THAT NOVEMBER AFTERNOON, AS EVA trudged on foot from the Nyugati station toward the center of town, she found it impossible to believe that this was the same city she’d left just over a year ago. Her Budapest, the Pearl of the Danube, had become a land of debris, of broken glass and despair. She hadn’t been able to get a cab and was thankful that her valise was light enough for her to cover the two kilometers to Saint Stephen’s Basilica on foot. Along the way, rows of apartment buildings stood as if leaning on one another for the last ounce of support: windows had been blown out or boarded up with wooden planks, and the once-gleaming, unabashed Parisian facades blended under a layer of soot. The parks, usually teeming with people soaking in the last rays of sun, were empty, the flower beds choked in overgrown weeds. At the corner of Szent István tér, she passed her favorite bistro, where as a child she would go with her mother on Sundays, insisting that she be the one to read out loud the day’s specials. Now, in that same display case, a sign of a very different kind was posted in black lettering: Not serving Jews. Similar signs peppered windows everywhere, like mushrooms after a summer rain.
Minutes later, she entered an art nouveau building and walked up three flights of stairs to a heavy oak door with beveled glass left ajar. It was surprising stepping in to find herself not in a dusty, cramped office but rather a vast apartment with tall ceilings and custom bookshelves. A grand piano stood regally at the center. The lighting, warmed by red silk curtains, gave the sensation of having waltzed into an old boudoir painting salvaged from surrounding ruins.
“Ah, Miss César. Eva. Welcome.”
She turned to the booming voice. Behind her stood a barrel-chested, aristocratic man with a shock of white hair leaning on an ivory walking cane. “I’m Igor Georgy.” The cane shifted from his right hand to his left so that he could shake hers, gripping it firmly like a man’s, which she rather liked. “First, let me extend my condolences. I know this must be very hard for you. It was rather… unexpected.”
“Thank you, yes, it certainly was. But you did say that I needed to come urgently, so here I am.”
“Would you like a refreshment?” Igor asked as he ushered her to a bright red brocade sofa near the window, beyond which the dome of Saint Stephen’s Basilica sparkled in the softening light like some uncut jewel. “I have a wonderful peppermint tea that is just the perfect pick-me-up. Surely you must be tired after your journey. Or perhaps you would prefer something stronger.”
“I’ll take the stronger choice. Thank you.”
Igor returned a minute later with two crystal glasses filled with ice and scotch and settled himself in a chair across from her, drawing his silk lounge jacket neatly over his crossed legs. There was a calmness about him, a solidness that set Eva at ease, and picking up the glass she reclined against the sofa.
“Well, how to begin. I know this is a difficult time for you. Let me start by saying that I hadn’t seen your father in quite some time, and the state of his affairs was unknown to me.”
“Unknown?”
“You see, as I mentioned to you on the phone, your father in recent months acquired a great deal of debt. Don’t ask me how—as I said, he’d stopped consulting me long ago, since our interests became… unaligned. But the sad news of the matter is that there is a long line of investors who have been left uncompensated. And now, with all this uncertainty, this chaos, they are more eager than ever to mitigate their losses. I hate to have to speak so frankly, but it appears that the Sopron estate will have to be sold. If you can agree to that, at least you’ll be able to hold on to the Budapest home. I can make certain of that.”
Eva took a long sip of her drink, held the whiskey inside her mouth before letting it slide down her throat. “I’m a bit confused. How can this be? My father had plenty of money. And why Sopron, anyway? If assets must be liquidated, why not the Budapest home instead? Surely it’s worth just as much.”
“It is indeed. Although it appears that is the one asset that the debtors cannot go after, as technically, it belonged to your mother. It was hers before the marriage, as you probably already know. But Sopron, unfortunately… well, I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to salvage it.”
Eva set her glass down and lowered her head, stared at the crimson motif of the Persian rug. She loved that villa with all her heart, and once she would have fought the idea tooth and nail. But during the past year, the truth was she hadn’t even had the courage to walk up to the gates. It reminded her too much of Aleandro and their night on that bench, when everything had started, when she knew with every fiber of her being that she was falling in love. Dora’s home was different, it had always belonged to her, but at the villa there would always be Aleandro.
“All right,” she agreed. “I will sign whatever you need me to sign. I assume it’s the reason you called me here.”
There was a solemn nod. “It will take me several days to draft the documents and initiate the sale. Can I count on the fact that you will be here to sign them?”
“Yes. I cannot stay long, but I will wait.”
“Thank you, Eva. Thank you for being so understanding. To be honest, I expected a different reaction.”
She shrugged, caught in her thoughts. “These are strange times. It doesn’t seem that anyone wants to fight for anything anymore. Why should I? With all the horror out there, with all the injustices committed around us, this seems a small loss, doesn’t it?”
There was unquestionably surprise in his lingering gray gaze. “There are injustices everywhere in our world today.”
“Yes. And we all choose to ignore them, do we not? A place such as this”—she swept her arm out to indicate the room and all in it—“I assume is a nice place to shut it all out. Much like my own home over on Andrássy. A grand piano, books to get lost in. We are all guilty of it.” She felt raw saying it, bolstered by the drink, unable to keep at bay the memory of a different injustice, so easily brought to the surface, like dying embers stoked into a full flame.
She was startled by the hearty laugh. “How different you are from your father. Even when you were a little girl, I knew this about you. I don’t know if you remember me, but I used to visit your home when you were little. Back when your mother was still alive. She was different, too, had different… ideas. If anything, it is her that you remind me of.”
“My mother…” Eva bit her lip, feeling the sting of tears. “My mother would have fought for change.”
“And you, Eva, is that what you want?”
There was a long silence. “Mr. Georgy, once I thought that becoming a nurse was the only way in which I could apply myself, make myself useful in this world. But now… now, I think, perhaps there are other ways. Much, you see, has changed in my life as well.”
“It is possible, you know. To bring about change. Although helping in a time like this… it is not for the faint of heart. There are people, Eva, many people who do care. People who are willing to help. If one should really desire it, that is.”
No further words were needed as they held each other’s eyes in understanding.
“I’m your gal,” Eva said, feeling a smile rise up through her chest like a butterfly and land on her lips. “At least while I’m in Budapest. Just let me know what you’d like me to do.”
For the next three days, Eva passed the afternoon hours at a small café on Vadász utca in the fifth district, not far from Saint Stephen’s Basilica and her own home on Andrássy, sipping black coffee at a barstool facing the window. Waiting. Watching attentively the building across the street with its long rows of windows. Before the war, it had been a glass-manufacturing factory and was now simply known as the Glass House.
She checked her watch. Three fifteen. The usual signal never came past three o’clock sharp, and she was seized that afternoon with a slight panic. Sometimes whole blocks would be quartered off without any warning just minutes after five, and even someone like her, with her typical Aryan looks and perfect papers, would be subject to inspection by the German guards.
To her relief, the signal came a moment later—two quick bursts of light in the basement window, followed by a third flicker. She reached inside her purse, extracted a five-pengö note to place on the counter, then wrapped her coat tightly around herself. The interval between the flickering of lights and the opening of the door was precisely five minutes. Long enough for her to pay for her coffee and make it across. Not long enough to draw the attention of any patrolling guards who might be passing by when the package appeared on the landing.
The place she was to make her delivery, scribbled on a card and tucked inside a fold of the newspaper wrapping, was never the same. The first time, it was just an abandoned school building with shattered windows, where she placed the bundle inside the gymnasium under a row of bleachers. The day after—judging by the array of machinery rusting in the courtyard—it was a factory of sorts, where she left the parcel behind the reception desk in a vacant office. On her way home, there had been a second stop at a theater house across from one of the yellow-star houses, where she’d been instructed to place the package underneath a chair in a middle row.
She had no way of knowing exactly what they contained. Mr. Georgy had insisted that it was for her protection, but she’d heard that in the bowels of the safe house on Vadász, which sheltered hundreds of families from the brutality of the Nazi Arrow Cross, documents were being churned on a makeshift press day and night—counterfeit marriage certificates, fake identity papers, protective international passports, which symbolized, for the few Jews in Budapest, the difference between life and death. It mattered, of course, that what she carried so serenely across town put her own life at stake, that she might indeed, as Dora had said, orphan her daughter. Yet this was her one chance to vindicate herself in a small measure from the damages of her past. Within a couple of days, hours, she would slip quietly back into her mundane existence, but for now, she could help save just one life—one life, when so many others had been lost.
This afternoon she would make her final delivery. Earlier that morning she’d signed the papers, and there was no reason to delay her return to Sopron. Things were growing more dire by the day, and there was a good chance that the trains would soon stop running altogether. She’d spoken to Dora on the phone every night but knew that she was going out of her mind with worry. It was time to go back before the noose tightened around the capital. Word was that the Russian army was just about two dozen kilometers from the old town, and she couldn’t risk being trapped here away from Dora and their home, away from her baby.
As she crossed the Széchenyi Bridge, the west bank unfolded as something from a Habsburg-era fairy tale, pristine still, proud in unabashed elegance despite the cloud of smoke looming over the Pest sector on the other side of the river. Near one of the lion statues, she brushed by a group of German soldiers who, leaning on the railing, were basking in the view of the Danube, which glowed red in the setting sun. One of them stepped in her path and clicked his heels, saluting her, while his companions laughed.
“Miss, don’t mind him,” said a soldier, pulling her assailant away by the sleeve. “My friend here apparently can’t resist a pretty face. Not that I blame him. I myself would swim across this river for a chance to speak with you.”
She said nothing, just smiled as brightly and innocently as she could, waving a gloved hand somewhat flirtatiously as she walked on, knowing they were watching her. Her heart was drumming too fast, making her light-headed. Yes, tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow she would board that first train.
On the other side of the river, she took the steps to the top of the hill, stopped to rest on a bench in front of Matthias Church, where she whispered a prayer of protection, unable still to shake the frisson of fear. Sweat had gathered under her arms, yet she forced herself to continue on, drifting farther into Buda’s maze of winding streets, with their majestic oaks and old-world quietness. Another right turn on Lovas út brought her not to someone’s lavish residence or opulent clothing store but what appeared to be the makeshift entrance to an air-raid bunker jutting out from a hillside.
Her only instruction this time was to wait there, which she did, trying to see through the blackened windows above the sidewalk. A few minutes later, the gate opened and a dark-haired girl of about Eva’s age, in what looked to be a medic’s uniform, appeared, carrying a lantern. There wasn’t much of an introduction as she eyed Eva.
“You are Mr. Georgy’s friend, I presume? César?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s me.”
“Well, good, then. Follow me.”
A moment later, the girl led her at a slight distance through an underground labyrinth of passageways with peeling green paint and domed ceilings topped with exposed piping. A final turn brought them through an alcove and into a large storage area lined with rows of white metal cabinets. In the corner, an iron sink was filled with towels, rags. Some, Eva could see in the dim light, were splattered with blood.
“Please wait here,” the girl said, placing the lantern down and turning it off. “Use this only in case the lights go out.”
Then she was gone.
Eva waited, her anxiety spiking with each passing moment. Ten minutes had come and gone, and no one had come to look for her. Had she been out of her mind to let herself be brought down here without asking what this place was? Was it possible she’d been caught in a trap? She poked her head through the archway and down the length of the corridor, trying to remember the way she came. A few minutes more, she decided, and then she would bolt. She would leave the package right on the floor, and she would run.
Before she could withdraw back inside the room, a figure appeared at the end of the tunnel, a mid-statured man coming toward her at a fast clip, his steps echoing in the silence. She took in the white coat as the person came into view, the downcast, concentrated gaze lifting to her—and felt all the blood pool at her feet. The man also froze when he saw her. Long seconds passed as they stared at each other.
“Eduard?”
“What are you… Eva? What are you doing here?”
His gaze shot past her shoulder, as if looking for an explanation, then landed on her again. In his eyes, she saw the initial confusion fade like a cinema screen going black, and something impenetrable and cold seeped in in its place. He’d thinned since their last encounter, although it wasn’t exactly a gaunt look, but one of chiseled hardness. The cords at his neck were as sinewy as sailing ropes, the temples deepened with gray. There was a weariness in the downturned corners of his mouth, which made no attempt to smile.
“What are you doing here?” he repeated, quite roughly.
“I… I was to deliver a package.” She fished the parcel from her bag, her hands trembling as she held it out to him. “This package, here.”
He took it. Stared at it for an instant, maintaining the blank expression, his lips shaping around a soundless word. Then he laughed. It came like a rumble from deep in his chest, building into a full explosion.
“You? You are our courier? Well, I have to say, you’re the last person I expected to see here. For something this bold, that is. Seeing how you didn’t have the courage to convey, as I believe I had the right, that you wanted nothing more to do with me.”
She couldn’t get the words out, struggled to form something, aware that nothing would do, that there was no explanation to offer. “I’m so sorry, Eduard,” she began feebly. “You didn’t deserve that; you are right, and you have every reason to be angry with me, but it was complicated. It was a very confusing time for me, and it would have been difficult to explain to you the reasons.” She swallowed hard. “The reasons, I mean, why I had to leave Budapest. But I’m here now, and I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying… I’m trying to make a difference.”
“Well, how wonderful that you’ve decided to return.”
“I haven’t returned. Not really. I’m only here for a few days.” She was tempted to tell him that her father had died, that as of this morning, the Sopron villa was no longer hers, that so much had changed in her life, but it was absurd to think he would care. He was right. She’d exited his life like a coward. There wasn’t anything at all to speak of.
“Eduard, I know there is no excuse for what I did. For whatever it’s worth, I want you to know that it had nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me?”
“I know you find that hard to believe, but it’s true. I never meant to cause you any harm. In a way, it was to protect you.”
“To protect me? To protect me? You shattered my heart, Eva! Do you have any idea what it was like for me? I couldn’t work! For months, I couldn’t even work! All I could think of is that I managed to offend you somehow so deeply that you couldn’t even bother to write me a good-bye note. To leave me the way you did, without a single word, was… Well, whatever it was, whatever your reasons, they certainly were not for my protection.” He drew back, composing himself as he inhaled through his nose. “Well, thank you for the delivery. Good-bye, Eva.”
He turned and walked away. She watched him go through the corridor and around the corner, and then she was alone again and had to lower herself to the ground. She didn’t even have the strength to cry. She just remained there on the cold, checkered tiles, leaning on the wall, hating herself.
After some time, she made her way back to the street, embarking on what would be an exhausting trek home. She had to get away now. Budapest no longer had anything to do with her life now, and she thought it almost ironic that today of all days, this last string should be severed.
God, how she missed Dora and Bianca.
She quickened her step toward the Chain Bridge, but as she crossed through Fisherman’s Bastion, where she’d stopped to rest just an hour before, something disrupted her course. There was a disturbance in the air, a trembling. A hissing. She looked up at the sky, but the sky was clear. She saw only the spire of Matthias Church spearing the sky like a white medieval sword, and the usual scatter of pedestrians below in the square. Yet the sound was still there, growing, deafening in her ears.
People were running in all directions, ducking under benches, under trees and alcoves. She caught sight of a woman’s red overcoat disappearing inside the church as the ground heaved underneath her feet. There was a spray of glass—she was inside it, she realized, flying through the air with the shards, twisting with them in a dance as beautiful as it was grotesque. Then the ringing stopped abruptly, as if someone had shut out the sound, and a white silence enfolded her, carrying her off as if in a dream.