Outcasts (24 page)
Suti could barely find the strength to pull himself up the stairs - his legs had been drained of all energy - but he somehow scrambled to safety. There, to his surprise, was a Greek Jew who comforted him by putting his arms around him until he stopped shaking. He began talking to Suti, first by telling the boy his name - Chaim Raphael - then telling him stories in a soothing, comforting tone.
He sensed by the trembling of the young boy that he had just survived a devastating experience, the seriousness of which the Greek man could only guess at by the length of time it took to calm him.
To take Suti's mind off the trauma, Chaim Raphael quietly sang Italian folk songs and encouraged him to sing along. After more than an hour of quiet singing, the boy finally stopped trembling.
Suti later learned the price Dzeidjic had to pay to extricate him from the death barracks: five cans of sardines and twenty U.S. dollars. Such was the appraisal of a single human life at Auschwitz-Birkenau in the autumn of 1944.
Before dawn, the other children and teenagers were exterminated. All except one.
T
IBOR HARDLY SLEPT ANYMORE
. His days melted into nights as he tried to get through the seemingly senseless existence he had been living since he last saw Hedy. He lay awake at night wondering where she was, what might have happened to her since they parted. His thoughts were filled with a steady series of self-recriminations. What more could he have done to save his beloved? How could he have enticed her to stay? Why didn't he think of spiriting away the entire family? Tibor knew deep in his heart there was little he could have done other than to get on board that train and go with his fiancée, but the recriminations continued. Each time he replayed the events on the train the night before they were taken away, he felt an additional thrust to his wounded soul.
The nightly aerial bombardments that could be heard for hundreds of miles did not help. Each member of the household lay in their bed at night, listening for air raid sirens. The steady, rumbling noise of exploding shells from tank turrets and the long guns reverberated through the earth itself. The fighting on the eastern front seemed to grow louder and louder and closer and more deafening with each passing day. It was an ominous, never-ceasing roar that invaded every moment of their lives.
Each window of their expansive home was covered from the inside with thick, dark-blue paper that completely blocked out the light. The entire town had to be pitch black at night to evade the bombers. The inside of their home, dark both day and night, reflected the mood of its inhabitants. Tibor's mother, Karola, who had until then emanated so much strength in the family, was a broken and utterly depressed woman. She hardly ever came down before noon and sat listlessly in the darkened parlour, seemingly listening to the radio, in the afternoons. Ironically, the grape crop was bountiful that fall but, no matter how often the estate manager came to her with positive news, he was unable to engage Karola in the details of the harvest and the many tasks that lay ahead.
When he could no longer wait for Karola to make the decisions, the estate manager came to Tibor. Tibor and his younger sister, Picke, helped out as much as they could. Picke volunteered at the local hospital, taking crates of grapes to the sick and injured. Tibor assisted Hunzelizer with the hiring of hundreds of local Rusyn workers. Although Tibor felt the entire charade was ludicrous, "The harvest," as his mother explained in her more coherent moments, "was something that had to be done, especially this year, for appearance's sake. People look to us for leadership in this community," she would insist.
One day, while Tibor was walking in the fields, he overheard two women who were harvesting grapes talking.
"You know, when the Russians arrive, this will all be ours," one said.
"Why would you think that?" the other woman said in an incredulous tone.
"Because I heard that under communism we will all be equal and the land will be divided equally. Just think how many of us will become landowners if the Ayklers are thrown out!"
Tibor tried not to listen, tried not to see the dissolution of everything around him. But he knew all was lost. He remembered that, before his little brother, Bela, had gone back to military school in the fall, the boy had saddled a horse and rode around Nagyszollos, through the centre of the town, the estate of the Baron Perenyi, up and down the outlying hills.
When Bela returned, his mother and Tibor were waiting for him.
"Where did you go?" Karola had asked her son. "You were gone for so long, I was worried."
"This is the last time I will ever see this place," Bela had replied. "I just wanted to take one last good look around."
How pragmatic Bela was, Tibor thought. How realistic. Bela had left for military school in September already knowing the end was near. Yet here was the rest of the family, incapacitated by fear and depression, keeping up shallow appearances, not quite knowing how to prepare for what everyone knew was inevitable.
Colonel Domokos Aykler came home with increasing frequency now that the front was just beyond the nearest mountain range. Rumours swirled about an impending ceasefire and armistice with the Allies. Romania had switched sides and negotiated an armistice with the Allies in 1944. Hungarians hoped that, like Romania, Hungary would also be able to switch sides and reach an agreement.
On October 14, Domokos Aykler returned home and, as always, Karola came to life. The first thing she wanted to do when he returned was to retire to the parlour with her husband and talk to him privately about how he was and how things were progressing. But this time, he arrived with a few other officers and Karola could see in his eyes a sort of sad pleading. Domokos has such expressive eyes, Karola thought. She knew what it meant. He was telling her he couldn't talk openly in front of these military men and to just be patient a little while longer. She got the message right away. During the simple meal that followed his arrival, Domokos asked his wife to tell the officers how the harvest was progressing. Karola repeated the cheery news of the bountiful harvest and all the details of the work like an automaton. She didn't have to think much about what she was saying - the details of the tasks that needed to be done seemed second nature to her. But when her husband calmly turned to her during the meal and said that tomorrow she should order the slaughter of two pigs, something in his tone of voice made her afraid. Get ready to leave, he was telling her in code.
After supper, the officers went on their way but Domokos stayed. That night, they lay together in bed, clinging to each other and whispering. This was such a rare moment, when Karola had her husband to herself, but Domokos was completely worn out. He asked her to trust him. He told her that soon, all would be known. Soon. He fell asleep and slept well for the first time in a long time.
Karola lay beside him and looked at his face. She knew that, ever since he had become head of the press corps, her husband had a stash of pills that he ingested regularly. "They keep me going when the demands of the military require it," was what he said when she asked him what they were for. But the years of popping uppers had started to take a toll on her husband. There were deep crow's feet around his eyes and he smoked incessantly. His beard had turned stark white.
On October 15, Regent Horthy himself made an important announcement on the radio. The regent declared that Hungary had signed an armistice with the Allies and the Hungarian army would lay down their weapons. The news that everyone had been hoping for had finally come. The family was elated but a bit numb at hearing the good news. After so many years of war, they could hardly believe it. Karola asked Tibor to pour everyone a glass of red wine. But Domokos sat in silence. The nearby crashes of exploding shells and the sounds of the long guns reverberating in the earth continued through the night.
When Tibor awoke the next morning, the house was silent. It was Sunday and he came down to find his mother and father sitting silently across from one another, drinking coffee in the dining room. They looked anxious. His mother was still in her dressing gown, a bit of lace from her slip peeked out from the fold of her robe. Domokos was in full uniform. Tibor was afraid to ask what was wrong.
Before he had a chance to say anything, his mother said, "There's going to be another broadcast from the regent today. I'm sure its just more details of the ceasefire." The look on his father's face made Tibor realize that there would be more to it. Something momentous was happening.
At the time of the radio broadcast, the entire family congregated in the parlour and sat in rapt silence. The minutes seemed to tick by ever so slowly as they waited for the regent's address to begin. Tibor looked at his father and noticed, for the first time, how white his beard and hair had become these past few months. And he had deep, dark circles under his eyes. Domokos's hand lay quietly on the coffee table next to him as he smoked. When he inhaled, Tibor noticed that his hand shook noticeably.
Suddenly, the telephone in the parlour rang. Domokos held up his hand as if to let everyone know that he would answer the telephone himself. He got up slowly and walked toward the phone. The family listened, but could only hear him occasionally say, "Yes," and then "I understand." He returned the telephone to the receiver without saying goodbye and returned to his chair. They all looked at him but no one dared to ask any questions.
The news broadcast began shortly after the telephone call. This time, the regent sounded terribly sombre. Horthy rescinded the announcement of the day before and declared that Ferenc Szalasi, the head of the extremist Arrow Cross Party, was now in charge.
Karola Aykler covered her face with her hands as she broke down in tears. Her daughter, Picke, sat by her mother's side on the carpet and hugged her knees, silently rocking back and forth. After giving his wife several minutes to express her sorrow, Domokos leaned over and gently stroked her arm.
It wouldn't be until much later, when all the details were known, that it would be discovered what had actually happened on October 15, 1944. After concluding an armistice with the Allies through a delegation in Moscow, Regent Horthy announced on the radio that Hungary was defecting to the side of the Allies. The Germans knew about the agreement beforehand and, because the announcement had been made without appropriate military and political preparations, they were able to kidnap the regent's son Miklos on the day of the attempted capitulation. In order to achieve his son's release, Horthy was forced to withdraw his proclamation and legalize the government takeover by Szalasi, the leader of the Arrow Cross, who would now organize a Nazi puppet regime.
"Let's pack up what we can," Domokos said. "We leave tonight for Ungvar." Karola looked at her husband and understood. She knew her family was counting on her. They made their plans and tried to go about the packing and departure hastily and quietly, without alerting all of their neighbours to what was going on. The maid and cook were sent home. Only Anna, their devoted household helper, remained.
One of the horse-drawn carts normally used for shipping grapes was packed with what little they could fit on it: four crates of clothing, some family albums, tablecloths, and the silver. The valuable Meissen china, their paintings, porcelain, Persian carpets, books, and all the furniture would have to stay.
Tibor took charge of organizing the food: one sack of flour, one sack of wheat, a tub of lard, freshly baked bread, and the smoked meat of the two pigs that had been killed a few days before. As he watched the cart being loaded, Tibor realized that his mother concentrated on collecting and packing family treasures like the silver, photo albums, and tablecloths. She had hardly packed any practical, useful things they would need for such a journey. At the last minute, he went back into the house and fetched six horsehair mattresses, six comforters, and a pillow for each of them and tossed them into the back of the cart. He also wrapped his most prized possessions - the Siemens radio/record player and a few records - in a blanket and put them onto the cart as well.
Domokos decided that their chauffeur, Marton Pek, would drive the family in the black Tatra sedan car. Another dependable employee, Endre Szege, drove the horse- drawn cart with all their belongings. Now they were ready to depart.
"Just one more thing," Picke begged her parents as she jumped off the cart and ran up the stairs of the house to her bedroom. She gently picked up her Chinese doll with the porcelain face, the one her Uncle Laszlo had bought for her so many years ago. She felt silly going back for it, after all she was over sixteen years old, but she wanted to take something, an object that would link her to her happy childhood here. She kissed the doll, wrapped it in a pillowcase, and raced back down the stairs and out the house to the car.
The family dog, Buksi, kept jumping onto the cart as Picke and Tibor took turns comforting him and whispering that they would be back and that the overseer, Mihaly bacsi, would take care of him.
Picke gave the dog one last hug and got into the back seat of the car. Mihaly bacsi held Buksi so that he wouldn't run after the vehicles. The dog had a puzzled, hurt look on his face as the black sedan and the cart made their way down the driveway and turned left, disappearing into the dark night.
The family travelled toward Ungvar, a few hours drive away. Later that night, Tibor returned with the empty black sedan to pick up their close friends Senator Karoly Hokky and his family. Margit Hokky took a long time coming out of the house and, when she did, her eyes and face were red from crying. She was accompanied by her daughter, Kato, whose face was also tear-drenched.
"Mother doesn't want to come with us," Margit neni said, wanting to somehow explain to Tibor why they had taken so long. "She can't face being a refugee again. I told her it wouldn't be for long, that we would be back, but she doesn't believe me." They travelled all the way to Ungvar in silence.
