Douglass Graem

A Strong and Mighty Wind!!

Book Four:!The Fire!!!

A STRONG AND MIGHTY WIND

BOOK FOUR

THE FIRE

and after the earthquakea fire,but the Lord was not inthe fire.

I Kings 19: 12 ]

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE ROCKS ARE BROKEN

[ Each of us is responsible foreverything to everyone else.

Dostoyevski

It does not mean, and it can nevermean, that we are to stain ourvictorious arms by inhumanity orby mere lust or vengeance.

Churchill, 1943

At last we are eye to eye with death.We must renounce all hope of freaks offortune. Sacrifice to the last dropof blood is demanded of us. Surrenderwould paralyze and sap our racefor generations.

Broadcast to German troopsin the Battle for Magyarland,October 1944 ]

109.

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1944, BUDAPEST.

Ian read with disbelief the placard near the tram station.

[ATTENTION! ATTENTION!We urgently need unlimited number of informers anddenouncers.CONDITIONS of employment: total lack of scruples,fluency in lying. Preference will be given todouble-crossers and flatterers.COMPENSATION: high pay, universal contempt, secureposition as long as I am around. Special schooling

for the gifted candidates in subversion, under myleadership.REPORT: any day to me personally or to any informer.Brother! Report immediately, otherwise we will fail!Time is short.COURAGE! ]

The torn, peeling placard was signed by the under-secretary

of interior sponsored by the Gestapo.

Time was short, prospects desperate for the puppet regime,

thought Ian. It couldn't last much longer anyway. Budapest was

like a criminal being led to the gallows, who straightens his tie

and looks around him, although he is aware that in a few moments

he must die. The capital city routinely carried out its daily

life although aware that the hour of annihilation was at hand.

The prices clearly indicated that the rocks of Budapest city

were about to be broken. Gold coins, food, liquor rose steadily

in price while the value of paper currency, luxury goods, antiques

kept declining. These were but forerunners of the cataclysm, the

fire about to torch the queen city of the river Danube.

Two world powers were clashing in a mighty combat in the

valley of the Danube: the Germans in eclipse and the Russians in

the ascendant. Neither bothered to ask for the approval of the

inhabitants of the valley in the blood-soaked fire-torched cross-

roads of Europe.

Magyarland, willy-nilly, became a key battlefield. Geograph-

ically it was closest to Germany of the many pieces of real estate

into which the Austro-Hungarian monarchy had been subdivided after

the First World War a quarter century earlier. Hitler personally

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ordered: it must be defended unconditionally. Surrender to him

was unthinkable.

But the unthinkable was happening. The Skorzeny commandos

were powerless to alter events. Only a few months earlier Hitler

had had one million men under arms in the Danube Valley, but the

loss of Bulgaria, Rumania, Yugoslavia and Greece had reduced his

proud armies to mere skeletons. The Nazi leader's illusions were

rarely more powerful than in these climactic months of the hard

winter of 1944-1945. Instead of consolidating his power behind

the protective shield of the Carpathian Rockies, he chose to de­

fend his far-flung real estate bit by bit. In the process his

armies were destroyed piece-meal, division by division. When it

came to defend what he considered to be his inner fortress-­

Germany, Austria and Magyarland--he had not enough mustard left to

fight the legions of the east swarming up the Danube Valley into

the heart of Europe.

As early as October 12, the Magyar chief-of-staff warned the

commander of the German forces in the Danube Valley that most of

Magyarland, including Budapest, would be exposed to the deadly

thrust of Marshals Malinovski and Tolbukhin, who were storming

westward with their Second Ukranian and Third Russian armies.

The stakes were enormous: the very survival of the Nazi

Empire on the one hand and the establishment of Moscow's power in

Central Europe on the other. The Russians had schemed for a cen­

tury to establish their supremacy over the Danube Valley. That

enormous prize with nearly one hundred million inhabitants and

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endowed with some of the richest and most fertile lands of Europe

was about to fall into the grasp of Stalin who was however, inter­

ested in such attractive percentages, only in undisputed power.

Hitler's last line of defense after the loss of the Carpathian

Rockies, was the River Danube and the hills surrounding the western

side of the Magyar capital known as Buda, along the banks of the

Danube. The battle between the two powers would wage over this

bastion.

Ian was only dimly aware of what was about to happen when he

looked at that poster in Buda on his way to a Christmas Day party

in the northwestern outskirts of Budapest. He observed with dis­

may the entrenchment of Nazi troops in the hills around him and

tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. He hid beyond the

pale of reality in a world where love was a romantic passion for

Maria.

He was looking forward to the party held at a large suburban

home of Aunt Ildiko, his father's cousin. His mother and the

twins were expected there. He hadn't seen them for months. There

was much to talk about.

The tram took him with surprising speed to the outlying part

of the city. From the tram stop he had about a kilometer to walk

to the house.

A real feast awaited the Chabaffy clan. Aunt Ildiko felt it

was desirable to live merrily for the day on the provisions she

had saved up for months. Wasn't it better if the delicacies were

enjoyed by her family rather than by rapacious foreign soldiers?

A few hours later Ian, well fed and slightly intoxicated from

the champagne, stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was about to

dip below the outline of the northwestern foothills of Buda, which

stretched out in front of him like a Turner landscape. The rays

of the sun created beautiful gradations of color amid the rolling

lands and quiet forests.

The air was still. Not another person was visible.

In the forest clearing, directly in front of Ian, less than a

kilometer away, a form appeared. It looked like a toy tank to

him. The toy tank emitted a tongue 0 f fl arne.

within seconds the wing of the house where the dining room

was sustained a terrific impact. Ian heard the splinter of glass

and the fall of masonry--the dining table was covered by an ava­

lanche of brick and timber.

"Praise God this didn't happen a few hours ago while we were

all in this very room!" was Ian's first thought. He rushed into

the house. Everyone had been helping in the kitchen to clean up

after the Christmas meal when the T-34 tank opened its salvo. The

household staff was in the countryside for security reasons.

Fearlessly, Aunt Ildiko and her sister Princess Chabaffy came out

with Ian to watch the maneuvers of the tank. At that moment the

little engine of destruction wheeled sideways and disappeared in

the forest.

"We are surrounded!" Aunt Ildiko announced briskly.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked bewildered.

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"A Russian tank on the west side of the Danube means we are

totally surrounded." She wheeled around and stepped into the

kitchen.

"The Russians can be here within the hour," she said matter­

of-factly. "We have to hide everything, the silver, the barrel of

lard, the jewelry, everything!" She opened a trap door under the

carpet of the pantry. Everybody pitched in to hide the valuables.

Ian surrendered the gold wristwatch he had just received from his

mother as a Christmas gift. Ellen and Elma were busy stripping

off their own jewelry.

After a hasty consultation, their mother and Aunt Ildiko

decided that everyone should disperse before nightfall. Ian felt

sorry he didn't have much time to talk to his mother and sisters

about their weeks and months of hide-and-seek with the Gestapo.

Princess Chabaffy looked thinner and drawn after her adven­

tures, but the glitter of her eyes was undiminished. The twins

kept laughing and with Ian they looked forward to tomorrow as a

lark which grownups were going to play.

110.

As a new year's resolution Ellen, a Red Cross volunteer nurse

in the citadel's underground hospital, kept a diary during the

seige of Budapest. In the ferocious arena of war, destruction,

desperation involving upwards of one million combatants, she was a

microcosm of peace and survival.

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January Ist--Fine, not quite clear, not cold. Say my prayers

ln the morning, on the couch. Dawn awakening with Russians firing

continuously with bombs, mortars, guns. Our house gets a direct

hit. Part of the third floor and much of attic destroyed. Clean­

ing up debris. We have neither electricity nor water. Telephone

servlce is poor. Can't get in touch with Ian who has been gone

now for nearly two days, visiting friends. Lunch: potatoes with

mushrooms, vegetable soup. Dinner: pork with vegetables.

January 2--Beautiful sunny day. Pray in the afternoon up ln

my room. How is Andy? Russian fighter planes strafe streets.

Walking around becomes dangerous. At noon have lunch at Maltese

mlSS10n with Liza, Margit, Orsi and Lotti: lentil soup, Transyl­

vanian cabbage, apricot jam. Lotti reads letter from Aunt Julia

about the arrest of Tonus and Uncle Egon. Ian's dog Bobsy gets a

big bone. Refugees coming from German Hill, west of Citadel.

Didn't wash hair today, feel unclean. Read about Donatello in

vasari. Dinner: goose liver with hashbrown potatoes. Russians

attack Eagle Hill.] south of the citadel. [See two houses afire

on German Hill. During evening constitutional watch Eagle Hill

bombarded by mortar fire.

January 3--Wednesday: beautiful sunny day. Liza works a.m.

in hospital. Pray in the afternoon in my room. Wake at 5:20 a.m.

by artillery fire. P.m. read and play patience. Lunch: beans

with bacon. Evening play bridge at Maltese mission; win thirty­

nlne and one-half potatoes. Dinner: chicken soup, freshly baked

bread by Juliska with goose liver; strawberry jam. Constitutional

amid mortar fire. Mami every day in underground hospital where

Buda's civil defense headquarters are she is commander of civil

defense.

[ January 4--Beautiful lovely day, sunny. Pray ln the morn­

ing in my room. Ian gets back, brings thirty-nine eggs, lard,

flour, poppy-seed and a goose traded for a bottle of French brandy.

Bobsy steals some goose-liver. A lull in gunfire and bombing.

Lunch: lentil soup, followed by bridge with Mami, Ellen and Hennie.

Dinner: mushrooms with potatoes. Read Vasari and the poet Babits.

Get sleepy early. Cold dark constitutional. The moonlight is

over.

January 5--Friday. Misty but sunny. Pray in pantry. Sub­

machine gun fire but no planes. Ian leaves wearing steel helmet.

Reading about Boticcelli's Venus reminds me of Tonus. Extra prayer

for her and Imre. Elma cries as still no news. Another hit des­

troys remainder of third floor. Help Vince artistically arrange

debris at rear gate. Mami and Juliska baking in cellar. In food

line from 7 to 11 a.m., then for water to well in hospital. Lunch:

kohlrabi with sausage. Read Bible. Dinner: boiled potatoes with

goose liver, canned pears. Hospital.

January 6--Saturday. Snowing, clear. Pray in my room. We

have water! Newspaper. Maltese palace hit by incendiary bombs.

Play patience. Lunch at 3:30 p.m.: chicken paprikash. At five:

communal prayers. Dinner: potatoes with green pepper and tomato

sauce and red wine. Read Vasari. Short constitutional cut short

by rocket fire. Hospital. To sleep at midnight.

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First week of January: no gas, electricity, telephone, very

little water. Dreamt about Andy: was in a nightclub with him; we

were all alone. He touched me tenderly; looked as handsome as a

knight. It's so good to love him, even if it's only in my dreams!

In the hospital our finest surgeons forced to become butchers.

January 7--Sunday. Foggy, wet much snow but melting. Pray

l.n my room a.m. Constant gunfire in Pest. It's quiet here.

Breakfast: liverwurst, a little bread. Clean house a.m. Lunch

3:30 p.m.: chicken paprikash. Ian back. p.m., finish reading

Vasari's Great Artists of the Renaissance. start reading Babits's

History of European Literature. Dinner: goose liver with home

fried potatoes, canned fruit. Loud speakers exhorting last stand.

January 8- -Monday. Foggy, snowy. Elma: II Seven days more

like this and I'll end up in the 100ney-bin. 1I Ian goes foraging.

Vince got call-up papers this a.m. Promptly shot off his right

index finger with Imre' s revolver to avoid military service.

Vince: "I'd rather lose a finger than my life. My family can use

a nine-fingered man very well. II Juliska fixes impressive bandage

and sling for her husband. Ian back with rice. Lunch: mushroom

soup, scrambled eggs with beans. 5 p.m.: communal prayer meeting

at the Maltese. Dinner: mushrooms with rice, boiled potatoes.

Hospital. To bed at 6 a.m.

January 9--Tuesday. Heavy snowfall. Bible meeting at the

Maltese. Busy keeping stove stoked to keep house warm. Vince in

pal.n. Read literary history, then off to hospital to nurse. Mami

and Liza return exhausted late at night. Midnight dinner of rl.ce

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and pickles with glass of wine. Listen to Bartok folk music.

Hospital.

January 10--Wednesday. Heavy snow. Elma plays piano while I

read Bible. Snow clearing. Room cleaning. Lunch: noodles with

poppy seed. Drop poppyseed onto the floor, have to grind more.

Ian back with onions. Prayer meeting, then to hospital with Mami

and Elma. Gunfire from the east, loudspeakers from the west.

Feel tired. Heavy gunfire at night. A bomb falls into courtyard

but remains unexploded. Vince better. Dinner: boiled potatoes

with goose-fat, pickles, wine.

January Il--Thursday. Melting snow, heavy rain. Pray a.m.

and before going to sleep. Wait for Uncle ] Congressman [ Zoltan

but doesn't show up. Heavy aerial activity. Lunch: green beans

with potatoes fried with onions. Elma plays on piano. Communal

prayer meeting. Subject: miracles. To hospital with Liza, more

and more wounded, fewer and fewer medicines. Dinner: rice with

carrots. Heavy gunfire. Read until midnight. Make will in favor

of Andy. Why isn't he sending a note by carrier pigeon?

January 12--Friday. Mild. Pray in the morning and after

hospital in my room. Heavy gunfire. Darning pajamas. Lunch:

potato croquettes with tomato sauce, cake. Too many wounded.

Little food. Tired. Dinner: potatoes with sausage, Juliska

baked bread, wine. Vince up. Read Shakespeare. To bed at eleven.

January 13--Saturday. Beautiful clear sunshine. Prayers 9

a. m. Hellish orchestra: gunfire, heavy mortar barrage, many

planes. Breakfast: goose liver sandwich, jam. Cleaning up debris.

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Vince, Elma and Liza help. Lunch: lentil dish. Heavy mortar

fire. For the hungry tea: goose-fat sandwich. Prayer meeting,

then hospital. Exhausted. At home wash sore feet. Today for the

first time, Citadel hit by heavy artillery.

Second week of January. All week without water, gas, elec­

tricity. Ian brings bartered goods. Jakab brings ten kilos of

flour he bought for two hundred pengoes. Hetta brings one-quarter

kilo sugar and ersatz coffee. Stays for three nights. No time

for bridge. Hospital degenerates to chaos.

January 14--Sunday. Sunny, clear, mild. Pray in my room.

up at 8:30. wish I could wash my hair. After a.m. foraging lam

comes back, wearing steel helmet, says he was twice fired on;

increase in civilian casualties. Hospital full. Wounded Austrian

soldier begs me to hide him in townhouse as fears Russians won't

spare him. Heavy aerial activity. Vince brings miracle-parcel of

food (flour, sugar) sent by Aunt Mitzi via parcel post. (How did

that get through?)

January lS--Monday. Cool, overcast. Pray in my room a.m.

up at 9:30. Stomach still upset. Lunch: carrots with boiled

potatoes. Bridge with Liza, Jakab, Hetta. Mami, Elma at hospital

a.m.; Liza and self on night shift. Jakab plays the guitar during

dinner: potato soup; noodles with poppy seed. Ian sleeps at

friend's house. Feel dizzy.

January 16--Tuesday. Sunny, clear, mild. Pray in my room in

the afternoon. Vince returns to postal work but keeps wearing

sling. Lunch: potato soup, noodles with poppy seed. Constant

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air-raids. Read a history of English literature. Dinner: pota­

toes, goose. Hospital.

January 17--Wednesday. Cloudy, cool. Pray after lunch.

Liza slightly injured by flying mortar fragment. Jakab says:

III'm so hungry,1I to baker but he says robbers took all his flour

during the night. Ian back. Wing of Eszterhazy palace across

street collapses. continued bombing, buzzing. Mami looks pale,

drawn. Lunch: beans. Prayer meeting. Dinner at seven: veal

with beans. Hospital. Elma collapses from exhaustion.

January IS--Thursday. Clear, cold. Mami goes for water at

7:30 a.m. Soldiers attempt to enter, Vince watches behind barri­

caded door. We don't answer. Soldiers leave. All p.m. Vince and

Jakab block entire front entrance with bricks, debris and wooden

beams, rear with sandbags and bricks, leaving only narrow con­

cealed entrance. Cut fire wood from beams of collapsed upper

floor. Lunch: potato paprikash. I an gets gasol ine . I an has

gunshot wound in upper left arm; his finger also gets infected.

Dinner: veal paprikash with noodles. Hospital.

January 19--Friday. Clear, cold. Pray at noon ~n room.

Mami brings twenty-five liters of water. Lunch: meatloaf with

beans. Bridge with Mami, Elma, Hennie. Dinner: noodles with

mushrooms. With Ian to hospital; doctor insists on sling.

January 20--Saturday. Clear, snow, moonshine, mild. Pray

evening in my room. Inspect with Mami, Elma, Juliska underground

larder. Thanks to Aunt Mitzi, Ian, Jakab have enough to eat.

Late breakfast: sausage sandwich. Take sausage for Austrian in

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hospital. Elma cooks. Vince's friend, the Eszterhazy butler

killed. Ian brings horse meat. On the second level of misery:

it's now recognized. Lunch: gulyas soup with horse meat. Con­

stitutional with Liza and Jakab. Prayer meeting at five. Cook

dinner: goose with potatoes. Hospital. Searchlights in the

night.

Third week of January. On the fourteenth dreamt about a

civil marriage ceremony with Andy. It's such an overwhelming

feeling. Andy puts his arms around me. Had a tight feeling in my

throat: not fear but pride in Andy. Mami was there, too. We are

so young and can look forward to a long life together. Nursing

pushes us to limit of exhaustion.

January 21--Sunday. Variable, mild. Ian proud: "I struck a

good bargain. II At 9: 30 divine service at Maltese with Holy Com­

munion. Jakab helps clean up debris. Rear gate further barricaded.

with Ian to hospital. Barter one-half liter apricot brandy for

six kilos flour with surgeon. Lunch: lentil soup. Bridge:

Mami, Ian (healing very slowly), Hetta. Dinner: cold boiled

potatoes, strawberry jam. Hospital.

January 22--Monday. Cold but mild. Pray in morning, my

room. A mortar bomb lands in front of window of Vince's apartment.

Heavy gunfire, air raids, mortar-fire. Breakfast: pork sausage,

jam, cheese. Ian's arm still in a sling. Record player goes on

blink. Lunch: soup, noodles with cocoa powder, poppyseed cake.

Bridge with Mami, Elma, Margit. Ian foraging. Jakab brings veni­

son. Dinner: soup, venison with potatoes, malakov torte. Jakab

plays the guitar. Vince fixes toilet. Sleep in fur coat.

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January 23--Tuesday. Sunny, cold. Ian goes for further

treatment but doctor has no antibiotics. Pray early a.m. Give

Jakab one-half liter brandy for his venison. Lunch: peas, poppy­

seed cake. Our civil defense lantern no longer works. Have to

use candles. Play records. Dinner: cold rice. Hospital. Too

much blood, groans, amputations. To bed very late.

January 24--Wednesday. Heavy snow, severe frost. Pray before

dinner. Extravaganza: potatoes, honey, bacon, brandy, candlelight,

orange juice, pickles, paper napkins. Through the smoldering

ruins of the citadel visit Hennie and family. Ian has been con­

scripted with a horse-carriage, moved across to Pest. See gliders.

Jakab brings a trunkful of provisions. Elma throws up. Bobsy has

many bones. Liza barters a bottle of whiskey for five kilos of

beans. Lunch: bean soup, potatoes and noodles. Prayer meeting

at five. Bridge with Mami, Jakab, Liza. Dinner: goose-liver,

potatoes, pickled cucumbers, red wine. Loudspeakers on the way to

the hospital.

January 25--Thursday. Mild, snow in the afternoon. Pray

after dinner. wait in line for ground corn for forty-five minutes.

House receives another direct hit. Jakab, Vince strengthen barri­

cades, wall up windows on ground floor, between wrought irons and

non-existent window panes. Vince gets two loads of water. Vince

fixes civil defense lantern. Lunch: green beans with tomato

sauce, sausage with potato paprikash. 4: 15, prayer meeting.

Dinner: gulyas soup, orange juice, jams. Bathing!

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January 26--Friday. Mild, followed by heavy snow. Wake at

four a.m. Jakab goes on hunting trip to German troops with bottle

of brandy; brings back five kilos of flour in the evening! Vince

fixes record player. Ian gets back. Have bad fallon stairs.

Lunch: potatoes with sausage and boiled eggs. At 5:15, sleigh

riding! Prayer meeting at six. Ian's miracle: bullet enters

through window as he leans forward to pray, get only hair singed

in back! Dinner: cold boiled potatoes. Hospital chaos.

January 27--Saturday. stormy, cloudy. Pray and Bible read­

ing before lunch in my room. Ian leaves for horse meat. Mami for

water. Jakab gets garlic. Lunch: gulyas soup with horse meat.

Liza brings a bag of flour. Music on record player. Early to

hospital, then to Maltese. Get strafed by fighter plane on way

back, but I was not the target. Ian gets fresh bandage, ditto

Vince. Dinner: meatloaf, coleslaw.

January 28--Sunday. Cloudy, cold. Pray and read Bible after

lunch. Breakfast with Lotti at Maltese. Ian procures eight hun­

dred twenty-five cigarettes. Lunch: soup, horse-meat burger,

green beans. Heavy aerial bombardment. Juliska bakes bread. At

6 p.m., prayer meeting. Subject: tongues. Elma fries onions

with potatoes. Feel stuffed. Bobsy fine. with Mami and Liza to

hospital.

January 29--Monday. Clear, very cold; moonlight. Pray and

read Bible after dinner. Margit brings bones for Bobsy. Lunch:

beans, meat (horse) paprikash. Ersatz coffee at Maltese at 3:30.

Ian goes out for water (worked his way through barricade near

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well) back late with story of decapitated soldier. Graphic des­

cription of truncated body. See this all the time in hospital.

Mami cooks dinner: gulyas soup with horse meat. Ian and Jakab

play chess. Hospital.

January 30--Tuesday. Very cold, clear. Two more mortar

bombs hit house. Ian gets big load of meat, carved out of dead

horse near ministry of defense. Bobsy happy. Heavy air-raids.

Lunch: noodles with poppyseed. Ian out, barters one-half liter

of rum for three kilos of lentil and two kilos of rice. Bridge:

Elma, Ian, Margit. Dinner: horse meat paprikash, strawberry jam.

Read Schiller. Night shift at hospital. Underground ventilation

failed early this a.m. Stench almost unbearable. Many dead or

dying.

January 31--Wednesday. Very cold; snow; foggy. Breakfast at

Maltese: horse meat pate. Hennie tells first Russian story heard

from diplomat; he was stopped by Russian patrol trying to cross

Danube River by boat, to visit Foreign Office. He keeps Russians

busy so two girls can escape in light boat. Russian shouts:

"There is no Magyar Foreign Office! There is no Magyarland! We

are in a new world now!" After their harangue he realizes girls

got away. Diplomat gave them wrong directions; felt lucky he

could escape. This sounds ominous. Home for lunch: beans, meat­

loaf, cookies. Dinner: boiled potatoes, slice of bread with

goose fat, dill pickles. Hospital ventilation fixed but more

wounded than ever.

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February I--Thursday. Very cold; overcast. Pray and read

Bible before dinner. Ian says, "Blond is beautiful." Marni ex­

hausted, Jakab moody, Liza sleepy. Breakfast: pancakes. Ian

learns from Juliska how to make them. Uncle Zoltan shows up with

eight hundred cigarettes. Terrible mortar barrage all day. House

gets direct hit again. Soup, dried apricots, coleslaw for lunch.

Ian and Jakab play chess. Dinner: lentil soup, kholrabi, jam.

February 2--Friday. Foggy, cold. Ian gets dough, firewood,

coal. Where is Andy? On way to Maltese German patrol shouts at

me: "stop! Who's there?" Duck behind ruins and escape. See

German corpse at entrance of Maltese. Ian gets final dressing for

wound. Dinner: boiled potatoes with mushrooms. Hospital doctors

do the impossible. Every day fewer nurses, more patients.

February 3--Saturday. Foggy, overcast. Ian determined to

find Russian commander. Take bath in boiler room. "You don't

feel well?" asks Jakab; he immediately noticed my fever. Lunch:

bacon (rancid but edible) with mustard, jam. Juliska bakes cake.

Dinner: horse meat loaf. To hospital. Ian not back.

February 4--Sunday. Pray and read Bible. Pray for Andy,

Imre, Tonus, for Ian (still not back). Jakab goes out as he heard

there is dead horse near Coronation Church. Marni follows to get

water. Lunch: liver and potatoes. Bridge: Hennie, Liza, Jakab.

Vince reports: Mami 's body found near well ... Every time we

think this is the end, things just can't get any worse, then we

discover that it is possible for everything to go from bad to

worse and from worse to worst. ]

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111.

Wallenberg was exhausted. For nearly three months now, ever

since the complete Nazi takeover, he had worked relentlessly. Per

and his other Swedish colleagues repeatedly begged him to go into

hiding in their own or the Swiss embassy's well-fortified air raid

shelter. He would have none of it. Instead, he moved out of his

comfortable residence near the embassy over to the eastern side of

town. He wanted to be near the ghetto and personally oversee its

survival.

A week later, on the morning of January thirteenth, Raoul

woke up early. He heard the shuffling of feet and the banging of

boots against the trap door of the cellar where he had been hiding

for the last several days. He knew the Russians had at long last

arrived. They made their way underground as projectiles still

rained on the city. The siege of Budapest was to last not much

longer. Raoul, almost overwhelmed by the stench of the soldiers,

showed them his diplomatic papers bilingual in Swedish and Russian.

With his primitive Russian and universal sign language, he explained

he'd like to be led to their commanding officer.

Shortly one of the Russians contacted Major Dimitri Demchinkov

who, accompanied by his Communist Party political officer, appeared

In a few minutes.

An hour-long conversation followed, mostly in sign language,

punctuated by pidgin Russian and fluent German.

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"What are you doing here?"

" I'm doing rescue work here."

"What rescue work? Your embassy is on the other side of the

city. What are you doing here?'

"I want to see Marshal Malinovski!" said the Swede.

Wallenberg repeated his request several times. Finally,

Major Demchinkov agreed to take him back to his field headquarters.

The next day, the Swede returned to the cellar to pick up his

personal belongings.

"I have received permission to see Marshal Malinovski," he

announced.

After saying goodbye to the friends who had helped in his

mission, the Swede got into his blue Studebaker and, escorted by

two Russian military motorcycles with sidecars, left in an easterly

direction.

His friends long remembered his last words:

"I'm going to Debrecen, the seat of the free government. I'm

not certain about one thing: whether I shall be a prisoner or a

guest. "

Not far outside the capital, the tires of Wallenberg's car

were slashed. He was transferred into a Russian staff car. He

was escorted by a new set of soldiers. These spoke good German

and English. All were members of the Russian Security Police.

It was not much later that Raoul faced a colonel. This didn't

happen in Debrecen because he was not taken there. He was swal­

lowed up inside the deep bowels of Russia.

The colonel, with an ironic expression, addressed his prisoner

in fluent English:

"Ah, yes, Wallenberg. That capitalist clan is quite well

known to us."

112.

"Ah, Campbell ... and of course Chabaffy, these capitalist

families are well known to us. II This greeting was uttered in

fluent English by a colonel of the MVD, the Ministervo Vnutrennykh

Dyel, that is, Ministry for Internal Affairs. The MVD in the

Soviet hierarchy held roughly the same position as the SS in the

Nazi power structure, an elite corps through which the Communist

Party schemed to control internal security as well as the Army.

Ian, who was completely unaware of this similarity, was feel­

ing a tremendous relief, as he faced the colonel.

It had been three days ago, on Saturday, February 3, 1945,

that he had decided to do his bit to shorten the agony of the war,

the breaking of the rocks of Budapest. He hoped there might be a

way to do this. Ian methodically prepared himself for this step.

During his bartering sorties he had met many people, including

German soldiers. He found out what units were fighting in the

city and with what equipment and how many men. He found out their

artillery and signal positions. Ian felt convinced that all the

information might be helpful to the Russian commanders encircling

-20-

the fanatical troops within his beloved city, and could conceiv­

ably shorten the siege. He felt that if the intelligence he

obtained--at no small risk--would shorten the agony by even one

hour, it was well worth the effort.

To his dismay he found that he had great difficulty finding

the right officers to convey his information to. With every pass­

ing hour, then with each passing day, his intelligence was becom­

ing more and more stale, that is, less and less useful.

Ian kept repeating "Marshal Malinovski" to the soldiers he

had been able to talk to, but he was immediately searched and put

under arrest. He heard with increasing frequency the words,

"German spy" in his captors' conversations. Even with his rudi­

mentary Russian, he was soon able to discern these two words. He

kept replying with the two words "Marshal Malinovski" who, Ian

knew, was one of the senior commanders of the Red Army troops

surrounding Budapest. He also knew that the higher level of the

Army command he could get, the more likely would he find someone

who would understand what he was trying to do, to help the libera­

tors finish the job of liberation a little faster.

He held onto the strong belief despite all signs to the con­

trary. From the very first moment he was treated as a prisoner

and as a suspicious character, handled roughly, given almost no

food. A kindly sergeant handed him a bowl of soup and a slice of

bread, and that's all the food he got until he reached the MVD

colonel.

-21-

The colonel, a handsome, dark-haired man, smiled. Encouraged,

Ian explained:

"You can easily verify who I am by checking with the nearest

British diplomatic mission, and anyway, here are my Swiss papers

which the Swiss consulate gave me last year."

"This is written in German," replied the colonel looking at

the document but no longer smiling. "All German spies have such

papers." He proceeded to tear it into bits.

"But I am not a spy--I came to give you information about the

disposition of German troops in Budapest."

"That information is being planted by you," he replied, "be­

cause you are a German spy! Your information is worthless to us!"

Ian began to despair.

"Why should I, Ian Campbell, give you false information?" he

cried. "That would be ridiculous!"

"How do we know you are not a German spy?"

"I told you, general," Ian tried to flatter the officer by

addressing him as a general. "You can get in touch with the near­

est British ... "

The colonel barked: "Well, well," then waved at Ian's escort

waiting outside the make-shift headquarters, a half-ruined group

of farm buildings, and gave an order to get him out of sight. All

remaining pretense of politeness disappeared. Ian was escorted in

a staff car to a town east of Budapest and thrown into the police

jail.

-22-

The Russians gave Ian plenty of time to think. Ian kept

asking himself [ Why? ] He couldn't come up with a logical answer.

What surprised Ian most was that not a single Russian officer

bothered to ask him what information he in fact possessed. Merely

that he claimed he had good information was grounds for suspicion.

[ Why don't they ask for the information? They could find out

easily enough whether my information is accurate or not, so why

don't they do it? Here it is the third day, yet nobody has asked

me what the information is. Nobody has asked for my name, address,

brief background, nothing. What worries me now is that if someone

finally comes to his senses and does ask for the information, it

might prove inaccurate because the Germans frequently change their

artillery positions and the location of their field units, like

armies tend to do when in combat. If they start checking my in­

formation and find out that it 1S no longer accurate, they could

easily come to the conclusion that it was never accurate, and

then, I'm in real trouble. ]

The next morning Ian was taken, this time in a truck carrying

a load of bathtubs, across a river which he recognized as the

Tisza, on the eastern end of the Lowlands, not far from the foot­

hills of Transylvania. The same evening he arrived in Debrecen in

eastern Magyarland, one of the three largest cities in the coun­

try, and was again escorted to jail.

Here he was again given more time to think.

[ What have I done wrong?"

-23-

But now, it won't be much longer because the Russians will

soon enough find out who I am. Then it'll be clear to them that

Ian Campbell, a British subject and adopted son of Prince Tibor

Chabaffy, the number one anti-Nazi leader of Magyarland, cannot

possibly be a Nazi spy!

Fortunately, when these people find out I'm British, I'll

immediately be handed over to the nearest British authority and

then everything will be fine. By then all my information will be

absolutely worthless but at least I will have tried. ]

Ian was utterly bewildered. The Russians were completely

di fferent from what he had expected. Their behavior, their speech,

their way of thinking, their procedures, even their smell and

their logic was contrary to his experience.

What he admired most was their total lack of logistics, the

absence of ancillary units. Like an advancing army of ants, they

lived off the land. The troops were given minimum rations of

food. If Ian did get only some soup and a little bread, the

soldiers, he observed, didn't get much either. As far as he could

make out, the Red Armies didn't bring a single truckload of food

with them. The only load the trucks carried--Ian noticed they

were almost exclusively American made--was ammunition and occasion­

ally gasoline for the tanks and the trucks themselves. There were

no offices and files, only field phones and signal equipment,

blows and swear words.

Ian soon began to realize that many of the troops didn't know

much more Russian than he did, taking great pains to explain they

-24-

were not Russian but Ukrainian. "Ukrainians good," they kept

telling Ian--"Russians no good."

As he moved further east he came across increasing numbers of

Asiatic troops who were, like the Russians and Ukrainians, all

equipped--almost every soldier--with a sub-machine gun which was

handled with the fondness a gypsy musician has for his violin and

guitar. These soldiers were poorly dressed, filthy, wild looking

and primitive. Their massive numbers were beyond Ian's comprehen­

sion. They didn't walk, they swarmed. They didn't speak, they

barked. They didn't appear, they materialized in a cloud of stench

and alcohol. Ian was amazed that despite strictest orders these

soldiers drank looted perfume like whiskey. To his even greater

amazement, he saw a couple of soldiers fighting over gasoline,

wi th the victor finally taking a big swig out of the American

container.

Ian--this was his fourth day in the company of the Red Army-­

was also getting increasingly hungry. In four days he had eaten

only two small bowls of soup and two pieces of bread. His shaving

gear and toilet articles had been confiscated the first day--so

Ian also began to feel more and more filthy, resembling his captors

with greater fidelity every passing day.

As the hours slowly ticked by in his cell, he became more and

more mad at himself for the blunder he had committed. He should

have stayed put in the safety of his cellar in the Buda townhouse,

instead of trying to play the hero. He should have ...

-25-

"

"

The might-have-beens and the ifs began to gnaw at him, but he

soon realized he was getting nowhere fast.

The next day, his fifth in captivity, he was led in front of

another MVD officer. Ian, who by this time had become more familiar

with the insignias of Red Army officers, took him to be a major.

The major was aided by a Magyar interpreter.

"I f you only tell me the truth, you'll be all right."

"I have been telling you the truth."

"You are withholding information."

"I have nothing to hide."

"Tell us what you omitted to tell us. 1I

II I'll be glad to explain "

lIyou are a German spy. II

IIThis lS absurd! I'm your ally! I'm British

IITake him back to his cell!"

This scene was repeated twice on the fifth day and three

times on the sixth. Ian was given absolutely no food.

On the seventh day, the major tried a different tactic.

He received Ian as he sat eating a meal of hot soup, some

goulash, half a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. To Ian the

simple fare looked and smelled like a royal feast. The Russian

officer dismissed the guards and the interpreter.

IILet's be reasonable," the major said in broken Magyar, all

the while smiling. "Tell me what you have so far omitted to men­

tion, and you can join me in this meal."

"Tell me what you want to know. I'll be happy to answer

-26-

"I want to know about your activities as a German spy."

Ian was on the verge of tears: "Don't you understand ...

I'm not a German spy."

The major let out a holler. The two jailers came into the

room on the double. The officer barked something in Russian which

Ian didn't understand, but which didn't sound very friendly.

This was the last time Ian was interrogated. After this he

became a non-person. For another twenty-four hours he was ignored

completely.

In his cell, Ian was thinking furiously. Then the realiza­

tion carne to him: his great blunder was in proudly announcing to

the colonel back near Budapest that he was British. It was that

word 'British' which had triggered the anger of the colonel, which

had changed his smile into a snarl.

[ Here we are in 1945, and our allies, the Russians, treat me

as an enemy. Worse, they treat me with greater hatred than if I

were a German and a Nazi spy. ]

113.

Ellen and Elma slept together in the tight confines of the

concealed underground air defense shelter in the Chabaffy town­

house in the citadel.

Is there any closer relationship than that between twins?

Elma, the quieter and more introspective of the two, often wondered

about that. There was, of course, the relationship between parents

and children, but sometimes that generation gap was not easy to

bridge. Elma passionately loved her Papi, but it was a kind of

reverential adoration. She loved her mother too. But to Elma,

her parents somehow lived in a different world. Even wonderful

Imre and darling Ian did not share the close relationship she felt

towards Ellen. And there was the beautiful relationship between

Ellen and Andy, but that had started out as a meeting between

strangers.

The loss of her mother had drawn Elma even closer to Ellen.

Home from the exhausting hospital work the twins often talked in

whispers late into the night. Since their mother's make-shift

burial in the courtyard, the whispers tended to be punctuated by

long silences. In those precious sharings they both knew they

were awake and enveloped in each other's presence. It was good to

be together.

That night the work in the hospital had been especially taxing.

The supply of antibiotics had been exhausted along with all pain

killers. It was heart-rending even to Elma's ears, which had been

accustomed to hearing moans, to listen to the last desperate intake

of breath, to the cries, the death rattles of soldiers shot in the

lungs, to the ghastly cavern-filling bellows of wounded whose

limbs were being sawed off without the slightest whiff of chloro­

form. To listen to the doleful dirge of the dying.

It was the night when her friend the Austrian soldier died,

and when more wounded were brought in than the entire underground

-28-

hospital could hold even if it were empty. Yet it was good to be

with Ellen, who worked there just as hard as the best of them.

From the soldiers the twins learned that the siege was practically

over. And the Russians were expected to invade the citadel within

the Citadel within the next twenty-four hours.

Holding each others hands, the twins finally fell asleep.

There was something special in that night's togetherness for Ellen

and Elma. In their dreams they floated together in a sylvan Eden

in which even the bending of a blade of grass and the beating of

the wings of a butterfly could be distinctly heard and identified.

They went back to the hospital early in the afternoon the

next day. Juliska begged them not to go, but the twins felt the

wounded needed them that day more than ever before.

The head surgeon informed them, upon their arrival, that a

few thousand German troops out of the many divisions, had sur­

rendered. Coming up from the square on the north side of the

Citadel, taking the same route that Skorzeny had taken a few months

earlier when he had stormed the stronghold to get to the entrance

of the underground hospital, the doctor came across an enormous

pile in the middle of a square consisting of several hundred dead

German soldiers.

"The Russians apparently shot them one by one as they emerged

from the sewers, with their arms held high," the doctor said with

disbelief.

Elma didn't have time to even shudder from this gruesome

description of slaughter because a soldier cried out next to her,

-29-

his limp arm attached to his body with only a bit of skin. The

hemorraging and stench nearly overcame Elma. Ellen ran back

towards the surgery to get a doctor.

Suddenly, strange and alien shouts were heard. The first Red

Army troops were arriving on top of the steps leading down to the

hospital.

"Germanski, nyeto?" Elma heard them asking. More troops came

pouring in and looked around the human carnage. The rattle of the

sub-machine gun fire was deafening. SUddenly a tongue of flame

appeared, then another. within moments, or so it seemed to Elma,

the hospital became an inferno.

"Fire! Fire!" she shouted. without paying any attention to

what she was doing, she tried to pull a bed holding three bodies

towards the entrance. A doctor came flying by, grabbed Elma, and

propelled her up to the street with Ellen following close behind.

By then the entire hospital was afire. The patients not

slaughtered by the Red Army troops were killed by the flames.

"Come with me! II shouted the doctor, whom the twins knew only

by sight. "I live just around the corner." Dazed by the fire,

the smoke and the carnage, the twins followed him to a small patri­

cian house and were led down into the cellar. It was packed with

people huddled together under the colorless covers.

Ellen's hair had been singed by the flames and her face was

covered with soot and dirt. She looked like a haggard old woman.

Someone handed a blanket to the twins. They barely had time to

huddle together when two Red Army soldiers appeared at the entrance

of the cellar.

-30-

"Germanski, nyet?" When satisfied there were no German soldiers

around, the soldiers visibly relaxed. One of them picked up a

baby and with a few soothing words handed the infant back to her

mother. The two left as quickly as they had come.

"AII this talk about shooting and pillaging 1.S nonsense, II

Ellen whispered to Elma.

"And molesting! All Nazi propaganda, II Elma added, greatly

relieved. The explosions and intermittent gunfire continued outside.

Ellen was curious to find out what was happening and ducked out

for a quick survey.

When she came back into the cellar her feelings of relief

quickly diminished when she noticed three soldiers lining everyone

up. She tried to run back to the street but a soldier barred her

way.

"Davai chasee!" the troika shouted almost in unison. People

unfastened their watches and handed them over wordlessly. Even

those who had hidden their watches brought them out and gave them

to the liberators for fear they might be found out in a search and

shot for concealment. The soldiers brandished their sub-machine

guns, but there was no violence. This second group didn't linger

either and quickly disappeared.

Then came the evening and nightfall. Ellen and Elma huddled

together, trying to go to sleep. Unearthly noise jolted them as

the cellar door was violently kicked open. A beam from a pocket­

light penetrated the darkness of the cellar.

-31-

, J

Elma and Ellen were petrified.

"Davai! Davai! II came the shouts. "Come! Come!" The soldiers

made themselves understood: what they wanted was some light.

A terrified old woman lit up the civil defense lantern which

every household was required to have. The frightened cave dwellers

were confronted by a platoon of "liberators" who had Asiatic features,

the gait of cowboys, and the unmistakable signs of intoxication.

Two of the dozen or so men who had pocket-lights stepped up

to each makeshift bed and mattress, pulled off the covers and

shone the lights into terror-stricken faces. Elma nestled up to

Ellen. The soldiers came closer and closer.

Most of the cave-dwellers, with the exception of the doctor,

were old people. The soldiers made some remark the twins didn't

understand, but they pretty well guessed the meaning of the drunken

laughter which followed.

Elma turned face down and covered her head with her left arm.

One of the soldiers grabbed her arm, gave it a violent tug and

turned her over.

A face with slit eyes peered at her.

Blinded by the beam, Elma looked into the menacing void.

Ellen watched wordlessly.

"Davai!"

It came like the report of a gun.

Ellen, petrified, didn't move. In the micro-second of silence

that ensued she could hear Elma's heartbeat.

-32-

"Davai l" came the second shout. Elma still didn't move.

Three or four soldiers bodily lifted her up.

Not a single person dared to move.

Elma emitted a piercing yell, grabbed hold of the leg of the

bed and started to fight her abductors with all her strength.

Elma's cry broke terror's hypnotizing paralysis. Everybody

started to shout, the old men wildly, the old women hysterically.

In the general confusion the lantern light went out. Elma was

held by the iron grip of the intoxicated, but in the darkness

others tried to pry her loose. Ellen started to pummel the soldier

who held Elma by her left arm. Another soldier suddenly shot off

a burst of sub-machine gun fire. But nobody was hurt. He had

fired into the beamed ceiling of the cellar.

A middle-aged woman stepped forward. A soldier's beam hit

her.

"Yal" she said, pointing toward herself, and "Nyet" towards

Elma. She even tried to crack a smile. This offer of a sacrifice

didn't impress the soldiers.

"Nyet" they shouted back to her. Ellen lunged forward. One

of the soldiers neatly hit her in the head with the butt of his

gun and another kicked her in the stomach. She could barely hear

the wail of her twin as she collapsed on the floor.

Another pair of soldiers stepped up to Ellen and tied her up

tightly with ropes. Elma was being dragged out by four soldiers.

Ellen could be managed by only two.

-33-

"They are carrying them out to be shot," an old man remarked.

A sudden commotion was followed by another burst of sub­

machine gun fire. This was not directed to the ceiling. The

doctor's lifeless body slumped to the floor. In the confusion,

Ellen was let go. She rolled into a corner. The soldiers got

tired of fighting with Elma.

"Davai, davai!" two of them shouted and ordered everyone out

of the cellar.

Where is Papi? In America? Where is Imre! A prisoner of

the Nazis! Where is Ian? Perhaps a prisoner too!] Thoughts

flashed through Ellen's mind as she lay helplessly in the darkness

of the cellar. All night long more with her ears than with her

eyes, she witnessed a scene which put murderous rage in her heart.

114.

Vince didn't report to work on Wednesday, nor on Thursday,

February the 13th and 14th. The post office building where he

worked was a shambles anyway. He claimed his injury was acting up

again and that he had to go back for a check-up. He had grown a

beard, and although not yet fifty, looked like an old man with his

bushy grey beard.

Juliska was delighted to have him back and was determined not

to let him out of her sight again. It was bad enough that Their

Excellencies Tibor and Imre were out of the country. Even Master

-34-

Ian had left more than a week before, when he went in search of

the Russian headquarters. There had been no sign from him ever

since. Juliska had tried to persuade him to stay put, but to no

avail. She had heard enough stories about the Russians not to

trust those devils an inch.

The house received three more hi ts . I t was a miracle the

walls of the third floor were still standing. All the windows had

been blown out weeks ago. There was a gaping hole in the wall of

the library.

Vince kept busy reinforcing the barricade at the rear gate.

He had been a prisoner-of-war in the first war and had not been

released from Siberia until 1921. Those four years in captivity

had taught him all he wanted to know about the Russians. He never

spoke much about those years, not even to Juliska. He had married

her seven years ago, soon after his first wife left him a widower.

Thanks to the influence of Princess Ilka, he was able to keep his

job at the local post office--although several times a transfer to

another office east of the Danube had been in the offing. The

princess was also kind enough to put a free apartment at their

disposal in the Buda townhouse. He couldn't have dreamed of having

a better helpmate than Juliska, who soon presented him with two

healthy sons.

Yes, Vince was thinking, her excellency, the Princess, God

bless her soul, was a benevolent and fair mistress. It was a

privilege to work for the Chabaffy princes and live under the roof

of this most distinguished of families.

-35-

Yes, he'd make certain to do everything in his power to defend

their horne. The rubble which descended from the last three hits

helped to make the back gate virtually impregnable. Master Ian

also procured a large English flag and he was ready to put it out

as soon as the first Russian was visible on Gentlemen's street.

The front was all walled up and unless a tank drove through, it

was unassailable.

Vince had to push some rubble down to street level because

during the last few days collapsing walls had raised the level of

the rubble nearly high enough that a soldier clambering up on it

could have reached the second floor. But these efforts to secure

the house weren't good enough for Vince. He paid even more atten­

tion to the rear gate, the only ingress and egress to the house

now. Only a sharp eye could discern a small crack in the pile of

rubble and sandbags protecting the solid oak doors which were no

longer visible from the street.

Vince was well prepared for the Russian assault.

It was not slow in corning.

On Wednesday, the thirteenth, an unaccustomed silence set in.

Vince could still hear an occasional explosion, and now and then,

the crack of small arms fire. His well-practiced ear told him the

fighting was over.

Then an enormous explosion shook the citadel from the direc­

tion of the hospital where the young princesses were working.

They shouldn't have gone there that morning. Juliska had told

-36-

them so, but since Her Excellency, the Princess had died, no one

could talk much sense with the young princesses either.

Vince climbed up to his apartment overlooking the rear gate

and saw his first Russians in this war. He swiftly descended the

stairs and heaved a mighty beam against the rear door barely in

time.

The first Russians were already in front of the barricade and

were shouting for admission. Ignoring them, Vince disappeared

into the cellar. He opened the trap door, pulling the piece of

carpet concealing it over the opening before pushing the trap door

up again.

When he emerged the next morning and looked through his make­

shift peephole out of his apartment window, he noticed a group of

Red Army soldiers ambling away from the barricade in search of

easier targets. silence reigned over Budapest. When the troops

disappeared in the direction of the royal palace, the street became

quite deserted.

As Vince was having breakfast with Juliska, he heard his name

being shouted from in front of the barricade:

"Vince! Vince!"

Looking through the peephole he exclaimed to his wife:

"It's Princess Ellen! But where is Princess Elma?" Then he

yelled down to Ellen:

"We'll be right outside!"

To open the passage was quite an operation. He not only had

to take out the cross bar from behind the door, but also had to

remove several well-placed rocks and bricks.

-37-

"Gracious Princess Ellen ... " he stopped midway when he saw

the expression on her face and the look in her eyes.

"Please come and help me, II said Ellen rapidly. "Help me to

go and get Princess Elma. II

"What happened?" asked Vince.

II She was raped by some soldiers."

II She belongs in a hospital. But the citadel hospital was

destroyed yesterday. Come along!"

"Just let me tell Juliska,lI pleaded Vince.

"Of course, but hurry up! II

A few minutes later the pair clambered over heaps of rubble,

northward on Gentlemen Street to the house where Elma was. Vince

let out a cry when he saw his young mistress' unconscious, bloody

form on the floor. IIWe have to find a stretcher, or make one," he

said, recovering himself. Two broomsticks and a pair of pillow­

cases were drafted to serve as a make-shift stretcher. The sad

procession took quite a while to get back to the Chabaffy town­

house. Juliska, who had been keeping a lookout for them, opened

the door and clapped her hands together: "Holy Mary, Mother of

God!" Vince rushed out to find a doctor. Elma started to moan.

"Thank God, at least she is alive!" prayed Ellen. She had

been nestling close to her twin for half an houri her reward had

been that moan. Juliska brought a thimbleful of precious brandy.

Ellen poured it down her sister's throat.

Before noon a visitor appeared. It was Lotti, half in hysterics.

"The Russians "she sobbed, and threw herself into Ellen's

arms.

-38-

Many of the young women in this part of the citadel had to

escape the Maltese palace because it was supposed to have diplo­

matic immunity. However, the Red Army grapevine had rumored the

presence of many young and beautiful women there.

"Last night ... " but Lotti was unable to continue.

The same afternoon Lotti and Margit moved to the Chabaffy

townhouse, believing in the sanctity of the English flag Vince had

put out soon after he had helped to bring Elma back. But the

safety of the house did not lay in the flag, it rested in Vince's

fortifications.

In the next few days a half-a-dozen women, great beauties of

Magyar society, found refuge in the Chabaffy home. Vince could

barely recognize them, their faces covered with charcoal marks,

their hair filled with ashes and covered with peasant scarves.

They vied with each other as to which one of them would look the

oldest and the ugliest.

More women came to the Chabaffys on the second and third day

of the liberation, because the Red Army troops were becoming less

and less choosy about what women they could find. Ellen was happy

over the new arrivals because to have friends around in these

times was a blessing. The women took turns keeping vigil over

Elma. A more devoted team of nurses than these childhood friends

of the twins would have been hard to find in the entire capital.

Each had her own horror story to tell, but Ellen hushed them

up, diverting their attention to the tasks at hand. All brought

along jewelry boxes and, more importantly, provisions. The entire

-39-

household was electrified by the guests. Ellen loved to be a

hostess, Juliska enjoyed cooking, even Vince allowed himself a

smile. They managed to keep their spirits up even though Elma had

high fever and remained in a state of shock for several days. The

guests found a doctor, who, entrusted with jewelry, gold coins and

a bottle of rum, came back with what everyone thought were unob­

tainable antibiotics and medications. What the doctor was unable

to get, Vince obtained. such resourcefulness was vital as the

doctor soon found out that the eighteeen-year-old Elma along with

several of the guests had venereal disease of a particularly viru­

lent kind. As the only virgin in the group, Elma had the hardest

time recovering, but the enthusiasm and devotion of Ellen and all

their friends was irresistable.

The plight of the women made Vince take to his duties as the

guardian of the Chabaffy household with fanatical devotion. He

swore then that not a single Russian soldier would enter the house

alive. To back up his resolution he had an armory of weapons

including Imre's grandfather's Chinese sword, a souvenir of the

Boxer rebellion.

On the twentieth of February, a week after the ceasefire.

Vince ventured out on his first reconnaissance expedition, trying

to find out what was going on in the Magyar capital. without

electricity, radios, newspapers, telephone communications, or mail

service, the only way to find the news was to tap into the univer­

sal grapevine of Budapest.

-40-

Yet slowly the fire-torched and devastated capital began to

stir.

-41-

CHAPTER TWENTY

THEY SEEK MY LIFE

[ They seek my life, to take it away.

I Kings 15:10

We are bleeding from limb to limb.No wonder!Full half the world is tearing usAsunder.

Petrofi, 1849 ]

115.

The shrunken diplomatic world of Budapest buzzed with con-

sternation and excitement. The representatives of the neutral

countries--that is of Sweden, Switzerland, Turkey, Spain and the

vatican--were the only diplomats remaining in the Magyar capital,

were just finding out what the Red Army had in store for them.

The first indications were ominous. What the diplomats heard

at their first informal gathering after the siege was unprecedented.

They met at the apartment of a Spanish diplomat whose home was

relatively undamaged. The Maltese Knights' representative and a

few other friends were also there.

II I hear your building didn't fare well, II Mr. Weyermann said

to his host.

-42-

liThe building, what does it matter?" he replied. "What sad­

dens me is that our attorney was killed by the Russians when he

offered resistance ... But where is your colleague, Mr. Born?"

"He was ordered to leave Budapest immediately. I was held

for two days by the Russian Gestapo. All my documents were de­

stroyed! Now, I'm allowed to stay on but there is nothing much I

can do. I'm afraid that should I venture out again, I might be

arrested again. I'm quite powerless to help anyone. II

Herr Lutz of the Swiss Legation lit a cigarette and threw up

his hands with an expressive gesture. "You have been quite lucky.

The chief of our legation ... II

"You mean Mr. Feller?" asked the host.

"Yes. He was arrested by the MVD the third day after the

siege ended along with our chancellor! Nobody has had any news

from them to this day!"

"I hear two of your ladies have disappeared, too," said the

Maltese knight.

"I'm in a fortunate position to state," replied the Swiss

diplomat, "that all of our ladies are safe."

"That's the first good news we have had today," remarked the

host.

liDo you know what happened to our Herr Ember? II asked the

Swiss diplomat uncharacteristically agitated. "When the Russians

looted our legation ... and will you believe it, we were looted on

four different occasions! ... one party was absolutely determined

-43-

to get hold of our safe. The Russians put a rope around Herr

Ember's neck "

" this can't be true!" declared Angelo Rotta, the Papal

nuncio.

" in order to force him to surrender the keys of our dip-

lomatic safe! Even under this threat he refused to do so ... "

"What a hero," remarked the first secretary of the Spanish

legation.

"The story is not over," continued the man from Berne. "The

Russians tightened the rope around his neck until he fainted, then

they cut off his keys, looted the safe and got away with several

millions!"

"The same thing happened to our safe," related the Swede of

the party. "Perhaps you know we had quite a big safe. The Nazis

tried to empty it several times. The Russians simply removed the

entire contraption! II

1I0utrageous, II someone remarked.

IIWe are going to deliver a strong protest in Moscow. "

IITalking about safes, II remarked the Swiss diplomat. II We

heard that the liberators 'liberated' eighty million at the Credit

Bank and one hundred twenty million at the Bank of Commerce, took

everything that was in the safety deposit boxes, even what was in

the boxes of the American and British subj ects ! II

"Have you had any news about Raoul Wallenberg?1I

IINot a word from him," replied Lars Berg. IIBut we were In­

formed that Madame Kollontai, the Russian ambassadress, invited

-44-

Mme. Christian Gunther, the wife of our chief, for tea and told

her that Raoul was safe and secure in their hands."

"That sounds reassuring," remarked Monsignor Rotta.

"I hope so," continued Berg, "yet there is something sinister

about the situation. I have been arrested, too. I was accused

along with Raoul of being notorious Nazi spies! I was accused of

falsifying documents for gentiles "

"I don't believe this," said the Knight shaking his head.

" ... but listen to this," exclaimed Berg. "I was accused of

doing a poor job protecting Russian interests here! I was accused

with Raoul of being Gestapo agents! What other explanation did we

have for risking our necks saving Jews?"

"This is fantastic!" cried his host.

" . .. and I heard," said Weymann, "that Wilhelm was thrown

into jail, too ... !"

"What happened?" asked the monsignor.

"He was accused of being the principal agent of the notorious

international spy network known as the Red Cross!"

" I just heard," added the Turkish minister "that he was

released. It's a typical story of our times. He saved the life

of his chauffeur during the Nazi terror, and luckily for Wilhelm,

he is a member of the Communist Party. He managed to convince the

Russian Gestapo that Wilhelm was not a spy ... so he was let go."

IIWe live in Dante's Inferno," remarked the host.

"I don't know what is worse, the wholesale raping of the

Magyar women or the looting on a grand scale," the Swiss diplomat

stated questioningly.

-45-

"The Russians are committing a colossal blunder letting the

Red Army loose on Magyar women, mark my words," said the Papal

delegate. "In a matter of a few days or at the most, weeks, they

have lost the good will of the entire country for generations.

"The monstrosities I heard about!" added Berg. "Quite

unspeakable!"

"Even now," said Wesermann, "the Russians will keep under

observation houses where women live. The raids take place at

night. Anyone who dares to interfere gets attacked. I understand

the women are not killed but kept captive for hours, even days.

To add to the m1sery, the women get infected with the most horri­

ble diseases. We are helpless because we can't provide any anti­

biotics or medicine."

"At my place in the citadel," sighed the Maltese Knight, lithe

Russians came every night. My wife, along with all the female

guests we had, escaped to Prince Chabaffy's place, the only safe

place in the district!"

"I even heard, II said Berg, "that female members of the Red

Army and police have raped men. In case of resistance, the men

are beaten up! "

"It's still not safe to walk on the streets," said the host,

sipping sherry which had survived the siege and the pillage. "The

Russians have an unlimited appetite for watches and an insane

predeliction to tear up identity cards."

liThe people under our protection," remarked the representa­

tive of Portugal, who had kept quiet until now, "are safe as of

today. "

-46-

, ,

"Our papers are not accepted," said the Swiss putting his

cigarette out. "Even some of our own citizens have been relieved

of their passports. "

"Have you been in the Inner City since the siege?" asked the

host of no one in particular.

"It's a disaster area, worse than Coventry," cried the Portu­

guese. "My favorite place, the House of Gerbaud, has survived.

The Red Army used the great hall of the confectionary as a stable.

But all our best hotels, the Hungaria, the Ritz, the Gellert, the

Carlton, the Hunting Horn, are in ruins."

" . .. and the main shopping street 1S unrecognizable," con­

tinued the Maltese. "The Houses of Parliament, the head office of

our largest insurance company, many churches are severely damaged ... "

"Did you hear the French embassy was razed by the Germans?"

asked Berg.

"Half of Budapest is gone!" Berg added.

"Do you have any water?" asked the host.

"Not in Buda. And there is no gas. Electricity is provided

only for factories working for the Russians and for Russian office

buildings."

" ... and for two mOV1e houses playing Russian films exclusively,"

said Weyermann.

"We have no more trams because there is no current. Some

have just stopped in the middle of an intersection," said Berg.

"I have seen tractors remove street-cars as obstructions to traffic!"

-47-

"But the mail service has started up again, II remarked the

Papal legatee.

"That's true," said the Turk. "When I want to mail something,

I have it taken to a suburban office, because the central post

office building is destroyed. II

"Has anybody seen any cars?" asked Weyermann.

Everybody laughed.

"All I have seen," said Berg, "were a few carriages used by

some clever capitalists!"

"Has anybody seen our Magyar friends?" asked the host.

"At least thirty thousand are in a large camp north of here,"

said Weymann.

" because some idiot Red Army general exaggerated the

number of German prisoners taken and now the whole Russian Army is

rounding up people to make up for the 'missing' Germans," said the

Turk.

"Did you hear about Prince Eszterhazy?" asked Berg.

liThe country's wealthiest man!" added the Nunzio.

"He was found in a graveyard burying horses! II

"And what about Count Teleki, a member of the new cabinet?

And the mayor?" exclaimed the Portuguese. "Taken for forced labor

for two days, until a Russian officer could be found who understood

them! "

"No wonder we have lost track of all our friends!" cried the

Spaniard. "Some escaped before the Russians came, others were

deported by the Germans, many were killed during the siege and

those who were left were abducted by the Russians ... "

-48-

"But not the former Nazis,1I said Weyermann furiously.

"Are there any around?1I asked Berg.

"I know the case of the general manager of the largest preci­

sion instrument company, II continued Weyermann. IIHe was a notorious

friend of the Nazis and a Jew baiter. He was promptly arrested,

of course. After he was put in prison, the union leaders in his

factory visited the Russian authorities and convinced them that he

was indispensable for the war effort, so the Russians immediately

released him. He still runs the firm. II

IIGentlemen,1I said the Spaniard, "We could go on all night.

But what shall we do about the latest Russian move?"

IIWhich is?" asked Berg.

"It was declared all foreigners who elect to stay ln Budapest

shall be treated as Magyars."

"That includes US?II asked the representative of the pope.

"It is directed at us," replied the host.

liDo we have any choice?" asked Berg.

"The Russians simply want to force us to leave. 1I

"Why?" exclaimed the Turk.

"The Russians don't want any witnesses to the destruction of

Magyar independence!"

"We are witnesses anew to what the Gestapo did during the

Nazi occupation."

"The Russians know that perfectly well. "

IIAnd now they don't want any witnesses to observe what the

MVD is up to during the Russian occupation! II

-49-

, ,

"pity us!" cried the Maltese Knight, who was a Magyar.

"I'll consider myself lucky," remarked Berg, "if I can get

back to Sweden alive."

116.

Ian was cold and hungry. He hadn't had any food for several

days. He had a raging thirst and a constant humming inside his

skull.

He remembered the vision he had had when he was seven years

old. He was in church for Sunday service, up on the U-shaped

balcony where the choir and the organ led the congregation in the

singing of hymns. He lingered on one side of the balcony after

the service and soon found himself alone.

Suddenly, a bright light filled the church. Ian heard the

still small voice: "I have you here for a special purpose."

Although this was not uttered in so many words, Ian understood the

message perfectly. Just as quickly as the vision had appeared, it

faded away. But not from Ian's memory.

He felt from that moment that he was a chosen person, someone

selected by God for something he didn't know anything about, but

which must be wonderful and special. He kept quiet about this

when he got home to the Chabaffy townhouse and didn't share his

secret with anyone at all.

-50-

On this icy February morning, in 1945, this vision once agaln

gave him faith.

[ Surely, my divine mlSSlon is still to come.

Surely, God wishes to preserve me for that mission.

Surely, I'm not to die now.

commission. ]

I have much to do by divine

The door of his cell swung open. Rough voices ordered him

out. He was led into the back yard of the one story building

which housed the police station.

Several other captives were there too. He was given a shovel.

with grunts and signs, he was ordered to start digging.

Two Red Army guards watched the group of eight to ten men,

and by constant cussing and exhortation kept the captives busy.

Ian was luckier than most because he was wearing a pair of

good boots when he was captured: luckier still because his dras­

tic loss of weight had dropped his trousers over the boots more or

less concealing them. Luckiest of all, he still had his tweed

overcoat, lined with mink. Buttoned up, the fur did not show.

Daisy who designed it called it inconspicuously elegant. I an

blessed her now for providential foresight. A slight tear in the

arm caused by barbed wire at a barricade gave it just the neces­•

sary touch of shabbiness.

Yet even though his boots and coat helped to keep Ian warm,

it was hard work digging into the frozen dirt. Soon Ian was ex-

hausted. His hunger and thirst had increased. And the guards

-51-

kept after him. One decided to stand in front of him and watch

every turn of his shovel. This went on for about an hour.

An order came from inside the police station followed by the

owner of the voice. Ian judged him to be a low level field secu­

rity officer, possibly from the military police or even the MVD.

The two guards ordered the captives to stop and line up along

the rear wall of the back yard.

[ We are being lined up for execution ] Ian realized. [Surely

I'm not going to die now. The Lord will preserve me. ]

Peace descended on him. He no longer felt vulnerable. He no

longer was hungry and thirsty. He no longer was weak, exhausted,

and exposed. He felt invulnerable.

The two guards stepped up to the prisoners and held their

submachine guns at the ready. Some prisoners prayed. Others

twitched their faces or emitted unintelligible sounds. One dropped

on his knees and started to wail in a language Ian didn't understand.

The guards looked at him with amused contempt.

The junior officer who returned to the building after ordering

the guards to line the captives up, reappeared aga1n. He gave out

another order. The prisoners looked into the snub-nosed barrels

of guns. Ian was an instant away from shedding his body.

The sub-altern barked out another order. The guards raised

their guns higher and fired directly above the prisoners' heads

the entire contents of the magazines. When the fearful rattle

died down, both guards began to guffaw.

-52-

"Anybody speak Russian?" the officer asked the condemned men.

The guards grinned ominously.

Two prisoners stepped forward.

"You capitalist SWlne you bourgeois scum ... you pig

kulaks! II the officer spoke slowly, stopping at every epithet,

trying to make sure that every word was translated to the prisoners.

"You have been condemned to death by a firing squad! II he continued,

savoring every word of the expressive and beautiful Russian language.

Then there was a pause.

Ian could hear his own heart beat. with a barely perceptible

inclination of his head, he surreptitiously looked at the man on

his right, then on his left. Both looked at the ground with resig­

nation, almost indifference.

Ian looked up and examined the epaulettes of the officer. He

was a short, stocky man, very young, no more than twenty, had a

fair complexion, light-colored eyes, thin lips, clean shaven de­

termined mien and enthusiasm of someone who had exercised command

but for a short time. His overcoat reached nearly to the ground.

It was tightened around his waist with a broad leather belt, with

a leather holster, with a revolver butt protruding. He wore black

leather boots. His fur cap was studded with a five-pointed red

star, decorated with the emblem of the hammer and sickle. Ian

avoided looking into his eyes not because he was afraid, but be­

cause he didn't want to show his determination and resolution. He

did not want to provoke an instant whim of aggression and annihi­

lation. Obviously the sub-altern enjoyed the exercise of power

-53-

and the execution of revenge. He had now yet another role to

play.

The officer spread his legs apart, put his hands on his hips

and continued in his clear voice, with the precise intonation of a

lecturer. "You have been found guilty of spying! You were engaged

in treacherous subversive activities against your glorious libera­

tors! You attempted to stab the armed forces of the Peoples'

Republics of the soviet Union in the back, the spearheads of liberty

and freedom for all the peoples of the world!"

The way he spoke made it obvious that he believed every word

he said. During the pauses he made to allow for translations, he

looked from one guard to another. Then jutting his jaw forward,

he continued: liThe glorious Red Armies under the invincible lead­

ership of the father of our homeland and the supreme commander

Marshal Stalin, are at the cost of great sacrifices and the copi­

ous shedding of blood by our magnificent heroes ... "

Here he stopped for a longer pause to allow the translators,

who appeared confused by the proliferation of superlative adjec­

tives, to find the right words. When he realized that his rolling

prose was getting lost in the translation, he repeated the last

sentence more slowly, then continued with increasing emphasis:

" ... our magnificent heroes are engaged in a fierce struggle

against the Fascist aggressors which have invaded our fatherland

unprovoked and caused us unlimited suffering ... II

The longer the harangue became, the more attentive the pri­

soners became. surely this can't be a funereal oration. Ian

-54-

wondered if the officer were rehearsing a propaganda lecture for

another group.

A fellow prisoner muttered in Magyar, "Why doesn't he get it

over with, and kill us?" The officer was so carried away with the

sound of his own words, he didn't hear this comment.

[ Surely the Lord does not want me to die now. ]

Ian looked at the guards who were no longer amused, but watched

the prisoners with grim expressions, keeping an eye on the officer,

their submachine guns at the ready, their fingers on the trigger.

The young officer stopped for a moment, trying to remember

his lines. He barked another order to the guards.

The submachine guns were reloaded with elaborate ceremony

while the captives watched in dull horror. The cartridge housing

of one of the guns got momentarily jammed, but the guard finally

managed to reload his weapon. In this excruciating pause, the

sub-altern remembered his lines again, and went on:

II. .. the Fascist dogs have inflicted innumerable atrocities

against the sons and daughters of the revolution. During their

well-calculated aggressions they have also enslaved other people

and carried out their murderous designs on the nations of Europe."

IIAnd now our glorious armies under the red banner of the

hammer and sickle,1I he continued, "have routed the aggressors and

are meting out their well-deserved punishment. We have liberated

our fatherland and we are going to cleanse Europe from the Fascist

scourge. We will make sure that the forces of treachery and ag­

gression will never have any more strength left to repeat their

-55-

war-like designs against the peace-loving peoples of the Union of

soviet Republics II

The officer paused and, appearing well pleased with his own

performance, proceeded:

II ... you have decided to aid the aggressors against the forces

of Socialism and democracy. There is no more heinous act than the

act of treachery and subversion. II

As if by cue, the guards raised their guns once again.

1I0ur benevolent father, the glorious leader of our revolution

and the commander of our victorious armies has also taught us to

glve you the opportunity to rectify your crimes ... 11

The officer paused. His face shone like a benevolent father.

liThe commander-in-chief of our army has decided to spare your

miserable lives, provided you volunteer to work in the cause of

democracy and freedom in the war-torn Union of the Soviet Republics. II

Silence greeted this undreamed of pardon. sensing that a

Iittle more inducement was required, the Russian added, IIYour

rations of food will be promptly restored and you will receive the

same care in our fatherland as our Socialist working comrades. II

The guards kept fiddling with their triggers.

IIAnyone not wishing to volunteer step forward! II the officer

shouted. When the translations were finished, he looked at the

motionless prisoners as if he had just handed out a priceless

gift. He abruptly turned around and re-entered the building.

-56-

117.

Aunt Mitzi was ready to greet the Russians at her house. Her

friends, the village school teacher and his wife, convinced her

otherwise. The couple was old enough to have lived through the

Communist reign of terror in 1919, and had no illusions about the

liberators. They invited Aunt Mitzi to stay with them.

This proved to be a providential precaution. The first wave

of Russian troops removed the furniture from the great house by

throwing it out through the doors and windows. When the job was

completed, the Russian commander ordered a flame-thrower to reduce

the accumulation of generations to a pile of ashes. Next, he

ordered his troops to round up the peasants ln the village square

and told them to refurnish the house with straw mattresses.

His purpose was to prove that even the wealthiest kulaks and

landowners in Magyarland lived in poverty.

His second-in-command, a major, who was billeted with the

village school teacher, proved to be of a very different nature.

He took a proprietary interest in his new home and made sure the

waves of marauders and deserters which followed the more disci­

plined front-line troops caused no damage to the house and his

hosts.

One of the officer's responsibilities was to supply food for

the Red Army troops around the capital. He had seven GMC trucks,

and an inexhaustible supply of paper currency. The peasants soon

-57-

found out that the major's cash was next to worthless, but by

standards of the day, the officer behaved quite honorably.

He also had a keen capitalist nose for profit and built up a

flourishing free-lance supply business of his own. He generously

handed out wads of paper currency for his purchases but accepted

nothing less than gold and precious stones for his services.

His Magyar hosts turned to an advantage the major's business

acumen, and a deal was struck. A truckload of provisions and a

few remaining belongings were transported to the Chabaffy town­

house in Budapest in exchange for one of Aunt Mitzi's ornate pocket

watches. This antique gold watch was many times the size of an

ordinary wrist watch. The Russian officer graded the value of a

watch according to its size and not its quality. He was convinced

he had the best of the bargain. The school teacher, who could

speak a little Russian, made sure that the watch was not delivered

to the major until the cargo had been safely delivered.

Aunt Mitzi was allowed a seat between the major and the driver.

The teacher was consigned to the back where he sat on a comfortable

seat, the carcass of a fat pig. The cargo of that truck and the

others were covered by a carefully fastened canvas. It was not

prudent to advertise wealth in these days of extreme scarcity,

even under the protection of the Red Army.

The trip was an arduous one. The roads, abused by war and

the march of foreign armies, were barely passable. Aunt Mitzi's

bones were well shaken when the convoy neared the Magyar capital

late in the afternoon.

-58-

The procession was punctuated by her lamentations:

"Look at our beautiful Inner City! A scene of desolation!"

"Even the church on Calvin Square is in ruins!"

"Only a wall standing where my bank was!"

"Notice the Coliseum and the concert hall ... I remember ...

I took Ian there to listen to Dohnanyi on the piano and to Yehudi

Menuhin playing his fiddle ... all, all in ruins!"

" and see the magnificent promenades along the Danube ...

nothing nothing intact!"

"My God. All our hotels! The Ritz where my husband took me

so often and the ... It can I t be true. Oh, our beautiful Budapest."

"Yes, Yes!" agreed the Russian major, "some parts of your

city have suffered more than Stalingrad." Aunt Mitzi continued to

moan: "What will become of us! "

The convoy was obliged to cross the Danube from west to east

below the capital and had to battle its way through the ruins of

Pest. All the bridges had collapsed into the Danube. The Russian

sappers had set up a pontoon bridge on top of the ruined Margaret

bridge near Margaret island. That was the convoy's only means of

recrossing the river to Buda.

An endless line of military transportation and equipment

waited on the Pest end of the make-shift bridge, the only link

between Buda and Pest. It had to carryall the reinforcements

feeding the westward push of the Red armies towards Vienna.

civilians were given the choice of walking across the ice

which covered the Danube or staying put until another bridge was

built.

After a three-hour wait, the maj or's caravan was finally

allowed to cross over the unsteady bridge. The sun was setting.

Budapest was covered by merciful darkness. The vacant eyes of the

ruined buildings looked down on deserted streets of the Citadel.

Gentleman's street reverberated to the unaccustomed sounds of

truck engines. Finally Aunt Mitzi's convoy arrived at the rear

gate of the Chabaffy mansion. The trucks honked in unison, but

the ancestral seat of the Chabaffy clan showed no signs of life.

The major threatened to proceed with his trucks unless he was

allowed to unload. Aunt Mitzi had little choice but to agree to

have the precious cargo unloaded on top of the ruins blocking the

rear entrance.

Aunt Mitzi was left in the middle of the street, in the pitch­

black darkness. street lighting, of course, didn't exist. Not a

glimmer from behind the proud patrician facades of the Citadel

relieved the inky blackness. Aunt Mitzi wondered what to do next

when Vince cautiously opened the gates of his fortress.

"Sorry, countess," he said to Aunt Mitzi in greeting. "I

couldn't risk a Russian officer spreading the news that this house

is occupied."

Aunt Mitzi and her benefactors were greeted with joyous shouts.

The house sprung to life like a disturbed ant hill. The precious

cargo quickly disappeared inside. Then the silent night regained

its dominion again.

-60-

118.

In the camp of the Red Army the prisoners' rations were

restored--for a single day.

The next afternoon the small building was grated by harsh

noises and guttural commands. The captives were lined up outside,

facing northeast. Two guards escorted the small group. The walk

started early in the afternoon. It was bitterly cold. Ian was

fortunate. He had scrounged a piece of rope which tightened

around his waist and kept much of his body heat trapped inside his

coat.

He reflected on the sudden reversal of his fortune.

The end of one tyranny was but the beginning of another one.

What was the end of one holocaust, was but the kindling of another

one. What appeared as a gate to freedom only led to new slavery.

What he fought for--liberation--became, for all appearances, im­

prisonment and forced labor.

Disillusionment kept haunting him in his cell. [Was this

what we strived for? Was this the result of a slaughter which had

now been going on for six years? Where were the flowery phrases

of compromisers who had masqueraded as statesmen? What happened

to all those resounding promises? Why did my friends become enemies

and allies foes? Did something somewhere go terribly wrong? ]

Ian remembered his vision and felt at peace. He was surprised

at his own lack of hatred. He tried to see the good in his captors.

-61-

\ ,

[ Didn't the fledgling sub-altern only do his duty? Wasn't

that Ukrainian sergeant, who shared a slice of bread with him,

motivated by love? Wasn't his interrogator faithfully carrying

out his instructions in persistence and single mindedness? ]

Ian had many questions and was now groping for the solutions.

In his bewilderment, he had no vengeance in his heart as he began

his march towards Asia. It started to snow late in the afternoon.

Ian noticed the Russians were cold, too. Many of his fellow

prisoners, who were dressed in walking shoes and without overcoats,

were barely able to keep up.

He had not been in this part of Eastern Magyarland before.

He was dimly aware that he was somewhere north of Debrecen, a

large city not far from Miskolc. His thoughts turned to Maria for

an instant. Then all his life energies were concentrated on making

the next step and the step after that.

The bowls of soup, the bread he had received in the last

twenty-four hours had barely whetted his appetite. What he appre­

ciated most that he had been able to trade a couple of cigarettes

for a shave. He felt wonderfully clean and refreshed. Ian had

also managed to scrounge a tiny old tin mug, which he had secreted

like a treasure in the inside pocket of his overcoat before start­

ing out.

As the march wore on his strength ebbed with a rapidity which

surprised him. After three or four hours of walking he felt dizzy,

and in another hour he felt light-headed, almost carefree.

-62-

The group arrived at its destination well after nightfall.

Ian couldn't determine the layout of the place. It appeared to be

a large army depot where units were refitted, re-routed and sent

to the front, or returned to Russia. He saw a field kitchen and a

lot of trucks.

The two guards escorted them to a barn, then disappeared.

Ian lay down gratefully. He was able to sleep less than an hour

before he was roused agaln. Bone tired, he pulled his scarf over

his head, tucked his hair under it and followed a group of non­

Russians to a low building, the homestead of a small farmer. The

line was long, and moving very slowly. After what he felt to Ian

an interminable wait, the line seemed to speed up a little.

Inside the building it was blessedly warm. Ian could make

out an officer sitting behind a desk, with an interpreter standing

next to him. Each person waiting was dismissed after a curt ques­

tion or two. Ian sensed this was an opportunity to get out of

this hell. When his turn came he stepped with a decisive gait and

held himself in a manner which made it obvious that he was a gen­

tleman. He gave the officer a smile and said quickly, in a thin

voice that reflected tiredness: "There must have been a mistake,

I shouldn't be here."

The officer gave him a penetrating look, then motioned to the

interpreter to take him out of the line into the back room.

"You are lucky," whispered the interpreter, "the colonel took

a liking to you. He asked me to get you some food."

-63-

A Magyar peasant woman appeared with a wonderfully hot soup,

two large slices of bread, a boiled potato and an apple. Ian

thanked her profusely. When he finished eating--he tried to eat

carefully, thoroughly chewing every morsel before swallowing it-­

she came back into the well-heated room to fetch the plate and

utensils.

"I'm famished, II Ian said to her in Magyar. "Can you possibly

get me something more to eat?"

Wordlessly she left and brought back half a loaf of bread,

two boiled eggs, butter and bacon. Before he had a chance to

thank her, she disappeared.

Ian quickly sliced the bread, filled his pockets with bread

and butter sandwiches, saved one egg and ate the other with the

rest of the bread and bacon. Overcome by the unaccustomed heat,

he rested his head on the table and promptly fell asleep.

A finger running up and down his cheek made Ian wake up with

a start. "Tres belle, tu est," he heard someone say in French,

"You are beautiful. II He opened his eyes. The colonel sat next to

him.

"Tu parle francais?" he asked. liDo you speak French?"

"0f course, II replid Ian delightedly, now fully awake.

"Take your scarf off, II said the officer after a pause.

"But you are a man! II he exclaimed. "Quelle dommage! What a

pity! II Ian began to realize why he had been pulled out of the

line.

liMon general, II he said quickly.

-64-

II I'm a colonel, II the Russian officer interrupted him.

liMon colonel, II continued I an unabashed. He proceeded to

explain rapidly who he was. III'm Ian Campbell and I'm the son of

Tibor Chabaffy. II

IITibor Chabaffy, leader of the peasants and the Union Party?1I

IIYes, yes!1I

The colonel paused:

"Of course, we know the name, II he finally said.

IIPlease get me out of here. You must realize a terrible

mistake was made, II Ian said urgently.

IIThere was no mistake, II replied the colonel stiffly. "The

Red Army does not make mistakes. II

IIWhy am I held as a prisoner then? This is absurd! II Ian

cried, with the food in his belly giving him renewed courage.

1I0ne of our illustrious generals reported a certain figure

for prisoners taken at the siege of Budapest," explained the Russian,

lI and now we have to make sure that that figure is absolutely ac­

curate. You see, the Red Army can't possibly make a mistake. II

"I don't ... "

"Tres simple,1I he replied. "We will send the exact number of

prisoners captured at Budapest back to the USSR, which was reported

to Moscow. II I an understood.

IIBut I'll try and do something for you, II said the colonel,

after a long silence. Ian felt his luck was turning at last. He

remembered God's protective mantle.

-65-

"You can stay in the kitchen," continued the Russian slowly,

still speaking in French. "Disposition about you will be made

tomorrow. "

He nodded to signify the interview was over.

"Thousand thanks," said Ian in parting. His overcoat was his

bed that night. The stove kept the place warm. He slept until

daybreak.

The bitter cold outside froze the vapor of the cooking on the

window panes. Ian woke up to the blessed sounds of breakfast

being made. The peasant woman took the colonel's breakfast to his

room at 7:15.

Ian tried to make himself useful around the kitchen. The

Magyar woman insisted he take a rest. He soon found out why.

The colonel greeted him cordially and inquired about how he

slept.

"Tres bien, very well," replied Ian.

"You know, Monsieur, my powers are very circumscribed," the

officer continued. "At the present state of the war I cannot

release you."

Ian was glad he had ate the bread sparingly last night.

"But I can put you with another group of prisoners," announced

the colonel. "You will no longer be a German prisoner. You'll be

Italian."

"Italian?"

"We caught quite a few before they could run away," smiled

the Russian in French, to a Scot who was Magyar, but really a

-66-

German turned Italian. "Our comrades in Italy suggeseted we ship

them back as a good will gesture ... before the upcoming elec-

tions ... Can you speak any Italian?"

"Just a few words."

"You had better keep your mouth shut," suggested the colonel.

"That way you won't get into any trouble. The Italian POW's leave

in four days. Until then, you'll work in the kitchen. I suggest

you don't join them until just before departure."

"Thank you, mon colonel."

"I f anything goes wrong, I have never seen you, do you

understand?"

"But of course. "

"Good luck, monsieur."

"Adios!" Ian said happily.

"That's Spanish!" replied the colonel severely. "If that's

your Italian, do shut up!"

Four days later the well-fed Ian was one of the last two to

squeeze himsel f onto the freight car. There was barely enough

room inside to stand up.

"You don't look Italian to me," said Ian's neighbor quietly.

"Perhaps he is a Russian spy," said someone behind him even

less audibly. Ian understood perfectly well what the words "Russo

spione" meant.

119.

"Have you heard the latest?"

"Tell me."

"A teacher is asking his class:"

"'What is Russia to us?'"

"'Russia is our brother,' came the reply from the back of the

room. "

"Wouldn't it be better to say Russia 1S our great friend?"

suggested the teacher.

"No," insisted the little scholar. "Russia is our brother. "

"Why do you keep calling Russia our brother?"

"Because we can pick our friends."

Pista and Pal, two engineers from the waterworks, had a good

laugh. "We had better hurry up, or we'll be late for the meeting."

The meeting of the sub-committee of the Budapest City Council

met in an emergency session after the liberation of the capital.

Although it was precisely ten o'clock, the chairman did not call

the meeting to order, because several key members had not yet

arrived.

Pista greeted a colleague from the Ministry of Transporta-

tion, who was attending as an observer.

"How are you, Janos? When did you get back from Debrecen?"

"only last night," replied his friend.

"What's going on over there in our capital?" asked Pal, who

joined the discussion.

-68-

II

"We have made a preliminary estimate of what we are left

with, II replied Janos. "Truthfully, there isn't much left. The

Russians claim the Germans held out so long in Western Magyarland

to gain time to strip the country."

liThe pot calling the kettle black, eh? II said Pista.

"What difference does it make which of our neighbors is bleed-

1ng us?" asked Janos.

"We are bleeding from limb to limb II

"No wonder, full half the world is tearing us

II Asunder," quoted Pista.

"Who wrote that ... Petofi?" asked Pal.

"Yes, my dear friends, Petofi, almost one hundred years ago

when the Austrians attacked us from the West and the Russians from

the East ... II replied Pista. "Do you have any figures on our

rolling stock?"

"We have, II replied Janos, "they are strictly preliminary. "

"Let's have them anyway," said Pal and Pista.

liThe Germans took nearly forty percent of our diesel locomo­

tives, more than sixty percent of our passenger coaches, three

quarters of our freight cars. II

"Three quarters?" exclaimed Pista.

"The preliminary figure is seventy four percent. II

"What else?" asked Pal.

"I f you think our rail transportation 1S in shambles, and

don't forget what little the Germans left was mostly damaged, let

me tell you about our Danube fleet of ships."

-69-

"Our pride," said Pista, "0ne of our big export items. II

"1'11 tell you about the involuntary exports, II continued

Janos grimly. "We had four hundred-eighty-nine units and the

exports amounted to four hundred-eighty-seven units!"

"You mean the Germans left us with two ships?" asked Pista

incredulously.

" at the bottom of the river," remarked Pal.

"All this does not take into account all that stuff that was

loaded onto the freight cars to the breaking point," added Janos.

"We were looted with our own freight cars ... "

The chairman opened the meeting one half hour late when the

engineer from the hospitals finally arrived: "In order to start

planning an energetic rebuilding program we have corne together to

assess the damage caused by the siege of our city. I call upon

the building department to give the first report."

"Gentlemen," he began. "Naturally these are estimates, al­

though pretty good ones, I believe. My figures include not only

the damage caused by the siege but also by the air raids. Four

percent of our buildings were annihilated, twenty-three percent

were severely damaged and forty-seven percent had some damage."

"How much was undamaged?" asked the chairman.

"Approximately twenty percent," carne the reply.

"Please continue, II said the chairman.

"We had 395,320 apartments. Of these about five percent were

totally destroyed, another six or seven percent are quite unin-

-70-

habitable as only the walls remain, and a further fifteen percent

were badly damaged ... II

IIWhich left us wi th?1I asked the chairman, who was making

notes.

II about seventy percent remaining. II

II So we fared better with our apartments. II

"Yes, sir, because much of the single family housing was

concentrated in Buda, which suffered much more than Pest. I have

some estimates on the damage caused in the First District which of

course includes the citadel. Out of our 789 buildings, only four

apartments are undamaged ... not buildings. Apartments. Almost

two thirds were severely damaged, twenty percent damaged and over

fifteen percent totally destroyed! II

IIThere is a job to be done there! will the gentlemen from

the division of monuments and pUblic buildings speak up, please.

We can see with our own eyes the tremendous damage, but I want to

have it on record. II

IITotallydestroyed,1I started the account. IIEvery bridge over

the Danube, all the promenades and quays along the river, the

royal palace, three communication centers in Buda. 1I

IIWhat about our own buildings?1I asked the chairman.

lIyou are, of course, familiar with these. Just as you sug­

gested, for the record, city hall received more than one hundred

direct hits. Our printing plant, the archives and the two-story

annex was destroyed. In our main building, three stories col­

lapsed and another annex building was annihilated. Practically

-71-

all the furnishings, as you can observe first hand, were also

destroyed. II

Ills that your report?1I

II I could go on, Councillor. I reported the maj or items."

IILet's hear from the department of hospitals. II

"Of the forty-five hospital buildings, we had only four re­

main undamaged, five are in ruins, the rest have been damaged to

some extent. Our x-ray and research institutes were heavily dam­

aged. The hospitals in Buda suffered most. For example, st.

John's hospital changed hands several times, and much of it is in

shambles."

"Can you give us bed equivalents, please?" asked the chair­

man, who kept detailed notes.

"I have some estimates on those too," came the reply. "We

started out with 7,652 beds. According to the latest count, at

least 2,200 were destroyed. Add to that the damage caused by the

siege and the fact that practically all our equipment was taken

west."

"Thank you. Let's have the public;:: school report."

"Gentlemen. We started out with two hundred and nine school

buildings. Total loss: twenty-seven, severely damaged, twenty­

six, thirty badly damaged and one hundred twenty-six damaged. We

started out with 2,840 classrooms. When we re-opened the schools,

only 225 classrooms were usable. II

"More than ninety percent damaged or destroyed," remarked the

chairman. "The department of social affairs has no representative

-72-

here, but gave me the figures which I will read now, in case you

wish to make note of them. Of our 3/500 establishments less than

500 remaln. Let I s hear from the prince-primate I s representative."

"The church at Wolf's Run was completely destroyed," came the

reply from a priest. "Heavily damaged were the following: the

Coronation Church on the Citadel, the Church of the Inner City,

the Cathedral and the Church of st. Anne. I could go on, honor­

able councilors. Our damage has been devastating. God willing,

the damage will be repaired."

"Who wants to start off with the utilities?1I asked the chairman.

111'11 start, gentlemen. I'm from the waterworks. On the

Buda side we lost valuable equipment at our three distribution

centers. All suffered severe building damage, as well. Our pipe­

lines are in shambles, broken in over nine hundred different

locations."

"The hardest hit, perhaps, were the gas works," said the

second representative from the utilities department. "The plant

in northern Buda was completely destroyed. Our own waterworks and

refinery burnt down and two of our gas tank farms were also total

losses."

After a brief pause, during which he put out his cigarette,

he added:

IIWe were unable to count the breaks in the gas lines as yet.

We know they run into the thousands. Of course when the bridges

collapsed, the gas pipelines fell into the Danube too."

-73-

The engineer from the department of sewers had a grim report

also.

"Our sewer lines are almost non-existent in the first and

second districts which of course includes the citadel and the area

immediately south of it where the fighting was the heaviest. Over

seventy meters of our major sewer line with five meter wide pipes

collapsed in Buda. On the Pest side the damage was equally severe.

The major pipes broke in three places along the river and further

out ln two places. In one of the outskirts where the sewer lines

have a diameter of two meters a section of no less than one hun­

dred and seventy meters in length was destroyed."

The litany went on.

"Additionally we have severe damages in many auxiliary sewer

lines. We suffered from bombs and artillery fire too. Perhaps

the worst damage was caused by the retreating German troops who

blocked up the major sewer lines with materials from the ruins.

Finally, our principal pumping station had more than thirty direct

hits "

"I can't stand this any more," whispered Pista, "I'm leaving."

"I '11 join you," said Pal.

"You deserve to hear another joke after all this," remarked

Pista, when they got out on the street.

"I could use a little humor now," said Pal.

"Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin have an after-dinner chat

and organize a little contest to see who can tell the biggest

lie."

-74-

"'We have a gentleman, '" Roosevelt started out, 'He can do a

three hundred meter long jump. '"

"' And we have a gentleman,' Churchill continued, 'who can

swim across the Channel in twelve minutes. '"

"Stalin was the last to speak. He said: II

"' And we have a gentleman ' "

" 'That's enough! You are the winner! II

liDo you know a place, II asked Pal, smiling, "where we could

get some genuine coffee ... none of that ersatz?"

"I know of a little cafe, not two blocks from here ... It's

a new one ... II

120.

After a day long trip, punctuated by frequent fits and stops,

Ian's train arrived near the outskirts of Budapest. He rigorously

observed the colonel's injunction and didn't utter a single word.

This behavior further aroused the suspicion of the POW's until Ian

hit upon the idea of acting as a mute. By the time the train

arrived in the vicinity of the Magyar capital, Ian had gotten very

hungry, but he didn't dare touch his hidden reserves of food, not

wanting to alienate his critics even further.

The stench inside the freight car became oppressive. The

cars were sealed. Only one bucket was provided for sanitary pur­

poses. The prisoners relieved themselves standing up, a practice

-75-

carried on, judging by the intensity of the odors, for several

days. Ian prayed for the moment when the guards would open the

doors. His wish was soon answered.

The train's escort was running along the tracks and let each

group of POW's out, for a few minutes each, carriage by carriage.

Soon Ian's was opened and he was able to jump out with the others.

The train stopped in open country with a few clusters of trees and

a railway siding just beyond the trees.

Ian headed for the trees as he wanted to answer nature's call

ln private. He was eating the hard-boiled egg and a bread-and­

butter sandwich when he heard a rustle behind him. He turned

around to see two Russian soldiers facing him. He calmly continued

to eat.

tlGermanski?tI they asked.

tlNyet, Italianski, tI replied Ian in pidgin Russian.

tlDocumenti. tI

"Documenti!" said the second soldier threateningly.

"Nyet documenti, tI replied Ian. tlNo documents. II He pointed

towards the train a few hundred yards away.

"Davai! II the Russians said. There was no appeal. Ian was

once again filled with panic.

The two soldiers led him away from the train. When Ian tried

to turn around to get back to the Italians, the soldiers jumped

him and with violent gestures indicated that worse was to follow.

Ian's brain was seething with fear. He was frantically trying to

-76-

figure a way out. No solution presented itself. The Russians

kept nudging him with the butts of their sub-machine guns.

After a half hour walk the group reached a familiar sight in

the outskirts of Budapest, a small settlement full of little

orchards and small plots. Ian was searched. His two remaining

sandwiches and his little tin mug were confiscated. One of the

soldiers stared at his boots. Ian began to tremble that he would

be stripped of them and even his overcoat. But the soldier was

distracted by a shout from his comrade. He had caught sight of

another man who must have been coming out of the starving capital

in search of a potato left in the ground and an apple or two. The

man was grabbed also.

The soldiers marched the pair off towards Budapest. The

eagerness with which the Russians captured passers-by led Ian to

believe there was some sort of a reward offered for each person.

On the way three more civilians were kidnapped.

The small column reached a Red Army encampment early in the

afternoon. In some ways Ian was relieved that he was no longer

the only prisoner, but he felt guilty at the thought. He didn't

really wish for anyone to be a captive, but he hoped that being

part of a group would offer a measure of security. He soon dis­

covered what a vain hope that was.

The encampment was even bigger than the one commanded by his

friend the colonel. In one group, hundreds of Magyars were kept

under guard. Another much larger group consisted of German POW's

who were constantly abused. These were the wretched remnants of

-77-

The

The

the one million soldiers in Hitler's Danube-Valley armies. Many

were injured and in obvious pain. No attempt was made to provide

medical care or food for them or decent sanitation. Many had no

overcoats and only rags to protect their feet.

Ian began to feel grateful for his lot. On the scale of

misery he was several notches above them. At least he had his

health, was well shod and had a warm overcoat.

He sidled up to the Russian field kitchen. They brought him

luck ln the past and would perhaps again today. He collected a

few sticks of wood and was rewarded with a bowl of hot soup_

It soon became dark. With no building to sleep in, Ian fell

asleep using the roots of a big oak near the field kitchen as his

pillow. He didn't dare to take off his overcoat and use it as a

blanket. He bundled himself into a ball and snatched a few hours

of sleep, but the bitter cold kept waking him up.

At dawn, the encampment came alive. A few hundred more German

POW's arrived, along with small parties of Magyar civilians.

All the prisoners were made to line up for head count.

Magyars were anxious to keep their distance from the Germans.

guards didn't mind. Separate groups made counting easier.

The head counting became an elaborate ceremony. The prisoners

were grouped in lots of twenty, then added up to a company of one

hundred, then sub-divided again. Once in a while a small group

was taken from one lot to another and then the process reversed.

Several Red Army officers appeared and the counting started

allover again. The procedure of counting went on, column by

-78-

column, group by group. A few captives were redistributed once

again until, Ian noticed, the Russian officers nodded in agreement.

The senior officer--he appeared senior because the other

officers treated him with deference--was still not satisfied.

Another count started. Ian was amazed at the mind-boggling tenacity

with which the Red Army bureaucracy clung to the ritual of the

head count. Finally the senior officer was satisfied too because

Ian saw the group of officers return towards the small forest

where they had come from two hours earlier.

Then the head-counters were relieved by a squadron of some

sixteen mounted troops. The Russian cavalry rode ponies rather

than horses, with their feet dangling almost to the ground. These

troopers looked different from the Red Army soldiers that Ian had

seen so far. They were small, mostly with Asiatic features, a

tough looking lot, impervious to the cold, and to feelings of any

kind.

Once again, the prisoners were lined up, this time five or

six abreast, into one single column with the German POW's up front

followed by civilians. The long column stretched as far as Ian

could see. The head of the column was at least two kilometers

away. Ian estimated there were upwards of five thousand in the

procession, but he wasn't sure at all. The troopers moved the

prisoners section by section in an easterly direction. Ian was

near the end of the column. It was quite a while before his turn

came to step out. However, once everyone was on the move, prog­

ress was rapid. The escort kept up the pressure.

-79-

After a march of not much more than five or six kilometers,

the sun went down. Then the prisoners were herded into a large

farm yard, the headquarters of a large estate. In the dark Ian

discerned several substantial buildings. He wondered about food.

No meal, not even a bowl of soup, was provided. Giving up the

thought of food, he crawled into a hay barn. At least it was a

roof over his head. Several hundred other Magyar prisoners joined

him.

Ian woke up thirsty, hungry and cold. He soon found a faucet

near the stable building, but it was frozen. He went on looking

and caught sight of a well near the main building, surrounded by

Russian troopers. Thirst overcame fear. He asked by gesture for

permission to draw a bucketful of water from the deep well. The

soldiers only shook their shoulders, which he took for assent. He

drank as much water as he could. The Russians, Ian noticed, had a

cold breakfast of slices of bread and bacon fat, a meagre meal,

but the soldiers subsisted on very little. The prisoners had to

subsist on nothing at all.

The rising sun, barely visible in the mist, didn't relieve

the cold. Ian felt even colder than he had during the night. He

began to shiver violently. The bitter cold heralded snow. It

came down soon, thick and fast. Incredibly, the head count started

allover again. The column needed at least an hour to line up.

Even in the snowstorm the ritual of counting had to go on.

It was not until mid-morning that the column of shivering

prisoners started to move. In the heavy snowfall progress was

-80-

l ,

slower than it had been the previous day, and less orderly. The

Magyars tried to keep closer together trying to protect each other

from the severe weather. As far as the eye could see, the prisoners

progressed like a column of ants. The troopers kept racing up and

down the line.

That morning Ian had heard the first crack of gun shots pene­

trate the misty freezing air with dull thuds from somewhere at the

head of the column.

Around midday the sun managed to penetrate the ghostly mist

of fog and snow. The countryside glistened in beautiful whiteness.

Only humanity, a few trees here and there interrupted the still­

ness, flatness, and whiteness. Ian felt as cold as ever. The icy

alr, full of ingenuity, penetrated the secret recesses of his

overcoat and every pore of his skin. He kept up a steady march-­

that at least kept his feet from freezing. He hoped for a mid-day

break. It didn't come. Once in awhile a trooper would race by on

his pony, brandishing his submachine gun, called by the prisoners

the "davai guitar," the "come hither guitar," supreme ruler of the

Danube Valley that bitter winter.

still the column vended its way steadily over the rolling

hillocks and flat stretches between Budapest and Miskolc in the

direction of Siberia. That dreaded word was first used by Ian's

fellow prisoners, who believed the pitiless herding would not stop

until the frozen wastelands of Asia. The prisoners talked about

fathers and uncles, POW's in the first war who had spent many a

year there.

-81-

In the afternoon when the pace of the column slackened, the

crack of gunfire became more frequent. But Ian was so absorbed in

the struggle of merely walking that he did not notice it, let

alone understand what it meant. The Magyar group gradually over­

took the German POW's who, in the extremity of privation, could

barely walk. Many were injured, and stumbled in the deepening

snow. One fell to the ground and couldn't get up. The prisoners

stopped to help. A trooper came to investigate and, without any

hesitation, shot the POW lying in the snow with a single bullet,

no small feat with an automatic submachine gun, which had more

firepower than accuracy. with barely a glance at the dead German,

the trooper galloped on to catch up with his comrades.

Ian stared for a moment at the motionless form a few meters

away lying in the frozen embrace of the glistening snow. Now,

with a shock, he understood what the gunfire meant.

-82-

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEATH MARCH

[ with the freedom of desire andwith honor, because you are themaker and molder of yourself inwhatever shape you prefer. Youhave the power to generate intothe lower form of life whichare brutish. You shall havethe power, out of your soul'sdecision, to be reborn into thehigher form.

pico della Mirandola

Everytime we think--this is theend, things just can't get anyworse; then we discover that itis possible for everything togo from bad to worse, and fromworst to worst.

Elma's diary, February 4, 1945

The impression I brought backfrom the Crimea, and from allmy other contacts, is thatMarshal Stalin and the Sovietleaders wish to live in honorablefriendship and equality withthe Western democracies. Ialso feel their word is theirbond. I know of no governmentwhich stands to its obligations,even at its own despite, moresolidly than the Russian Sovietgovernment.

Churchill in the House ofCommons, February 27, 1945 ]

121.

The third day of the march was the hardest on Ian, not so

much the deepening cold but the hunger. His inside was twisting

-83-

into an agonizing cramp. The water he had poured down his gullet

had fooled his stomach yesterday; today it demanded substance.

But no substance was forthcoming.

The mounted escort whenever within earshot of the prisoners

kept up a running ramble of grunts laced with oaths all along the

line. The object was to keep up the pace of the march regardless

of human cost, and keep their mounts exercised by galloping up and

down the column. That column still seemed infinitely long to Ian,

but the carnage reached frightful dimensions on that third day.

The cracks of fire were becoming a continuous accompaniment of the

march like some wintry and ghostly fireworks, each display of

death trying to outdo the previous one.

The troopers were, by their own rationale, performing a mer­

ciful mission--shortening the agony of the dying. On t:hat day and

the following day, German POW's, inadequately clothed and fed,

were falling with increasing frequency. The stumbling and the

fallen marchers were at the end of bodily endurance. Anyone fallen

and showing no effort to get up was soon discovered by the mounted

"mercy killers" who performed their appointed task with customary

efficiency. It was plain to see that falling to the ground and

failing to get up meant execution. Ian stumbled twice,. and with a

supreme effort managed to get up both times. From then on his

eyes were unconsciously fixed on the ground and led his feet to

level ground to avoid any further stumbles. simultaneously Ian

began to notice that his general faculty of observation was waning.

He began to pay less and less attention to the countryside, to the

-84-

snow, to his fellow marchers, even to the overpowering cold which

began to penetrate his marrow. His being had only enough power of

concentration left to direct one foot to step in front of the

other foot, and then lead the other foot to make one more step.

This process acquired a mechanical rhythm apart from his conscious­

ness. Some inner motor directed his steps, independent of any

feelings left in him.

Ian began to think less and less. On the first and second

day of the walk he had observed the gradations of bad, worse,

worst. That was all. But these simple gradations in the downward

scale were meaningless now by conventional reckoning. Ian stepped

down to the "worst," only to realize that there were seemingly

infinite gradations leading him further down. He could see that

he was still high up on the descending staircase and there were

innumerable steps further down into the depths.

Ian didn't register any alarm as he slid down the scale on

the third day of the march. There were all those many more steps

to descend! His faculties concentrated exclusively on the next

step and the step after that. His thinking was limited to concep­

tualizing what would happen on the fifth, the fifteenth, twenty­

fifth, fiftieth step down the staircase of misery beyond the next

rise in the terrain, beyond the gently sloping valley.

On the fourth day Ian felt something amounting to elation.

His insides were no longer twisted into knots. The body had no

energy to spare for luxurious hysterics, yet his elation, a kind

of light-headedness, was to some degree connected with his steady

-85-

loss of weight. Less and less energy was needed to propel his

body forward. Some particle of his brain was delighted by the

reduced workload. Dropping down on the floor of a barn on the

fourth night he tightened his overcoat against the frost. The

front part of his body now had a double layer of protection from

the overlapped coat. Some other particle in his brain kept saying

thank you, thank you for this new blessing. Ian's consciousness

kept getting these grateful messages. It seemed perfectly wonder­

ful that all the other impulses registering increasing hunger,

thirst, cold, soreness in the feet, increasing carnage along the

roadside were mercifully filtered out, only to let these little

messages of joy past the gates of awareness.

The fifth day the column reached a large encampment near a

town which I an thought was Miskolc. That thought was quickly

displaced by the smell of food being prepared. Each prisoner was

given an opportunity to drink clear water, followed by soup.

Bowls were not provided. Prisoners had the choice of cupping the

soup in their hands, dipping whatever headgear was available into

the soup or scrounging a mess tin from guards or other prisoners,

who possessed such a luxury item.

Ian dipped his hands in the hot soup but lost much of the

contents and warmth in the transfer to his mouth. Searching for

something better, he found a spoon on a rock near the field kitchen.

The soup was soaked up by his insides like water by parched sand.

within half an hour of taking nourishment Ian began to feel

dizzy and fell to the ground. He lay there he didn't know how

-86-

long. It was completely dark when he woke up. He got up and

noticed that the field kitchen serving the Russian troops was

still operating, continuing to brew soup all night long. He went

in search of fire wood. When he brought it to the sentries, he

was rewarded by additional spoonfuls of soup. Ian kept close to

the field kitchen, was accepted as a fixture, and good-naturedly

ordered around.

This agreeable state of affairs lasted only another day and

night. On the morning of the seventh day all the prisoners were

driven to a large field for the ceremony of the head count. Only

then did Ian grasp how much smaller his column had become. He had

no idea how the head counting was conducted except to notice that

the prisoners were again grouped in units of twenty to twenty­

five, that these units were amalgamated into companies of one

hundred and that the shuffling and reshuffling then went through

the customary permutations. There seemed to be fewer companies,

many fewer companies of one hundred, yet the headcount still took

so it appeared to Ian, an inordinate length of time.

Ian also noticed that he could see far fewer German uniforms

than the first time. At the beginning of the march the German

POW's had outnumbered the civilian captives. Now the proportions

were reversed. On the first day he was aware that many of the

German POW's were wounded, inadequately dressed and sick. Now he

noticed far fewer disabled ones. Some of the survivors had their

arms 1n slings. None of them had head wounds or injuries to legs.

Even with his reduced awareness, Ian was able to figure out that

-87-

gunshots had already eliminated the seriously wounded, the ill and

the marginal.

Ian hoped his group was going to get a new set of guards.

All it got was a batch of Magyars captured within the last few

days, presumably to replace the ones who had perished in the first

week of the march.

with the new arrivals the head count started allover agaln.

The column didn't start to move again in the same easterly, north­

easterly direction until the afternoon.

Ian looked at the rows of emaciated faces. They seemed all

eyes. He was filled with dread. The panic which had seized him

when he was recaptured had subsided, but he was still from time to

time swept thoroughly by a ground swell of fear. Yet just as the

successive waves of fear threatened to overwhelm him, he began to

feel his own individual vitality asserting itself in his spirit.

As he continued to march a paradoxical sense began to displace the

dread: the journey that appeared endless seemed to be almost

complete, for what is endless is very close.

Day and night became a routine. The day meant a continuous

concentration on putting one foot before the other and repeating

the process, allowing variations only for variations in the terrain.

The night meant rolling oneself up into the smallest possible

dimension, allowing the cold the minimum amount of surface to

penetrate. One new ritual was added to the process of going to

sleep: caring for feet which became increasingly sore and swollen.

Ian ventilated his feet for as long as he dared and tried to dry

-88-

his stinking socks near a camp fire.

Ian began to feel like a veteran. The descent into the lower

levels, step by inevitable step, continued. His bones began to

stick out rUbbing against the clothing. The weight of heavy over­

coat and the boots caused new sorenesses to spread uninvited all

over his body. He no longer understood anything. He was barely

aware of what was going on. In a very peculiar way he registered

events without anything much penetrating his consciousness. He

lost track of time, of the hours and days. The escort seemed to

be able to anticipate to the finest degree when total exhaustion

was about to set in. At that point food and water was provided.

The column started to snake upward into the foothills of the Car­

pathian Mountains, then into the mountains themselves.

As the cold deepened and the terrain became more tortuous,

the cracks of gunshots echoed and re-echoed in the passes of the

Carpathian Rockies with increasing frequency. The virgin snow was

bloodied by the rape of life.

122.

Ellen needed a push to come fully out of the shock she had

suffered when she had silently watched her twin being gang-raped.

Aunt Mitzi's arrival was just the tonic she craved for. It brought

her back into action. She was the only person to grasp the sig­

nificance of the truckload of provisions from Butnok. The house-

-89-

hold greeted it as a bountiful addition to the Chabaffy larder.

To Ellen, it was much more: an opportunity to boost the family

fortunes.

The large truckload was a veritable treasure trove: half a

dozen pigs, hams, sausages, bacon and lard; honey, flour, nine

barrels of goose fat and gooseliver, rice, sacks of potatoes,

lentils, apples and much more besides. In a metropolis stripped

of the necessities for survival, it was enough to open a grocery

store. That gave Ellen an idea: she was going into barter trading

on a large scale.

She started modestly enough, trading flour for window panes

for the house. The success encouraged her. She needed penicillin

for Elma.

She decided to sell the entire hoard for a small fortune in

Napoleon gold coins. with Jakab's help she found a Red Army cap­

tain named Nikolai who willingly loaned a GMC truck in exchange of

a dozen watches for a trip to Butnok. There the peasants, having

been cheated by too many phony Russian bank notes, were happy to

barter produce for gold coins. Ellen rapidly developed a shuttle

service, bringing food stuffs into the capital and taking back

yard-goods, gasoline in barrels, and other merchandise needed in

the countryside. Next, her Russian captain led Ellen to a small

warehouse full of cigarettes, even more desirable currency than

gold. Although a non-smoker, Ellen didn't quite understand the

desperate need for cigarettes, she did grasp that it was the ace

in the game of trading.

Meanwhile Aunt Mitzi took over the running of the household.

Ellen sent her on errands which were too dangerous for younger

women--across the Danube to city hall for a building permit to

rebuild the house, to the hospital to fetch a doctor for Elma, to

the great wholesale-market with messages to middlemen with exact

want lists. The rest of the time Aunt Mitzi was at home looking

after Elma, who was making her recovery much faster than expected.

In less than a week, she was out of bed and within six weeks, she

was pronounced cured.

Ellen's real break in her new enterprise came when Vince and

Janos, the chauffer-valet, located a disassembled truck for sale

for a few gold coins. The owner did not dare to reassemble the

vehicle, fearing it might be immediately confiscated by the occu­

pation troops. Vince and Janos rebuilt the vehicle in the garage

at Jakab's police station. Ellen was no longer dependent upon Red

Army transportation.

Her profit from the first trip to Butnok under her own power

was more than sufficient to buy a second truck. She urged Janos

to spread the news about a crazy woman willing to pay cash and

cigarettes for a truck in running order. The unemployed mechanics

in Buda went to work and cannibalized the wrecks which were lying

allover the city, left behind by the retreating Germans. Ellen

was able to build up a fleet of trucks of uncertain vintage and

absolute reliability.

Nikolai continued to be of serVlce, managlng to find anything

from tires to gasoline for Ellen's burgeoning transportation empire.

He also found soldiers who were willing to moonlight as armed

guards on every trip of her growing fleet of trucks.

Because the aftermath of the siege had created a distorted

set of values, lard, ham, cigarettes and eggs were selling at

astronomic prices in relation to antique furniture, oil paintings,

rare books, valuable master prints, oriental carpets and furs.

Ellen sold high and bought low. She bought huge quanti ties of

priceless antiques in exchange for small quantities of food stuffs.

The Chabaffy's rebuilt third floor became a vast storehouse. with

incredible speed Ellen became a wealthy woman. The profit on

every trip, lasting two days at the most, was comparable to the

profit margins of Dutch merchants who ran the Indian spice trade

centuries earlier. A one hundred gold coin investment in cigar­

ettes and food stuffs had yielded a profit of three to four hun­

dred percent in forty-eight hours, the same margin the Dutch traders

had banked over a two to three year period.

Yet, Ellen was no fly-by-night operation. She was meticulous

about licenses and personally visited the new economic czar of the

capital, whose name translated from Russian meant "iron," to get a

license to operate her vehicles. To her amazement, Commissar Iron

had a beautifully capitalistic flair for free enterprise and an

equal contempt for red tape. within fifteen minutes he issued the

necessary permits, stamped by seals showing the hammer and sickle.

Ellen knew these licenses and impressive stamps carried much less

weight with the Red Army checkpoints and free-lance marauders than

-92-

her armed guards, but mindful of her name and position, she decided

to adhere to the necessary formalities.

Ellen was but a single example of the tremendous vitali ty

which became manifest among thousands upon thousands of citizens

of the capital. As soon as the Red Army pillage and rape subsided,

the clearing of the mounds of rubble began in earnest. No direc­

tives were needed from city hall or any government bureaurocracy

to get the hordes of citizens to clear the streets, restore utili­

ties, and get a start rebuilding and repairing the houses of

Budapest.

The most ingenious makeshift arrangements were often invented

on the spot. Everybody had only one aim, to get the job done.

The central authorities and the Communist economic "geniuses" were

still in Russia and Debrecen, the provisional capital located in

eastern Magyarland and had not had an opportunity to interfere

wi th the rebirth of Budapest. Their sole representative, Commissar

Iron, was acting like a prohibition blockade-runner. "Anything

goes" seemed to be his guiding principle.

In the first weeks of March Ellen could be well-satisfied

with her business success. All her feverish activity helped her

forget Andy, whose absence had become a gaping void in every day

of existence, every night of loneliness. She missed her two

brothers only a little less: Imre, swallowed up, along with Andy,

ln the Gestapo jungle, and Ian, dear imprudent Ian, swallowed up

in some slave labor camp or marching column headed for Siberia.

And of course her great idol, her father, was still in America.

-93-

Whenever she stopped working, she prayed alot and cried even

more. But she didn't let feelings of regret or sentiments of

revenge and retribution sap her vital energies. She realized

there was much to be done, and she was ready to do it. Above all,

she had faith that the men in her life would return safe and sound

and that there would be many tomorrows of joy and happiness. It

would have been comfortable to succumb to despair and discourage­

ment, but Ellen had no time to spend on such luxurious self­

indulgence. She wanted to be ready when Andy came and put his

arms around her. She wanted to be proud when Imre returned from

Germany. She wanted to laugh again when Ian came back from Russia.

She wanted to be worthy when her father returned from America.

123.

Through the spectrum of paln, through the cry of icy winds

and death sharpening its appetite, through the flakes freezing the

eyelashes and the collapse of past and present, what kept moving

but ghostly figures under the eclipse of the sun, the moon and the

stars.

Riders became one with their ponies, bound in hoarfrost, and

the marchers became one with the landscape, a white oneness.

Blood assumed the cold of indifference and fever the fire of icicles.

Hands became fisted with frostbite and intestines twisted into

fire-hot knots. There were no Wallenbergs, no Red Cross, no con-

-94-

science-stricken generals to witness, let alone stop the march of

death. The descent of degradation continued. Ian barely had any

stool any more. It was so cold that the arc of his piss froze in

the arctic wind which beat against the northern and eastern slopes

of the Carpathian Rockies. Prisoners were munching bullet-hard

human waste like raisins. Even the troopers were grinding their

teeth.

When the column finally staggered down into the no-man's land

between Poland and Russia, it reached a town whose language Ian

didn't understand.

The marchers cut through a large corn field on the outskirts

of the town. Ian blessed it with each step. Miracle of miracles,

he found an ear of corn on one of the cornstalks, bone dry and

frostbitten. He munched on it for hours and washed it down with

snow melted in his mouth. It was the richest banquet he had di­

gested in his seventeen and one-half years.

The disintegrating column spread out in the yard of an old

farmhouse. The prisoners were allowed to collapse for two days.

It took that long for the local commander to find work for that

untapped pool of labor.

An enormous shipment of U.S.-made trucks had just arrived on

the railroad flat cars. These had to be unloaded and then the

trucks had to be loaded with crates of ammunition, all marked

IIMade in U.S.A. II This work would have staggered stevedores fed on

steaks, but the work had to be done.

-95-

Six, seven, eight people were needed to lift the crates of

ammunition. Lifted they were, first off the rail cars and then

onto the trucks.

The food rations were increased to subsistence levels which,

in comparison with the non-existent or marginal rations over the

trans-Carpathian trek, were abundant. Anything more would have

burst the shrunken stomaches and the shriveled intestines of the

prisoners.

with increased calories and higher levels of activity Ian's

brain cells began to function again. He was able to perceive that

all the prisoners could be accommodated on one large field for the

daily ritual of the head count. He made an estimate by running

his eyes over the companies of one hundred. He was unable to

count up to ten. From five thousand, the shipment of prisoners

had sunk below one thousand.

At the end of one work day, all the prlsoners were lined up.

The commander of the troopers made a curt speech which was trans­

lated into German, Magyar and Rumanian by several interpreters.

The gist of the message was that any attempts to escape were futile

and would be severely punished. For every escaped prisoner or for

every prisoner who attempted to escape, an equal number of prisoners

would be executed.

Ian couldn't make any sense of this exhortation. Escape to

him appeared impossible. Quite simply, the idea of escape had

never entered his mind because his mind was so pre-occupied with

. survival that there was absolutely no room left for any other

-96-

thought. The exhortation planted a seed in Ian's mind. His cap­

tors would not have talked about escape if escape had never

occurred. That was as far as his thought process went in those

blood-chilling days in early April.

The ants finally moved the mountains of ammunition and the

trainload of trucks. The prisoners were able to rest, but again

the military bureaucracy caught up with them in forty-eight hours.

Someone realized that the emptied freight cars had to roll back

east to pick up another shipment of American military aid and that

those freight cars might profitably be loaded with the humanity

which had unloaded them. The prisoners were marched to the freight

cars and yet another head count was performed. Then the prisoners

were marched back to the farm, awaiting clearance from some higher

authority to ship them further east.

Ian looked skeletal, but felt alive and happy to think that

at least the march was over. That old feeling that this was grand

adventure began to come back to him. Surviving the trek over the

mountains gave him confidence he could survive anything his cap­

tors were able to dish out. That was, of course, a totally irra­

tional kind of logic. Hovering on the brink of extinction as Ian

was, logic could make no claims.

Ian again thcught of escape, but dismissed it as out of the

question. Should he even attempt an escape, one of his fellow

prisoners would be shot. He could not knowingly be the cause of

another human being's death, however cheap human life seemed to be

now.

-97-

Once he emptied his mind of the idea of escape, Ian became

occupied primarily with survival again. Where was he going to get

the necessary calories which were absolutely essential for his

survival? He was unable to form too many cohesive patterns of

thought except one, that if he were to continue to get as little

food as he had received in captivity so far, his body just couldn't

last much longer. For three or maybe four weeks? For perhaps a

few months? He didn't know and didn't want to know. What he did

see with absolute clarity was that there was a definite limit to

his physical endurance.

He arrived at that conclusion without passion, sorrow, or

despair. It was one of those things which was as irrefutable as

the behavior of the guards, the coldness of the winter, the height

of the Carpathians and the sub-machine gun's power to kill.

Somehow he had to get nearer the source of supply. On the

second or third day of loading and unloading on the way back to

the farm which served as the POW camp, Ian deviated slightly from

the path beaten by the others and veered closer to the kitchen.

The kitchen was housed in one of the small farm buildings.

It had been a tool shed or outhouse in peace times, a one story

building with windows on three sides, and a small opening on the

fourth.

Ian's boldness was rewarded with an amazing sight. One of

the small windows was slightly raised to let a bit of the heat of

cooking out. On the window sill he saw a chunk of butter. Was it

really butter? Was anyone looking? What would be the punishment

-98-

awaiting him for stealing that piece of butter? Was that butter

part of the prisoners' daily ration? Was he justified in appor­

tioning food to himself that didn't belong to him? All these

thoughts flashed through his mind in a matter of seconds.

He swiftly glanced around and didn't see anybody close to

him, nor anyone watching him. Ian dashed up to the window sill,

snatched the chunk of butter, and jammed it into the outside pocket

of his overcoat.

For the rest of that day he wondered when the sky was going

to fallon him. The sky didn't fall. For the first time since

his capture, Ian had done something risky. And he had gotten away

with it.

124.

That one day of not marching and working had produced curious

sensations in I~n.

He discovered that even that short relaxation had pointed up

all his infirmities. The slight injury on his arm caused during

the siege by a flying fragment of a mine projectile had been almost

healed when he first went to the Russians. It had now stopped

healing. In the last few days a darkening ring had appeared around

it, accompanied by painful itching. The boots, once taken off,

were hard to put back oni the swelling of his feet would not sub-

-99-

side. The butter he had mixed in his soup only made him hungrier.

Swellings and itches stood out allover him.

Despite these privations Ian was happy. It was a day spirit

whispered lessons to him through an inner communications system

which became unblocked by the purifying fire he was going through.

He felt the touch of Heaven, though he soon had to return to the

paths of suffering and learning. That still small voice told him

that wisdom and understanding were beginning to filter into his

soul. Ian at first resisted these intonations but the still small

VOlce had a familiar ring--it brought back echoes of that communl­

cation he had heard on a Sunday morning in church on the citadel

long ago.

Do not hate, the voice whispered.

Ian was aware that hate had never touched him during the

march. Others often gave vent to the hate swelling inside them

and directed it against the captors as the source of all the

miseries of the camps, the march, and the weather. But Ian was

immunized against hate, the desire to get revenge would sap his

strength, destroy his inner stability.

[ Love your enemies, ] Ian remembered this command from the

sermon of the Mount. It was the hardest to accept. Ian didn't

feel hate, nor the need for revenge, but to cross the bridge of

peace from those negative emotions was not quite possible yet.

But he no longer participate in outbursts of hate and revenge were

thick around him. Neither could he be completely unaffected by

them. If the one day of rest revealed Ian's infirmities, it devas-

tated many who had been sUbsisting on the borderline of survival.

The prisoners spent the next morning digging a large shallow grave

in the rock-like earth. More than one hundred, mostly Wehrmacht

soldiers, were put to rest. Ian didn't have time to reflect, only

to pray. The mass funeral was a simple Lord's Prayer, each sec­

tion of it imparting new meaning in the desolation. Ian repeated

several times: " deliver us from evil ... deliver us from

evil " and "give us our daily bread give us our daily

bread " The silent circle around the communal grave was more

solemn than a cathedral organ and more moving than massed choirs.

The wind was the organ and the choir.

Ian felt guilty for not feeling any anguish over his fellow

marchers, laid out in their shallow grave, but they were better

off without tortured frames, aching bones and starving flesh. Had

physical degradation ground him down to polished indifference? He

didn't think so, but thought itself was an exertion far beyond his

finite energy.

His life force dictated absolute and unconditional economy.

No room for pity and self-pity. No space for hate and revenge.

No room for escape schemes, for resistance. Room for prayer, for

the minimum necessary exertion for survival, for hunger in all its

persistent forms. And room for a dream about Maria. Perhaps it

was not a dream.

Ian curled himself into a bundle in what was once a hayloft

that night after the day of doing nothing much except drinking the

soup with all the butter melted in it. He was once again very

-101-

cold, yet one step above the lowest step, a single gradation over

the deepest depth he had plumbed so far.

A violent convulsion seized him, brought on by the certainty

that Maria was close by, calling him. His life force told him to

calm himself, because convulsions cause unnecessary expenditure of

precious energy.

Something inside him stronger than himself listened. It was

strong as the panic which seized him when he had been recaptured.

It was an irresistible tugging. It enveloped his whole being.

Emotion, absent in waking since his captivity, had returned to his

being. He tried to recall her beloved face. The light of her

loving eyes.

That was as far as his dream would let him visualize her.

She receded into an insubstantial form. She was there but not

clearly visible. That tantalizing nearness yet remoteness pulled

him towards her. [Where was she? ] he wondered. [What was she

doing right now? Was she in danger? Did someone threaten her?

Was she ... dying? Was she ... ? ]

He knew! She was calling him! Maria needed him, right then,

that very moment. She wanted him to be with her.

The pull receded. Ian began falling into a void. Maria

became more and more remote. Then she came back, calling him,

asking for him. Then she faded behind the veil again, like a

shadow.

A third time, she returned, cry1ng out for him, wordlessly.

This time the call was the strongest.

-102-

Ian flew toward her, effortlessly, marvelling at a magnifi­

cent sensation of soaring without wings, like a rocket. One more

instant and he'd be with her ...

with a sudden start Ian woke up. He noticed the white snow

reflected on the rough beam above him. He knew exactly where he

was. He wished to go back to the other world where he was flying

to rescue his beloved. There was no going back to that weight­

lessness, that world of dreams.

This dream jolted Ian out of his single-minded obsession with

personal survival. Up to then he had barely noticed his fellow

prisoners. He knew about them, he recognized their existence, yet

he could not establish any relationships. What he could do was to

see with true vision. That vision, unperceived by his physical

eyes, told him that Maria was alive, that he was alive, that they

would both survive this experience. He felt lifted onto a differ­

ent plane by the vision. But his innocence was gone. Before the

dream he had not fully appreciated the seriousness of his circum­

stances nor of life itself. Despite the constant brush with ex­

tinction, despite the ever-present hunger, the cliff-hanger close­

ness of danger and annihilation, he lived the march as the adven­

ture of a boy in his physical prime, as a test of his physical

endurance as an experience. During the panic of his recapture he

began to view his situation more seriously, but even when his

spirit reasserted itself within him, he still felt as if he were

on some high adventure. As he had marched along, he had imagined

-103-

that a curtain would go up any minute, and that applause would

bring him back from the insanity of the march.

Now Ian realized, however, that what he had once viewed as

substantial, stable reality was an illusion, even an illusion

within an illusion, gone forever. Before the dream, Ian had been

immune to what was going on around him. A blessed veil hid the

horror, the holocaust, around him. Now the veil was blown away

and he had to face

the face of a trooper who was yelling at the top of his

vOlce.

Another speech about the futility of escape. Another ritual

of the dawn head count.

The departure was delayed by Ian knew not what. Several more

prisoners had died and were buried immediately. The burial was

followed by a march to the railway line. This time the prisoners

did get on the train. It consisted of flat cars. Most of the

troopers stationed themselves in the box car in the rear to be

able to shoot any prisoner jumping off the train. The ponies were

tethered in the center of the train watched over by the remaining

sentries.

At the last moment the commander of the troop showed up,

pranced on his pony up and down the train. Ian wondered if he had

ordered another head count. He stayed behind when the train started

to move, slowly, in an easterly direction. The slow pace was not

surprising as the railway tracks along with much of the countryside

had been blown up by the retreating Germans and had not been com-

pletely rebuilt. The train moved through desolation. The snow,

blanketing much of the destruction, could not hide the burned down

villages, the scarred forests, the emptiness all around. The

train gathered speed as it continued its journey towards Asia.

Ian sensed that the further east the train carried him, the

lesser his chances of survival, the harder the journey back to

freedom. The survival instinct became very loud inside him. For

the first time he began to think seriously about escaping.

On the second day the locomotive broke down. Some eight

hundred prisoners decamped in the middle of nowhere In a frozen

plain, blasted by winds as cold as the fingers of ice.

125.

Liza gave a birthday party for the Pisces twins, born on

Independence Day, March the fifteenth. This celebration was an

indication of the extent to which ravaged Budapest had risen from

the ashes. A tremendous vitality had survived the disaster and

was evident in the Magyar capital in the Spring of 1945. without

a government, with its churches and hospitals and schools in ruins,

the houses and apartments stripped not only of their wealth, but

their basic necessities and occupied by a ferocious horde of com­

missars and free-lance looters, Budapest remained Budapest as it

had been in spirit before Christmas. Nearly everything that could

-105-

be physically shattered in the Magyar capital had been shattered,

except some mysterious life force which remained indomitable.

This resurrection was the more miraculous because merely the

stripes of the occupying forces had been changed, the methodical

and efficient Germans were exchanged for the random and ruthless

Russians. In insane, wholesale pillage and rape, the Russians had

no peers. The liberators became oppressors and oppressors by

definition throw spanners in the works.

Even that didn't keep Budapest down. At least not in 1945.

Atilla and Veronka came up from the country estate for the twins'

birthday party. Jakab was dashing as ever, Aunt Mitzi all aflut­

ter, Christina hanging onto Bela back from captivity, Lotti and

Margit flirtatious, Hansie smiling, and Vince and Juliska over­

joyed to see the homestead full of life once again. The Chabaffy

set was determined to look forward and not dwell on the past.

The twins had matured a decade in the three months since the

start of the siege. If Elma was sadder and more subdued, she had

gained in compassion and sweetness. Many a woman had become em­

bittered and emotionally crippled by having been raped and humili­

ated in unmentionable degrees, but not Elma. A close observer may

have noticed a melancholy in her beautiful eyes, screened by her

natural vivacity and ever-present concern for others. Her friends

and family were struck by her continued sweet innocence.

Ellen matured along different paths. She realized that with

her father and brothers absent it was up to her to be the standard

bearer of the Chabaffy clan. She had to become the behind-the-

-106-

would give up any hour. Worse still, Ian began to lose his memory.

He had been trudging all day when the terrible realization came to

him, that every time he stopped he left something behind. In the

morning he forgot his gloves. At night it was still cold and he

needed those gloves. He had put them down somewhere and he had

forgotten to pick them up. Then it was his cap, and next it was

the knife the Poles had given him, and then his scarf. Each time

it was something important for his own survival.

It was an awful thought: Ian was becoming his own worst

enemy.

For two days he walked, close to unconcsiousness. The ter­

rain became hilly and at times heavily wooded. One evening at the

edge of a forest, a peasant woman asked him to stop. She ran to

her farmhouse and brought him some food. Ian was so weak he could

barely masticate. She returned from a second trip to her home

with a jug of milk. He broke into tears when he was unable to get

up to thank her. She invited him to stay. Ian refused to stay at

her house, but crept into the barn where he slept for more than

twenty-four hours.

It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon when Ian set out again.

He found out from the farmers that he was close to the Bavarian

border. He was warned to be careful because the area was full of

Red Army troops. He estimated it would take him only a few days

to reach Bavaria.

He walked to the nearby forest and rested until sunset. Then

he walked steadily for four nights and slept during the days.

-150-

Several times he heard the guttural voices of the Red Army soldiers

and saw campfires and long lines of army trucks, artillery trains,

and squadrons of T-34 type tanks. He hid in the bushes and moved

stalthily and quietly like a cat in the dark.

On his sixth day after leaving the barn, late at night, close

to daybreak, he realized he had left his overcoat in the forest

where he had slept and rested the previous day. It was unbeliev­

able that he could have abandoned his most precious possession.

[ I really must be going out of my mind. It's a form of

suicide. I'm killing myself by stripping myself of everything,

even the coat off my back. ]

He greedily drank from a puddle and continued to stumble

forward.

[ What if I lose my sense of direction and start walking

eastward! Oh, God, give me just one more day. Please let me walk

just beyond the next hill. ]

All of Ian's reserves were used up. He felt himself go~ng

downhill with exhilarating speed. That was pure illusion. Ian

collapsed unconscious for the last time. A signal detachment of

an U.S. Army unit found him a few hours later.

From then on, everything moved with clock-like prec~s~on.

The sergeant called field headquarters and an ambulance arrived

within the hour. At the medical center Ian was diagnosed to be so

critical that a helicopter was called in. Within three hours, Ian

was carried on a stretcher through the emergency entrance of the

U.S. Army hospital in Munich, the capital of Bavaria.

-151-

The doctors and nurses were accustomed to the sight of bodies

like Ian's. They had done heroic deeds to save the inmates of the

nearby Dachau concentration camp a few months earlier when it had

been liberated by the u.s. Army.

In those days and weeks, they had learned that only drastic,

intensive, and immediate medical attention of the highest order

could possibly save a person in Ian's condition. In Dachau, hun­

dreds of inmates had died after the liberation because disease,

starvation and privation had already reached such an advanced

state of destruction, that the effects proved quite irreversible.

The marvellous team spent five hours trying to save Ian.

with infinite care his tattered clothing, and his filthy bandages

were peeled off. Glucose and blood plasma were pumped into him,

along with massive doses of vitamins.

Ian was immersed in a warm bath. His hair was cropped short,

and deloused. His innumerable scabs and sores were swabbed. His

feet were gently massaged. His wounds were attended to with the

most loving and professional care.

Ian was unconcious throughout these administrations. But the

doctors and nurses looked worried. His fever was mounting to one

hundred and two, one hundred and four, up gradually and relent­

lessly, to the burning point.

"It is what I suspected all along," said one doctor.

"It's a clear case," replied another.

"Gastric typhoid, II pronounced the chief surgeon.

"Poor bastard," remarked a nurse.

-152-

"We must keep trying. II

lilt's pretty hopeless. II

"What are the odds, one out of two thousand?"

-153-

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DELIVERANCE

Deliver us from evil.

The Lord's Prayer

'That's a fine death!'said Napoleon, looking down.

Tolstoi, War and Peace ]

133.

Tonus' condition worsened after Imre left the Dachau concen-

tration camp with the special prisoners. Morale among the German

staff dropped sharply. Conditions in the hospital steadily deter-

iorated. The dispensary began to run out of its meagre stocks at

the beginning of April. Fuel was low, nurses and doctors were

leaving.

Federico came every day, but Tonus didn't notice him. She

was asleep most of the time.

The advance guards of the u.S. Army liberated the camp on

April 29th. Special medical units began the herculean task of

saving the lies of thousands of inmates who were at the brink of

death.

-154-

Their first job was to take over the management of the hospital

and begin the inventory of skeletal humans, many of whom were

barely able to move. Tonus was one of the first attended to.

That saved her life. The Americans got the heating system cranked

up again, which meant that one of the most important therapies was

available to save the young Magyar woman--immersion in hot baths.

When Uncle Egon came out from Munich a week later, Tonus was

off the critical list, which was running into the thousands.

Uncle Egon wanted to get his niece out of the camp, but the U.s.

Army doctors advised that she not be moved for at least another

week. During his first visit, he told her that Imre was heading

towards Naples, where he last saw him, before returning to Budapest.

He could give her no address or any other information.

Early in June Tonus was back in Munich under the care of the

nuns attached to the archbishopric. She was grateful for life.

She was still numbed by the experience, but mostly by Imre's absence.

She needed him. Her uncle and the nuns were wonderful, but Tonus,

crushed and then resurrected, cried out for a different kind of

tenderness.

At the end of a month she was transferred to the summer camp

of the Catholic seminary, which had escaped the worst ravages of

the war. She wanted to forget. Uncle Egon asked her to talk, but

she refused.

"Please don't ask me ever again about anything concerning

Dachau. The sooner I forget, the better."

"I understand."

-155-

"I'd like to go back to Budapest, to be with Imre," she said

quietly.

"You know, my dear," replied Uncle Egon politely, "that is

out of the question. The Russians are there. You won't be able

to get even as close as the border. Personal safety is non­

existent."

"Can I at least go back to Graz?"

"Please understand, Tonus, my dear." Uncle Egon adopted the

tone of a person talking to an unreasonable child. "The Russians

are in Vienna and allover eastern Austria. It would be folly to

expose yourself to such danger. If you feel well enough to travel,

perhaps you'd feel like doing something useful," her uncle sug­

gested, adroitly changing the subject.

"Of course. What do you have in mind, Uncle Egon?" she asked

with resignation in her voice. She loved her uncle, but she wanted

to be with Imre. She was tired of seeing priests and nuns.

"I could have you enrolled as a student nurse."

Anything to get away from there. That is how it came about

that in July Tonus found herself in a makeshift hospital in Munich

used by the U. S. Army.

She did regain her lost weight, but often she would still

walk like a somnambulant. Spells of dizziness frequently forced

her to sit down and take a rest. The matron was briefed on her

condition and gently guided the young countess through the first

steps in her new profession.

-156-

The patients loved her slow movements, soft eyes, quiet man­

ners and reassuring smile. As she spoke better English than most

of the nurses, she spent much of her time talking to wounded GIs.

Gradually, the sharp pain of separation receded.

She finally received a letter from her mother in Graz.

[ My dear Tonus! I'm sending this letter via the archbishop

of Salzburg. We are all well. For a while we were really con­

cerned that the Russians would get here, but fortunately they

stopped only a short distance from here. We are under the protec­

tion of the Americans and the British. Food is still scarce. We

were told your health has greatly improved. Please let us hear

from you soon. Lotti and Christine send greetings and best wishes.

with fondest greetings from your Mami. ]

Tonus welcomed the letter, but she was really hoping to hear

from Imre. The days, weeks, more than a month had passed without

a single word from him. Communications in the chaos following the

cessation of hostilities were almost non-existent. This her im­

patient heart could not quite fathom.

Didn't he love her any longer? Was he ill and nobody would

tell her? Where was he? Still in Italy? Back in Budapest?

These and thousands of other questions tormented her mind. Slowly

these questions became less insistent. Imre was still often on

her mind, but the memory of his presence became more blurred as

she progressed with her training in the hospital.

She got another letter from her mother, with news about Lotti's

engagement to Prince Ludovico Borghina-Lepanto, a banker from

-157-

Milan in his early forties, and of the expected arrival of Bela,

Atilla's brother, who had returned from the Russian front with a

bad leg wound, still anxious to marry Christine.

This news would have made Tonus happy under normal circum­

stances, but her circumstances were anything but normal. New

doubts assailed her about Imre. She thought everybody was pairing

off, only she was left alone with her hospital work and her wounded

GIs.

In desperation, she asked the senior medical officer she knew

to forward a letter to Imre. He promised he would sent it through

the military post office channels to the American mission in

Magyarland.

That night she sat down to write the first letter to her

beloved.

"Darling! II she wrote in English, then continued in German,

which was easier for her now, than Magyar:

[ It has been sixty-six days since you left. I can barely

grasp the idea of your being away. I'm writing these few lines to

let you know how said I am that you are gone.

Here I am left alone. I only wish I had had enough strength

to leave the camp with you together. When I was told for the

first time that you had left, I tried to get out of bed and run

after you!

I wonder how you feel ... my poor Imre, I hope you are in

better health. I'm very concerned about you. Please, please,

promise me to think about yourself, too!

-158-

I'm full of longing to have some news from you, even a scrap

of information would make me so happy.

It is late at night. I'll continue with this tomorrow. ]

Tonus was overcome with emotions and started to cry. She was

barely able to finish the last sentence. The following night, she

sat down to write again. It was more difficult than she had imagined

it would be.

[ Best beloved Imre! ] she continued. [Today, it has been

the sixty-seventh day without you. Whenever I hear the telephone

ring, I think it is you calling and then I remember that you are

so far away. My only consolation is that each day brings us closer

together! I trust you had a safe journey through Italy. I hope

it was not too trying and that you had a good rest somewhere.

Here it is overcast, all is gray, but it is quiet warm now.

(1 would much prefer that it were cold, and you near me!)

I wish I had someone to talk to. I can declare now quite

openly that life has no meaning to me without you. I hope you

feel the same way. I could cry all day, I miss you so much, ] and

here Tonus wrote in English:

[ ... can't help it darling, I love you so much. ]

Reverting to German, she continued:

[ My life goes on. I work as a volunteer nurse in a u.S.

Army hospital here in Munich. Uncle Egon is getting ready to go

to Graz, travelling the round-about way to avoid the Russians. I

had two letters from Mami. Lotti is getting married and Christine

also. The days are going by slowly with terrible sadness. ]

-159-

For a long time, Tonus stared in front of her. She wanted to

write more but she didn't quite know how to put her feelings down

on paper.

[ I trust this letter will reach you in good health. I so

much long to get a letter from you. When are you going to write

to me?

with all my love, always yours, Tonus. ]

134.

Imre and Atilla had a magnificent early summer day to fly to

Magyarland, taking a route similar to the one Andy had taken last

year, across the Adriatic Sea and the mountain-vastness of Yugo­

slavia to reach the plains of Transdanubia.

The difficulties in getting clearance for their flight gave

them a foretaste of what was to come. The energetic intervention

of a no-nonsense American general finally brought Russian clearance

for landing near Budapest. The plane carried vitally needed medi­

cation and medical equipment. The Russians were in no mood to let

the Americans shine in the light of generosity and caused endless,

frustrating delays. The real reason for the stone-walling was the

Kremlin's security organization was not anxious to see Imre back

in a position of power and influence. Nor were they eager for

Atilla to return. His father's rule as premier was already being

rewritten as fascist and feudal.

-160-

Flying low once they crossed the river Drava into Magyar

airspace, the cousins could see the scars of war still gaping

below. But on many fields and farms the peasants were busy spring

sowing. The real shock greeted them when the plane neared the

devastation of Budapest. From a long distance, the ruins of the

citadel and the proud and beautiful bridges lying on the bottom of

the Danube River were starkly visible. Before the two young Magyars

had a chance to take a closer look, the plane banked steeply and

in a few minutes landed on the makeshift runway of the Budaors air

field.

News of their arrival spread instantly through the capital.

Next day, Ellen was hostess to a reception for Imre held in the

Chabaffy townhouse in Buda. Atilla had taken off earlier to his

country home, where Veronka was awaiting his return.

After riding up the Citadel where every house wore the deep

scars of the siege, and seeing debris around the doorways of his

home, Imre was relieved and happily surprised that much of the

inside was habitable and in reasonably good shape.

Ellen and Vince, along with many of their fellow citizens of

Budapest, had done miracles of restoration. When the reign of

pillage and rape had subsided, the capital had thrown itself with

a will to the tremendous task of rebuilding. Everyone wanted to

forget the past and worked wonders to eliminate any visible signs

of the war. Ellen related how she had gotten a building permit,

and reduced the height of the town house by one floor, destroyed

largely during the siege, put a new roof on and managed to barter

-161-

some of the precious stocks of her larder for scarce window panes.

At first Vince had been slow to remove the debris as roaming Rus­

sian bands still kidnapped people at random off the streets weeks

even after the five-day free-for-all allowed by the liberators had

expired. Inside the house was shipshape, however. But the big­

gest changes Imre found were invisible. These were the changes in

the minds and hearts of the people and in himself. He didn't weep

at the news Ellen and Vince told him. Elma had just completed her

cure. He noticed a subtle change in her eyes, but the gentility,

the beauteous sweetness remained in her face. To Imre what was a

revelation was that there was no hatred in her heart. There was a

readiness to forgive. But most of the Red Army troops which stormed

Budapest had been moved on to conquer Vienna and then speedily

withdrawn into the vast caverns of interior Russia. Consequently,

daily contact with the rapists and robbers was no longer much of a

problem. The rapacious front line troops were replaced by a new

set of conquerors who were instruments of a longer term plan, not

yet completely formulated, or at least not yet visible to the

war-weary populace. At least the initial stages of that longer

term policy were founded on wisdom and understanding--give the

Magyars free reign to rebuild their shattered country.

While Imre was noticing the changes in those around him,

Ellen was noticing the changes in him. She was shattered by the

first glimpse of him: the shrunken frame, the hollow cheeks, the

strands of grey hair had not disappeared in the balm of Capri. He

had aged a decade in the half year in the concentration camps.

-162-

But his sense of humor was preserved and his spirituality and love

of God had deepened. She also noticed his determination never to

let this happen again. Imre would share with her the outlines if

not the details of his rescue of Tonus in Dachau. Ellen was not

hesitant to describe the siege, Mami's death, the fire that had

burned the underground hospital. She only glossed over the details

of their sister's rape. Sensing the void in Imre's life created

by the absence of Tonus and Ian, Ellen planned to fill this with

political activity. Instinctively, her adoration of her brother

guided her to the one real cure for his sorrows: focus on the

welfare of the Union Party.

The day after his return, she invited all the surviving leaders

of the Union to a gathering in the large livingroom of the Chabaffy

townhouse. All eyes concentrated on Imre. At once he felt that

he had assumed his rightful position in the country. He became an

instant favorite. The politicians flocked around him and courted

him. To the older parliamentarians, he was the son of his father.

To the women his distinguished looks and suffering at Dachau in­

vested him with a halo of romance. All considered him a young man

who was destined to live up to their great expectations.

Father Bela, the provisional leader of the party, opened the

formal part of the gathering.

"We greet you, distinguished son of our leader and senlor

statesman," he said slowly, spreading his arms as if to give bene­

diction, his tall figure unbowed by his own adversities under the

Nazi occupation. "To the millions of peasants you are an authentic

-163-

hero and worthy heir to the Chabaffys, the unrivaled champion of

their cause and the cause of Magyar freedom." He paused for a

moment, looked at his audience, put his large hands together in

front of the cross hanging from his neck and continued:

"In Debrecen, we have seen that the Allied Control Commission,

represented by the spokesman of the Communist Party, had certain

considerations expressed about your father which are not applic­

able to you. We invite you to address your admirers and devoted

followers."

"My friends," said Imre simply. "My remarks will be brief.

To begin with, I wish to set the record straight about my cap­

tivity by the Fascist oppressors. As you can see," he continued,

pointing toward himself in a deprecating manner, "I have lost not

only much weight, but also experienced severe strains on my ner­

vous system."

Imre pronounced the last dozen words or so haltingly and with

subdued emphasis. He knew that wi thin twenty-four hours these

words would be in a report on the desk of the secretary of the

Communist Party, as a result of a well-placed spy.

"And my capacity to function as your leader is undecided at

this point."

Loud murmurs of protest greeted this announcement. The as­

sembled guests were not about to be deprived of their hero for the

forthcoming big election battle and chose to consider his remarks

merely as becoming modesty in an environment infected with cynicism

and the naked display of force.

-164-

Congressman Zol tan shouted: "To victory with Imre Chabaffy! \I

The gathering echoed as with one voice: "To victory with our

hero, Imre Chabaffy!" The display of vociferous support continued

for several minutes. Father Istvan raised his hands to still the

outpouring of affection.

With his remarks Imre set in motion rumors that his health

and, yes, even his mental capacity had been broken by the tortures

of the Gestapo and at Dachau.

In the next tumultuous hour, Imre was unanimously elected

Leader of the Union Party and supreme commander of the political

campaign for the forthcoming national elections slated to take

plae in the fall.

Imre had underestimated the depth of the feeling the Union

Party stalwarts had developed towards him generated by the Com­

munist's blunt personal attacks against his father. But there was

another reason for their support. Magyarland was starved for a

hero. It was the dawn of a new age. Prince Tibor had fought hard

for land reform and now, under the leadership of his son, this

long-cherished dream was becoming a reality.

Euphoria reigned over the meeting. Magyarland, they believed,

was re-entering an age of social justice, agricultural prosperity

and freedom for economic and cultural development. The Russian

soldiers were beasts, but such were the fortunes of war. Now that

peace reigned, magnanimity and reasonableness would be the guiding

principles of the great Allied powers.

-165-

The guests thronged around Imre and were glad to touch his

sleeve, shake his hand, look into his eyes and hear his voice.

A new confidence surged inside Imre. When he remained alone

after all the guests had left with Father Istvan, he thanked him

for his support.

Their secret plan seemed to be working out. Imre was pre­

sented as a mentally and emotionally crippled leader. Only as

such would the new Russian masters accept a Chabaffy as the leader

of the Union Party. Both noted with satisfaction in the next few

days that the comments of the Russians were subdued. The organ of

the Magyar Communist Party went further and welcomed Imre as a new

leader of the Union Party, their most feared rival for power and

popularity.

135.

Tonus continued to feel abandoned and lonely, but her first

letter to Imre gave her a sense of relief she had never remembered

feelig before. Nevertheless, she was frantic again a few days

later. She penned another letter.

[ My most loved, much beloved Imre! ] she wrote. [I do not

want to spoil you with letters. I can't act any other way. I

have to write to you again to let you know how much I love you. I

pray you feel the same way about me! I can hardly wait to see you

again.

-166-

We had a beautiful sunny day here, but even the warmest sun­

shine cannot dispel my anxiety about how I am going to survive our

separation. I wish we were married already.

The only person I can talk to is a nurse here in the hospital.

Her name is Mona. She keeps telling me: don't be sad; be happy

that you have someone who loves you so much, who risked his life

to save yours; don't dwell constantly on your apartness.

Last night I heard a Magyar program on the radio. Much of it

was gypsy music. I listened to the tunes to which we danced to­

gether. My darling, I felt so lonely, so terribly lonely without

you. I tried to visualize your sweet face and then I felt so

close to you no matter how far away you may be. My only one, I

love you so very much!

Sometimes terrible waves of jealousy overwhelm me. You are

such an attractive man and now such a hero. All those beautiful

Italian and Magyar women must be flocking around you.

Earlier this week I went on an excursion to the Tegern Lake

with Mona and another nurse. It was lovely out in the countryside

away from the ruins, but it was really no joy for me without you.

We saw a silly movie. It didn't help me to get you out of my

mind.

I pray you have not developed any doubts about us. Please be

certain of my love. I enclose a snapshot taken by Mona--I hope

that will help you not to forget me completely.

Please write very soon. You have no idea what joy it would

be to get a letter from you.

-167-

I love you and I am with you, Tonus.

P.S. My best wishes to your Mami, the twins and all your

family. ]

Almost a month went by, and she still had no news. In Munich

the rubble was being cleared away and some repair and rebuilding

had started. The work in the hospital went on. A terrible rest­

lessness took hold of Tonus.

Once again she wrote a letter out of the depths of her

loneliness.

But this time, Tonus felt no relief at all. She gave the

letter to the American major in the army medical corps and won­

dered if she would ever get a response. She felt utterly drained.

She needed replenishment and none was forthcoming.

Her only joy came in the return of summer. It provided a

blessed warmth for war-ravaged Munich. More and more people ap­

peared on the streets, shops began to open for business again.

Life returned amid the skeletal buildings and the burned-out

houses. The trees and bushes in the parks were conspiring to help

Bavarians forget the bombs and the artillery shells which had so

recently rained on their capital.

Tonus didn't realize that in that beautiful summer the Iron

curtain began to descend on Europe and was to split the ancient

continent right in the middle. Communication between the two

halves would become almost non-existent. All would be bent on

survival in the narrow confines of their own existence. Munich,

Prague, Vienna and Budapest, close to each other geographically,

-168-

would become wide apart in many other ways. The Russians were

establishing a foothold in the Danube Valley and were not about to

release it. To protect the new conquests, the Red Army were seal­

ing off their western frontiers from the rest of Europe.

When June turned into July, Tonus made a resolution to return

to Graz. She wanted to be with her mother and sisters. Lotti was

getting married at the end of August and she wasn't about to miss

the wedding. Being in Graz also meant that she would be that much

closer to Imre. But she couldn't leave yet; there was too much

work to do in the hospital. Tonus worked tirelessly in the American

wing and shuttled back and forth between the critically ill con­

centration camp inmates and the wounded and sick GIs.

In the first week of July Mona went to visit her parents in

the country for a family get together to celebrate their twenty­

fifth wedding anniversary. Tonus agreed to take on her tour of

duty. She had not completed her first rounds when a call was

received from an American unit near the Czech border asking the

Dachau team to get ready. A dying man had been found accidentally

in a forest clearing.

The emergency room was well-prepared when the patient was

wheeled in late in the morning. Late in the afternoon the patient

was taken to the intensive care unit. Tonus was busy with a GI

whose lung wound was particularly troublesome. She didn't get to

the intensive care unit until the end of her shfit.

Captain smith, the head of the emergency team, was looking

down on the new patient as Tonus entered the ward:

-169-

"A fine death it will be for him ... at least in his last

hours he'll have the best of care," he whispered to Tonus.

She approached the bed more closely and peered at the frail

figure in the bed. "Is it really that bad?" asked Tonus.

"He'll be lucky if he lives through the night," replied the

doctor, "but we had to try. Just make sure the IV tubes are func­

tioning. Check on him every half hour and more often if you can."

Tonus was left alone with the new patient.

She had to bend down to get a better view of the intravenous

feeding tubes. She cast a sideways glance at the face, hidden

under the tubes running out of the nostrils and mouth.

Those eyebrows! The familiar reddish tint, a few strands

impudently curving upward.

[ It can't be!

But I know it's him! ]

She stood up slowly. The sobs rose in her throat. She put

her hand to her mouth to help stifle the sounds. She peered at

the motionless eyelids.

Then she ran out of the ward to glve way to the emotions

which were choking her.

-170-

136.

She couldn't go back home that night.

After talking to Captain Smith, telling him that the skeletal

being was her fiance's brother, Tonus returned to the ward. She

got herself a comfortable chair close enough to the bed to observe,

not close enough to disturb. Occasionally she glanced in Ian's

direction, moving just her eyes, not wanting to cause the slightest

commotion. Every fifteen minutes or so she checked the patient as

the doctor had asked her to do. He seemed to be absolutely

motionless.

Tonus kept vigil all night. Mona found her in the chair,

dozing off, when she returned to duty next morning.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, alarmed.

Tonus woke up with a start and explained in whispers who the

patient was. "I barely recognized him. What can we do to save

him?"

"Pray," replied Mona.

The glucose bottles were nearly empty. That was the only

obvious sign that Ian was still alive. A silent anger rose in

Tonus. She got up and tossed her head. That unaccustomed emotion

silently faded into sorrow, then gratitude, gratitude for having a

chance to repay what Imre had done for her, by saving his brother's

life.

Tonus slept on a cot in the student nurses' changing room and

was back at Ian's bedside by noon. He was still comatose.

-171-

"I talked to Captain Smith, II Mona explaind, IIHe said there is

nothing we can do except monitor the IVs." She didn't mention

that the doctor also had said that he could die at any moment.

"He is still alive, II remarked Tonus, with a faint smile.

Apart from a few hours snatched for sleeping, Tonus kept a

vigil at his bedside for the next three days.

On the first day, Tonus bent close to his head, to change the

pillow. She looked at him with disbelief. Most of his short­

cropped hair had remained on the pillow in a single untidy heap.

The doctors explained that loss of his hair was a cornmon after­

effect of typhoid.

On the second day Tonus imagined she perceived a slight move­

ment in the bed. She got up and held Ian's right hand between her

hands in an attitude of prayer. There was no response. She set­

tled down to do some lace work she had brought with her to occupy

her hands while her eyes constantly roved towards the bed, but

found she wasn't able to concentrate at all on the needle. When

she went to have lunch, she found that her appetite had improved

markedly. She hungrily ate her portion and asked for another

glass of milk.

On the third day, Ian lifted his lids with an effort. Tonus'

face was suffused with a beatific smile. She got up and knelt

down at Ian's bedside.

Tonus' smile filled Ian with a peace and happiness he had

never felt before. It enveloped his whole being, penetrated him

with bliss.

-172-

"Tonus?" he asked almost inaudibly.

She nodded happily, her green eyes flecked with joy.

"What day ... ?"

"August second."

"Buda?"

"We are in an American hospital l.n Munich," she said slowly

in Magyar.

He tried to reach her with his fingers, but didn't have the

strength. His eyelids closed again and he was asleep in an instant.

Tonus couldn't contain her joy. She went to look for Mona.

She found captain Smith in his tiny office.

"Ian woke up! He recognized me!" she exclaimed even before

she got through the door. The Dachau team, three doctors and an

assistant rushed to Ian's bed.

"We should try and give him some oral nourishment, but I

doubt he can hold anything solid," asked the doctor.

"Bouillion?" asked the matron.

"I'll feed him," said Tonus eagerly. The team conferred for

a few minutes. One of them declared ita miracle.

Next day Tonus was able to feed him. The team kept pouring

vitamins, antibiotics and glucose into Ian.

The day after that, Ian was aware enough to discover his

baldness. He fingered his scalp incredulously. Tonus watched him

closely.

-173-

"The doctors tell me your hair may grow back, at least on the

sides. Darling Ian, you have been very, very ill. You are lucky

to be alive!" He barely comprehended what Tonus was saying.

"Eggs ... " he whispered to Tonus, when she asked him what he

would like to eat, "... and sardines."

"Sardines?" asked Tonus, surprised. After his dream lunch,

Ian felt a tremendous pain engulfing his intestines. He tried to

throw up, but couldn't. Captain smith explained to Tonus. "Ian

had gastric typhoid. His intestines are ... almost destroyed."

"will he be able to eat at all?" asked Tonus, turning pale.

"He'll have to be on a liquid diet for awhile," replied the

doctor. "There is an outside chance ... anyway, he has shown such

incredible powers of recuperation. I mean, he did remain alive

against all odds. It is possible, and I emphasize the word possi­

ble ... that his intestines may regenerate."

"But he'll be all right?" she asked, eagerly.

"Countess Tonus," said the doctor. "I better tell you.

He'll be lucky to live another six months."

"No more?"

"Give or take a month or two. His relapses may become more

frequent."

Tonus believed, then disbelieved. Surely not. Not after

this miracle. He wouldn't die on us. We won't let it happen. I

will not let it happen!

Ian's consciousness slowly floated back. Trivial events of

his early childhood visited him with utmost clarity. He remem-

bered the tunnel he had built as a toddler under a sand castle at

omami 's place in southern Magyarland. He remembered the last

slice of the Dobosh cake on his fourth birthday, the Mickey Mouse

in a Walt Disney movie shown at the Schwarz's when he was in

kindergarten.

At other times he understood a progression of highly involved

mathematical formulae at one glance. He knew all the Psalms of

David by heart and all their correspondences to the New Testament.

All this appeared to Ian childishly simple. [ Now let's go to the

next solution! ]

When he dived into the depths of a vision, he tried to pop

out with it, like a diver pops out of the sea after a particularly

elegant feat off a cliff, but then he couldn't manage it. He saw

the solution with crystalline transparency. He said to himself,

"I've got it!" But, he didn't 'get it'. What came to him effort­

lessly in the vision faded the moment he tried to verbalize it.

Ian was once again on that plane where questions became answers

and wishes were fulfilled. In the background, he heard Richard

Strauss' tone poem: Thus spake Zarathrustra. He began to ascend

to the dramatics of a Liszt composition. Harps and flutes followed.

Ian was charged by a magnificent crescendo like a series of fire­

works, each surpassing the previous one.

Then stillness.

He tried to hold on, but the more he tried to, the faster the

fade out. Every slight movement, even lifting the eyelids, a

little finger, was an effort still.

-175-

Tonus smiled at him. lIBig celebration today!" she announced.

"The Japanese surrendered. The war is over at last!"

She smiled every day, every time he opened his eyes. Her

appetite had returned, her figure had rounded out, the procelain

sheen and rosy tinge had reappeared on her cheeks. There was a

purpose in her life now. She was happy. Tonus was to Ian as he

remembered her from the holidays shared in Italy, full of feeling,

sweet emotion, unutterable tenderness.

Ian's improvement made her feel useful, exuberant. Forget­

ting his condition one afternoon, she pressed his hand with so

much excitement and affection that she made him wince. Ever re­

sponsive to his needs, her exuberance instantly switched to con­

cern. She kissed his forehead and hands, barely brushing her lips

along his skin.

Under the influence of this outpouring of affection, Ian's

face expanded into a ~ide smile, the first since he had left the

Buda townhouse.

"Listen," Tonus said. "You are getting better all the time.

I'm so happy you are my patient. Wasn't it a miracle that you

were guided to the hospital where I worked?"

She sat down on his bed, facing him.

lIyou could have ended up with an old biddy of a nurse in some

god-forsaken place ... "

She touched his forehead with the tip of her fingers.

lINow we'll have ample time to get to know each other better

than ever before. What are you really like, Ian? I want to meet

the real you."

-176-

"Have I changed that much?1I

137.

Tonus kept up the vigil even though it was no longer necessary.

She went home every night, but spent most of her waking hours in

Ian's ward. She knew that he loved her company, and so she kept

close to him constantly, even now when he was feeling better.

"Are you sleeping? II she whispered, not wanting to disturb

him.

"No, I'm not." He no longer talked J.n whispers, but his

voice was still subdued.

"Ian, you must sleep, II she said with feeling.

He took hold of her hand. She couldn't help noticing how

much effort went into that movement--and tried to raise it up to

his lips. He didn't manage, so she helped by raising her hand

close. He kissed her tenderly and fell back exhausted.

"Darling, you must sleep."

"The word IIdarling" had slipped out involuntarily and naturally.

Frightened and pleased at the same time, she flushed inwardly,

trying to suppress the rising feeling. The more she tried to

forget about him when she didn't see him, the more she realized

how large a part of her life he had become in the last few weeks.

She had centered her whole life around the vigil she had kept over

him. Finally, she had done something useful--helped to save a

-177-

man's life. The least she could do was to make his remaining days

happier.

Ian didn't say anything to her, but she knew that her atti­

tude, her bearing, her movements and her glances were more reveal­

ing than words could have, vibrating a single message--namely that

she loved him.

Even with the doctor's warning, Tonus was unprepared when, a

few days after the armistice, Ian had a relapse. She came to his

ward as usual in the morning, sat down gently on the edge of his

bed, and touched the tip of his nose--a kind of greeting she had

adopted in the last few days, to let him know that she was with

him. That was really not necessary, because even in his semi­

conscious state he was so attuned to her that he knew when she

entered the ward, whether he heard her footsteps or not. Today

Tonus had to repeat the greeting. He still didn't respond. She

rose from the bed and ran out on tip-toe to fetch the doctor on

duty. There was not much he could do except to remind her of his

previous warning that relapses were common with patients in Ian's

condition.

A few long hours later, he opened his eyes. He didn't say

anything for a while, but finally managed to call for Tonus. Ian

imagined that she was telling him: "Life without you would be

nothing for me, and to keep this vigil and suffer with you is my

greatest joy." To which he would reply: "I love you too much."

And she: "How can you love me too much?" And this time he re­

sponded aloud, with as much strength as he could muster. When she

-178-

came to him, he asked earnestly, "Do you think I am gOJ.ng to live

much longer?"

"Hush," she said with feeling. "Please don't talk like that.

I'm convinced you are going to live. You must. You have to be­

lieve in that darling, as much as I do!"

Again, that word slipped J.n. In a Magyar conversation it

would have sounded superficial to use the English word darling,

but the way she had said it was completely effortless, self­

evident, and the most natural and integral part of the sentence.

In German she added, IIIch bin fest uberzeugt, II meaning III'm firmly

convinced. II She pressed his hand, then let it go, and sat down.

"So am I, II he said, more to please her than out of convic­

tion. He fell asleep and couldn't remember at all what happened

the rest of the day, that night and much of the following day.

But at sunset, he sensed the light filtering through the ward. It

was like Viennese music to him, a breath of fresh air.

It was so easy to fall in love, for both of them.

Tonus felt in her heart of hearts that Ian had not much time

left. Every day was a gift. Each day was now full of meaning.

For Ian she was everything. He began to enjoy his condition,

because it brought her radiance to him every morning. All these

months on the march, in hiding, and on the trek back were all

worthwhile becaue he had found Tonus. Maria had left him, betray­

ing the love between them. Was this love a wonderful compensation

for what he had gone through all the past months? He began to

cry. It was a relief.

-179-

Tonus came to the bed and took his hand.

With the release of long-suppressed passion, Ian declared his

love to Tonus. Tonus turned away for a moment.

"Perhaps you won't be able to accept how I feel for you. II

"Darling, I love you, too," was all that Tonus could reply.

"Can you love a bald man?" asked Ian, his voice full of irra-

tional fears. The warmth of Tonus' smile reassured him. IIYes, "

she said with a certain ardor. "Qh yes."

Mona came into the ward just then and sensed passion 1n the

air.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Much better," he answered, grinning.

From that day on the improvement in his health was continuous,

enough so that two doctors of the Dachau team and a man in civil­

ian clothes Ian hadn't seen before, accompanied by a stenographer,

questioned him about his experiences for the better part of three

days, stopping every hour or so to give him a chance to rest.

Tonus hovered around anxiously as she noticed Ian becoming visibly

tired answering so many questions. Hardly any people had ever

managed to survive, let alone escape from the experiences he had

gone through. He was repeatedly told that whatever he could recall

would be considered valuable back at headquarters. His statements

were summarized and typed up for his signature. He expressed the

hope that he would never have to remember and be questioned about

this again.

-180-

While Ian was exercising his memory, he began exercising his

body by sitting up in bed or dangling his feet over the edge. He

kept doing this later when Tonus was away on lunch break. He

wanted to surprise her by walking on his own feet, unaided. When

he first stood up, just for a moment, he felt terribly weak and

dizzy. He fell back on the bed immediately.

The next day, he was able to stand up for about a minute

without falling backwards. Tonus had resumed her normal duties as

a student nurse, which gave Ian more time to practice. He enlisted

Mona's help. She stood guard at the entrance of the room to warn

Ian in case Tonus was coming.

He improved in other ways, too. The constant itch of his

scabs and wounds was gradually subsiding, little tufts of hair

began to grow above his ears, the bleeding of his gums eased, the

pain in his abdomen lessened and the frost in his marrow thawed

out. His fingers were still stiff, he was unable to wiggle his

toes, but he was gaining weight, although he was still under fifty

kilos, and he was no longer dizzy when he stood up.

Eventually, he started to walk, a few steps, one step at a

time.

It was August 20th, st. Istvan's day. For the celebration,

Mona led Tonus into I an's room. He walked to meet her.

"Darling!" Tonus cried and flew to him, to hold him, and to

support him. She stayed close to him. Both of their faces shone.

She led Ian back to his bed.

-181-

It was obvious for all to see that Tonus and Ian were in

love. The doctors didn't object as they considered love the best

possible therapy for the terminal patient.

Ian was put on therapy of another kind as well--exercise.

First slow walks in the garden, then exercises to improve the use

of his arms and legs.

Early in September a letter arrived from Ian's father, Briga­

dier Campbell.

[ Dear Ian,

I'm so glad you are surviving the war. I'm stationed now in

Washington, D.C. with the British liaison staff on the Combined

Chiefs of Staff here. We also had a tough war and we are glad it

is allover. The experiences you reportedly went through sound

unprecedented. Please keep in touch. You can always reach us

through the War Office in London, or at the address shown on the

letterhead. May your recovery be speedy.

Faithfully yours, D.F.C. Campbell Brigadier]

Ian was strangely affected by this letter. He thought it

sounded stiff. He didn't like the way it was signed with his

father's full name and rank. And why the formal closure, "Faith­

fully yours"? And he got angry when he read "you reportedly went

through"! What did the words "reportedly" and "unprecedented"

mean? Didn't he believe the doctor's report which he apparently

had received a copy of?

Suddenly he felt tired and longed to see Tonus, but he didn't

get to see her until the next morning.

-182-

He shaved early, and was unable to go back to sleep. The

minutes ticked by all too slowly. He kept his eyelids shut. When

he had his first glimpse of her that day she was passing in front

of the large window in the corridor. The morning sun spun a golden

web out of her hair. He took in the delicacy of her bones, her

Dresden figurine appearance, slim ankles, heart-shaped lips, her

pure beauty. This is the woman I love! thought Ian. The fatigue

of yesterday was vanishing fast. He was going to show her the

letter, then decided against it.

Something in Ian's eyes made her sit down at the edge of his

bed. She looked straight into his eyes and, as if it were a natural

occurence, lightly kissed him on the lips, holding his chin as

Lotti had eons ago. Lightly again, she ran her hand over the thin

blanket covering his body and adjusted the sheets at the foot of

the bed.

A wave of strength surged through him, awakening a long dor­

mant desire. Ian had his first erection in months.

138.

"I have been looking at you for a long time," Tonus said when

Ian woke up. The last two weeks had done wonders for him. He had

gained nearly five kilos. He had sprouted two more tufts of hair

over his forehead which looked like a pair of horns. Tonus measured

-183-

him for clothes and he was given an outfit so he could walk around

the hospital. He started to feel like a real human being again.

"You look quite healthy to me, II she added with a smile.

II So I am, II he said, after he had watched her intently for

awhile. He wanted to add IIbecause you love me ll but he didn't. He

only lowered his eyelids and luxuriated in her presence.

Both tried to dam their emotions, measure the inflection of

their sentences, watch their choice of words. The more careful

the lovers attempted to be, the more violent their emotions became.

IILotti's wedding is fifteen days from now, II said Tonus, look­

ing at Ian sideways, her hand playing with a small medicine bottle

she was holding.

II I want to go wi th you. II

"Uncle Egon is coming, of course ... he'll be conducting the

ceremony."

" I'm happy about the journey and your seel.ng your family."

lilt's a long trip."

IIDon't you wish me to come?"

"Darling, how can you talk like that?1I

"You sounded hesitant ... II

1I0f course I want you to be with me. "

II That 's all I wanted to hear. 1/

"Will you be strong enough?"

"Of course ... I' 11 make myself strong enough!" said Ian,

sitting up. "I don't want to stay in this hospital. The faster I

-184-

can get out of here, the quicker I'll get well ... I feel well

already."

"You need the permission of the doctors ... of Captain smith

"I'll get it."

"I only mentioned it, so you become aware of that."

"You'll help me?1I

"What can I do? II

"Just tell Captain smith that I am perfectly well. II

"We' 11 give you lost of exercises ... and I'll ask captain

Smith what else needs to be done to get you ready for the journey."

III already asked him a few questions ... 11

IIWhat did he say?"

"He found out already that there is an English Army hospital

in Graz ... "

"That's marvellous."

"He'll give me copies of all your records so the English can

refer to them."

"No need ... I'm perfectly well." Tonus let that go and

continued: "He'll give me a supply of vitamins and antibiotics."

"You think of everything. II

He marvelled at her efficiency. He knew her as an impish

child, as a spoiled chateleine, who was good at arranging flowers;

as a demure debutante, as the fragile youngest child of a family

where her half-expressed wishes were instantly realized, as a

Iittle girl attending a school run by nuns. [She had matured

alot in the last year. We both have. She is as old as I am, just

turned nineteen. ]

-185-

II

Her angelic radiance had combined with brisk down-to-earth­

ness. Nothing was too much for her to do for him and for the

other patients. She, who only a few months ago was nearly mur­

dered in Dachau, was now the most tireless and devoted of nurses.

1/ I'll ask Captain Smith to see you," she said. Throwing a

kiss towards Ian, she took off on her rounds.

Ian was feeling contemplative and lazy. Today was somewhat

special, luxurious. He had enough strength now to pull his thoughts

together. He was not the analytical sort in the sense of taking

detailed stock and arriving at a list of conclusions. He depended

more on his intuition and feelings rather than on reasoning and

logical deductions.

He had one basic emotion he hadn't had before, a feeling of

being cast adrift, cut off, separated. He had gone through a

violent upheaval, a total change in which all the parameters of

what he had considered normal existence, had changed from begin­

ning to end.

The tremendous struggle to eliminate tyranny, slavery,

treachery and the other monsters of his nightmares had ended in

resounding defeat. The monsters had reincarnated in a more terri­

fying shape than before and were unleashing new nightmares in

dimensions undreamt by past civilizations. Victory was turning

into defeat, rejoicing into gloom, hope into despair, expectations

into disappointments, promises into compromises, declarations into

charters for treachery.

-186-

Ian sawall this with startling clarity, but ultimately he

saw more. His vision was not one of hopelessness, fear, and re­

nunciation. Rather, it was as if he saw that ultimately there

would be light above all these storm clouds. For now they had to

be flown through, and superior navigation was required, not

naievety, self-deception, wishful thinking, indecision and weak­

ness. All the experiences he had gone through, the girl he adored,

the miracles manifested through desolation, swamps, endless forests,

bogs confirmed his belief in the special destiny God intended for

him. Startling challenges lay ahead. Rooted in his consciousness

from his Bible reading was the idea that the more gifts God show­

ered on one, the more one's responsibility and the higher one's

standards had to be. But Ian was still not certain. He sensed he

had been launched on a mission of some kind, but that was all. He

wondered what his first step should be. His existence had been

shaken, his heritage lost. He had been too long alone, unaided,

left to his own devices. What he needed now was a rock upon which

he could build his future.

That rock, Ian believed, was a family. He wanted desperately

to have a partner, a help mate, an outlet for his unlimited love,

a women he could adore, a woman to start a family with, a woman

who would bear children, a woman who would seed the future with

hope, trust and love. He needed a woman who could fly with him in

the sunshine, above the storm clouds.

[ God brought Tonus into my life, ] Ian thought finally.

-187-

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

FREE ELECTIONS

[ We know stress often forces suddennew solutions, that crisis oftenalerts us to opportunity; that thecreative process requires chaos be­fore form emerges; that individualsare often strengthened by SUfferingand conflict.

Marilyn FergusonThe Aquarian Conspiracy ]

139.

A week before Lotti's wedding, Uncle Egon invited Ian to join

his usual Monday night dinner with Tonus at the palace of the

archbishop in Munich. Ian was feeling much better. He was able

to eat soup and mashed potatoes, and a chocolate souffle.

"We'll be leaving for Graz a little earlier than we planned,"

Uncle Egon announced to his guests. "The prince-bishop of Salz-

burg has invited me to stop over for a conference. Frankly, my

children, I hope to get a see in Austria and I'd like to enlist

the bishop's recommendation for a transfer."

"Back to Graz?" asked Tonus.

"Not likely," he replied cheerfully, "What was I going to

say?" he continued, scratching his head, "Oh, yes ... that it

-188-

would be convenient for you too, Ian, to have a rest on the way to

Graz."

The three left Saturday morning and arrived in Salzburg a few

hours later. Travel had much improved since Imre was bussed out

of Dachau.

"Have you been here before, children?" asked Egon.

"No," replied Tonus and Ian.

"You'll be in for a treat. The war has barely touched this

beautiful city."

The party was put up at the hunting lodge of Schloss Klesheim.

Ian was tired and immediately went to bed while Uncle Egon and

Tonus went into town. He slept fifteen hours.

Tonus tip-toed into Ian's room, waking him.

"Up so early?" he asked, half asleep.

"Early?" replied Tonus brightly. "It 1S already nine o'clock."

Ian opened his eyes fully. "You look dressed up."

"I've been to seven o'clock mass in town with Uncle Egon,"

she said brightly. He won't be back until one at the earliest, as

he was asked to celebrate the high noon mass. Would you like some

breakfast?"

Perhaps a glass of milk." Tonus

She went out and came back a few

I forgot!

"I'm not hungry at all.

rang the bell but no one came.

minutes later with the milk.

" I can't find anybody.

off. I'll get you breakfast! "

" I'm not hungry, " repeated I an.

It's the servants' day

-189-

"You have to eat something with your vitamins, II insisted

Tonus.

"Just get me some tea, please. II

When Tonus came back with the breakfast tray she found Ian

asleep again. When she put the tray down and looked at the bed,

she noticed that he had spilled the milk. She cried out, afraid

that he was not just sleeping. Her cry awoke Ian.

Tonus ran to his bed and made a fuss adjusting his pillow as

if she were embarrassed about crying out. Then she noticed Ian

looking at her fixedly. She returned his gaze. The realization

came to them both at once: they were all alone in the lodge. A

fury of clumsy unbuttoning, unzipping, and kisses followed.

Afterwards, they lay steaming in the sun rays streaming through

the lage window. Through every pore, Tonus exuded a perfume that

intoxicated Ian. He closed his eyes, took a deep and satisfying

breath. Tonus held her head in her hand, supported by her elbow

resting on the white linen sheet. She stared in wonder at Ian,

surprised and overcome by his passion, which had been far more

intense than she had expected. He hadn't tired in her embrace.

He had come alive in the full vigor of health. Every centimeter

of her body trembled in anticipation of more passion. She tossed

her head to let her fair hair cover her shoulders--not yet long

enough to cover her breasts.

Thoughts raced through Ian, to accompany the waves of his

emotions. He ran his fingers over her hair, which glowed in the

sun, like spun gold. It looked exactly as it had in the Munich.

-190-

Skin to skin. He pulled her even closer. He moved down so their

eyes, noses and lips were aligned. He breathed out much of the

year's pain. Hazel eyes gazed into green eyes until their vision

shimmered.

140.

"He is a real prince, that Ludovico, but he is far too hand­

some," remarked Aunt Pauline in a whisper which carried to the far

corners of the room. Beggared by the war, back on Austrian soil,

she still remained the arbiter of taste and the object of awe.

Adjusting her wig with her left hand, and putting her lorgnette

on the bridge of her nose with her right hand, she spied Ian and

went straight to him. During his march her intended victim had

acquired a sixth sense. As soon as it sounded the alarm, he ducked

down to the height of Orsi de Tollay, dressed as a flower girl,

and in a few bounds disappeared behind a phalanx of local

notabilities.

Aunt Pauline's remark referred to Ludovico Borghina-Lepanto,

Lotti's fiance. He was remarkably attractive in a pompous way:

almost two meters tall, with prematurely gray hair, dark bushy

eyebrows, small hands and feet, voluptuary eyes, very pale skin.

He was the center of attraction in the ornate reception room of

the bishop's palace, where the guests were gathering for the

ceremony.

-191-

Ian smiled inwardly, saying to himself: Lotti always liked

the oily, dark Mediterranean men, but why is he perspiring so

profusely and having a tough time controlling his nervousness?

He was still dazed from that morning with Tonus. In Uncle

Egon's company and in Graz, surrounded by her family, she treated

him with indulgence, not love, with good humor, not affection,

with friendliness, certainly not passion. Here she was regarded

as Imre's intended, and the tone she adopted was designed to screen

any perception of romantic attachment between herself and Ian.

Ian was momentarily lost in thought. Aunt Pauline interrupted

his daydream: "Now, you must tell us about yourself. One hears

such fantastic stories about you."

I an paled. He got even more nervous than the bridegroom.

[ Can she see something no one else has noticed? Does she know? ]

His discomfort increased when several pairs of eyes turned towards

them.

"Well, speak up, young man," she continued even louder, "I

want to know all about your winter in Russia! "

Just as Ian was beginning to wonder how he would escape Aunt

Pauline, their attention was diverted by a cry of joy from across

the room as Christina had just caught sight of Bela corning into

the room. She had not heard from him for a month, and had already

given up on his showing up for the wedding. The guests surrounded

the new arrival:

"A terrible journey!" was his first comment. "The Russians

nearly took me back to Russia again, the swines. It took me a

-192-

week to get here from Budapest!" Excited questions greeted these

words. Christina drew Bela aside to take him to her uncle's study,

next to the reception room where they could talk. As Bela was

about to enter the study his eyes fell on Tonus:

"I brought a letter for you from Imre," he said with a smile.

"But I was so fatigued when I arrived that I neglected to bring it

with me today. Forgive me. Remind me to give it to you tomorrow

at the wedding," and with that Christina pulled him into the study.

A tremor shook Tonus when she heard Bela's words. Ian kept

one eye on her while Aunt Pauline questioned him. He murmured an

excuse and was at her side in a moment. He sensed that something

was wrong. If he had had more experience with women, he would

have known that she wanted to be left alone. He stepped closer to

her:

"What is it?" he asked uncertainty.

"I'm fine," she said, with an edge of impatience in her voice,

and left the room abruptly.

The nuptial mass was held in the Maria Kirche the next day at

three o'clock. The guests arrievd 1n small family groups. Ian

joined Christina, who motioned him to join her, and Bela. With

her was a friend of hers. "This is Mausie," she said introducing

her to Ian.

The church was overflowing. This was the first big wedding

in the provincial capital since the end of the war. The city had

talked about little else in recent weeks. Ian had not been in

church since last Christmas. His soul was filled with gratitude

-193-

for his deliverance. He wished Tonus were next to him, but she

came to the wedding with Johnny Eszterhazy and sat down next to

her mother in the front row.

Throughout the ceremony I an was aware of the scent of incense,

of Christina holding hands with Bela, passion oozing out of them,

of his own heart beating in a sentimental flush anticipating the

exchange of vows, of the soaring organ playing Wagner's wedding

march, of Lotti looking more beautiful than ever before, and

then--a suden hush.

Ian focused on Uncle Egon's voice. For some reason it had an

edge of impatience.

II ... will you take this woman to be your wife?"

Silence extended to every corner of the church.

IINo,1I The word, uttered in a low voice, reverberated like a

cannon-shot in the stillness. Ian became aware of amazement,

consternation, clutching of hands and hearts.

The unimaginable had happened. Ludovico had said IINo" in

answer to the crucial question. People looked at each other, not

knowing what to do next. An audible groan could be heard from the

front row, directly in front of Ian, where Aunt Pauline was

enthroned.

Uncle Egon had no choice. He declared the ceremony ended.

An hour later, Tonus was in her room reading Imre's letter

which Bela had given her on leaving the church.

-194-

[ Budapest, September 20, 1946

My dearest love!

How delighted I was to have your two letters. They are with

me always. You must know my feelings for you have remained

unchanged.

I'm glad I have the opportunity to send a reply by secure

means as the mail is still unreliable.

Uncle Egon surely told you, the Americans took us to Italy

after the liberation, where we received excellent medical care.

Atilla, several others and myself were sent to Capri for

convalescence.

Atilla and I were anX10US to return to Magyarland and, thanks

to an American plane which brought in emergency medical supplies,

we came home, after innumerable delays, in June.

My main task has been to join the leadership of the party and

prepare us for the Budapest municipal elections next month and for

the general elections in November. Wonders have been accomplished.

Much more needs to be done if we want to produce a respectable

showing. The Communists and their Socialist allies are outspending

us by a wide margin, have the support of the occupying power, and

appear to have unlimited funds.

We have very little money and only limited transportation

facilities. My trust is in the people's common sense and innate

decency, which will not allow them to fall for the transparent

propaganda plays of the left. I believe the electorate will sup­

port those wo are their true representatives and friends.

-195-

I must give you the sad news that Mami died during the siege.

Despite her responsibilities as civil Defense Commander of Buda,

the hardest job a non-combatant had to bear amid the chaos and

ruin of warfare, she insisted on doing her share in getting water

to our home. That was dangerous, as the streets were under con­

stant aerial and artillery fire. She was killed--may God rest her

soul in peace.

We have lost track of my dear brother, Ian, about whom we

have had no news whatsoever since he gave himself over to the Red

Army Command, even before the end of the siege. We all pray for

his safe return. Ellen is well. She has proved to have an excel­

lent sense for business and has kept us all solvent during these

difficul t months. Elma has been violated by our liberators.

Praise God, she is in good health now.

Only one brief message from Papi since my return home. It

came through the American mission which is hamstrung by Washington.

All we get is token encouragement.

We shall never give up our fight for freedom.

until the elections are over, I'm immersed in party work. As

you can well imagine, I have no time left for myself. I'm con­

stantly touring the countryside, making three or four speeches a

day. It is wonderful to get such enthusiastic audiences and such

outpourings of spontaneous support. We are well-received every­

where in the country and even in Budapest, where we still have to

fight an uphill battle.

-196-

May God preserve you in his safe keeping. When all this is

over, we'll make plans for our future.

My love is always yours, now and forever.

Your devoted, Imre. ]

Tonus read the letter with increasing agitation. Here was a

man who loved her, to whom she was engaged, whose first thoughts

were to serve his country and his party and whose feelings towards

her were unvarying love. She was sad to get the news about Prin­

cess Ilka's death and was astounded Imre didn't know about Ian's

return. That made her realize how difficult communications had

become between the newly divided Europead continent, even between

neighboring countries.

It was so much like Imre to devote the greater part of his

letter to politics and so little to himself, to themselves.

Guilt, it was guilt which began to gnaw at her, guilt about

not remaining faithful to him, to the man who had saved her life.

She felt she had committed the mortal sin of adultery. She felt

guilty about not writing to him more often and not letting him

know about Ian's return from Russia. She was not worthy to be the

consort of Imre, that. wonderful man in whom the hope of an entire

nation reposed and who didn't seem to care at all for his own well

being.

Tonus was also tossed on the waves of other emotions and

conflicting feelings.

[ Why didn't he ask me to join him?

-197-

Is he really the man for me, whose first love is for his

country? Can I be content taking second place in Imre's heart,

second after Magyarland?

Why didn't he write, "let's get married as soon as possible?"

Why didn't he write the sweet endearments which Ian was so good

at?

Ian! Dear Ian! What would happen to him if I were to tell

him, that it was allover between us?

I no longer know what to do.

Maria, Mother of Jesus! I have sinned grievously. Please

intercede with God on my behalf and obtain absolution for me. Oh,

what is happening to me. Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, please help

me! ]

Everyone was in too much of an uproar to notice Tonus' agony.

Only Christina sensed that something was wrong with her sister,

but she was too absorbed in Bela to spend time with her.

Of course Ian knew, too. He felt hurt that Tonus wouldn't

sit next to him in church. He had hoped they would exchange vows,

whispered and fevered vows of eternal love, when Lotti and Ludovico

were to utter their own marriage vows. But he had his guilt­

feelings too. Wasn't he a thief, stealing Tonus from his own

brother? A robber, taking away what was rightfully Imre's? A

murderer of their love? Hadn't God delivered him from evil? Was

this the way to repay God for his deliverance? He had been given

an opportunity to start anew and make free choices for his future.

Now he had spoiled his relations with his brother for good. Would

-198-

he even be able to look him straight in the eye? Wasn't he a

good-for-nothing for having feigned that relapse at the lodge at

Schloss Klesheim, deliberately spilling that glass of milk which

he knew perfectly well would entice Tonus into his bed and into

his arms?

He felt his newly found energy ebbing away. Tonus would not

return his calls all evening. The next morning he checked into

the British military hospital with his medical records from the

American hospital in Munich.

[ When Tonus finds out I'm in the hospital again, she'll come

running after me ... How awful I am! Just a little while ago I

reproached myself with deceit and here I am planning deceit again.

Lord, forgive me. ]

These and a thousand other thoughts whirled in his mind, as

he waited to be examined. He was given a few shots, a bottle of

vitamin pills and an encouraging bill of health.

"You are doing very weIl," the doctor told him. "We don't

need to see you again until you run out of those pills." [Just

now when it suits me to be sick, I am pronounced healthy. ]

Tonus didn't call until the next day, to let him know that

Lotti and Ludovico had had a private marriage ceremony that morning.

"It was simply a matter of nerves. All is forgiven," she

said.

"When can I see you?" he wanted to know.

"I have to talk to you," replied Tonus. She suggested a cafe

not far from the bishop's palace, where the Dadians were staying

-199-

until Uncle Egon's next move in the Roman Catholic hierarchy was

determined.

Neither Tonus nor Ian was looking forward to this meeting.

Ian was tormented by a foreboding, and a feeling that he had lost

his innocence. Maria was a pure, a beautiful wonder. He had been

pure, too, before this. During the German occupation he felt he

had led a charmed life. In captivity he had felt invulnerable.

In the hospital he had felt in th palm of God. Always, without

quite realizing it, through all that, he had kept his innocence.

And now he didn't feel innocent any more. He knew he was

walking down a dead-end street and the only way to get out of it

was to turn back. with all his heart he wished he didn't have to

turn back, away from Tonus. He loved her and didn't want to leave

her. But within his heart of hearts he knew it was wrong. Ian

didn't want to face that. He wanted to live in the golden halo of

a beautiful illusion.

Tonus went to confession that morning and she knew what she

had to do and that she didn't like it at all. She had cried alot

since reading Imre's letter. She knew the decision she had to

make would affect the lives of the two brothers in a fateful way,

irrevocably and profoundly.

-200-

141.

Tonus was at a loss for words. She tried to smile, but tears

came to her eyes.

Ian felt adrift. He wished he could stop the flow of what

was to come. He knew he couldn't. He glanced around nervously,

looking at the details of the room: the lace curtains, the ornate

setting, the small table, the uncomfortable chairs, the shape of

the electrified candles, the waxed hardwood floor. He looked in

all directions except into Tonus' eyes.

Both remained silent. The waitress came. Ian suggested a

pot of tea, but Tonus ordered Viennese coffee. Even that small

detail alarmed Ian, as Tonus invariable fell in with Ian's

wishes--at least up until now. That tiny show of independence was

a signal he understood, or imagined he understood, too well.

Tonus remained silent after the waitress left with their

order. She couldn't very well tell Ian, her future brother-in­

law, that she didn't want to see him any more. That would have

been cruel considering the doctors had told him he had only a few

more months to live. And if he should live being Imre's brother

practically guaranteed they'd keep seeing each other.

She didn't want to say that anyway. She wanted to keep Ian

as a friend without hurting him. She wanted to say the words

which would ensure their friendship. She wanted to say words so

carefully chosen that he wouldn't suffer a fatal relapse.

-201-

The waitress brought their coffee and tea. Ian watched the

seconds tick by as she put down the china and the pots with slow

deliberation. The silence unnerved Ian more and more. It was he

who finally broke it.

"Tonus, you don't have to say anything," he said at last,

very quietly. with tremendous effort he added, "I know what you

were going to say I and I understand." He wanted to say "darling"

as the first word, and when he substituted it with her name, barely

used lately except in company, he hoped Tonus would understand

that subtle message as he earlier understood when she had ordered

coffee instead of tea.

Tonus slowly wiped the tears out of her eyes and started to

say I "It is impossible I" but she couldn't continue.

Ian's hand reached across the table. She clutched it with an

unexpected force, making him realize the violence of her feelings.

He knew she was trying to keep calm.

He remembered the force with which Maria had clutched at him

before he had returned to Budapest so long ago. Maria had wanted

him to stay. Tonus wanted him to leave. Yet both movements--Ian

knew so well--had the same end result: he was to find himself

alone. He dreaded the prospect especially after he had felt so

loved.

After Tonus had released his hand he sipped his tea, not

because he was thirsty I but just for something to do. In the

Pripet marshes he had been too intent on survival and the news of

Maria's new lover had barely registered in his brain and not at

-202-

all in his consciousness. Now he fully realized that he had lost

Maria--and Tonus, too. He tried to keep himself erect and his

eyes dry. He even produced a tentative smile, as he had when the

MVD officer had interrogated him.

Tonus was grateful for that smile.

Not with words of explanation, but with looks and touches,

the two were able to communicate.

Ian made a decision on the spot. "I'm going back to BUdapest."

She opened her mouth to say something, then her face lit up

with a faint smile. "Would you do me a favor?" she asked.

"Of course, Tonus."

"Take this letter to Imre," she said and reaching for her

bag, she pulled out a blue envelope and handed it to Ian.

Next morning Ian went to the hospital for an extra supply of

vitamins. At the British Army headquarters the duty officer

strongly advised against the trip, but Ian's mind was made up. He

gave I an a pass as far as Vienna. He had few possessions and

packing took little time.

Ian went to the railway station alone the next day to catch

the train to Vienna. He arrived before dark and went straight to

Johnny's, only a stone's throw from the Hofburg, the Austrian

emperor's residence. After he rang the ornate bell, Ian was sur­

prised when Johnny himself opened the massive doors. "Ian, I've

been expecting you," he said in greeting.

"Tonus called," he said in explanation. He was dressed in

gray flannel trousers and a smart Austrian hunting jacket.

-203-

The beautiful inside of the palace had remained almost intact.

There was thick dust everywhere. The sad looking enormous velvet

curtains were split in places, the walls devoid of paintings, and

the rooms bare but for a few pieces of furniture, covered by gray­

colored cloth.

Johnny didn't have to explain that Vienna was prudent to have

her women look old and her homes worn in the days of the Red Army

liberators. "Felix Austria," the centuries' old motto, "Lucky

Austria" still held. The U.S. Army was there and Vienna, as well

as Austria, was partitioned into four zones: U.S., British, French

and Russian. The Inner City, where Johnny's palace was located,

was ruled by all four powers, chaired by the four in rotation, one

month at a time. Vienna and Austria escaped the fate of Budapest

and Magyarland, ruled solely by the Russians.

Ian badly wanted to unburden his sorrow. He decided not to.

Johnny was an old acquaintance rather than a close friend. Both

belonged to the same set, and despite the lack of close relation­

ship, Johnny made his home available to Ian without any questions

or reservations.

The two sat down for supper in Johnny's living room upstairs,

where he kept a small apartment waiting until the world around him

was ready to settle down. Ian asked about the siege of Vienna.

"Luckily only one bomb hit the place," said Johnny. "The

servants were able to put out the fire." The family's vast estates

were lost in Magyarland but Johnny--Felix Johnny, thought Ian-­

still had a large estate in Western Austria in the American zone.

-204-

Ian explained he wanted to get back to Budapest. Johnny

tried to dissuade him, too, but when he realized Ian's mind was

set, he willingly made his contacts available.

"Your sister Ellen," said Johnny with a saving touch of irony,

"turns out to be quite a business lady. Her trucks regularly make

the run between Vienna and Budapest. I'll find out tomorrow when

her next shipment leaves Vienna. I'm sure her driver can take you

back to Budapest if you are so foolish as to want to go there."

"My little sister Ellen?" exclaimed Ian.

"After Aunt Ilka died ... II replied Johnny.

IIMami died?1I exclaimed Ian a second time.

IIDidn't you knoW!?1I asked Johnny, surprised. II Everybody

knows. II

IITonus didn't tell me. II

II I thought Uncle Egon would or Bela would. II

IIBarely talked to Bela. He and Christina ... "

II I know. II

IIHow did she die?"

Johnny explained.

IINobody told me. Perhaps they wanted to spare my feelings. II

"Well frankly Ian, old boy, I'm sorry I was the bearer of bad

tidings. Let me get us some good Napoleon brandy. A few bottles

managed to survive the war."

Ian had barely touched any alcohol for a year. At Lotti's

wedding he had only sipped the champagne. Three thimblefuls of

-205-

the French brandy was too much for him. He promptly fell asleep.

Johnny and has valet carefully put him to bed.

Ian woke up a few hours later and vomited violently. Traces

of blood scared him. He fell into despair. He had lost the three

women closest to him: Maria, Tonus and his mother. A fire worse

than the one he had helped to put out at the Buda townhouse burnt

his insides. He was falling apart. It was lovely to fall into

oblivion, but his ravaged intestines were aflame and would not let

him sleep. Gradually, he cried himself into oblivion.

The morning after, Ian felt too weak to get up. A worried

Johnny made a phone call to Graz. He managed to get Tonus on the

line. The connection was full of static. Both had trouble under­

standing each other.

"Ian drank himself into a stupor," Johnny said.

"Suicide!" cried Tonus. In Magyar, "drinking one's self into

a stupor" and "drinking one's self to death" sound quite similar.

"He is very sick," shouted Johnny.

In Magyar the words "sick" and "hovering" rhyme. Tonus under­

stood Ian was "hovering" between life and death. In desperation,

she switched to French:

"Take him to an Eng "The line was cut off. Johnny tried

again, then sent a telegram. The next day, the answer from Tonus

clarified the situation. Ian felt better, and didn't want to go

to a British military hospital. He might be kept in Austria in­

definitely. There was nothing holding him here any more. He

wanted to go home. Home for him was Magyarland.

-206-

Johnny finally understood. Several times Ian was on the

verge of telling him about Tonus, to get him to understand better,

but he stopped short each time.

Ian again heard the still small voice inside him. The voice

told him to carryon. He listened.

142.

A few days later, on October second Ian was back in Budapest.

True to his word, Johnny had tracked down one of Ellen's

trucks. Ian made his trip from Vienna to Budapest seated between

a Magyar driver and a Russian soldier who provided protection for

his sister's enterprise.

On the narrow highway the truck ran into an icy spot and

almost skidded off the road. The trip, which for the forced

marchers earlier in the year had taken four or five days, took

only five hours. The truck was stopped several times by Red Army

patrols, but was waved on as soon as the Russian guard made his

presence known.

What struck Ian most when he arrived in Budapest was that it

was more vital and energetic than Vienna, even though Vienna had

witnessed only a few days of fighting.

Although Ian had grown accustomed to the pitying looks given

him by almost all who had known him before, he was not quite pre­

pared for the tears which came to Elma' s and Aunt Mitzi's and

-207-

Juliska's eyes. Less than a year ago he had left as a student who

had just earned his bachelor's degree. Now, he was a shrunken,

frostbitten, dispirited person, with more scars than tufts of

hair.

Budapest was in the grip of election fever. He saw Imre just

long enough to give him Tonus' letter.

"The general elections were fixed for November fourth," Ellen

explained. "At the end of the summer the Communists and their

Socialist allies demanded that the Budapest municipal elections be

held before the general elections.

"Not all municipal elections, but just Budapest's?" asked Ian

during supper in the dining room. "Isn't that rather unusual?"

"The Russians are up to their usual tricks," exclaimed Aunt

Mitzi, who sat at the head of the table.

"The Russians were pushing the idea," Ellen continued.

"Everybody begged Imre to find some excuse to postpone the Budapest

elections. He felt a poor showing here would be used by the Com­

munists to influence the more important general elections."

"Imre finally decided to rise to the Communist challenge,"

added Aunt Mitzi.

"Was that wise?" asked Ian.

"He conferred with Father Istvan. He is on the three-man

Council of State which functions as the supreme authority until a

president of the republic is elected," said Ellen. "So it was

decided to go ahead with the capital's elections with the condition

that the general elections will be held within one month."

-208-

"The communists agreed to that condition?" asked Ian.

"Enthusiastically," replied Ellen.

"Imre and Father Istvan took a big chance," said Ian.

Ian rested only one more day. On the fourth of November, he

visited Imre at the party headquarters on the east bank of the

Danube. It was a beehive of activity.

Ian looked into his eyes to see if Tonus had confessed her

affair to him. Imre's eyes were unknowing. He smiled back and

answered the ringing telephone at the same time.

In between phone calls Ian asked him:

vote do we expect?"

R"What pel\centage of the

"Originally one-third. Yesterday I increased my estimate to

forty percent. "

"How come?" Ian asked.

"I believe the Communist Party committed a first-class blunder.

The Kremlin brain trust forced the Socialists to join the Com-

munists on a common ticket."

"Isn't that a big menace to us?"

"On the face of it, the new slogan 'Workers, unite' sounds

pretty attractive. But the rank and file worker was all against

that so-called partnership with the Communists. I believe we'll

benefit by getting some of the protest vote. I'm sorry Ian, but I

have to run off to make a speech."

Ian was gripped by the election excitement, and tried not to

feel lost amid the comings and goings. Many of the congressmen he

had first met the previous summer were there, now in positions of

-209-

power and influence. He glimpsed the towering figure of Father

Istvan. Someone told him that Congressman Andras had been executed

by the Gestapo last Christmas. He noticed in one of the small

offices the Reverend Zoltan Tildy, who had cautioned against vio­

lence at the underground meeting at the Hoyos estate, conferring

with a delegation. Dezso, who had cared for him near Miskolc

after his escape from Budapest was there, engaged in an animated

discussion with Uncle Freddy.

Congressman Zoltan Peffer, the party's candidate for attorney­

general, gave a delighted whoop when he noticed Ian. "How are

you, dear boy!?" He exuded confidence. His big smile was full of

delight. "You made it after all! Wonderful!"

"I see you are full of spirit!" replied Ian.

"Do come into my office. It's a hole in the wall, but we can

talk there." Alone together, Zoltan and Ian looked straight into

each other's eyes.

"Tough?" he asked with affection.

"Miraculous," replied Ian.

"You know Ellen went with Istvan to see that little goon who

runs the Communist Party about finding you. He promised them

everything and nothing ever happened."

I an gave him a capsule account of his experiences. "As you

can see," he concluded, "there is no way anyone could have kept

track of me. The Russians don't believe in paper work in the

field. Not like the Germans "

-210-

"We know a lot of local Nazis who are now the most ardent

Communists," Zoltan interrupted him. "But go on!"

"There is no administrative set-up to keep track of people.

If Stalin himself and his Gestapo chief Beria had issued a command

to find me, I still would not have been found. II

The two friends chatted excitedly for about half an hour.

Zoltan grabbed Ian's forearm. "Are you strong enough to accompany

me on a tour of a suburban district?" he asked, pushing back his

shock of hair with his fingers.

III'm game for anything," replied Ian smiling.

"Of course you are! Come with me to the ninth district which

as you know is a working class area. Let's help the local lads

with a speech or two. Just our presence will help, you'll see."

Zol tan got hold of one of the few party cars.

"You can see the war of the placards and billboards," he said

on the way. "The Communists are outspending us at least ten to

one. We put up our posters and during the night they are covered

with the slogan 'Workers unite'! But our lads are not to be out­

done. You'll see! There is a tremendous surge to lay a solid

political structure on our thousand-year-old traditions. All

hopes seem to be centered on our party. "

At the southern outskirts of Budapest the pair bounded into

the small house of a local Unionist candidate. Within a short

time a small crowd appeared in front of the building. Zoltan was

immediately recognized when he came out to greet them. He stood

up on a chair and made his first speech of the day.

-211-

"The Budapest elections are but a rehearsal for the national

elections to be held next month," he said in his clear, optimistic

vOJ.ce. "We all know that the masses of the Magyar nation are

resolved to put their trust in our party. Let me remind you the

party unites the working people of our fatherland, the industrial

workers and the peasants."

A loud applause greeted him.

"Now it is up to the people of Budapest to show that we have

the interest of our country at heart. We need your support, we

need your votes for our victory in the capital. It is absolutely

vital that we win in Budapest, so we can convince the world that

we are determineq to keep our independence, that we cherish our

freedom!"

By this time, the small crowd had swelled to a big one.

"And I have with me here Ian, the son of Tibor Chabaffy. \I

"We want Chabaffy! \I shouted someone from the back of the

crowd. Zoltan gently pushed I an forward.

At the end of Zoltan's third speech, Ian's first few halting

words blossomed into a well-rounded sentence:

"My father has an important message for all of us which he is

sending through me, who have just returned from Russian captivity:

'Vote for freedom, vote for the Union of peasants and citizens 1 • \I

Ian felt he was finally doing something useful. He kept the

daily rounds with Zoltan until the election-day. The Communists,

beginning to sense that the tide of public opinion was running

against them, further increased their propaganda pitch to the

-212-

workers. Day by day Zol tan and Ian received increasing vocal

support from members of the Socialists who were disgusted with the

unified ticket the Reds were forcing on their leaders. Many offered

to support their party.

On the morning of election day all the leaders and many of

the campaign workers congregated at the Union Party headquarters.

Ian barely had room to stand up in Zoltan's office. An excited

murmur rose from the entrance of the building. Vas, the Communist

mayor of Budapest, had shown up, the same man who 1n early spring

had given Ellen the license for her business. To everyone's sur­

prise he asked, "Do you have any complaints whatsoever against any

authori ty or election board?"

"In several districts," replied Zoltan, loudly enough so all

could hear him, "the chairmen of the election boards refuse to

recognize our party election supervisors. II

II I f that is so, please corne along in my car and we'll

straighten out these problems, II said Vas. IIWe can afford to give

your party this advantage. 1I

Imre was aroused by the superior tone of his voice and shot

back, IIYou appear to be quite certain about the victory of the

joint ticket of your party and the socialists?! II

III have no doubt whatsoever, II Vas replied, IIWe, the workers,

are going to get an absolute majority."

Later in the day Ellen and Elma accompanied Imre to the poll­

ing place in the first district, which included the citadel. Ian,

legally a British subject, didn't vote of course, but went along

-213-

with them anyway. They were greeted with polite applause. Down

the line the word spread that the Chabaffys had arrived. The

Union Party's election supervisor came out to greet them.

"We all want you to vote without having to wait in line, II he

said.

IIThank you, but we prefer to wait in line, II said Imre. II That

is the true meaning of democracy."

After casting ballots, the clan left in one of the rickety

party cars to election headquarters on the other side of the Danube.

III bet we get at least thirty-five percent of the vote, II said

Father Istvan on their arrival.

"I bet a minimum of forty percent, II replied Imre.

"I bet forty- five percent," cried 201tan.

"You are all way too optimistic, 1/ remarked Reverend Tildy.

"I think we'll be lucky to get one-third. II

The smallest district near the Chepel island industrial com­

plex, which had only one hundred and four voters, mostly steel and

railroad workers, reported first.

"Forty-eight votes for us," announced Father Istvan. "The

Communist ticket got forty-three, the rest of the parties three."

Zoltan watched the blackboard.

"We got the absolute majority!" exclaimed Zoltan. A big

applause greeted the announcement.

"We are going to win!" cried Imre.

He was right. By midnight, the official results were all

tabulated.

-214-

Votes Seatsunion of Peasants& citizens 285,197 121

Fusion of Socialistand communists 249,711 103

All others 35,146 16

The Russians had expected this election to be the graveyard

of the nation's hopes. Confident that the working class districts

of the capital would vote for the Communist-socialist fusion

ticket, they expected a resounding victory.

Fifty-two percent of the vote went to the Unionists.

"Did Moscow forget that the Russian Army raped and pillaged

all electoral districts regardless of class distinctions?" cried

Zoltan.

"We'll have our man 1.n the mayoral seat!" exulted Father

Istvan. Everyone was jubilant.

"We have no time to waste," declared Imre.

elections are only four weeks away."

"A miracle," murmured Ian.

"The women have done it!" smiled Ellen.

143.

"The general

A week after the Budapest elections, Imre received a call for

the Reverend Tildy, the chairman of the Union Party.

-215-

"Marshal Veroshilov has invited us to see him," he announced.

The Red Army marshal greeted the pair with effusive cordiality.

He was Chairman of the Allied Control Commission, which virtually

controlled the country until the peace treaty between the Allies

and Magyarland was to be signed. He had also been Stalin's boon

companion for more than a quarter century.

Voroshilov's presence was proof to Imre how important the

Russians regarded his homeland. The Americans and British were

represented on the control commission by two junior generals who,

unlike voroshilov, had not direct access to the man wielding supreme

power in the United states and the United Kingdom. To counter­

balance the presence of Voroshilov, the Western powers would have

had to have representatives of the stature of an Eisenhower or

Marshall, a Montgomery or Alexander. The key strategic importance

of the Danube valley for the future of Europe, Imre noted bitterly,

was not recognized in Washington and London.

Voroshilov had the rosy face of a baby and a beautiful head

of snow-white hair. After exchanging a few pleasantries about the

beauty of the Magyar countryside and the reconstruction of the

Queen City of the Danube, Voroshilov went straight to the heart of

the matter.

liThe elections are coming up, 11 he said through his inter­

preter. lilt would be in the best interests of your war-ravaged

country if it were not torn any further by political battles. I

would be happy to lend my name to such a scheme. 11

-216-

The chain-smoking Tildy lit another cigarette as the Russian

marshal continued:

II I think it would be a proper idea if your parties would

submit a common electoral ticket to the voters. Representation by

the various parties could be settled at an inter-party conference.

This scheme would have the great advantage of saving the Magyar

people from a lot of excitement. "

Imre listened to this suave prattle with mounting indignation.

The wily Muscovite had come a long way since he had served as a

corporal in the Czar's Army. ]

"It would be perfectly undemocratic!" said Imre firmly. "The

voters wouldn't have a chance to vote for the party of their choice."

"But they did, II countered Voroshilov. II It 1.S a fact that

your party has the greatest popular following, consequently it

should get the largest number of candidates on the ballot. "

"Let the people decide," Imre interjected.

"Believe me, a single ticket has the advantage of simplicity."

"Simplicity lies in leaving the decisions to the voters,"

said Imre.

"A single ballot would remove all confusion," persisted the

Russian. The reverend had left the tug-of-war with the corpulent

representative of a world power at least twenty times bigger than

Magyarland entirely to his much younger partner. Now, he finally

opened his mouth.

"Well, what proportion should be given us?" Tildy asked, "in

your opinion?"

-217-

"That would depend on an agreement between the maj or parties, "

Vorshilov replied. "We would feel comfortable if your could get

at least forty percent. "

"Forty!?" exclaimed the astounded reverend. "In the capital

we got fifty-two percent!"

"We are bound to get even more in the national elections,"

added Imre. "The rural voters are the foundation of our strength!"

"Let us tell you something," continued Stalin's cohort with

his majestic "we." "We should not be responsible for creating an

uncomfortable situation for the workers' parties. We do not wish

to give them a disproportionately difficult start in the contest."

with deepening shock, both viewed Moscow's deceptive web spun

out in front of their very eyes.

"You shouldn't strive for an absolute majority," suggested

Voroshilov, "but we might favorably consider giving you as much as

forty-five percent of all the candidates."

The wrangling went on for hours. It became uglier as it went

on.

"If you keep up this reactionary attitude, we might be forced

to unify all the other parties!" snarled the Russian. "That would

be the end of you!"

"We'll take that chance," said Imre quickly.

"You stupid aristocrat!" shouted Moscow's Gauleiter.

"That's what the Nazis and the Gestapo called me." Imre

calmly interrupted him.

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"

l ,

"We'll increase our garrison here from six hundred thousand

to three million soldiers!" Voroshilov went on menacingly.

"You want to completely finish off our starving country?"

asked the terrified reverend.

"What is there to discuss any further?" added Imre.

"We might agree to forty-seven and one-half percent

Voroshilov said a little calmer.

"You might?" asked Imre.

"We will," replied Voroshilov after a pause.

"Let's agree to an inter-party conference," said Imre wearily.

"Let's see what that will bring." He wished to get out of the

Russian bear hug and breathe some unpolluted air.

"I support that," announced his partner.

After some further haggling, Voroshilov agreed. It was only

after he had that Imre countered, almost casually, with an impor­

tant condition: "Of course, our agreement to such a conference is

subject to approval by our members."

As soon as Imre got back to his office, he called Ellen.

"Bad news," he announced when she appeared an hour later.

"The Russians are bent on forcing a unified ticket on us."

"That's outrageous," cried Ellen.

"We have to handle this intelligently, not emotionally,"

remarked Imre. "The more adamant we become, the more stubborn

they'll be ... we'll have to find a better way."

"I'll talk to the Americans about it."

"And Ian to the English."

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"We'll mobilize world opinion with Father Bela and Zoltan's

help, also the nation's."

Within days, the BBC and the Voice of America sharply criti­

cized the unified ticket idea. What turned the tide was not

western outrage. It was the Union Party itself and the people

behind it. The party leadership was besieged by indignant peti­

tions, phone calls and deputations. The drivers of the meagre

eight-car fleet of the party unanimously decided to strike if the

leaders accepted the plan. The people regarded it as a communist

plot to rob the people of the right to vote.

Father Istvan and Imre decided to call the party's executive

committee into session, knowing full well that it would reject

Moscow's plan. The following morning the newspapers headlined the

decision.

The Communists beat a hasty retreat when they realized the

whole country was in an uproar about the Voroshilov plan. It was

only a temporary truce. Communist goon squads showed up to use

persuasion of a more forceful kind. After a sharp protest from

the Union Party leaders, they were withdrawn.

But Union Party was not much better prepared for the general

election than for the Budapest showdown. Imre had received only

small contributions. with some aggressive work, these ran into

the thousands and tens of thousands and enabled the party to run a

lean but spirited campaign.

I an joined the speakers touring the countryside. He was

particularly busy around Miskolc where Dezso had organized two or

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three appearances every day. Ian spoke until he got hoarse. The

outpouring of affection moved him to the depth of his soul. The

people had been waiting for centuries for this occasion and were

ready to cast their ballots for freedom and peace. Enthusiasm was

running high. With experience, his speeches got punchier and his

lines hit harder. His theme was freedom and integrity. Ian's

speeches were deeply emotional, Imre's intellectual.

Imre and Ellen were touring in Transdanubia and the Lowlands

in the weeks before the election. The three Chabaffys met only

occasionally, barely snatching a greeting and a smile.

The spirit of the campaign was so upbeat that Ian was able to

rise above his private disasters and personal challenges. Neither

Imre nor Ian felt any hatred towards the Russians. The Magyar

voters were eager once the business of politics had been taken

care of during election day, to get on with the pursuit of

happiness.

Imre's talks centered around the two slogans of the party:

"Law, Order, Security,1I displayed in block letters on the campaign

posters; and "Peace, Wheat, Wine,1I under a picture of a prayer

book, a loaf of bread and a cluster of grapes.

A miracle was about to take place: the only free election

ever held under Russian occupation anywhere, reflecting the Russian

Goliath's contempt for the Magyar David. Moscow could not even

conceive the possibility of a defeat for the Communist party. It

had power, backed by the bayonets and the secret police of the

occupation power. It had unlimited funds. It had a leadership

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imported from Russia, who had received intensive training in the

Kremlin's schools of terrorism, subversion, sabotage, and Stalinist

brutality. It could not possibly make a mistake.

Remembering Voroshilov's clumsy threats, Imre worked tire­

lessly. Ellen, remembering Elma' s abduction, worked just as hard.

The Chabaffys, the rest of the party leaders and the rank and

file, performed prodigies of organization and endurance. Their

cause was right and they knew it.

144.

November fourth was election day.

The voting began at eight in the morning. Everyone twenty

and over had a right to vote. The only exceptions were people who

held positions under the government appointed during the German

occupation.

Each ballot carried the sYmbols of the parties along with the

names of the top candidates for the district. The turnout in

Budapest was even better than for the municipal elections. There

was a sense of excitement in the air. Here there was an oppor­

tunity to cast a vote in a secret ballot, which would go down in

Magyar history as the most crucial election ever held. This ballot

would surely test the maturity of the voters, and their judgement,

which had enabled Magyarland to exist in the Danube valley for

over one thousand years.

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All Others

Unionist

socialists

communists

The people cast their votes. The results were astounding.

Imre was at party headquarters with the entire Chabaffy clan.

The mood was one of optimism. A sense of history was in the air.

People were aware of the magnificence of the occasion.

By evening, the first results had started to trickle in. By

late night, the reports were flooding in. By dawn it became evi­

dent tht the Union of Peasants and citizens had scored a great

victory. The morning papers with the following results printed on

every front page quickly disappeared from the newsstands:

Number of Seats Percentage of Votes

245 60

70 17

70 17

24 6

The results were so overwhelming that no one dared to ques­

tion the fairness of the election. A few district leaders had

complained that the Communist Party trucks and cars had ferried

their own people from polling place to polling place. These inci­

dents were forgotten in the euphoria following the announcement of

the results.

The Union leaders gathered at party headquarters the day

after the balloting.

"Did you know," asked Father Istvan of Ellen, "that our friend,

the top Communist we visited about Ian, barely got elected in his

county? Somehow, enough votes were scraped together to have one

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single Communist congressman elected in the whole county. Our

friend, being on top of the list, squeezed in by a handful of

votes."

The shouts from the street in front of the building drowned

out Ellen's reply. Ian had never seen so many smiling faces before

in his life. He hugged everyone in sight and everyone else hugged

each other.

Expectations were great: the Russian influence would lessen;

the occupation would soon be over. The present was glorious and

the future looked bright. Didn't the Russians promise to respect

the independence of the Magyars? Didn't they agree to stop inter­

fering in the internal affairs of the country? Yes, expectations

ran high.

The people demanded speeches from the leaders. Imre let his

elders, like the Reverend Tildy and Father Bela, shine in the

limelight. When his turn came, his heart jumped as he rose to the

most tumultuous ovation of the day. "We can look forward to peace

at home and abroad. You have spoken in favor of independence,"

Imre said to the crowd, "We can expect that the Russians will

respect the wishes of the people. We will be allowed to rebuild

our shattered homeland in peace and harmony."

The crowd cheered wildly.

The two top leaders of the Unionists were summoned by Marshal

Voroshilov and Pushkin for an audience.

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"Congratulations to your victory," the Russians greeted Rev­

erend Tildy and Imre. Imre could hardly conceal his gratification,

and the marshal his disappointment.

"We are satisfied," Voroshilov continued, again using the

majestic "we,ll "with the election results' fairness."

Imre wondered what had happened allowing Stalin's deputy to

play such a different tune that day? The Russian pair were visi­

bly shaken by the peoples' verdict, yet they verged on gracious­

ness and friendliness.

Pushkin kept looking at his boss, rather than at the Magyars.

The marshal continued: "It appears to be an honest election and

we wish to draw an honest conclucion. II It was the visitors turn

to be stunned.

Stalin's best friend stepped closer to them. IIWe wish to

have a closer understanding with your party, II he said. "It obvi­

ously represents the majority of your people." The two Magyars

murmured thanks. liAs you know, the Soviet Union is a peace-loving

nation. We wish to have peaceful relations with all our neighbors, II

he continued. "And we want peaceful relations with you Magyars."

Imre could scarcely believe the evidence of his ears. The

marshal left the greatest surprise for the end of his welcoming

speech.

"What we wish to convey to you is this. Our friendship with

Magyarland should rest upon the firm foundation of friendship with

the Union of Peasants and citizens."

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In all the other countries of the Danube valley Communist

agents seized power under the guise of IIfusion tickets. II Magyar­

land was the sole exception. However, in Czechoslovakia a Musco­

vite agent named Gottwald became the overlord, in Yugoslavia Tito,

in Bulgaria Dimitrov, in Rumania Bodnaras. And in Magyarland a

IIstupid aristocrat. II

outside the older Magyar spun around to face the younger.

III attach great importance to Voroshilov's remarks,1I he said.

IIWe were both concerned for some time,1I Imre added, IIthat the

Russians would deal only with the Communist Party and no one else ... II

IIYet now it looks," continued the reverend, lias though we no

longer have to fear the schemes of the Communists. II

Imre was exultant. II We , 11 be able to strengthen our relations

with the western democracies! II

It was good to be alive. Imre felt he had come a long way, a

very long way from the depths of Gestapo prisons.

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