KAROLA AYKLER SAT INSIDE the little chapel in Micheldorf, immersed in prayer. Her favourite spot was the pew directly in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary holding a plump, but serious-looking baby Jesus. The statue was of carved wood, but Karola marvelled at how the painted cloak on the statue seemed to flow, as if it were real blue cloth. She stared at the face of the Virgin as she prayed. Possibly it was the candlelight falling onto the statue from below, flickering and dancing, that lent a soft, mysterious glow to the face of the Madonna, but Karola was convinced that the countenance of that wooden statue softened and occasionally looked right at her. Local residents claimed that this chapel was a holy place and there were numerous reports that, at certain times of the year, the eyes of the statue came to life. During the war, worshippers provided sworn testimony that wet droplets appeared on its face of the statue.
Karola felt calm, safe, and serene inside this place. Gazing at the statue brought back the warm memories of when her children were young. In her mind she was transported back to the place and time when she held them in her arms and cuddled them, played with them, kissed their tender, dewy skin. She realized that giving birth and raising her children was the happiest, most fulfilling part of her life.
Here, in the chapel, Karola felt she could bare her soul to the Virgin Mother. Mary alone understood her heartache at this juncture in her life — as a devoted wife and mother. Each day she prayed for her sons Tibor and Bela. No one seemed to know where they were. It was June 1945, the war had officially been over two months now, and still there was no sign of them. Karola felt at peace here, praying for them, but as soon as she left the chapel, the feeling of restlessness and panic about their fate swept over her like a bitter windstorm from the nearby mountains.
Since leaving their home in the fall of 1944, Karola and her family had endured six months as refugees, scattering from one temporary shelter to another — sometimes not knowing where their next meal would come from or where they would rest their weary heads at night. For a while they lived in a tiny apartment in Sopron, the westernmost city closest to the Austrian border, yet still inside Hungary.
Karola prayed for her husband as well — prayed that all of them would have the strength to accept their present situation and bear all their adversity with dignity. After months of uncertainty, when the war finally ended, they were herded into a displaced-persons camp near Micheldorf in Austria in the American Zone. It was fortunate for them that Domokos spoke English reasonably well. He went to pay an official visit to Colonel Arthur Harris, the local American commander of the district, in order to offer his services as a translator. Domokos knew they needed someone who could oversee the repatriation of the Hungarian enlisted men and their families. The rules of military conduct dictated that when a war ends and peace treaties are in force, the displaced enemy combatants are sent home, including prisoners of war. Colonel Harris accepted the offer.
A few days later, Harris took a tour of the displaced-persons camp where they were living. It was housed in a cavernous school where the refugees slept in large classrooms on floors, tables, benches — wherever they found space. Colonel Harris hardly had a few square metres left to walk through the enormous rooms. One communal bathroom was used by about three hundred people. When he asked where Colonel Aykler and his family were housed he was shown to a niche at the end of one of the rooms. The entrance to their small living area was blocked by a blanket hung on a rope drawn across two dresser drawers, providing the only bit of privacy. As her husband drew the blanket aside to welcome Colonel Harris into their tiny abode, Karola could see on the look of embarrassment on the face of the sympathetic American officer. Inside, four cots and a few trunks shoved together offered the only place to sit or lie down. They offered to make tea, but Colonel Harris kindly refused, seeing how impossible it was to make and serve tea or anything in the cramped quarters.
After the tour, Colonel Harris was overheard saying to one of his deputies, “Shame on the Hungarians for subjecting their commanding officer and his family to such appalling conditions. I hope if we are ever in such a situation, my men will treat me and my family with more decency.”
Colonel Harris gave Aykler Domokos the mandate to make lists of all the Hungarian ex-enlisted men under his command. A mutual respect and friendship developed between the two men, both of the same rank but one on the victorious side, the other on the side of the vanquished. It would take time and resources to organize the repatriation and Harris looked upon Colonel Aykler as someone he could rely on to get the formidable task accomplished.
Massive prisoner-of-war camps run by the Americans for ex-enemy combatants were rumoured be operating in several places in the American zone. Domokos Aykler was informed that such places were merely clearing centres where the military sorted out war criminals among the ex-enemy. Domokos heard that his sons might be in such a place near Tittling. When he informed his wife of this possible lead, Karola felt her heart was being crushed by the news. After the initial shock, she peppered her husband with questions.
“How could they possibly be considered enemy combatants? Tibor was a reservist — he didn’t take part in any fighting during the war. Bela was in military school — he had no rank. Can’t they see he’s still a boy?”
Domokos replied with silence.
Domokos went to Tittling, with a letter from Colonel Harris, asking the commanding officer of the camp “to extend all courtesy to the bearer of this letter in finding Bela Aykler, sixteen years old, and Tibor Schroeder, twenty-seven years old, both Hungarian nationals.”
Domokos returned with the news that Tibor and Bela had been transferred out of Tittling just two days earlier. No one could tell him where they had been transferred to or why. Karola was dazed and shocked by the news. For a few days, she stayed in her cot, feeling like an empty shell. But seeing the helpless, stunned look on her daughter’s face, Karola realized she had to collect her strength again — her family needed her. It was from that point forward that Karola decided to put her trust in Mother Mary. No one else could possibly understand her complete and utter devastation upon hearing this news.