“Why can’t you get the pose right? You’ve done it before. It’s as if you are trying to spite me—me, your only real friend in the world!”
“If you were a real friend, Maxim, you wouldn’t bring me to some miserable flat without heat and make me gaze into a mirror filthier than a gypsy’s behind!”
Nika was tired, disgusted, naked, and nearly frozen to death inside a dilapidated apartment in Budapest’s District 8. She knew exactly the pose Maxim wanted but would not give it to him until he added the money owed from the last photoshoot to the wad of bills laying on a table a few feet away.
“There! Now, now… no… you did it again!” Maxim slammed his fist on the table and paced back and forth, flapping his arms furiously. “A francba, Nika! I’m freezing in here!”
“Sorry, Max. I cannot seem to concentrate. So much on my mind… so many problems in my life,” Nika replied sorrowfully. “I know! Let’s trade places. I’ll photograph your naked body for the postcards since you know exactly the pose you are looking for and I don’t.”
The pornographer stopped his pacing and starred at Nika for a moment. “Ah… yes, yes… I understand now.” He thrust his hand in his pocket and added several more bills to the pile on the table. Nika watched him in the mirror. “That’s very kind of you, Maxim. You are so understanding.”
She raised her left arm and placed the palm of her hand against the back of her head.
“Ready when you are, Mister Curtiz!” Nika tilted her head ever so slightly to the right and looked pensively into the mirror. It took Nika exactly five seconds to assume the pose she had been refusing to do for nearly an hour.
Maxim gnashed his teeth. “Kurva!” he swore under his breath and took the photograph.
Though the flat in which she’d posed had felt like an icebox, when Nika stepped out into the street she found the winter air invigorating and walked briskly along the sidewalk. Even at midday District 8, colloquially known as Jozef Town after the late emperor Franz Josef where a reported murder occurred on average once a month, was not part of Budapest for a smartly dressed woman to stroll about unescorted. However, experience of life had given Nika a degree of recklessness that got her in to and out of trouble with equal celerity.
As she walked, Nika amused herself by thinking how nice it would be to kill Maxim one day and soon. What always eclipsed such thoughts was when she remembered the pornographer was her only source of income and though the work was morally dubious, she could think of (and been offered) others far worse.
And, as she told herself again, it was only for the time being.
Nika Molnar was nine when her father Professor Benedik Molnar was shot in Debrecen in April of 1919 as an enemy of the people. Two months later, her only brother was killed fighting alongside the anti-Bolshevik forces of Admiral Miklós Horthy near Lake Balaton. Nika’s mother strove to give her daughter a normal childhood. She found money for piano and ballet lessons but ballet bored Nika and knew she would be at best a mediocre pianist, so at 14 offered to abandon both in return for her mother teaching her French. This pleased the widow Molnar immensely since it would reduce family expenses. She also thought her daughter a dreadful pianist.
Nika’s mother had never shown much affection towards her daughter, nor seemed to even like her very much, a disposition Nika came to think of as normal. Feeling slightly guilty because of it, she hoped and teaching her daughter French might bring them closer. Mrs. Molnar had been born in Lyon to Hungarian parents and lived there until she was a young woman. She did translations for several small businesses in Budapest with French clients and felt fully capable of teaching Nika her preferred language. Happily, her father’s library of which she was very proud boasted an extensive collection of French literature belonging to her mother along with the well-received histories her father had written. To her mother’s surprise since she thought her daughter somewhat dull intellectually, Nika excelled at French. She sought out places in Budapest where she might practice it real life and thereby developed a love for cafes as they proved to be the best venue for this.
The frugality of the widow Molnar family was no avail against the Great Depression. Family fortunes great and small were wiped out overnight and what was left of the Molnar family was not spared. After a morning spent trying to find some kind of employment, Nika returned home to find her mother had committed suicide. In her farewell letter, she wrote of her intense loneliness since the death of Nika’s father and brother and that the bank in which she had entrusted their savings had declared bankruptcy. She also appended a somewhat lengthy postscript containing a hateful piece of family history which Nika would never quite understand why her mother felt the need to reveal.
She had just turned 17 years old.
Nika sold every family possession to survive, keeping only her father’s library and officer’s sword from his time in the Austro-Hungarian army. After paying off the family debts there was little left, but Nika was helped by her former piano teacher who found her a one-room flat in District 7. Named after the late Emperor Franz Josef’s beloved though ill-starred wife, Elizabeth Town was where most of Budapest’s Jewish population lived and the district was usually referred to as the Jewish Quarter.
Nika continued looking for a job. Few were available. She nearly got one as a shop assistant, a respectable position that even provided lunch and a uniform but before she could start the shop closed after the owner decamped for America with the company’s assets.
Nika refused to despair. She laughed with contempt at the girls who, finding life too hard to endure, poisoned themselves by drinking concoctions into which they mixed ground matchstick heads. Nevertheless, she celebrated her eighteenth birthday alone, desperate for money with no prospects in sight.
Then, she met Maxim.
It was still morning and though feeling chilled and tired the extra money she’d forced from Maxim meant she could again indulge herself in a visit to Café Gerbeaud, its expensive pastries and a taste for cognac Nika counted as two of her five preferred vices.
The attentive waiter took her order and Nika sat back, casually looked about the room to see if any men were admiring her. Sometimes a man would come to her table and offer to pay her bill, usually in return for what she was not willing to provide. Nika comforted herself by recalling how as a child her father brought her here every Sunday after church. Handsome and dignified in his army uniform, he would treat his beloved daughter to cake bearing the owner’s name in icing on top if she promised not to let any of it fall on the white dress she always wore to Mass.
It was a memory of something that had never happened. Nika barely remembered her father, yet over the years nurtured memories she had carefully crafted of moments with him she knew had not taken place but could have and took comfort from them.
Nika spent a pleasant hour daydreaming at Gerbeaud’s before deciding what she needed most was warmth and sleep. The walk from the café to her flat was not overlong and eight flights of stairs later she turned the key, locked the door and dropped onto the dark blue plush sofa that doubled as her bed. The flat was tiny but had a bathtub and a small area for cooking, the walls bare save for a framed illustration of the Swiss Guards defending St Peter’s Basilica in 1527 that Nika had bought one Sunday at the city’s open-air market. The remaining space was filled with her father’s library, stack upon stack of them. She selected one and leaning back on the couch opened it at random: “The Middle Ages in military history came to a close on the day of Murten, where, in the person of the Duke of Burgundy and his army, mediaeval methods of warfare were theoretical overcome—not by chance, not in a moment of weakness, not in a condition of decay, but on the contrary, at the highest imaginable degree of perfection and even especially supported by the new discovery of firearms.”
Nika wished her father was alive to explain what it meant. It had been very pleasant imagining a childhood that never was, but her imaginings today had been more vivid than usual and Nika found that when this was so something quite out of the ordinary, good or bad, shortly happened to her.
Nika laid the volume on top of the stack and looked around her. With a wave of her hand that encompassed the little room she said aloud, “The borders of my life.”
Captain Viktor Mardar was extremely irritated by the problem he faced that morning and decided to wring some benefit from it by conducting an object lesson in discipline and proper deportment through the application of abject humiliation. The poor soul about to help him do this was waiting in the hallway, but Mardar wasn’t going to see him without a cigarette. He opened a new pack, savored the Turkish tobacco, then shouted for the man to enter. Lieutenant Bányász entered, came before the captain’s desk and snapped smartly to attention, hoping to make a good impression.
He needn’t have bothered.
“Close the door, idiot!” Mardar said.
The hapless lieutenant apologized, closed the door, and stood at attention before Mardar’s desk.
“I won’t ask you to sit… you won’t be here that long,” Mardar snarled through a blue-grey cloud of smoke and pointed to an envelope on his desk, from which several postcards of naked women peeped out.
“Is that filth yours?” he hissed.
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied sorrowfully. “I thought it harmless… but now I think…”
“It doesn’t matter what you think, assuming you’re able to, cretin! It’s what I think that does.” Mardar dumped the salacious images on to the desktop and pointed at Bányász with the envelop.
“‘French postcards.’ It’s disgusting. I only want gentlemen working for me.” He slapped the envelope on his desk. “Clearly, you fail my criterion.”
Mardar went to hand the postcards to the lieutenant with orders to tear them up when one caught his attention. It was the second of the two most artfully done postcards, a full-frontal view of a young woman with long, black hair, left hand on her hip, right hand at the back of her head, looking proudly—no, defiantly— into the camera, the second of her lying on a divan, back to the camera, knees bent, looking over her right shoulder. There was a name in cursive letters at the bottom of each photo. “Nika.”
“Captain… I…” started Bányász.
“Be still, animal.” Mardar looked intently at the face of the girl in the two photographs. The eyes, the doleful expression, reminded him of someone long gone. He placed one of the postcards between the first two fingers of his right hand and held it out to the lieutenant.
“How old would you say this girl is, lieutenant, you being a connoisseur of such smut?”
The young officer swallowed hard and studied the postcard. “I would say… 20?”
Viktor drew on his cigarette thoughtfully. “That should be about right.” He stuffed the photos back in the envelope. “Lieutenant, do you have parents who acknowledge you as legitimate?”
“No, sir… I mean, yes, sir… we are very close. If my dear mother knew I…”
“Oh, for the love of God! Spare me that at least,” Viktor interrupted and looked again at the two photos. “Lieutenant, I am inclined to be generous towards you today.”
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir,” he replied.
“You have been around here long enough to know how unusual that is?” Viktor continued.
“Yes, sir, I have. I will never again give you cause…”
“Do you understand how much more I would rather send you to guard the Romanian border for the rest of your life?”
“Yes, sir.” Mary and Joseph, Bányász thought. What a fate!
“Tell me the name of the human filth who sold you these and where he lives,” Viktor demanded.
The lieutenant saw a blessed ray of sunlight peep through the clouds.
“I don’t know where he lives, sir, but I know where… I mean, I know his studio address.”
“I believe that. I suppose this scum has a name?” Viktor asked.
“Max… Maxim Ziskind, sir, sorry sir,” the lieutenant replied.
Captain Mardar placed the two postcards with the name “Nika” written on them back into the envelope before tearing the rest into pieces and dropping them in the wastebasket.
“This is your lucky unlucky day. Get out and don’t come to my attention again unless it is for something altogether more wholesome. Otherwise, you’ll be asking Mother Mary why you were not born a goat herder’s son in Albania, clear?”
The lieutenant’s face beamed with gratitude. “Thank you, sir!” he said and nearly sobbed as he saluted. “God Bless you sir! I won’t ever…”
“Stop your disgusting slobbering and get out, deviant!” Viktor said returning the salute and picked up the phone.
“Sándor? It’s Viktor. Yeah, I know, me too. Look, I have something I need to do but don’t want to use any of my people to help me do it since technically it’s a police… yeah, alright, agreed, I can do that for you. In return I need two things. First, the address of a pornographer named Maxim Ziskind. I don’t know but probably yes… they’re deep into that sort of business. Find out where his studio is and send me… yeah, the Twins. Tell them it’s the usual deal… how soon? Okay… call me back with the address then they can meet me there… right, and thanks!”
The captain met gendarmes Miksa and Tibor in front of Mr. Maxim Ziskund’s Studio of Fine Photographic Art at one in the afternoon. They were called “the Twins” because though close friends though they had little in common. Miksa was slightly older, tall and powerfully built, while Tibor was svelte and considerably shorter; Miksa had been born in Budapest, Tibor in a village near Lake Balaton; Miksa was barely literate while Tibor could quote German and English authors in their native language; Miksa was considered by his fellow policemen to be something of a ladies’ man; Tibor was waiting for “the right woman.” They usually worked cases together, were remarkably effective, and Viktor used them many times when it was indecorous to involve men from his own department.
Both men were always looking for the main chance.
The windows at Maxim Ziskind’s establishment were ambered, making them opaque. After a vigorous ringing of the doorbell and pounding on the door, Viktor was satisfied he was not inside.
“Either of you know where this pornographer lives?” Viktor asked.
“Thought of that, Captain,” and Tibor proffered his notepad.
“A twenty-minute walk,” Mardar said as they set off. “Good. I don’t get out of the office enough.”
“Ought to join the force, Captain. Need good men like yourself. Get all the walking you’ll ever want patrolling these streets and in all kinds of weather.” Miksa said.
“How would you know?” Tibor asked. “Biggest loafer on the force, Captain. I’ve seen crippled sows on our farm move faster.”
Miksa smiled. “Don’t mind him, Captain. He’s always comparing me to his sister. Used to upset me. Not anymore.”
The captain enjoyed their banter. “Why don’t you two just drop pretenses and take a house by the sea together?”
“Only someone who has never eaten anything he’s cooked could suggest it, Captain,” Tibor replied.
“What do we have on our friend?” Viktor asked.
Tibor again whipped out his notebook. “Maxim Ziskind, age 53, unmarried. Jewish, left-wing political affiliations… no surprises there. Pornographer… also no surprise, might be involved in white slavery, drugs, the last two unproven but again, would be no surprise.”
Though the afternoon was cold with a sky filled with clouds in every shade of grey there was a larger number than usual of lovely, well attired women walking along Budapest’s streets. Miksa caught the attention of a black-haired girl wearing a dark blue beret who smiled coyly at him as she walked past.
Captain Madar looked at him with quizzically raised eyebrows. “Sorry duty to the state is interfering with your love life, sergeant.”
“Got no chance with her now, sir. Being seen with a man like you makes me look good but probably thinks the little runt between us is my son and doesn’t want to be stepmother to an idiot?”
“Time for business, papa,” Tibor said and pointed towards the other side of the street at some apartment blocks built around an inner courtyard. “This is it, sir. Correct street name and number, concierge in a little booth out front.”
“What are our orders, Captain?” Miksa asked, grinning.
“You know how I work. Act as usual. Let’s go.”
Viktor led the two gendarmes across the nearly empty and slightly run-down street, showed his identification to the concierge trying to stay warm and asked if Maxim Ziskind was at home. The man pointed behind him to the empty hook where the apartment keys were hung and read him the apartment number.
Entering the musty-smelling ground floor, Tibor checked the mailbox matched number against the room number the concierge gave and the three men began climbing the stairs.
“What a pigsty! Just the place for a pornographer to live,” Mardar said.
“I wouldn’t know, captain,” Tibor replied. “In my village, we don’t allow such things.”
“You can believe him, Captain,” Miksa said. “Don’t allow much of anything else, either. Invited me once. Most boring place I’ve ever been. First village the Romanians left in 1919. Said if they’d known villages like that existed in Hungary, they wouldn’t have attacked us out of pity.”
“Not true, Captain,” Tibor replied but before he could continue a huge orange cat leapt past them from a hole in the wall. Mardar kicked out as it scurried away.
“Furry cockroaches! Why in Hell does everyone we need to find seem to live on the upper floors?” Mardar asked shaking his head in disgust. “Alright, here it is… 615.” The three men formed an inverted ‘V’ outside the door, Mardar at its apex.
“Gentlemen, it’s quite possible our friend will not invite us in. Be ready to persuade him.”
“Understood, Captain,” Miksa replied. He winked at Tibor and said under his breath “I love working with the captain!” and Tibor grinned as Viktor pounded on the door.
“Maxim Ziskind? It’s the gendarmerie—open up!”
The door slowly opened to reveal an unshaven man with a huge belly encased in a stained white undershirt.
Viktor smiled. “Oh yes. You just have to be Maxim Ziskind.”
“I don’t ‘have to be’ but I am. What do you want? I was sleeping.”
“Just a friendly word, comrade Ziskind,” Viktor replied. “I am Captain Mardar…”
“Yeah, well, maybe some other time—I need sleep!” and Ziskind started to close the door.
“Gentlemen,” Mardar said and the Twins quickly stepped past him, shoved the door open, took hold of Maxim, and sat him down in a chair.
“Thank you for inviting us in,” and Mardar closed the door behind him. “In my experience, cooperation is always better in these sorts of situations than… well, practically else. You smoke?” Maxim shook his head.
“Mind if I do?” and Mardar took a cigarette from his case.
“It so happens I do mind,” Maxim replied. “I have nothing to say to you or these goons you brought to wipe your bottom!”
“You don’t even know what I want to ask you,” Viktor answered serenely. “It might be something pleasant.”
Maxim laughed in contempt “Well, whatever it is, why don’t you ask your whore of a mother while you’re…”
“Hold him,” Mardar said calmly. He pulled on his gloves, stepped forward, nonchalantly transferred his cigarette from right hand to left then viciously slapped Maxim front and backhand across the face.
“That was for your unsolicited comment about my mother,” Mardar said, pulled the two postcards out of his vest pocket and held one in front of Maxim’s face, tapping it with the butt of his cigarette.
“Now then, ‘sweet child’, who is this girl?”
Maxim winced as he looked at the postcard. *“Francba!* That bitch is what this is all about? Look, pal, I can get you ten, twenty, like her for you and your friends if that’s all you want!”
“Not interested. All I want is for you to tell me who she is and where I can find her. If you don’t, I’ll have my friends here take you in as a white slaver.” Tibor whistled.
“Wouldn’t go down well at headquarters, Captain, not at all, especially if some of the pictures you took turned out to be good Catholic girls hard up on their luck.” He looked at Maxim. “That would be very bad for you, Mister Zsidó Ziskind.”
Maxim laughed triumphantly. “I knew that’s what you were all about! Turn me over to the police unless I give you part of my profits, eh? Well, you and your two boyfriends here can go screw each other because you’re not getting a single pengo nor a word out of me!”
“Very soon you will want to tell me all about yourself.” The captain inhaled deeply from his cigarette, placed it between the first two fingers of his right hand, and pointed at Maxim.
“Believe me.”
“I have nothing to say—and wouldn’t if I did!” Maxim replied. He gave all three of his uninvited guests a look of contempt “I fought your likes in 1919. I’m not afraid of anything, scum! Go on—do whatever the fuck you want!”
“I understand.” Captain Mardar dropped his cigarette on the floor, snuffed it out with the toe of his boot and looked out the window.
“You afraid of heights, Maxim?” he asked in a conversational tone.
“I am afraid of nothing!”
“Rare and admirable. Few can make that claim.” He motioned with the toe of his boot to a litter box just inside the kitchen. “You have a cat. Personally, the only thing I am afraid of is cats. As I recently remarked, cats are like big, filthy, furry cockroaches.” Viktor glanced at the Twins. “Don’t you gentlemen agree?”
“We’re with you there, Captain,” Miksa said. “Must say, never heard them described quite that way before.”
“Anyway, the fact you have a cat tells me something about you, Maxim,” Mardar continued.
“And it isn’t good.”
“Why don’t you three comedians go on the stage and get the fuck out of here!” Maxim snarled.
“Now then. Today, I have no appointments and nowhere I need to go. Since I am free the entire day, I am happy to remain here as long as it takes for you to finally change your filth-encrusted mind and cooperate.”
Mardar walked towards the door. “In the meantime…” and made a hand gesture the Twins knew very well. They lifted Max out of his chair, strong-armed him to the window, opened it and hoisted him up over the window ledge, dangling him by his legs over the courtyard eight floors below.
“Don’t struggle, Comrade Zsidó,” advised Miksa.”My friend here is a lot weaker than me and might lose his grip, so calm down—there’s a smart fellow!”
“Sergeant, I am going downstairs to buy a newspaper. Don’t let go of him until I return. I want to see him hit the ground.” “Help!” Maxim cried.
Viktor turned the doorknob, then looked back.
“Either of you like something?”
“Thank you, sir, we’re fine!” Tibor replied.
“Very well,” Viktor said. He stepped into the hall, then turned back. “Are you sure? It’s really no trouble.” Tibor smiled.
“Well, sir, now that you mention it…”
“Wait! Wait! For the love of God wait!” Maxim screamed. “I’ll tell you what you want!”
Mardar closed the door and went to the window. “You’ve decided to cooperate. This has changed my mood for the better. Three questions… who is she, where is she, and what is her name?”
“She’s just a slut with airs! Lives in Elizabeth Town. Don’t know the address—never been there! You’re the investigator—investigate! Name’s Nika… Varady!”
Viktor shook his head. “Sorry. Wrong last name. Try again.”
Maxim felt as if his head would burst. “What do you mean? That’s her name, I swear it, the only one the whore ever gave me – pull me in!”
“Alright, Max, maybe I do believe you,” Viktor said and sighed. “I’d best write all this down… francba!!! I didn’t bring a pen… either of you gentlemen got one?”
“No, sir, sorry,” Miksa replied, grinning.
Tibor jerked his head at Miksa. “I did, sir, but gave it to him.”
“There’s one in the table drawer!” Maxim shrieked. “Oh God, help me!”
The captain crossed the table and opened the drawer. “So there is!” he said, then closed it. “Then again, why bother writing it down? I have an excellent memory.”
“I told you what you wanted!” Maxim shrieked. “Tell these chazer to pull me in!”
Captain Mardar took another cigarette from his case. “Okay, Mister Zsidókind. One more question and we’ll be on our way. Did you fuck her?” “What? Did I what? What did you say?”
Viktor came to the window. “I thought I enunciated myself quite clearly. I’ll try again… did you stick your repulsive kosher sausage into her?” “Noooo! God, no, never!” Maxim screamed.
“But… you wanted to, and tried to, yes?”
“No, I mean… oh God, yes, yes, I tried!” Maxim whimpered. “I offered her money, but the cunt wouldn’t do it!” He began crying.
Mardar nodded. “Shows she has good taste. Where again did you say I could find her? I forgot.”
“Elizabeth Town… Kazinczy Street, I think. Close to the Orthodox synagogue… I can’t remember now! Pull me up, damn you!”
“What’s she doing living there?” Mardar asked. “She can’t be a Zsidó like you, Maxim. I don’t think you got the right girl.”
“How do you know what she is? There are restaurants nearby, maybe the bitch likes kosher food… who fucking cares? Stop joking and pull me in!”
The captain nodded. “Very well, Maximillian. You have been very helpful, and for that I am thankful. You’re sure you told me everything you know?”
Maxim was losing consciousness. “Yes… I swear it!”
“Good,” Mardar replied and motioned to the Twins. They loosened their grip and with a shriek Maxim hit the cobblestoned courtyard headfirst.
Viktor went to the window and saw a man approaching the body. He turned his head left, right, then knelt beside the dead man and started going through his pockets.
“What do you think, Captain?” Tibor asked. “Fell while trying to escape, or suicide?”
Viktor looked down into the courtyard. “Suicide. Could not face his dear mother finding out he was a pornographer, went to the window, you both tried to stop him then… pfht!“
He looked around the flat with disgust. “Search the place. Find any money, share it like brothers.”
He held up the postcard he had shown Maxim. “Find any of these with this girl in them, bring them to me when you stop by later to witness my report. How would you like to work for me permanently?”
The twins looked at each other in surprise and laughed. “We’d like that very much, sir!” Miksa said.
“I’ll arrange with Captain Sándor to have you transferred next week. Good work, both of you.”
“Yes sir, thank you, sir!” the Twins replied and saluted as the captain walked out the door.
Miksa slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Our lucky day, ducky!”
Viktor did not find Nika on Kazinczy Street, but people recognized his description of a young, pretty, unmarried Gentile girl and found her living close by. The Jewish Quarter was not to Viktor’s taste as he fancied a bit more tidiness in his surroundings. Still, he found it vibrant and compelling. If Nika had moved here freely, it said much about her he needed to know.
Viktor stopped at what presumably was her apartment building. This time, instead of an officious concierge in a little box outside there was an altogether more formidable look alteh froy darning a pair of socks just beyond the front door.
“And you want what?” she asked before Mardar could ask and not taking her eyes away from her work.
“I am looking for Nika Molnar. I need to speak to her.”
“She’s upstairs. I’ll take you there when you tell me why. You are a policeman of some color, but I don’t escort strange men to a young lady’s door. I may not be much of a concierge, but I am certainly not a madam.”
“I would never have imagined otherwise,” Mardar replied, smiling. “I was a friend of her father and only today found out she is alive and where she lives. The reason for my visit is personal, not official and she has nothing to fear from me.”
The woman looked at Mardar sceptically.
“Nor do you,” he said.
“Umm… hmm. Very well, I’ll take you up there but stay till she says she’ll speak with you and stay till she says she’s finished. Nika’s a decent girl. What kind of man are you I’m not so certain.”
She rose unsteadily. “Follow me. She’s on the seventh floor.”
“Of course she would,” Viktor muttered.
“What’s that?” the women asked.
“Nothing important,” he replied and fell in behind her.
“You married, officer?” the woman asked as they topped the third-floor landing.
“No, I am bachelor,” Viktor replied.
“Nika’s a lovely girl. Not Jewish, but still a lovely girl. I don’t know how she makes her living but am sure it’s respectable.” She stopped on the stair above Viktor, turned and looked him over.
“You’ve got good manners, so probably a good family. Good job. You ought to marry her.” She waited for a reaction and, receiving none, continued up the stairs.
“Alright, ahzes ponim, but tomorrow morning neither of us will be any younger! Here we are… 7E. The other rooms on this floor can’t be rented so has the whole top floor to herself.”
“Madame, this is a delicate matter… may I please ask you to step back a bit while I tell her the purpose of my call?” Viktor could have ordered her to go but was certain she would refuse.
“Umm…” she replied and knocked on the door. “Nika? Nika, meyn ziskeyt! Someone who thinks he’s important is here to see you.” She looked into Viktor’s face and crossed her arms.
“But he’s okay.”
The door opened and Viktor removed his cap. “Miss Molnar?” Nika looked surprised, then narrowed her eyes and slowly nodded. “Yes… this is about my late father, isn’t it?” Nika asked.
“It is,” Viktor replied cautiously. “How did you know?”
Nika didn’t reply and Viktor quickly regained his composure. “Yes, young lady, that is, if your father was Benedek Molnar, murdered by the Reds in the Debrecen Massacre of 1919, with an older brother who died fighting in Admiral Horthy’s army near Lake Balaton?”
The landlady clucked three times and shook her head.
“Yes, that is my name…” Nika answered defensively. “And yes, to the rest. What do you want with me?”
“My apologies… I wasn’t sure if you were the person I sought. Captain Viktor Mardar, Military Intelligence. I was wondering if you might step out with me for some coffee. There is a café nearby… there are some matters I need to talk to you about. Will you come?”
Nika saw her landlady standing slightly behind Viktor nod her head in reassurance.
“Very well… but I need to change and grab something. I won’t be long.”
The landlady took Viktor’s arm. “Take your time… the gentleman will wait with me downstairs.”
The café Nika chose was not crowded yet still pleasantly boisterous.
“Do you come here often?” Viktor asked as he and his guest were served their coffee.
“Occasionally. I prefer Gerbeaud’s, though I can’t really afford it. My father used to take me there but… I was very little. I cannot remember it very clearly.”
Viktor sipped his coffee and looked about him. “I didn’t think a place like this would have cappuccino.”
Nika smiled and asked the waiter for some milk. “Why not? Jews are a very cosmopolitan people. Surely everyone knows that?”
“Maybe it’s me who is not so cosmopolitan,” Mardar replied. “Your father and I were close friends, from kindergarten through university. He wanted me to be your godfather, but I was stationed in Poland and couldn’t make the Christening, so became your godfather in absentia.”
“I didn’t know such a thing was possible,” Nika replied coolly.
“That makes two of us. I was with the Romanian army when it liberated Debrecen from the Reds. I saw the body of your father in the prison courtyard along with the nineteen others… the Debrecen Twenty. I vowed to find you and your mother, to try and… help.”
“Only you forgot, yes?” Nika asked.
“Debrecen changed me. I became… well. I later discovered my own family had been singled out for death in the Red Terror. When that happened, I stopped thinking of others.”
He discreetly placed the envelop he retrieved from the hapless lieutenant on the table between them. “Until today, when I saw these.”
Nika opened the envelope and appeared to study one of the postcards before handing it back to Viktor, face up. “One of my better efforts, I think. Is that why you’re here… to ask me how much I’d charge to sleep with you?”
“You misjudge me, Miss Molnar.” Viktor slowly and with deliberation tore the photographs once, twice, three times, put the remains in the envelope and handed it to Nika.
“And I don’t believe you would do that for any price. When I saw those today and the name below, I thought it might be you… I thought I saw in your face your mother and father’s features. I visited your former employer who confirmed I was right, though he got your last name wrong.”
“No… Maxim had it right,” Nika replied. “I didn’t want to disgrace my father’s name. I gave him a fake one.”
She set the envelope to one side. “So, now you know. Why are you here, and what do you want?”
“Not to share a kosher meal,” Viktor replied, looking around dubiously. “I owe a debt and am here to try and pay it off. Jobs are scarce at present. I wish to offer you one.”
“Oh, really?” she replied with raised eyebrows.
Mardar smiled indulgently.
“Not the kind you’re thinking. I need a secretary. I also suspect you could be of service to our country in another capacity later.”
Nika looked unconvinced and Viktor softened his tone.
“It is a respectable position with a good salary. You will learn a great deal about the things that truly matter in this world and how they work. And it would mean a great deal to me if you would accept.”
“So… I’d be doing you a sort of favor if I said ‘yes’?”
Viktor laughed. “Correct. I’ll even give you an advance on salary. I want you to find better living conditions.”
“I like it here,” Nika said.
“But you’re not Jewish?” Viktor asked.
“No. When my mother died, my former piano teacher found me a place to live and paid my rent until I could myself. I had almost no money… then I met Maxim. Except for him, the Jews have been better to me than my own people, whom I don’t think I like very much.”
“It’s not safe here for a girl alone.” Viktor persisted.
“It is for me,” Nika replied. “I’m staying.”
Captain Mardar took out his silver business card holder. “Very well. Here is my card. Come tomorrow at 7 am—we still keep ‘Franz Josef hours’—and show the receptionist this. You can start work immediately. What do you say?”
Nika sighed and nodded. “As you said, jobs are scarce. You said you work for the army?” she asked.
“For military intelligence, that’s correct.”
“That means you understand military things?” she continued, and Viktor nodded. “I’ll come under one condition.” She reached into her handbag, took out the book she had been reading that morning and handed it to Viktor.
“Mommsen?” Viktor said, looking at Nika with raised eyebrow.
“It was my father’s. The two were friends. I kept my father’s library and read all his books, only I don’t understand what the author is trying to say in this one.” She pointed with her finger. “This page, the last paragraph. I thought you could explain it to me.”
“I can try… let’s see. ’Das Mittelalter in der Militärgeschichte ging am Tag von Murten zu Ende, als…’” he said aloud then continued in silence, though his lips continued moving.
“Forgive me… my lips move when I read German.”
“I am sorry for asking,” Nika said.
“Not… at… all…” Viktor replied slowly and continued reading. “I’ve read this before… done!” He closed the book, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his closed right fist.
“The passage is about the Battle of Murten in 1476 where the Swiss annihilated the army of Duke Charles of Burgundy. Mommsen explains Duke Charles was defeated not by cowardice or carelessness or inattention to detail since, according to the mediaeval art of war, his army was its finest example. The very pinnacle, in fact. But time had passed it by. A new way of warfare had arrived that rendered it obsolete, but Charles was too blinded by the perfection of what he had created to see it. So, he went down to defeat and death and Burgundy disappeared from the map of Europe, a casualty of his vanity.”
Nika took back the book. “I understand now. Thank you.”
Viktor laughed. “I’m sorry… I got a bit long-winded.”
“No, not at all. I just wonder if my father would think that passage has any application today.”
“I am afraid it might,” the captain mused. “So, what do you say? I need someone to make coffee and sharpen pencils.”
“Tomorrow morning, 7 am, yes?” Nika said, smiling, and Viktor found her smile near to irresistible. He paid the bill, retrieved Nika’s coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “By the way, did your former employer owe you any money?”
“No… why?”
Viktor gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “No reason. Shall we go?”
After escorting Nika to her flat, Viktor opted to take the long way back to headquarters. He had freed himself from the moral succubus that had long tormented him regarding his dead friend’s family. Moreover, he had also been tasked by Hungary’s Regent Admiral Horthy to create a special unit within military intelligence that could deal with problems that compromised the security of the Hungarian state and its allies in ways that made it appear those problems had been resolved by other actors or at least could not be traced back to Budapest.
As he strolled through the streets of Budapest, Captain Mardar believed he had reduced the number of people needed for his new command by one.