Patrik!” Zofia restrained herself from leaping into his arms when she opened the door to him. His special knock had informed her he was here before she even saw him. Tóth Asszony was kind, but a familiar face buoyed her spirits more than summer sunshine.
Then again, if he had spoken to Ernő, he would know about the note she sent her husband. She’d labored over each word so she didn’t leave any clue to her whereabouts. Just a little something to ease his mind.
Patrik kissed her on both cheeks, and she led him into the old-lady-styled living room.
“I’m surprised to see you here so late. Tóth Asszony has already retired for the evening. She goes to bed early every night there isn’t an air raid.”
“And that leaves you lonely.”
“Terribly. But let me take your coat and get you a cup of tea. She has a few leaves left. She claims to have had some clairvoyant sense that war was coming, and so she stocked up.”
He waved her off. “I just came for a quick peek to make sure you were getting along.” His words were clipped, stiff, formal.
He must know.
She motioned Patrik to the sofa and sat, her leg tucked underneath her. “Besides the loneliness and homesickness, I’m fine.” That and the morning sickness that lasted all day. “But you look like you were dragged through the Danube and then run over by a truck.”
“And working long hours with the Zionists. How is everyone there? Can’t I do something? I’ve already written a couple more articles. Take them with you and get them printed.”
He nodded.
“Of course, I won’t be here very long, because my new identification will come soon.”
He reached out and touched her forearm, his dark eyes unreadable. “Zofia.”
The way he spoke her name sucked the air from her chest. He was about to scold her for writing that note. “What?” She whispered the word and scrunched her eyes shut.
“Look at me.”
She dared to peer at him through her eyelashes. What she saw etched in the tautness of his mouth wasn’t good.
“I spoke to Bram the other day. There won’t be papers for you, not any time soon.”
“What?” This had to be a bad dream she couldn’t claw her way out of. “Why not?”
“The Gestapo is on the lookout for you, especially since you slipped through their fingers once already. There is no way you can return to your family, not without leading the Germans straight to them. We’ve been through this already. No need to rehash it.”
“Of course, but I thought—”
“And they’ve been to your residence twice.”
“So I can’t go home until when?”
“Very likely not until the war is over. And no more notes.”
She tamped down her reaction, working on keeping her face neutral. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t pick now to start being coy. It doesn’t become you. Ernő came to my flat and showed me what you sent. Not only was it crazy to contact him, it was crazy for you to be out.”
“Tóth Asszony dropped it in their mail slot. Did Ernő know it was from me?”
“I persuaded him it wasn’t you who wrote it.”
She blinked back the tears that rose to her eyes. “Why would you do that? Give the man hope that he’ll see me again one day.”
“I’m trying to keep him alive. Even sending Tóth Asszony was risky. Anyone watching the house might have traced her back here.”
“How long will I have to remain in this confinement?”
“The Russians aren’t far away.”
Too long. She would have to figure out a way to see her husband. Sooner rather than later.
She rose and sauntered to the piano, pulled out the bench, and grasped the open keyboard cover. If only the peace, the comfort of the music would flow from the instrument into her body.
She slammed the lid shut. She couldn’t play. “I’m going to go crazy.”
“I have a story to cheer you up.” He shared with her Bram’s attempt to get better restaurant service by impersonating a Nazi officer.
She couldn’t bring herself to laugh.
“Come on, what will make you happy?”
“Other than being with Ernő or being able to play the piano?”
“Whatever it is, I’ll do my best to make it possible.”
“Lipstick.” Sure, it sounded shallow, but she had to have something to brighten her days. “I don’t have any with me, and I need some. I feel unkempt without it.”
“I thought you might ask me for chocolate.”
Her stomach churned at the imagined aroma. Once it was her favorite candy, but since her pregnancy, she couldn’t stand even the thought of the stuff.
“Or your Bible.”
“Tóth Asszony has one I read every day. Don’t fret about that. But a girl has to have lipstick.”
“You’re asking the impossible, you know. The shops don’t carry it anymore.”
“You’re a bright man. You’ll figure it out.”
Patrik slapped his knees and came to his feet. “I’ll do my best. Is there anything else?”
“So I can play the piano, can we start a rumor that I’m Tóth Asszony’s niece come from the countryside? I’m begging you.”
“Not possible. Too suspicious. No one, and I mean no one, can know you’re here. Behave yourself and stay put.”
“What if you snuck Ernő out the back window of his house and took a circuitous route here? Just so I could see him for a while.” She was being ridiculous. Crazy. Reckless. Her presence endangered him, much as it had her mother. But just to touch him …
In reply, Patrik raised his eyebrows. That was a nem. “You have to promise not to go to him. Promise me you won’t get everyone in that house arrested.”
“Fine. I promise.”
As soon as he had that assurance, he was gone.
She should lie down and get some rest before another air raid sounded, but she couldn’t make herself go to bed. Instead, she drew a sheet of paper, a pen, and a pot of ink from the middle desk drawer. She pulled her chair closer to the radio and turned it on, so low she almost had to press against the set to hear the Wagner opera that was playing.
Across the top of the sheet, she wrote, “‘The State of the Persecuted in Hiding.’ By Katona Marika.”
That was her. The rebellious soldier. One who would see her husband.
Absolute silence filled Éva’s head. All around her was still. No talking. No sirens. No music.
She couldn’t open her eyes, no matter how hard she tried. What was wrong? Why was there no noise? Why couldn’t she wake up?
A downward force tugged on her, dragging her lower, further into the silence. She pressed against it, fighting it. Without being told, she understood it was someplace she didn’t dare venture.
She tried to inhale and exhale deeply, like she’d practiced in her quest for superb clarinet tone, but the pain was excruciating. However, it broke the hold of whatever was drawing her down.
“Nyuszikám.” My bunny.
The voice was familiar. She struggled to place a name with it.
“Don’t move. You’ve been injured and had a seizure. I told the doctors to give you stronger pain medication, but they don’t listen to me. They think they know it all, telling me it’s being used in the war effort. I’ll call for the nurse.”
Anya. That’s who it was. Her faithful, constant Anya.
Anya, don’t go. I need you. I can’t wake up.
Éva tried to speak but couldn’t move her lips. But Anya was here. Was Apu too? And Patrik?
Nem, not Patrik. The memory of the past few weeks rushed back. Not him, never again.
“There now, it’s just like I told you. She’s struggling. Give her more pain medication.”
“Bognár Asszony, she isn’t due for more for two hours.”
“My daughter is in pain. Give her some kind of relief.”
Was that what had caused that strange downward sensation? If so, Éva would rather bear the agony. With all her might, she managed to get one of her eyes to crack open.
Anya’s round face and pinched lips settled into focus. Éva blinked at the light.
“Éva. Éva, darling. You’re awake.”
“What—”
“Now, now, don’t speak. You were hit by an auto, over in the Seventh District. What on earth were you doing there? We all thought you were in the house until the call came from the hospital. And that crazy German driver didn’t even stop to help.”
“Pat …”
“He’s not here, and you don’t want him here. Don’t you remember?”
She did. All too well.
“Apu and Ernő went to get a bite to eat. Don’t worry. They’ll be back soon. You gave us quite a fright. You have several cracked ribs and a nasty bump on your head, and you had a seizure that scared us all to death. But praise the Lord, and only by His goodness, you have no internal bleeding. The doctor says it’s nothing short of a miracle.”
A miracle. Nem, this was a nightmare, not a miracle. No one here to protect her, to take care of her. She had no hope for the future.
“Stu-di-o.” The effort required to pronounce the word left her exhausted. But without either her or Zofia, what would happen to their business?
“No need to concern yourself with that now. Your students will understand. Think of how well they will know their lessons when you return. Though it will be awhile before you’ll feel like playing your clarinet again.”
Nem, she needed its solace, especially now when she’d lost everything.
“Where is that doctor? He said he’d check you this afternoon, but it’s nearly four, and I haven’t seen him yet. He’s not anywhere in the ward. By the time he gets to you, it will be well past supper time. Oh dear, you must be so hungry and thirsty. Let me get that nurse to get you something.”
Éva tried to protest but didn’t have the strength to call after Anya.
Éva turned her head, fire shooting through her brain and settling in her temples, sending them pounding. Her mother hustled down the aisle lined with beds, maybe twenty or so on each side, most of them occupied.
Anya had mentioned something about an accident, but Éva couldn’t bring the event to mind. An image of Patrik speaking to a German soldier flickered through her brain. At that, her chest burned.
He’d betrayed her. And Zofia.
Someone appeared in the doorway Anya had exited—a dark, blurry figure, no more than a shadow. The shadow made its way down the aisle. The person’s towering height, lean body, and confident stride left Éva no doubt as to who it was.
Patrik held his black Hamburg hat in his hands, a feather in the hat band, and spun it around. He flashed her a brief smile before occupying the chair Anya had vacated. “How are you feeling?”
Her tongue tingled, but she couldn’t form the words she wanted.
“I would have come sooner, but I only found out about the accident today.”
Sooner? How long had she been here? Hadn’t it only been a few hours?
“I’m sorry this happened to you. On top of everything else. Don’t worry. After this, I’m going to speak to your father about keeping your music studio open. We can use students from the university as temporary teachers.”
“Nem.” She managed to croak out the word. Why would he be interested in the studio? Did he want to use it as a front for something? Of course. Before the occupation, they’d had many Jewish students. Perhaps he wanted to get his hands on their information so he could have them arrested too.
Then again, he already had a key. Maybe he possessed the information he needed.
“Nem.” She spat out the word with as much force as she could muster.
“I know you’re upset about what Reka said, but you have to know her allegations are false. I would never, never do anything to harm Zofia. Please, believe me.”
“What I believe, young man, is that you’ve come here while my daughter is seriously injured and upset her.” Anya stood behind Patrik, legs apart, her eyes glinting with the fierceness of a mother lion about to pounce.
He shot to his feet, knocking the chair over with a clatter. “Bognár Asszony, I didn’t hear you coming.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself. How dare you show your face here.”
“I … I … I was concerned for her.”
“How did you even find out about it?”
“There was a write-up in the paper. I only wanted to see for myself how she was and to tell her I’ll be praying for her speedy recovery.”
“That’s not what it sounded like you were saying. Leave. Now. Before I have to get one of the orderlies to throw you out. And don’t come near my daughter ever again.”
Patrik picked up his hat, which had tumbled from his lap when he stood. “Feel better soon, Éva.”
He hadn’t walked more than a few meters before Anya started in. “Can you believe that man’s audacity to show up here? He had no right to upset you in such a manner. Good riddance.”
Anya chattered on, but Éva kept her attention on Patrik.
He’d betrayed her, just like Károly had. Károly had almost destroyed Zofia.
Patrik may well have succeeded where Károly failed.
There he went—down the aisle, through the door, and out of her life forever.