that covered his head and brow. Holding a pile of papers, he looked at Janos stiffly.
“Janos St. Claire?”
Janos closed the door behind him.
Without waiting for him to reply, the two gendarmes stood on either side and pushed him toward the staircase with the butts of their rifles.
Terry opened the door slightly. As she looked on, terrified, she saw her husband’s broad shoulders and his hands clutching the banister.
“Janos!” she cried out.
He gave her a quick look, but one of the gendarmes hit his head with the wooden rifle butt. He let go of the ledge, stumbled and fell. They laughed as they said, “Get up, scum!”
He got up, unstable, and clutched the rail as he stood upright.
The door opened with a squeaking sound. Terry and the boys stood there, petrified. The baby was silent.
“Onward!” said the stocky man. “We don’t have all day. Move it!”
Janos called her from the end of the staircase. “Watch the children, Terry!” Then she heard the front door closing. She rushed over to the window and looked out into the street. In the dim light of early morning, she saw the two gendarmes, with their drawn rifles, following her husband, and the stocky man lagging behind. There was no one else on Kossuth Street. They soon vanished from her tear-ridden eyes into the heavy fog.
*
A young-looking gendarme stood by the front door of Debrecen’s police station, where Janos was taken. The stocky man gave him a piece of paper and went away. The entrance hall of the police station was teeming with young men. Janos walked past them and did not recognize anyone. They didn’t seem to be there against their will, quite the opposite. Most of them looked excited, engaged in lively discussion.
The two gendarmes rushed him. They crossed the entrance hall and went down to the basement, where they were met with a wave of stench. One of the gendarmes took the key that hung on a nail and opened the cell door. The other one pushed Janos in. The basement was dimly lit, yet he saw a group of men. They were huddled together on the floor. Some were sitting and others were standing against the wall. The door was then locked once more.
Janos felt the bump on his head and stepped forward. He leaned against the wall and sighed. Within a few moments, his eyes got used to the faint yellow light. All around him, he saw men of various ages: elderly men, people a bit older than him, and men around his age. It turned out they were all Jews like him, who had been rounded up in the last twenty-four hours. The youngsters he saw in the hall above were all Hungarian patriots who had been called to join the national Army.
“Say, what will they do with us?” one of the men asked. His question remained unanswered.
After a long while, the basement door opened, and three gendarmes walked in, covering their noses with handkerchiefs. One of them shouted, “Silence!”
The whole floor went dead silent.
The highest-ranking gendarme then turned to the detainees. “Is there anyone among you with any military experience?”
Janos took one step forward and raised his hand.
No one else responded. The officer ordered him to come closer and gave him a stern look. He seemed to be impressed with Janos’s strength and proud stride.
“Come with me!” the officer ordered and hurried out, anxious to leave the stinking basement. The two gendarmes followed Janos.
The officer’s room was dusty and shabby. His desk had all sorts of papers, and the sky looked drab through a filthy window. The gendarmes remained outside the door.
“Sit!” the officer ordered him.
Janos immediately sat’ a cold shiver ran down his back, and he trembled all over. They were sitting on either side of the officer’s desk. The closed room had not been properly heated, and Janos was freezing. The officer lit himself a cigarette and went silent. He seemed to be waiting for someone. Janos kept his eyes to the floor and did his utmost to stop trembling. Then, there was a faint knock and the door opened. A man with a mustache walked in. He was wearing the brown shirt that was part of the uniform worn by Hungary’s fascist movement, led by Hungary’s regent, Admiral Miklos Horthy.
The officer turned to Janos. “Stand up! What’s your military experience? Where did you serve?”
“In the French Army’s Foreign Legion, sir.”
“What was your rank?”
“Sergeant Major, sir.”
“For how long?”
“Thirteen years, sir.”
“Hmmm, it’s a dirty bunch, but tough,” the officer said, partly to himself, partly to his guest. He then asked, “Did you serve in the French colonies?”
“Yes, sir. I served in all of France’s colonies worldwide.”
“Where exactly?” the fascist intervened.
Janos looked directly at him, then glanced at the senior officer and began listing the countries where he had served. “Morocco, Algiers, Syria, Lebanon, and of course Indochina, sir!” With the instinct of a veteran soldier, he stood at attention.
“In what capacity?”
“I served as a driver, sir.”
“You scum!” the fascist suddenly shouted at Janos. “You filthy Jew! You belong in the labor camps!” He went all red and slammed the desk with his fist.
“Miklos,” the officer turned to him. “His military experience can be of use to us. Take him to my deputy and tell him to recruit him immediately.”
“But he’s a bloody Jew and…�
� He didn’t finish his sentence. The officer silenced him with a hand gesture.
Janos remained standing as the fascist left the room. The officer turned to him and said, “Keep your identity as a Jew to yourself. I shan’t tell a soul.”
Janos gave him a grateful look and left the room without a word. He followed the fascist along a gray corridor with numerous closed doors on either side.
“Stop! It’s here,” the fascist said and opened one of the doors.
“Sir!”
The fascist turned to the young officer in the room. “The Jew is to join the new recruits!”
“Please sit,” the officer ordered Janos and produced a checkered form from his desk. “What’s your name?”
“Janos St. Claire.”
“What year were you born?”
“I was born in 1901.”
“Any family?”
“Yes, a wife and three sons.”
“Address?”
“Kossuth 49, second floor.”
The officer handed Janos a fountain pen and asked, “Can you write?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Sign here.” He pointed at a blank box at the bottom of the form.
“Miklos, take him to the clothes cellar,” the officer ordered.
“Sir!” Janos saluted him and followed the fascist, who rushed out of the room.
A rusty old iron door stood at the end of the corridor. They went through and went down a steep staircase. They were greeted by a long line.
“You’re staying here,” the fascist told him. “Don’t dare make trouble!” He spat on the concrete floor and went back up the stairs.
Janos waited his turn. A young man with black hair came and stood right behind him. He tapped Janos’s shoulder. “Is this where you get a uniform?”
“Yes,” Janos answered and said nothing further.
“I’m joining the war,” the young man said, excited, and touched Janos’s shoulder once again. “Where are you from?”
Janos did not reply.
When his turn came, he entered a large hall with numerous rooms. There were large open wooden crates on the floor with piles of clothes. Jubilant youngsters stood amid the crates, some in their shorts and some in their pants. They were throwing hats and shirts at each other.