Mrs. Tuesday's Departure: A Historical Novel of World War Two (21 page)

She walked back into the living room and placed a thick white envelope addressed to her granddaughter on the coffee tabl
e. It contained a letter
appointing her as the executor of Mrs. Tuesday’s will, and provided instructions for the disposition of her belongings. Mrs. Tuesday wasn’t concerned with the fate of the furnishings; they suited her husband’s tastes more than her own. However, she wanted her granddaughter to have the journals, both the Aunts’ and the volumes Mrs. Tuesday had written herself over the years. She had written detailed notes to her granddaughter on where she would be able to find her thoughts on editing and the writing process. She hoped they would encourage her to use the material in the journals in her own work. Perhaps then the legacy of their lives would live on.

When everything was finished, Mrs. Tuesday went to bed. She poured a glass of water from the carafe on the nightstand and swallowed the pills the doctor had prescribed. She set her alarm and climbed beneath the covers, but left the light on. Her gnarled fingers gently smoothed the blanket around her and she picked up a book of poems, but did not open them. As she waited for sleep, she thought of finally going home.

“
Professor.” Gunter pu
t
down his fork and turned his attention to Deszo. “I understand that you have many friends in the higher ranks of our army.”

“I have friends in many areas of society.” Deszo put down his knife and fork, raised his glass to his lips, and took a long sip.

“Those connections do not concern me. I’m interested in who you are talking to within my army, and why.” Gunter picked up the bell and rang it. The young
soldier
who’d brought in our dinner now appeared carrying another tray. He set the tray down cleared our dishes and set out cups of coffee, brandy glasses and a decanter. He served us quickly and departed.

Gunter picked up the glass of brandy and swirled the contents. He held the glass up to the candle light and studied the amber liquid. “Connections are important.” He spoke slowly, carefully. “It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you know the right people. Or what you can obtain.”

He looked at Deszo, “Take this brandy for example. I received a case of it as a present from a grateful man. Why?” He shrugged. “Gratitude.”

Deszo looked around the room, “You must have a lot of people who are grateful to you.”

Gunter brought the glass to his lips, took a long sip, held it in his mouth moving the liquid slowly around his mouth before swallowing it. “It lives up to its reputation.” He put the glass down and looked at Deszo as if just recognizing his comment. “You’d be amazed by how many friends I’ve made since coming to your city. I’d heard such nasty rumors about how uncivilized the Hungarians are, but that must be the village. They were not so hospitable to us.”

I cringed, remembering the stories that had reached the city, the massacres the Germans had wrought against the villagers who’d tried to defend themselves.

Gunter continued, as if talking to himself, “But the citizens of Budapest. Very nice people.”

Since his first sip of brandy he had withdrawn into himself, his questions to Deszo off-hand, his remarks slow in coming as if it were an effort to process Deszo’s words, though both men spoke in German.

The candles were burning low. Their life hurried by the mysterious breeze that caused them to dance too quickly.

“It’s a welcome relief to meet cultured people. Fine food tastes better when shared with those sophisticated enough to appreciate what they are being provided.”

Deszo steepled his fingers and looked at a spot somewhere on the wall behind me. “I’m sure a poor hungry man would appreciate this meal as much as a cultured one.”

“That’s not the point, is it?” Gunter’s brow creased in disapproval. “Clearly one’s more worthy than the other.”

“My sister would have enjoyed this meal as much as I did,” I whispered.

Gunter sighed as if explaining the most rudimentary principal to a thickheaded child. “Natalie, of course, there are exceptions.”

“I’m sure you understand the distinction, Professor.”

“Please, call me Deszo.”

Gunter re-filled his glass and once again went through the process of swirling the brandy and holding it up to the candlelight. He raised it to his nose, inhaled deeply, put his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes.

I looked from him to Deszo. Deszo was again staring at the spot behind my head. We sat in a collective silence of a minute, two, and then I heard Gunter’s voice, “Sometimes I understand that his mission has the best intentions. He’s really just trying to create a better world. Isn’t that admirable?”

I shivered.

“It’s a shame that it has to be so messy. If the English weren’t so damned determined to hold onto Palestine we could have simply shipped them out of
the country rather than…
well, rather than
the
other way.”

“You mean the camps,” Deszo matched his tone to Gunter’s.

Gunter ran his hand over his closed eyes. “Those camps are a nuisance, our military personnel would be better utilized in the field. You can’t imagine what a logistical nightmare it is to move so many people. You’ve got to wonder why the Allies haven’t bombed the railways we use to herd the cattle.” He laughed, “That’s an allusion, professor, you know we use cattle cars, right? Not as comfortable as passenger cars, but more efficient.”

The meal we’
d
just enjoyed curdled in my stomach. The flickering candlelight exposed raised white scar tissue cutting across Gunter’s neck. I wondered whether it was self-inflicted or the remnant of battle.

His breathing deepened and he hummed a snippet of a waltz. He had no more than a glass of wine with his dinner. 

Deszo took a sip of his brandy and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. He slipped one into his mouth, lighted it and took a long puff, exhaling a long stream of smoke over the candelabra. He watched the direction of the smoke change as it hit the current of air coming from the hidden source behind me. He examined the glowing ash and then absently tapped it on the edge of his saucer.

“What do you talk to my officers about?” Gunter asked from behind his closed eyes. “Are you a spy? Or more interestingly, are you working for us?”

Deszo continued to smoke as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“Of course you wouldn’t tell me either way,” Gunter smiled. “That wouldn’t be fun would it?”

Deszo leaned back in his chair and with a thrust of his jaw blew out one, two, three rings of smoke, following their progress with his eyes.

“You know your friend Jozef works both sides of the street,” Gunter continued, seemingly taking no notice of Deszo’s silence.

“He fancies himself a clever little businessman. He has been quite useful to us in gathering information. His prices are reasonable. I don’t understand his motives. At least not in this case. He’s quite loyal to Natalie. At first, I thought he was related, or at the very least well paid by her. But after extensive conversation,” here Gunter laughed and finally sat up and examined his fingernails. “Yes, quite extensive. He still claims that he hasn’t been paid at all.”

Deszo held out his packet of cigarettes to Gunter, who took one and then Deszo’s cigarette to light his own.

“He’s here by the way.”

“Where?”

Gunter ignored my question and turned to Deszo. “So do you convey information to the Swiss? That idiot Wallenberg, I’m sure you’ve come across him in your travels. He hides behind the shield of the consulate and prints up false papers to save the Jews. Do you know he worked for a Jew during his younger days in business? He’s probably being paid by them. You don’t actually think the Swiss are so altruistic that they are issuing passports for free?”

“I believe they are as appalled by your slaughter of Jews as other countries.”

Deszo crushed the butt of his cigarette on the rim of the fine china. I noticed that Gunter visibly winced as if he had felt the last burning embers. Gunter recovered quickly, dropped his cigarette to the floor, and slowly ground it under the heel of his boot. “Do you really think that the Allies don’t know what goes on in our camps?  They don’t discuss it in the newspapers, but they know. Their planes carry cameras as well as bombs. They make insignificant gestures using men like yourself or Wallenberg so that when this is all over they can save face. We know the truth don’t we? They’re only slightly bothered that we are ridding the world of Jews.

“But I’m curious about your motivations Deszo,” Gunter continued. “You don’t appear to be a man in need of the spotlight. It would be much easier, no doubt safer for you to sit on the sidelines. We both know at this point that the war is nearly over. I’ve checked your background. You have no Jewish blood running through your veins. The mistress you cast aside is out of the way and you’ve got her lovely and sane twin sitting next to you.”

Deszo took a sip of his brandy and then spoke over the rim of the glass. “Your research is admirable but like your theories about the Allies, lacking in interpretation. I’m not here to talk about that. I’m here to negotiate with you an exchange of information for Anna and Mila.”

Gunter shoved himsel
f
back from the table and stood. “You are not in charge!”

Deszo continued taking no notice of Gunter’s rising temper. “And now you want to spend the evening discussing politics. Well I am pleased to join you another evening for such a conversation. But not while these two innocent women are sitting in a ghetto.”

Gunter began pacing. “I give you the finest wine and brandy to be found in this God-forsaken city,” his fists punched the air. “I feed you food you haven’t tasted in years. You are so impatient! You want to see your messenger boy. He’s here!”

“Where?” I cried.

Gunter turned and looked at me. His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “You see this is what I don’t understand. Your interest in the boy. He’s a thief, you know.”

Deszo shot me a warning glance. “She has a soft spot for him because he’s close in age to Mila.”

“I think there must be more to it than that, eh Natalie?”

I looked from one man to the other. Both had become enigmas. Deszo downplayed our relationship to Jozef, but at what expense? Jozef’s safety? I shook my head and looked down at the table.

“Perhaps Natalie should leave now,” Deszo said. “One of your men could escort her home. Safely.”

“Again you are trying to direct things,” Gunter sighed. “No, Natalie is going to stay. It’s not every day that I get to look at such a beautiful woman.”

“From what I saw at the café you have plenty of beautiful women at your disposal,” Deszo countered.

Gunter waved away his comment and walked to the windows on the other side of the room.

“What do you have to offer in exchange for the women?” He ran his hand along the back of one of the chairs and leaned forward, pulling the drapes to one side. “Tell me how valuable are these women to you, Deszo?”

“You overestimate the information I have access to,” Deszo said, not turning to face Gunter.

“Mila is not too young to be of service to me or my men,” Gunter said.

“She’s a child!” I cried.

“She wouldn’t be the first,” Gunter replied as he continued to stare into the black night.

Deszo put up his hand to silence my reply. This was insane. I thought of Mila and for a moment realized I would rather she die than face the torture of being used by these men. “Tell me what I can offer you,” I said. “I will take her place.”

“Natalie,” Deszo warned. “Don’t.”

“But not your sister?” Gunter turned from the curtain and looked across the room at me. “Not for your twin?”

“Mila is a child.”

Gunter ignored my response and turned toward Deszo. “You’re right, she has no place in these discussions. But I always enjoy the sound of a pleading woman.”

“Then send her home, now.”

Gunter considered and looked at me. “Do you want to go home Natalie?”

“Not without Mila and Anna.”

He smiled grimly and then shook his head. “Then you will have to stay a little longer.”

“Where are they now?”

Gunter looked out the window and sighed. “They are with others.”

“Are they together?” I asked.

He seemed to consider this question and then turned to me, “I don’t think so. Although, anything is possible.”

“What do you mean by this?” I cried. “Are they alright? Are they still alive?”

He picked up a heavy marble ashtray that sat on the small table between the two chairs and weighed it in his hands. “Why didn’t you ever have children, Natalie?”

I swallowed hard, “I wasn’t able to.”

“Is there something wrong with you?”

“Max, my husband…”

“He didn’t want children?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Anna told me that he was much older than you,” Gunter said, still examining the marble ashtray. “Perhaps he couldn’t have children.”