Lunch with the Stationmaster

by Derek Hansen

  ‘Hello, little Christian.’

  Milos turned abruptly at the sound of the voice and found Gabriella’s brother, Balazs, waiting to shake his hand.

  ‘I hope you haven’t seen any lions. You’re going to have to watch out for them from now on, you know.’ Balazs was smiling.

  ‘The Coliseum,’ prompted Jozsef, aware of the boy’s confusion. ‘The Romans used to throw Christians to the lions.’

  ‘You know how that feels, don’t you, Milos?’ cut in Tibor.

  Milos could feel his face flooding hotly.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Come on, it’s my turn for a kiss.’

  Gabriella’s older sister was always the first to come to Milos’s aid whenever he was being teased. Family aside, he loved her second only to Gabriella. He turned and embraced her, grateful for the distraction. He still cherished the hope that Tibor would fall in love with Elizabeth and so clear the way for him with Gabriella. But Elizabeth was almost fifteen and already a young woman. Even Milos had to concede the possibility was remote.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to give Gabi her present?’

  Milos found his father looking straight at him and his throat dried up. Why him and not Tibor? It wasn’t fair! Tibor should have gone first, being the elder. After they’d seen Tibor’s present, everyone would have adjusted their expectations. He tried desperately to recall his little prepared speech. But when he’d lain in his bed planning his words he’d imagined that he would be alone with Gabriella, not centre stage in front of everyone.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he mumbled, unable to meet Gabriella’s eyes.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said his father. ‘Milos went to a lot of trouble to choose the perfect present for you, Gabi, and I’m sure you’ll be delighted.’

  Heartened by his father’s support, Milos handed his gift to Gabriella and kissed her cheeks. He summoned up his courage. There were things he was anxious to say even though he expected everyone to start laughing again.

  ‘Happy birthday, Gabi.’ He drew a deep breath but his prepared speech abandoned him and he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. ‘You’re my best friend in the whole world. Honestly.’ Unbelievably, his face began to flush even more hotly. He braced himself for the expected laughter but it never came.

  ‘What a sweet thing to say!’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Thank you, Milos. I’m going to love it whatever it is,’ said Gabriella. She put his present down on the chair alongside her so she could put both arms around him to hug him. Milos held his breath and closed his eyes. He hoped with all his heart that he’d hear her reciprocate, but she didn’t tell him he was also her best friend. But then she hadn’t yet opened his present.

  ‘Show us what it is,’ said Uncle Thomas. ‘Don’t keep us all waiting.’

  Gabriella loosened the ribbons that Milos had so carefully tied in a bow and unwrapped the book. There was a brief moment while she absorbed the fact that the book was written in English, took in the title and discovered that it was illustrated by the same artist who had designed her tea set. Her eyes lit up with excitement.

  ‘Mamma, look! Look!’ She raced over to show her present to her mother. Milos stood by watching, his heart pounding, as proud as any ten-year-old boy could be.

  Aunt Katy looked closely at the book then almost quizzically at Milos, as if seeing him in a new light. ‘You found this book for Gabi?’

  Milos nodded.

  ‘Your father is right. It is hard to imagine any gift more perfect.’

  Milos felt himself grow ten centimetres in height.

  ‘I know you’re very fond of Gabi but I didn’t realise you understood her so well.’ She smiled wryly. ‘We’ve underestimated you. It must have taken you a long time to find it.’

  Again Milos nodded. As an afterthought, he glanced quickly towards his father, more than a little guilty at not acknowledging his contribution. He needn’t have been worried. His father winked ever so slightly but it was enough. Milos had imagined taking Gabriella through the book, colour plate by colour plate, providing a commentary but, for once, curbed his eagerness. He didn’t have to go seeking glory when glory had already found him and pinned him neatly in its spotlight. Uncle Thomas was beaming, Elizabeth was making a fuss over the book and even Balazs, who was far too old for stories of pirates and fairies, seemed impressed. Milos realised with sudden insight that he was behaving exactly as Tibor would, with reserve and dignity. It made him feel grown-up.

  ‘Milos, I really don’t know how to thank you enough!’ Gabriella left her precious book with her brother and sister and hugged Milos once more. She kissed him again on each cheek. Just as he was plucking up the courage to put his arms around her and express in a hug what his words could not, Tibor spoke.

  ‘I too have a present for Gabi.’

  Tibor had taken off his coat. When had that happened? It suddenly made Milos acutely aware that he alone was still trussed up in his coat, every button fastened tightly. He felt upstaged. He could feel the spotlight slowly move away from him and onto his brother.

  ‘Our deepest apologies, Tibor,’ said Uncle Thomas. ‘Please. Gabi?’

  Gabriella slipped out of Milos’s grasp. He’d been too slow in claiming his reward, or his brother too cunning. Whichever, the moment was gone and so was Gabriella. She was gone, gone to Tibor, and all eyes and expectations moved with her. Milos frantically unbuttoned his coat. But the red paper that wrapped the present in Tibor’s hand spoke to Milos and warned of his defeat. The deep blue ribbon only added confirmation. Milos felt a chill, as though the night rain clouds had returned to claim the day, covered the limitless blue sky and blotted out the sun.

  ‘What is it?’ said Gabriella.

  ‘It isn’t a book,’ said Tibor, as though nothing could be more boring. Milos winced.

  ‘It must be a record.’

  Gabriella kissed Tibor but her attention was clearly on the package in her hands. Milos watched spellbound as his sweetheart untied the ribbon, as helpless as a fly in a web as the spider approached. The ribbon came off and Gabriella carefully removed the wrapping paper so as not to tear it.

  ‘It is a record!’ she said.

  Milos breathed again. It was only a record. How could a record possibly match his book?

  ‘American!’

  Milos closed his eyes. There was no mistaking the amazement and delight in Gabriella’s voice.

  ‘American!’ echoed Balazs. ‘What is it?’

  ‘“Sophisticated Lady”,’ said Gabriella, reading off the record label.

  Balazs whistled.

  ‘Duke Ellington,’ said Gabriella in awe. She threw her arms around Tibor’s neck and kissed him. Not only on the cheeks, but also on the mouth.

  ‘How in the world did you get hold of that?’ said Uncle Thomas. There was a tinge of admiration in his voice, even envy.

  Tibor just shrugged and smiled secretively.

  ‘Quick! The gramophone!’ said Elizabeth. ‘Balazs! Find a new needle.’

  Milos felt as though he was outside the window peering in, no longer a participant in anything, a helpless onlooker witnessing events speeding ever faster beyond his control. The room suddenly filled with the exotic, swinging sound. Gabriella and Elizabeth began to sway to the rhythm. Balazs tapped his foot and clicked his fingers to the beat.

  ‘What is that instrument?’ asked Gabriella.

  ‘Alto saxophone,’ said Tibor. ‘Johnny Hodges.’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’

  ‘Look! Look at my arms,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The music is giving me goose bumps.’

  They replayed the record the instant it finished and this time Gabriella took Tibor’s hand and started dancing with him. Everyone applauded, Milos too, powerless to do otherwise. How did his brother do it? How did his brother manage to beat him at everything they did? He watched Tibor in dismay and fascination. He moved so fluently, held Gabriella so confidently, led her so assuredly. Where had he learned to dance like that? H
ow? When? The spotlight had moved off Milos onto Tibor, there to remain, satisfied it had found its rightful home. Milos’s spirits plumbed new lows as he was engulfed by disappointment. His gift had failed him. His hopes had been exposed as fantasies, no more rooted in reality than J.M. Barrie’s tale. Gabriella had not drawn closer to him but closer to Tibor.

  ‘Milos?’

  Elizabeth, arms outstretched, stood before him. She understood. The fact that she understood and sympathised only added impetus to the tears that threatened to flood his eyes. He fought them back, refused to be caught crying, and danced instead.

  By the time lunch had concluded, Milos had forgiven Gabriella for finding Tibor’s record more exciting than his book. He’d also danced with her and had sat next to her at the table and it hadn’t mattered at all that Tibor had sat on her other side. Milos had never been able to stay down for long at Tokaj Street. Now they were playing hide and seek, the one thing he was better at than his brother. Even though they’d long exhausted every possible place to hide, Milos was inventive and the fact that he was small for his age enabled him to squeeze into places neither Tibor nor Gabriella would even consider. He was always hardest to find and, though he suspected his brother was sometimes less than enthusiastic about looking for him, this time it didn’t matter. It was Gabriella’s turn to find them.

  Milos could hear his father, uncle and Balazs talking together in the dining room and decided to sneak in and under the table. It was important that he was not observed because he knew that ultimately one of them would give him away. He slipped silently into the room on hands and knees and eased himself between the end chair and table leg. Once under the table he paused to see if he had been observed. There was no break in the conversation, no hesitation, no indication that his little manoeuvre had been detected.

  The next step was no less delicate. He edged slowly up the table, trying to position himself on the other side of the thicket of legs. If Gabriella looked under the table, she’d expect to see him at the unoccupied end. If she searched more thoroughly, he hoped the trouser legs would shield him. That was the point at which his hiding place would normally be given away. But how could anyone give him away if no one knew he was there? Provided none of the men shifted position and inadvertently kicked him, his hiding place was secure. Milos closed his eyes tight and held his breath to suppress a sudden rush of excitement.

  It had never been his intention to eavesdrop on the conversation above him, but now he realised he had no choice. His first reaction was of dismay, fearing the consequences of his father discovering his presence. His father would not be pleased. But his dismay gave way to excitement. He’d never been allowed to listen in to the things men discussed in private and he trembled with anticipation. His father was speaking.

  ‘I’m sorry, Balazs, really sorry that you won’t be studying law.’

  Balazs shrugged. ‘Medicine is also out which is a mixed blessing. I’m not sure my mother could deal with two doctors in the family.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Jozsef.

  ‘Teach,’ said Balazs. ‘I have applied to several universities. I will take whatever I am offered. Father says these times will pass. They always do eventually. When that happens I will study law and, hopefully and belatedly, begin my career in politics. It is all a question of patience.’

  ‘Patience!’ said Jozsef in disgust. He turned to Thomas. ‘And what is he going to do until this magic moment when these times pass? Ten years from now? Twenty years? Teach the children of peasants to read and write until his brain atrophies?’

  ‘There’s a chance he will be allowed to enrol as a veterinary student,’ said Uncle Thomas. His eyes found a spot on the table so he didn’t have to look at his son or Jozsef.

  ‘Dammit!’

  Milos winced as his father’s fist crashed into the table right above his head.

  ‘A vet! A horse doctor! The cleverest boy in his class. No! In the entire school, in the entire north-east.’

  Jozsef settled back in his chair, realising his outburst was doing nobody any good and only served to underscore Balazs’s humiliation. ‘For God’s sake, Thomas. It could all have been avoided so easily. Balazs could be studying law today if you weren’t so stubborn.’

  ‘If we converted to Christianity, you mean.’

  ‘Is that such a hard thing to do when your son’s entire future is at stake?’

  ‘We are Jews, Jozsef.’

  ‘In name only.’

  ‘No, by birth.’

  ‘You are no more a Jew than I am. No more religious. I doubt you even believe in the existence of God.’

  ‘There are many things I don’t believe in and I don’t believe trading phylacteries for crucifixes will make any difference.’ Uncle Thomas kept his voice soft and reasonable. ‘It would only undermine our identity, our sense of who we are. These days it doesn’t matter who or what you claim to be. If they can find a trace of Jewish blood somewhere in your line, then you are Jewish. That’s it. Look at Bela Imredy.’

  Jozsef sat silent. Bela Imredy had been Hungary’s prime minister up until February 1939 when his political enemies unearthed documents which purported to show Jews amongst his forebears. After that, his resignation was a formality. Thomas used Jozsef’s silence to complete his argument.

  ‘A crucifix might have got Balazs into law school, but it may not have been enough to keep him there. Look at the Losonczy boy. His lecturers “lost” pages from his assignments so they could mark him down. Sometimes they misplaced his assignments altogether and accused him of not doing them. It is one thing to study law, another thing to be allowed to graduate.’

  ‘But Balazs wouldn’t be a Jew. He would be a Christian.’

  ‘The veneer of Catholicism would not be enough. Sooner or later Balazs would be deemed a Jew and be thrown out of university. Like the Losonczy boy.’

  ‘The Losonczy boy is a Jew. Balazs would be a Christian,’ said Jozsef, persisting with his argument. ‘That changes the rules. At the very least, it would have bought him time.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Thomas dismissively.

  ‘Yes, time,’ said Jozsef. ‘Perhaps even enough time to qualify. Who knows?’ He shrugged, a clear signal that he was prepared to let the issue die. ‘Perhaps you are right. In the long run, what will it matter? The way things are, time may become a commodity in short supply for all of us.’

  ‘I assume you are alluding to the war,’ cut in Balazs, anxious to seize the opportunity to move the discussion on. ‘I am confident Horthy and Bardossy will keep us out of the war. They will preserve Hungary’s non-belligerent status.’

  ‘The regent is weak,’ snapped Jozsef. ‘He only ever made one decision and that was to sit on the fence. As for Prime Minister Bardossy, no one can question his integrity or the earnestness of his intentions. But he is doomed to fail exactly as his predecessor did. You cannot lie down with the devil and remain a virgin. We help feed and supply the Reich. We allowed German troops to cross Hungary to invade Romania. We allowed the Germans to use us as a stepping stone into Yugoslavia. They used our rail lines and even our rolling stock, for heaven’s sake. No wonder Britain is threatening to declare war on us.’

  ‘I support Balazs,’ said Thomas. ‘Britain has enough problems dealing with Hitler. Britain doesn’t need a war with Hungary as well.’

  He paused as Gabriella knocked on the dining room door. ‘What is it, Gabi?’

  ‘Have you seen Milos?’

  ‘Not since lunch,’ said Thomas.

  ‘He must be here,’ said Gabi. ‘Tibor and I have looked everywhere else.’

  ‘He is not in here,’ confirmed Balazs. ‘We would have noticed.’

  ‘May I look under the table?’

  Her father sighed gently. ‘If you must, but be quick.’

  Milos shrank back as far as he could behind his father’s legs and held his breath. What would his father say if he was discovered now? What would Uncle Thomas think of him? He closed his eyes
.

  ‘Do you see him?’ asked Uncle Thomas.

  ‘No,’ said Gabriella.

  ‘Now run along. We’ll let you know if we find him.’

  Milos could hardly believe his luck. Gabriella hadn’t seen him! He opened his eyes and eased away from his father’s legs. He’d done it! Now he had to remain undetected until it was safe to come out.

  ‘Have you considered what might happen to us if Germany wins?’ asked Jozsef, taking advantage of the interruption. ‘Do you think Hungary would be a safe place for Jews then?’

  ‘Why not?’ said Thomas. ‘Hitler will have gained everything he wants. He won’t need scapegoats any more. How can he blame Germany’s problems on Jews when he no longer has problems? Germany will win the war within twelve months. Then things will start to settle down again. After all, there have been Jews in Germany for a thousand years.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Jozsef gloomily.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ asked Balazs.

  ‘I hear disquieting things. Perhaps now is not the time.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ asked Thomas. ‘If you know something, share it.’

  Jozsef sighed heavily. ‘I may no longer be director of railways but I have maintained a network of contacts, people who remain loyal to me or grateful for one or another reason. That is how I learned that the Germans used our railways to move troops and equipment to Yugoslavia.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I don’t wish to be alarmist. In fact, I’m not sure what to make of this information that has been filtering through to me. It is tenuous, to say the least.’

  ‘Perhaps discussing it will help bring understanding,’ suggested Thomas.

  ‘Perhaps, but there is precious little to discuss. The Germans have been requisitioning box cars and modifying them with solid doors and locks. Why locks? What would you put in box cars that requires locks? Certainly not cattle.’

  ‘Armaments,’ said Balazs. ‘Food. Maybe even clothing.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Jozsef. ‘But why would the Germans be sending armaments, food or clothing to Poland?’