Chapter 51

 

Bart pulled into the empty gravel driveway alongside the house on the Little Miami River about eleven. He hadn’t called to let Ilona know he was coming. When she answered his knock her unkempt hair and haggard appearance, punctuated by red watery eyes, shocked him.

“Jesus, are you okay?”

“I’m alone. My family is gone, and I have done terrible things. I am not okay. I will never again be okay.”

“I know the past few days have been hell for you, but maybe I can help. May I please come in?”

Ilona opened the door fully and he followed her into the kitchen. She sat on one of the wooden chairs and Bart sat across from her.

“How did you know I lived here, Bart? I never told you.”

“I know a lot you never told me. I’m sorry, but I’m not really who you think I am. I work for an insurance company, the one that’s been hurt by the arson fires at the Caspian properties.”

“So, even you are not real. Meeting you was my only bit of light, and now even that light has gone out. Well, I guess you have me. I confess, my father planned the fires; my Uncle Arpad made the fires, and me, I killed Kalakov with my car last night. Is that what you want to know? Do you wish to arrest me now?”

“I knew all of that before I came here. If I’d wanted you arrested I wouldn’t be here. The detective in the black Ford up the street would have come to your door and taken you away. I have a pretty good idea what happened and I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. I’m here to see if I can possibly spare you any more pain. I know it’s not easy, but please try and trust me.”

“What difference does it make if I trust you or not? What more can happen? My life is already over. I’ve killed a man, I’ve watched my father and uncle kill innocent people, and I did nothing to stop them. Now my whole family is dead. So there is nothing you can possibly do to make my life any worse than it already has become.”

“I know your father and uncle were involved in the Caspian fires. Your father planned the fires and your uncle set them. What I don’t understand is why. Can you tell me that?”

“I will tell you, but I am not sure you will understand even then. I will make us some tea, and then I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”

When the tea was poured, Ilona looked down at the steaming amber liquid in her cup and began the story of her family’s mad odyssey across half of Europe, finally ending in Ohio.

“You know I was born in Hungary, in Budapest, but you do not know what happened to my mother, only that she died during the revolution. In 1956 she was the manager of a small bank in Budapest. On October 30, two days after my birthday, she and one other employee were in the bank. The bank was officially closed but they were there to help those who were planning to flee Hungary and needed to withdraw their money.

“Early that afternoon, a tank crashed into the bank. It was not an accident. They were there to steal what was in the vault and the deposit boxes. After they finished their work they fired their cannon several times into the building to destroy any evidence that they had been there. My mother and the other employee were both killed.”

“How do you know all this?”

“There is a school across from the bank. The custodian saw it all and he told the Freedom Fighters what happened, and the number on the tank. That was how Poppa learned of my mother’s fate, and who was responsible. A Hungarian spy working at Soviet Army Headquarters had access to military personnel records. They informed Poppa who the commander and crew of the tank were.

“At that time, Poppa and Uncle Arpad were too busy trying to survive to avenge my mother’s murder. When the Soviets defeated us, Poppa, Uncle Arpad, Aunt Magda, and I were smuggled out of Hungary. Poppa and Uncle Arpad had been leaders in the revolution. If they had been captured they would have been shot. So, for several years we all ran and hid.”

The more Ilona spoke of her early life, the more detached she became. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall she was facing. She sat unmoving, as if concentrating on something only she could see. Bart was mesmerized as she recounted her family’s history.

“Poppa was able to follow the tank crew because of information he received from the spy. His plan, as soon as we could move more freely, was to kill all of the members of the tank crew. Then there was an accident and four of the tank crew died. Only the commander remained alive. Poppa was enraged that the opportunity for vengeance had been taken from him. It was all he talked about. All he thought about. One night, he got so angry he threw his dinner against the wall. The dish shattered and food was everywhere.”

“The tank commander,” questioned Bart, “was that Kalakov?”

Ilona turned and made eye contact with him. “Yes, Kalakov was the commander.”

“With the rest of the tank crew dead, your father still wanted revenge against Kalakov?”

“Oh yes, he wanted to kill him more than ever, more every day. His life was dedicated to Kalakov’s destruction. All he thought about was slaughtering the Russian. But later, when we followed him here, to Ohio, Poppa became obsessed with the idea of making him suffer before he killed him. He said that Kalakov’s only love was money, so that is how he would make him feel pain. Poppa marched forward, and we were all dragged along behind him. His vengeance was the only thing important to him and, because of that, it became the center of all of our lives.

“All of my life, we went wherever Kalakov went. For almost thirty years we followed him from country to country, and then across the ocean. But it was as if he was protected by some kind of twisted god. Poppa’s frustration and hate continued to grow. Avenging my mother’s death had become his whole life. Nothing and no one else mattered. Not me, not Uncle Arpad, not Aunt Magda; not even himself. And then the killing started. I know only of two incidents in Europe, but there may have been more. 

“Once in Poland Poppa and Uncle Arpad stabbed a man. The man they killed was the wrong man. Poppa was not upset because he killed an innocent person. He was enraged because he had not killed Kalakov.

“In Germany he went after Kalakov with a car. He missed the Russian but killed the woman he was with. Again, there was no sorrow for her, only more fury because Kalakov was still alive. I don’t know if there were other times. I know only of those two.”

“While all this was going on, how did you live? Where did the money come from?”

“Money was never a problem. Poppa and Uncle Arpad had graduated from the university. They were construction engineers. Wherever we lived there was always good paying work for them. Aunt Magda was a teacher, and she often found work in government or church schools. Always there was work, so always there was more than enough money. If Poppa had not been so obsessed with his vengeance against Kalakov, we could have lived very well.”

She looked down into her still full teacup and then up at Bart. “Kalakov stayed in Hungary for four years after my mother’s death. Poppa was still too well known to return, but not a day passed he did not speak of Kalakov with hatred.” 

“Did your father have a plan?”

“No, no plan, just determination to let nothing stand in his way. 

“After Budapest, Kalakov was sent to Gdansk in Poland. Gdansk is a port city on the Vistula River, near the Baltic Sea. There was much construction going on there. Poppa and Uncle Arpad got jobs building the new port area. Aunt Magda worked as a teacher at St. Stephan’s School, and I went to her classes. We were there for six years. It was a good time for everyone but Poppa. He missed his chance to kill Kalakov, and he got no more chances, and that was making him crazy.”

Bart watched the suggestion of a smile appear when she spoke of their time in northern Poland.

“In the six years we were there, Poppa saw Kalakov very few times. Almost always he was with several of his comrades. He lived on the Soviet base, so there was no way to get to him. A little more than a year after Poppa and Uncle Arpad killed the wrong man, Kalakov was transferred again.”

Ilona took a sip of her tea. “It is cold. Can I make you a fresh cup, Bart?”

Bart tasted his tepid drink for the first time. “No, this is fine. Please go on.”

“Yes. Kalikov was sent to Berlin in Peoples Republic of Germany. It took Poppa more than two years to get visas for us to follow him. This was good because Aunt Magda did not want to leave Gdansk. She was very happy teaching there. I, too, was happy in Poland.”

“But you eventually moved to Berlin. Were you happy there?”

“No, it was the worst place I had ever been. It was like the great war had just ended. Bombed out buildings were everywhere and nothing was in the stores to buy, even if you had money. What was good in Germany was only found outside of the Russian Zone. But the Russians had built a wall to keep the people from leaving their zone. They did that because no one wanted to be there. But we stayed in that awful place, because Kalakov was there. In all of the time we were there Poppa had only one opportunity attack Kalakov, and again he failed. I was frightened he would go completely mad. Now I think perhaps he did.

“Poppa and Uncle Arpad worked, but there were no teaching jobs for Aunt Magda. She and I spent much time together. Every day she taught me what I would have learned if I were in school. I really loved being with her. She was a wonderful person.”

Ilona picked up a napkin and dabbed her tears.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Bart said. “Would you like to finish your story outside?”

“Yes, that is a good idea. There is a table and some benches by the side of the river. We could sit there.”

The day was not overly hot, and the soft rush of the light breeze through the surrounding trees was relaxing. She and Bart sat across from each other at the picnic table. 

“Today is not terribly hot, like the day we went to the zoo, Bart.”

He thought of the way he had deceived Ilona that day. “I’m sorry for having been so dishonest with you.”

“No, no, do not be sorry. What you did is what had to be done, and what you did was good. People were being hurt and killed, and there had to be an end to it. You were trying to end it, and for that there is no reason to be sorry. I am the one who should be sorry for letting it go on for so long and doing nothing.”

“What could you have done?”

“What I finally did. I killed Kalakov.”

“It was an accident.”

“I drove to his office with a gun. I went there to kill him. I waited for him to come outside so I could shoot him. When he did come, the police also came. I was frightened and I drove quickly away. He ran in front of my car and I hit him. I killed him. I knew the slaughter would not end as long as Kalakov lived. I cared little about Kalakov, but I felt great pain for the innocent people who were suffering because of my family.”

“I was there with the police and FBI. He ran right in front of your car. You couldn’t have avoided him.”

“That may be true, but I went there to kill him, and I did. So I am guilty.”

“What you intended to do didn’t happen. What did happen was an accident. But please tell me more about your father and uncle’s attacks on Kalakov’s buildings.”

“With our forged identity papers we were able to travel freely throughout Eastern Europe. After Poland and Germany, we followed Kalakov to Moscow. Always there was work for Poppa and Uncle Arpad; sometimes for Aunt Magda. And always the results were the same. Poppa was unable to get to Kalakov.

“All I have known in my life has been killing of innocent people. It has been hell, with no end. Then yesterday everything ended for me.”

“I can’t even imagine how you have suffered, Ilona. I’m so sorry to bring this all up again, but I must know. What happened after the killings in Europe?” 

“While we were in Poland and Germany, Poppa thought it was safe for us to sneak back into Hungry. So several times we returned to visit with friends for a few weeks. But then it was back to whatever country Kalakov was in, and the hunt continued.

“Finally, after many years, Poppa learned that Kalakov had been discharged from the army. At last, I thought, Poppa would have to give up his crazy chase and we could go back to Budapest and live like other people. Returning to Budapest was always my dream, and I know it was Aunt Magda’s dream too. We had loved Poland, but Hungary was our home.

“I was wrong. Poppa would not consider giving up his hunt. With bribes to a government official he learned that Kalakov had gotten a visa to go to America. With more bribes to an Aeroflot employee, he found that Kalakov had flown to Cincinnati, in Ohio.”

Ilona got up from the bench and walked the few feet to the riverbank. Bart followed and stood next to her near the water’s edge. 

“I will miss this place. It is calm and beautiful here. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, and hear the rush of the water, and feel the breeze on my face, I can forget, if only for a moment, the awful things my family has done, the shameful things I was a part of. What little happiness I’ve had since we came to Ohio was with you, and when I was here by the river. Now I am with you and also by the river, and I find no peace and feel no happiness. Poppa, Aunt Magda and Uncle Arpad are all gone, and I am here . . . alone.”

Bart took a deep breath. “What were you doing while your father and uncle were burning Kalakov’s buildings?”

“Nothing, I did nothing. So many times I asked them to stop. No, no, I begged them to stop. I pleaded with Poppa, but he would not hear me. When the young Russian family was killed in Cincinnati, it tore out my heart. I could not understand how the people I loved most in the world could be so cruel, so unfeeling. But they were. Uncle Arpad did whatever Poppa told him, and Poppa knew nothing but hate and vengeance. It was like a cancer that had eaten away all of his human feelings. Aunt Magda also hated what we were doing, but like me, she too did nothing.

“I watched it happen. Until I went after Kalakov myself, I hid in my room and cried. People were being slaughtered and what was I doing? I was crying like a child. I was of no help to anyone. Now the price I pay for doing nothing is to be left completely alone in the world with the rest of my life gone. I only hope that paying for my sins will somehow help me find peace.”

Bart searched for words to comfort her, but could find none. They both stood staring at the slow moving water, Ilona burdened with grief and guilt, and Bart heartsick at being powerless to help. 

Ilona continued, “What happened since we are here in Ohio you already know. Buildings were burned and people died. What we did was terrible, unforgivable. Everyone has paid a terrible price, everyone but me. Aunt Magda paid, and, God knows, she did nothing wrong. Now it is time for me to pay. I have not been to church since we were in Poland. I will go and confess to God, and then I will confess to the police.”

Bart turned to faced her. He took her hands in his. “Ilona, please listen to me. You’ve probably paid a higher price than anyone. You’ve lost your family and what should have been the best part of your life has been destroyed pursuing your father’s lust for vengeance. You remember, I told you my wife and daughter had died in a car accident some time ago. That wasn’t completely true. It happened only three months ago. I know your pain because I live with so much pain of my own every day. You couldn’t control what happened any more than I could, so why blame yourself? Regardless of what’s gone before, you’re still young, with much of your life still ahead of you. This is not the time to be giving up.”

“Even if you’re right, what I want to do with my life is of no importance. When the police look in the garage and find the car with the broken front, I will be arrested for killing Kalakov. They will also know, because I will tell them, that I knew of the fires and deaths. I believe what happens with the rest of my life will not be for me to decide. I will be arrested and all my choices will be taken from me.”

“Yes, it could happen that way and you could spend several years in prison. I don’t know if I can do anything to change that, so I don’t want to get your hopes up. Harry Tallman is a by-the-book cop, and technically you are guilty of criminal acts, so I can’t make any promises. But I’d like to talk with him and see if there is any way to resolve this without you being hurt any further. God knows, I owe you that much.”

“You owe me nothing. You gave me a few happy hours, and you cannot possibly know what a wonderful gift that was.”

“Promise me you’ll do nothing until I get back, Ilona.”

“Yes, Bart. I promise, but I believe you will be wasting your time. So much has happened and so many have been hurt. But I must tell you, it makes me feel good to know you wish to help me; that I am not completely alone. For that I am very grateful.”

As Bart drove away he was confronted by the question he had feared he would have to face before the matter was resolved. He wanted to help Ilona keep her freedom. She had suffered so much for so long. But the law was the law, and it should not be manipulated because he didn’t like the way things were working out. No question, he would appeal to Harry to let Ilona off the hook. While he sincerely wanted her to walk away from the affair without any further pain, he wasn’t sure how hard he would be willing to push to gain that outcome.