by Susan Ross
“Charlie! Is that you?” Mrs. Klein answered the door.
“Hi—what’s up?” Amy scooted in from the kitchen.
“I need your help!” Charlie bent over to catch her breath. “Something incredible came in the mail. A cousin sent us an old letter in German. I was hoping your nana could read it.”
“Come right in, Charlie.” Mrs. Klein motioned her inside. “Though I think my mother may be sleeping.”
“It’s okay! It’s fine!” A high-pitched voice rang out. “I’m over here, girls—come and see me!” Nana Klein sat on the family room couch, her thin legs sticking out from under a white crocheted blanket. She raised her hands and reached forward. “Charlie, dear, what have you got there? More about your relative, the one who was lost in the Holocaust?”
Nana Klein was wearing bright red lipstick that wasn’t entirely on her lips, but her hands were soft and warm.
“She might be alive,” Charlie said breathlessly. “Well, at least we think it’s possible. I brought a letter for you to read—I hope you’re not too tired…?” Charlie hurriedly pulled out the sheets. “Cousin Nathan sent it. This is her signature—Lottie—and look, it’s from October 1945!”
“Whoa.” Amy cocked her head sideways. “But Charlie…I don’t get it. How does that change anything? That’s still a long, long time ago.”
“Well, yeah—it’s old. But the important thing is, this letter was written after World War Two ended,” Charlie quickly replied.
“It means your great-aunt wasn’t killed!” Mrs. Klein exclaimed. “She didn’t die in the camps like your family thought.”
Nana Klein clapped her hands together, nodding vigorously. “It is possible; I know of other cases. There was utter confusion after the war; so many families were separated. You cannot imagine it! Mothers and fathers and children came out from their hiding places and searched for each other, but sometimes, people didn’t even know where to look.” Nana Klein smiled sadly. “May I see that correspondence now?”
Charlie’s head felt light. This was it. What would Lottie’s letter say? Would it reveal what had happened to her after the war?
Nana Klein carefully picked up the first sheet. The fragile paper shook as she held it to the light. She squinted and wiped her eyes. “I need my glasses, please.”
Charlie hopped from one foot to the other while she waited for Nana Klein to place her glasses on her nose and begin, her red lips moving silently. “Oy!” Nana Klein said under her breath. She reached for the second sheet.
Amy elbowed Charlie, thumbs up.
I think I can! I think I can! What book was that from? Of course, The Little Engine That Could! All of a sudden, Charlie couldn’t get it out of her head. Did the kind blue engine make it to the top of the mountain? Why couldn’t she remember?
Finally, Nana Klein stacked the sheets of paper in her lap and took off her glasses, while Charlie held her breath.
“I apologize, Charlie, I can’t help you,” Nana Klein said.
“What?” Charlie’s heart was free-falling into her stomach.
“I’m very sorry, but I cannot read this letter.”
“Are you sure? Is the writing too small?”
“No, that’s not the problem, though my eyes aren’t so good anymore.” Nana Klein shook her head slowly. “The trouble is, this isn’t German.”
“Not German? But Mom told me it was…”
“Yes, I see the date and a few German words at the end. But the rest is in a different language entirely.”
“What language?” Mrs. Klein asked.
“This is Magyar,” Nana Klein said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Mud-yar?” Amy stared at the sheets of paper. “What’s that?”
“It’s in Hungarian,” Nana Klein replied. “Didn’t you say your great-aunt moved to Budapest?”
Charlie caught her breath and nodded.
“You see, people went back and forth in those days between Austria and Hungary; the two countries were linked. Many people had relatives in both places and spoke both languages. If Lottie spent the war years in Hungary, she must have learned Hungarian.”
“But Nana, are you sure you can’t read it?” Amy saw the crushed expression on Charlie’s face.
“No, I’m afraid I cannot—oh, long ago, when I was young, maybe, I could make out a few words, but I am sorry to say, you’ll have to find someone else.” Nana Klein sighed. “I wish I could help you. I think you’ll find a way. If at first you don’t succeed, you must try, try again, you know.”
“My nana says that, too.” Charlie managed a weak smile.
“Maybe you have some other Hungarian relatives?” Mrs. Klein asked.
“No, not really.” Charlie imagined bringing the letters back to Cousin Nathan at the seniors’ home. It wouldn’t help, she knew.
“Perhaps someone at school?”
Charlie shrugged. She doubted that the Spanish and Chinese teachers would also be fluent in Magyar.
“Do you want to hang out here?” Amy asked. “It might make you feel better. We could chill in my room and talk. Or listen to music—whatever you want.”
“I can’t.” Charlie was suddenly exhausted. “I should go. My mom will want to know what I found out.”
“I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t help you, my dear.” Nana Klein leaned forward, one hand across her chest. “You have so much feeling in your heart. You will find your great-aunt Lottie, I know you will.”
“Good luck,” Mrs. Klein added.
“Thanks, anyway.” Charlie lifted the backpack on her shoulder and trudged out the front door. Her head was pounding with disappointment as she got on her bike and coasted down the driveway.
Charlie pedaled slowly and anxiously along the street, zigzagging around cracks and stray branches. What now? How could she possibly find someone quickly to translate Lottie’s letter? Perhaps she could see if her Hebrew school teacher knew of another refugee—someone who spoke Hungarian?
Up ahead, she saw Dr. Szemere’s house. What was Satan’s real name, again? If Satan gave chase, maybe she could calm the dog down by using her actual name. Kinga…wasn’t it? Of course! Kinga, the Puli.
Whoa! Kinga the Hungarian Puli.
Dr. Szemere had said he was Hungarian, too.
Pumping one fist to the sky, Charlie filled her lungs and raced toward Dr. Szemere’s. “I think I can; I think I can!” she sang out into the breeze.
When Charlie reached Dr. Szemere’s driveway, she stopped short, caught her breath, and strained to listen. Sure enough, muffled barking was coming from somewhere on the property. But she couldn’t see the dog. If she was lucky, Kinga was locked in the house. Charlie pulled a handful of hair clips from her backpack and set down the bike. At least she could pelt those in Kinga’s direction if the threatening dog approached.
The barking stopped, and Charlie took a few hesitant steps toward the house. She could feel her pulse throbbing. Even if she escaped being mauled, what about Dr. Szemere? He was definitely a bit strange. Why had he chased after her at the library? Could he be dangerous, too? Charlie swallowed hard. There was absolutely no choice. She had to know what was in Lottie’s letter—right now.
Charlie headed cautiously toward the porch. All of a sudden, she heard a spine-chilling snarl. She jumped back, but with a flood of relief, she saw that Kinga was tied to a tree at the side of the house. The dog growled and lunged forward against the leash but couldn’t get near her.
She climbed the stairs to the porch slowly, pausing on each step. Charlie’s heart was pounding in her ears as she rang the bell. Maybe she should have gone back to Amy’s and asked her to come along. She pulled out her phone and scrolled to Jake’s number, just in case she had to call him, fast. Finally, she rang the doorbell, breathing hard: Should she get out of there while she still could?
But nobody answered t
he door.
Kinga stopped growling and began to whine, and after a few minutes, lay down with a yawn. Charlie shook her head. Silly dog!
On the porch, a wicker bench was set against the house, and next to it was a small window. The shade was drawn low, but Charlie noticed a narrow gap at the bottom. She took off her helmet and set it down. Then, cupping her hands on the glass, she peered into the house—and quickly sprang back to one side. Dr. Szemere was in there!
Charlie stood sideways beside the window and bench, trying to make herself smaller. After taking a deep breath, she leaned over and peeked in again. Dr. Szemere was bent low over what looked to be his kitchen table. She could see a chisel in his hands, but she couldn’t make out what he was working on. He wore headphones and goggles and had on the same plaid jacket he’d been wearing at the library. On the wall above the table, there was a large framed poster of a magnificent white horse rearing on its hind legs.
Dr. Szemere suddenly looked up and their eyes met. His lips formed a tight O as he sprang to his feet. Charlie clutched her backpack, unsure whether to stay or run. Before she could decide, the door swung open.
“Do you require something, young lady?” Dr. Szemere loomed in front of her. The headphones were down around his neck, and Charlie could hear music. It was a Viennese waltz, she realized. One of Nana Rose’s favorites.
“I—I’m Charlie Roth. Do you remember me? I was here before.”
“The girl from the library, yes,” Dr. Szemere replied. “I attempted to offer you a ride in the rain, but you ran away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t understand!” Charlie’s face was tingling with embarrassment. Would he still help her after the rude way she’d behaved? “Dr. Szemere, I need to ask you a favor.”
“What is it?” Dr. Szemere looked at his watch, then pointed at the bench beside the window. He motioned for Charlie to sit.
“You said you were from Hungary,” Charlie began, “when I was here the last time—that is, when Satan—”
Dr. Szemere frowned.
“Oops! I mean Kinga,” Charlie said quickly. “I got the name mixed up with another dog, a really big, angry dog—”
There was a slight twitch at the corner of Dr. Szemere’s mouth. “Kinga enjoys barking, I’m afraid. As you well know.”
“Yes,” Charlie said, glancing at the yard. “My question is…can you read Hungarian? I mean, could you possibly translate a letter for me?”
The outermost edges of Dr. Szemere’s lips twitched again. “Most children have never heard of my native country and language, nor have any interest in it. Why do you ask?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Charlie said.
Dr. Szemere sat on the bench next to Charlie and nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Okay….Well, my grandmother’s sister was living in Budapest when she was a teenager—she was a student at the music academy. Then the war came, and she completely disappeared.” Charlie paused. “I’m doing a school project about her.” Dr. Szemere looked as though he might be impressed by the idea of schoolwork. “Now we’ve found an old letter she wrote, but it’s in Hungarian, and I can’t read it.”
“When exactly did this girl reside in Budapest?”
“She moved there right before World War Two. She was an amazing violinist, maybe you’ve heard of her? Her name was Charlotte Kulka, but everyone called her Lottie.”
“I am not quite so old,” Dr. Szemere replied. “I was a boy in the 1950s when my family came to America.”
“Oh…of—of course,” Charlie stammered. “I’m sorry.”
“Your relative was Hungarian?” Dr. Szemere pursed his lips.
“No.” Charlie shook her head. “The family was from Vienna.”
“They were Jewish, perhaps?” he asked.
Charlie nodded. “My nana and her mother escaped to America, but Lottie wasn’t with them—she was still in Budapest.”
“And so, the girl was in grave danger,” Dr. Szemere concluded.
“They never heard from Lottie again, and everyone thought she was probably dead—though nobody knew for sure. But now, a very old cousin sent us this letter, and if you look at the date…it turns out that Lottie was alive at the end of the war!” Charlie’s face brightened for a moment.
“Show the letter to me, please.”
Charlie reached into her backpack and pulled out the thin sheets. It was quiet in the yard; Kinga had fallen asleep under the tree. Dr. Szemere scanned the pages, his lips moving slightly. He began to read aloud:
My dear Nathan,
How wonderful it is to receive your letter from America! But also sad to know that your parents did not survive. It must have been difficult for you to go on the ship to the United States all alone.
“Poor Cousin Nathan!” Charlie whispered.
I have heard nothing these years from my own parents, but a friend from Vienna wrote that my father was arrested. My dear music teacher, Herr Hinkleman, is also gone. Now that we know the terrible truth about the Nazis, I’m afraid that my family is forever lost. It hurts most that they took little Rose. I can never forgive this.
Charlie’s stomach tightened to a knot. Lottie thought Nana Rose had been killed! If only Lottie had known what really happened.
“Should I continue?” Dr. Szemere paused with a sideways glance.
Charlie exhaled and nodded.
I am lucky, though, to also have happy news, the best news, to tell you. Here in Budapest, I met a special boy. His name is Istvan Bartos. His family is Catholic. Istvan’s father was killed in the fighting, but his mother and sister hid me during the last year of the war, although they knew I was Jewish and would have risked their lives had I been discovered.
Now we are married. Even better news, we expect a baby!
“A baby!” Charlie blurted out. “Lottie has a baby?”
“Apparently,” said Dr. Szemere, looking up. “But consider the child would not be a baby now. He would be an adult; perhaps my age or even older.”
“Oh, gosh, I guess that’s right.” Charlie rubbed her head. There was so much to consider. Lottie had married a boy named Istvan, and not Johann Schmidt as she had imagined.
Dr. Szemere continued:
We hope to come to the United States, but Istvan wants to wait until our baby has grown strong. Then we will come.
“Wait—what did you say?” Charlie jumped to her feet. “Lottie came to America? Lottie is here?”
“Well,” Dr. Szemere said, examining the letter again, “it says that your relative wished to come to America—but they intended to wait some time.”
“Then they must be here!” Charlie exclaimed.
Dr. Szemere shook his head. “I’m afraid it would not be that simple. The letter is dated October 1945. If they waited too long to come, you see, then it would have been impossible.”
“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.
“The communists took control of Hungary in 1948. After that, the borders were closed. The so-called Iron Curtain prevented anyone from leaving the country. There was very little communication, because the communists searched correspondence.”
“But you moved to America, didn’t you?”
“In 1956, yes, there was a short period for escape, when Hungary revolted and tried to break free.” Dr. Szemere sighed. “But there was not another opportunity to leave like that again until the fall of the Soviet Union in 1989.”
“I guess we learned something about that at school,” Charlie said, wishing she knew more.
Dr. Szemere cleared his throat and continued translating.
Perhaps someday soon I will see you again! Istvan has relatives in Cleveland—is that far from Connecticut? I have been told there is a very fine symphony there. Not as fine as the orchestras of Europe perhaps, but I pray that I can play music there once more. We were forced to sell my violin during the war, bu
t Istvan says he has managed to put aside a little money and will soon buy me another.
My dearest Nathan, I wish you a wonderful life in America! You will be a big success as a dentist, I am sure of it. When you think of all we’ve endured, take heart. We saved many.
Your loving cousin,
Lottie
“So, your great-aunt was a very lucky person,” Dr. Szemere observed. “She was able to survive, as you hoped.”
Charlie smiled for a second, then frowned. She still had so many questions. “What does she mean when she says they saved many?”
Dr. Szemere shrugged and stood up. “Come inside for one moment, please; there is something I would like to show you.”
He led her into the kitchen, where he’d just been working. When she peered at the table, Charlie couldn’t believe her eyes. It was covered with sticks of wood, what appeared to be strands of horsehair, and carving tools. The enlarged photograph of a violin bow lay next to the chisel.
“What is all this?” Charlie asked.
Dr. Szemere lowered his voice. “My father was a luthier in Hungary. He made magnificent violins, violas, and cellos, as did his father before him. His violins, especially, were renowned throughout Europe. But when the Russians invaded in 1956, all hope for our country was crushed. We left our village and crossed the border in the middle of the night. My father was forced to abandon his workshop and had to leave everything behind.”
“Couldn’t your dad make violins in America?” Charlie asked.
“I am afraid there was little demand for such fine pieces, and nobody recognized his gift. In the end, my father repaired cheap instruments, and my mother cleaned office buildings to support our family and pay for my medical education.”
Charlie gazed at the materials on the table. “But you—”
“I make only the bows.” Dr. Szemere looked away for a moment. “It keeps me occupied since my wife passed away.”