Éva leaned out the trolley’s window as it clanged through Budapest toward the outlying towns. Buildings bursting with amazing architecture from Baroque to Art Nouveau to charming, pastel-colored homes lined the tracks. This was the home of her birth, the city she loved. The place devastated by the arrival of the Nazis.
No longer the haven it had been a mere two months before.
Éva sat back against the seat and closed her eyes, but that only elicited images of German tanks rolling through her beloved Budapest and people cheering their conquering heroes. Thank goodness she had Apu and Patrik to keep her safe.
She shivered, opened her eyes, and focused on today’s task while the overweight man next to her snored. Éva was off to search for Székely Ersebet. Every week for years, the girl and her mother had traveled into the city for lessons with the daughter of Bognár László, the famous clarinet maker.
Then she’d just stopped coming. Every attempt Éva had made to contact Ersebet or her family had met with failure.
The trip didn’t take long. Soon the trolley slowed, then ground to a halt in Kistarcsa. Éva climbed down the steps, crossed the tracks, and searched for the address she had for Ersebet.
Tree-lined streets and whitewashed houses with red tile roofs greeted Éva. Such a charming place. An old woman with a colorful scarf on her head was sweeping her front step. Éva stopped and asked her for directions.
In short order, Éva located the Székelys’ home. As she knocked on the door, it pushed opened.
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
No answer. What should she do? To walk in would be an invasion of privacy. But the door had been left ajar.
She stepped into the dank interior, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she gasped at the sight. Dark spots on the gold-flecked papered walls marked where pictures had been removed. Almost no furniture remained but a battered armchair, its floral upholstery shredded, stuffing popping out. Papers littered the tile floor.
What had happened here?
Behind her, someone cleared his throat. Éva startled and spun around. In the doorway stood an older man, a few wisps of gray hair covering his head. He held a carved wood cane, his hand trembling. “Are you looking for the Székelys?”
“Do you know where they are?”
He nodded and took three or four steps into the home, crooking his gnarled finger for her to come closer. Her pulse pounded in her neck, but she crept closer to him anyway.
When he spoke, he kept his voice low. “Maybe a month or so ago, the Gestapo rounded up all the Jews in the town. There weren’t many, but the few there were are all gone. Each and every one of them.”
“Gone?” Éva swallowed hard.
“Disappeared into the night.”
“Do you know where?”
“I don’t like to say.”
“Oh, sir, it would mean the world to me if you would let me know. I’m so very fond of Ersebet—the entire family, really—and I’m concerned for them.”
“Well you should be.” The old man straightened, his eyes flashing. “Those Nazis don’t care one whit about those people. They’re holding them at the camp at the edge of town.”
“Köszönöm so very much.” She pushed by him to get to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Ersebet. She’s missed several clarinet lessons and needs to catch up. If she can’t come to me, I’ll go to her.”
“Ah, so you’re the one who teaches her to play that thing.” He flashed an almost-toothless grin. “I remember the squawking from this house in years gone by. My oh my, what a racket. But now she plays such beautiful music. Moves you. Stirs the soul.”
“You understand, then, why she can’t stop. In years to come, she’ll have a brilliant career.”
“But you can’t go to the camp.” He hobbled after her.
She stopped short. “Why not?”
He grabbed her by the arm, a little too tight for her comfort, pulled her close, and whispered, his words whistling in the gaps between his teeth. “Because those who go in never come out.”
Éva stumbled backward. “You must be wrong.”
“Where have you been the last five years? You know what the Germans are like.”
If they were anything like Károly, with his hatred for the Jews …
Éva wrenched herself from his grasp. “Again, I thank you for the information. But I aim to find out for myself where Ersebet is, and I will see her.” She had to do something to help her student.
“Don’t say you weren’t warned. You might be running to your own death.”
Éva raced from the residence and down the street. The old man’s demeanor had unsettled her more than anything he said. After several blocks, she stopped and caught her breath. Good thing she’d worn her flat-heeled oxfords. And good thing she had the lung capacity of a clarinetist. No matter what that man said, she would go to the camp and find Ersebet. See for herself what the Germans were up to.
After strolling to the outskirts of the town, she stumbled onto the prison. Rows upon rows of barracks filled the field, with a parade ground anchoring them. A high fence surrounded all of it. Armed guards in watchtowers kept track of the scores of prisoners.
Well, it would be a challenge to locate Ersebet. But nothing was impossible. Éva marched to the soldier in a yellow-green uniform at a brick guard gate. “Excuse me, I’m looking for Székely Ersebet.”
He narrowed his hard, blue eyes. “What do you want with a Jew like her?” He softened his gaze. “You’re a pretty young thing. With your blond hair, you could almost be German.”
Perish the thought. She rubbed her arms as if to wipe away his leer. “I’m Ersebet’s clarinet teacher. She’s missed several lessons, and I was told I might find her here.”
The guard chuckled, but it was not a pleasant sound. More like the grating of the metal trolley wheels against the steel tracks. “Pretty and naive. Only Jews go in. And those who help them. No one goes out.”
She backed away. “So sorry to have bothered you.”
“I get off duty at six.”
“Nem, I must be home by then. Good day.” She spit out the words as she dashed around the corner and out of the man’s sight. Then she leaned against the fence to compose herself. Ersebet was in true danger. And so was Zofia. Just as before. Maybe even worse.
She was startled out of her thoughts by a tug at her sleeve. A little girl in a dark maroon coat had slipped her hand through the narrow gap in the fence. She grasped Éva’s wrist. “Please help. We’re so hungry.”
Bognár Úr pulled out his tall dining room chair with scrolled arms and took his place at the head of the mahogany table. The rest of the family, including Éva’s mother, her brother Ernő, and his wife Zofia, sat in their designated spaces. Patrik settled himself beside Éva and clasped her soft hand for prayer.
At least she hadn’t spoken any more about her crazy idea to find Ersebet. A fruitless mission it would be. The girl wouldn’t be playing her clarinet again for a long time. If ever.
Éva squeezed his hand. He closed his eyes as the words of the prayer floated over him, and his mind wandered to a few weeks from now when Éva would be his wife. Lord, thank You for giving her to me, such a great blessing. She’s all I have. Keep her from harm.
The slightly spicy, tantalizing aroma of Bognár Asszony’s goulash set Patrik’s stomach to rumbling. No one had made a better pot of it than his mother. But Éva’s mother’s was very good. He tightened his shoulders. He would never taste Anya’s cooking again.
A gentle nudge on his shins brought him from his musings, and he blinked his eyes open. The rest of the family was digging into the meal. Polished silverware clinked against the delicate china hand-painted with purple violets. He glanced at Éva. “What was that for?”
“You know.” She winked.
Caught in the act.
“So, how did today’s rehearsal go?”
Éva’s question caught him with a full mouth. He chewed a tough piece of beef. At least it was meat. They didn’t have that every day. “Fine, fine. I thought I told you about it.”
“Nem. You’re still preoccupied, I guess.”
He was. Day by day, circumstances grew harder for the Jews. New laws. New regulations. And new word of packed trains heading north. “I suppose I am. Only a little while until the wedding.” He flashed her a smile.
She returned it, her oval face flushed. These weeks couldn’t go by fast enough.
“From what Patrik said, Hansi is doing well.” Zofia pushed the meat around her plate.
“She is. She’s making a fine addition to our symphony.”
“That’s wonderful.” But none of Zofia’s usual sparkle colored her words. In fact, she pushed away from the table after only a few bites. “Will you excuse me? I’m not feeling well.” She rushed from the room and up the stairs where, a moment later, a door slammed shut.
“I’ll check on her.” Ernő dropped his napkin on the table and scampered after his wife.
Éva concentrated on her meal, also picking at her meat. “I had an interesting day today.”
From beneath his bushy eyebrows, Bognár Úr studied Éva. “You don’t say.”
Patrik picked up his glass to sip his water.
“I traveled to Kistarcsa in search of one of my students.”
Patrik spluttered and coughed, his cut-crystal glass still in his hand. “I told you not to go.” He loved her spunk, but her headstrongness would get her in trouble.
She spoke to her father instead. “Ersebet is very talented, but she hasn’t been to a lesson since the invasion.”
Bognár Asszony dabbed her lips with her napkin. “So you poked around there? Patrik was right to warn you.”
“She’s in the camp the Nazis have set up,” Éva continued. “Those places are real. They aren’t figments of our imaginations or products of Allied propaganda.”
The rich goulash that had sent Patrik’s stomach rumbling moments ago now churned in it. What she must have seen. He set down his glass.
“Oh Apu, it’s terrible what they’re doing to the people. They’re half-starved, even after just a few weeks, and many of them don’t have coats or proper shoes.”
Patrik didn’t want to hear. His sisters in Nagyvárad lived in such a place. From his sources, the ghetto there was overcrowded, infested, unbearable. So many died, there weren’t enough places to bury them.
Éva wiped her mouth with her napkin. “While I stood against the fence—”
“What were you doing against the fence?” Patrik gripped his silver fork and knife so hard his knuckles turned white.
“You should have seen her. She had such a sweet, round face, brown curls, and the biggest soft brown eyes you’ve ever seen.”
Patrik blew out a breath. “Who?”
“The young girl who slipped her hand through the fence and took mine. She asked if I had any food.” Éva turned to Patrik. “We have to help her. If we pool our ration coupons, I could return there with a few loaves.”
“Absolutely not.” Bognár Asszony shot to her feet and grabbed Éva’s plate, even though she hadn’t finished her dinner.
Patrik set his fork on the side of his dish. “I forbid you to put your life at risk.”
“You can’t forbid me. We aren’t even married.”
“But I’m still your father, and I forbid you.” Bognár Úr’s voice was soft, but it filled the room.
“What if Zofia were in that situation?”
“She’s not.” Éva’s mother removed more plates from the table.
“We’ve heard the rumors. Now we know they’re true. The Jews are going to places they’ll never return from. We have to help them. Don’t you agree, Apu?”
“Your mother has spoken. You will not disobey her.”
“I’m twenty-three. Quit treating me like a child.”
“I, for one, agree with both of your parents.” Patrik threw his napkin on the table and stood, fighting to keep from raising his voice. “If you had been caught, what do you think would have happened to you?”
“Nothing. Because a guard did see me.”
“What?” Bognár Úr and Patrik bellowed at the same time.
“He … he …” She pushed away from the table. “It doesn’t matter. He did me no harm. The Jews inside, they are the ones being persecuted. All I want to do is bring them a little bread. Maybe it’s not much, but it’s something. A bit of Christian kindness in the middle of a world gone mad.”
Ernő rejoined them in the dining room, his jaw tight. “Keep the noise down. Zofia isn’t well.”
She rushed to her brother’s side. “Tell them to allow me to bring food to the Jews in the camp at Kistarcsa.”
“Why would you want to do such a thing?”
“To help people like Zofia.”
“It’s too dangerous. Didn’t you learn anything from Károly? Stay away from people like him, people bent on destroying the Jews and anyone associated with them.”
“We are already associated with a Jewish woman, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. If Zofia was in danger, you would want someone to give her aid.”
There was no way Patrik was going to allow Éva to return to the camp. By doing so, she would put her life in jeopardy. And he would lose what little good he had left in his life.
“Turning our faces from the problem has gotten us in this situation to begin with. Too many Christians never spoke up about the anti-Jewish laws Hungary enacted over the years. Too many of them, like Károly, hate the Jews. Now look what’s happening.” Éva stomped from the room, the heels of her dark brown pumps clacking on the parquet floors.
When she got to her bedroom, she slammed her door. Patrik cringed at the noise.
She was right. Much, much too right.
And, stubborn as she was, she would do something about it.
Next time, though, the guard wouldn’t let her get away.