December 1944
Despite the handshake and the $20,000, several weeks pass without any progress. The passengers are still detained in Bergen-Belsen. For Miklós, the feeling of bonhomie that his dinner with Kurt Becher at the Gellert Hotel had engendered, with its seductive sense of being treated as an equal, seems an illusion. It is already December, and the days are cold, bleak and dark. The ground at night glitters with frost, and early snow cushions the branches of the spruce trees. Miklós thinks about the group at Bergen-Belsen, and imagines them oscillating between hope and despair. They have already spent four months in the camp, not knowing when they would be permitted to continue their journey, or if they would ever be released.
His frustration and helplessness make him so restless he can hardly sit still, as if ceaseless motion might distract him from his anxiety. Whenever it seemed that he had finally reached an agreement with the Nazis, new conditions were imposed and new demands were made. Becher’s latest excuse is that unexpected impediments have arisen, but Miklós recognises this as a brazen attempt to extort even more money.
He knows the money isn’t there, that it will never be there. For one thing, Szymon Goldberg, the representative of the American Joint Distribution Committee in Switzerland, is expressly forbidden from dealing with the Nazis, and for another, even if the AJDC lifted their ban, the outrageous amount the Nazis demand — 20 million Swiss francs — simply isn’t available. Nonetheless, Miklós is willing to continue this exhausting game, to bluff and make promises he knows he can never keep, just to keep the negotiations going.
To add to his frustration, Goldberg is a stickler for rules and considers bluffing dishonest, so the meetings Miklós arranges for him with Becher and some of Becher’s Nazi cronies on the border of Austria and Switzerland come to nothing.
And what is worse, these episodes put everything in jeopardy, because Becher and his offsider stalk out fuming that they have been tricked into a meeting that wasted their time. Exhausted and on the point of despair, Miklós tries to convince Goldberg to prevaricate and promise the Nazis something, anything, but it is useless. In normal times, Goldberg would be an ethical, honest businessman but these are not ordinary times. They are dealing with avaricious killers who have no qualms about extorting money, and Miklós has no qualms about lying to them. The lives of over a thousand people are worth a few lies and false promises.
He admits he has set himself an impossible task, but having reached this point, so close to a success that had once seemed improbable, he can’t bear the possibility that it might all come to nothing. But as he paces around his room, smoking one cigarette after another, he knows that no matter how many times he has to keep arranging meetings between the Nazis and Goldberg, or what lies he has to invent to keep them believing that the money will be deposited into whatever bank account they nominate, the passengers have to be released as soon as possible to travel to Switzerland.
The reason for the renewed urgency lies in a letter Judit has managed to send him from Bergen-Belsen. It is brief, but he knows her well enough to sense the excitement pulsing behind her understated words: I have wonderful news. The three of us will be so happy. He reads it over and over, incredulous at first, then delighted, and finally panic-stricken. He feels he is being ripped apart.
The irony of it. From the day they were married he longed to have children, but she had refused. That was before the war, at a time when having a baby would have been a joy. But Judit had been adamant. Her musical career was flourishing, with invitations pouring in for her to give concerts and join prominent chamber groups. ‘You married a pianist, not a hausfrau,’ she used to remind him whenever he broached the subject. That had been the beginning of their rift. Afraid of an unwanted pregnancy, she had discouraged intimacy and never initiated or responded to his efforts to excite her. Hurt by her rejection, he had turned to women whose sexual appetites matched his, and whose desire for him nourished his ego.
Ever since Eichmann arrived in Budapest and ever-increasing anti-Jewish laws were imposed, the concert invitations had dried up, and Judit had to restrict herself to playing at home. It lifted his spirits to watch her play, her eager face leaning towards the score as her slender white fingers caressed the keys. He often wondered if she ever regretted her decision, now that music no longer occupied all her time and her career had come to a sudden halt, but their emotional distance precluded intimate discussions. She had become increasingly withdrawn, and now for the first time it occurs to him that she has probably been depressed, and perhaps he is the cause.
Was that why she had come into his bed? For he knew now without any doubt that it was Judit to whom he’d made love with such urgency that night. He often reflects on it. He had gone to bed alone, as usual, and had fallen into a deep sleep. How had he become so aroused? Had it been a dream, or had Judit stimulated him until his body responded with a pitch of excitement that could only find relief in the accepting warmth of a woman’s body?
From her oblique comment about Ilonka, he realises that Judit is aware of their relationship. At the time, she hadn’t voiced any distress or even concern about it, but she has always kept her thoughts and feelings to herself.
Was it desire that had led her to his bed, or just the longing for physical connection? Or was it simply her determination to reassert her status as his wife that had impelled her to make love to him, something she hadn’t done since the early days of their marriage?
Judit’s behaviour, so out of character, intrigues him, and the idea that she deliberately set out to seduce him is unexpectedly exciting, although at the same time he is angry at being tricked. He doesn’t know whether she had wanted to become pregnant, but she must have realised that he wouldn’t use a condom or withdraw in time to prevent filling her with his semen.
But a baby, now! He remembers an old Chinese proverb about being careful what you wish for. His anxiety for the passengers now intensifies as he thinks of his fragile wife with his child in her belly, suffering the privations of a concentration camp. Judit was so delicate, so spiritual. How would she cope in such harsh conditions, in the winter frost, surrounded by brutal guards? The food rations would be meagre, the bunks would be hard, and the blankets paper thin.
And what would happen to the baby, deprived of the nourishment babies need? Until that moment, his mission has been to save other people. Now he realises with a shock that he is also saving a part of himself.
In the middle of the night he sits up, wide awake. Ilonka! What is he going to do? He loves her, he still aches for her every morning, and he misses her smile, her warmth and her bright mind. They promised each other that when they reached Palestine, he would divorce Judit and she would divorce Gábor and they would marry. It had all been so clear to them then, but now everything has changed and nothing is clear anymore. He covers his face with his hands.
The memory of Ilonka’s fingertips caressing the most sensitive parts of his body arouses him, and he tries not to think of her moans of pleasure as he unfolded her, petal by petal. How can he live without her? Without the pleasure whose intensity sometimes made him sob with joy? Without sharing everything with her, discussing every plan with her, and listening to her wise ideas? How can he betray the promise they made to each other?
But how can he leave Judit now that she is expecting his child? He makes a swift calculation. She must be almost five months pregnant now. He wonders if her slim figure has filled out, and whether she can feel the baby — their baby — kicking. As his feeling for her rekindles, she is in his thoughts day and night, and he is tortured by the dilemma that is tearing him apart.
But did he have to give either of them up? Perhaps he could explain everything to Ilonka, and they could continue their affair just as before. As soon as that comforting thought occurs to him, he dismisses it. Ilonka would never agree. He must make a choice that will crush one of the women in his life, and crush him as well. Whoever he chooses, he will be tormented by the loss of the other for the rest of his life.
The negotiations for the train have stalled once again, and with no agreement reached about the funds, the situation appears bleaker than ever. So when Szymon Goldberg cables that he will raise four million Swiss francs after all, despite orders forbidding him to do so, Miklós is ecstatic.
When he rushes to Becher’s hotel with the good news, Becher demands proof that the money has been deposited. Without pausing to weigh up the wisdom of his words, Miklós blurts out, ‘Tell me, Obersturmbannführer, what will you do with all this money when the war is over?’
Becher bursts out laughing. ‘Who knows? Perhaps I will become a businessman and do business with you Jews.’
He surveys Miklós. ‘And you, Herr Nagy. Why do you wear yourself out and risk your life with this mission of yours?’
Becher’s question surprises him. It’s a personal question, one a colleague might ask, and he wonders if, for the first time since their association began, this Nazi sees him as a human being, not just a means for further aggrandizement. A glib reply rises to his lips, but he reconsiders. Becher’s question deserves a sincere response.
‘For many years, I used to wonder if my life had any meaning. But if I can save this group of Jews, I’ll feel I haven’t lived in vain.’
‘Ah so. Naturlich. You want to be a saviour, nicht war? And those Jews, they will be grateful to you? For how long? People have short memories. Jesus Christ also sacrificed himself, but the people he saved didn’t appreciate him. They betrayed him.’
Miklós can’t help chuckling at the comparison. ‘Even if they don’t thank me, at least they won’t crucify me.’
Becher walks to the liquor cabinet, removes two glasses, fills them to the brim with schnapps, and holds one out to Miklós. This gesture surprises him. They have drunk together in bars, nightclubs and restaurants, but this is the first time Becher has offered him a drink in his office.
‘I have news for you,’ Becher is saying as he sprawls in his armchair. ‘I want you to know that I’ve been doing my best to have your passengers released. I am also trying to send thirty thousand Jews to labour camps in Austria to keep them there instead of deporting them to Auschwitz, but Eichmann has been blocking my efforts. He wants them all dead. The Reichsführer is willing to stop the deportations and close the concentration camps, but Eichmann undermines his plans.’
Miklós shifts to the edge of his chair, every muscle taut with anticipation. He is still waiting to hear Becher’s news.
‘I can tell you that thanks to my efforts, your people will leave Bergen-Belsen tomorrow, and their train will reach Switzerland in two days’ time,’ Becher says. ‘I am sure you will want to meet it.’ Leaning forward he clinks glasses, says ‘Prost!’ and downs his schnapps in one gulp.
For the first time in many months, the burden that has been weighing Miklós down finally slips off his back, and he walks home with a lighter step. Just a few more days, and he will finally triumph after all these terrifying meetings, dangerous discussions and failed negotiations. Thanks to his determination, over fifteen hundred Jews will have been saved from a horrible death, and Judit and Ilonka will be free. He’s the one who has achieved this, but he knows he couldn’t have done it without Becher’s help.
*
Three days later, on a frosty December day, the train from Bergen-Belsen pulls in at the station at St Margarethen on the border of Austria and Switzerland, brakes screeching, thick steam blowing across the railway track. Over a thousand faces are pressed to the slits in the walls of the wagons, anxious to catch their first sight of Switzerland. Some of the passengers are sobbing, overcome with emotion. Some are laughing, delirious with joy. Others are silent, trying to grasp the significance of a moment they have dreamed of for so long. Reporters are running along the platform and photographers have cameras poised to take their first shots of the liberated Hungarian Jews for international newspapers.
Pushing his way past the photographers, Swiss soldiers and Red Cross personnel, Miklós scans the passengers pouring from the wagons, impatient to place their feet on Swiss soil. Suddenly he hears someone shout his name. He turns, and Judit falls into his arms.
Resting her small head on his shoulder, she sobs, ‘Miki, you did it! I can’t believe I’m really in Switzerland. I can’t believe you’re here and we’re safe. Tell me this isn’t a dream.’
He closes his eyes and as he holds her against him, he feels an unfamiliar roundness. ‘Oh my darling,’ he says, and strokes her belly. The platform is crowded with passengers, porters and Red Cross officials, but they stand motionless in their embrace. Once again he caresses the hard swell of her belly with wonder, and knows his choice has been made.
He looks up. Standing apart from the crowd, Ilonka is staring at them. His heart is hammering. He longs to rush to her, to sweep her up in his arms and hold her, but he manages to control himself. Several moments later, he pulls away from Judit and starts to move towards Ilonka. But before he can reach her, she holds up her arm in a gesture that warns him to keep his distance. He wants to speak to her, to say something, but the words freeze on his lips as he hears her say, ‘Don’t come near me. I never want to see you again as long as I live.’ Then she turns her back on him and walks away.
His face is the colour of the whitewashed station building, and he leans against it as he watches her retreating figure. Just then a cameraman asks her to join the group he is about to photograph near the St Margarethen sign and she forces a smile as the flash goes off.
It should have been the most triumphant moment of his life, but he knows he will never forget the words Ilonka spat at him. He has lost the only thing that made his life worth living. As he walks slowly from the station with his arm around Judit, he wants to weep. Everything in life comes at a price, but this time the price was too high.