under way.
“It feels like there are no more decisions to make, you know? It doesn’t matter if the original decision was wrong or not, because it’s irreversible. I’m no longer responsible.” A cigarette in her right hand sent ribbons of smoke into her face. “But what about you, Major Brano Sev? You’ve got a family back home.”
He adjusted himself in his chair. “My situation is different from Jan’s. My family survives well enough without me. In a way, it’ll be a relief to them that I’ve gone.”
She nodded doubtfully, then looked up at the bedroom door. Jan stood in it, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, smiling at her. “Christ, it’s good to see you here.”
When Jaroslaw returned that night, they were in the kitchen, drinking tea without sugar, because there was none in the dacha. Jaroslaw went directly to a kitchen cabinet, where he retrieved a small bottle of palinka that no one had noticed before. When he brought the bottle from his lips the ends of his mustache glistened. “There’s been a little delay-nothing to worry about.” But his nervous fingers flicked against the bottle. “I’ll get you to the outskirts of Budapest tonight. You’ll stay with a friend of mine, then it’ll be taken care of.”
“For how long?” asked Jan.
“Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.”
Jaroslaw had picked up another shipment in Budapest; this time it was canned apricots. They again camped behind the boxes, teeth rattling as Jaroslaw sped along and stopped twice for road checks. But he was a regular along this road, too, and the soldiers chatted with him and scolded him for his excessive lifestyle (he told them he was rushing back to see his Budapest mistress) and happily accepted the bottles of palinka he gave them.
They reached the maize farm east of Budapest a little after midnight. Jaroslaw ushered them out of the truck, tossed the suitcases down, and knocked on the door of a farmhouse with a steep, clay-tiled roof. A short man with a heavy limp greeted them and introduced himself as Adam Madai, the manager of the region’s farming collective. As soon as they were inside, Jaroslaw shook the farmer’s hand, wished them all luck, and left.
Madai was an energetic man, chain-smoking Moskwa-Volga cigarettes throughout the night. He kept getting up from the table to refill glasses and winked continuously at Petre-who, after blushing a few times, finally warmed to their host-the whole time chattering away. He knew their language well and said with visible pride that he was also adept at Romanian, German, and English and was now learning French from Juliette Greco records. He learned these languages, he told them, at the school of necessity. “No one, but no one, speaks Hungarian in this world.”
He said he’d gotten his limp in ’56, during the Revolution. He’d been in the streets with his brothers-that was the word he used for them-shooting at Russian tanks from behind barricades. Brano listened to his descriptions of walls exploding over his head, seeing his brothers dead in the street, the dread when he realized he’d used the last of his ammunition. By the time the Russians retook Budapest, he had slipped into the countryside, having been lucky enough not to make the lists of those destined for prisons and firing squads. Brano listened to everything, and by the end decided that Adam Madai was lying about all of it.
But that didn’t matter. Madai was a generous host, choosing to sleep on the couch while they used the two bedrooms. In a bedroom drawer, Brano found an electric bill in Madai’s name-at least he hadn’t used an alias with them. And when Brano poked his head out at three in the morning to make sure their host had not slipped away to turn them in, Madai sat up and offered him a shot of Unicum, the syrupy national liquor that few outside the country had a taste for. Brano politely refused.
15 FEBRUARY 1967, WEDNESDAY
Their breakfast was a plentiful spread of coffee, salami, cheese, and pickled peppers that Madai jarred in his own basement. “The water around here is too hard, much too hard for pickling. So I have to drive over to Erd once a week for bottles. Erd water…” He closed his eyes. “Soft water-you can taste the difference.”
“Yes,” said Brano, wiping his eyes. “I can.”
“Have some more coffee. You look tired.” Madai reached for his hat. “I’m going to run into town to set things up. I should be back by the afternoon.”
“When are we leaving?” asked Jan.
“Hard to say. I’m not the one to do it, so it’s not up to me. But I need all your luggage.”
Lia, on the couch, said, “You need what? ”
“Your luggage,” he repeated. “We’ll ship it separately. It’ll be waiting for you in Vienna.”
Lia raised her hands. “My whole life is in that bag, and you expect me to just hand it to you in the hope that it’ll make it over the border? I’ll keep my things with me, thank you.”
“Li,” said Jan.
“What? Am I the only one who understands this?”
“You’re right,” said Brano. “But we don’t have much choice. I imagine our escape path won’t work if we’re all carrying suitcases.”
“Exactly,” said Madai. “I don’t have to do this, you know. I’ve given you food and drink. I’ve kept you safe. At great risk to myself. Aren’t you comfortable here?”
“I’m scared out of my mind.”
“Come on, Li,” said Jan.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child!” She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I don’t know how you can do this. Giving yourself over to strangers.”
“You don’t trust him?” asked Brano.
“About as much as I trust you.”
Petre bounced out of the bedroom and ran through the living room, making buzzing sounds like a plane.
“Well, I can’t bring you along,” said Madai as he pulled on his coat.
“Why not?” asked Lia.
“First of all, you don’t speak Hungarian.”
“I do,” said Brano. “A Balatonnal tanultam mez magyarul.” I learned Hungarian at Lake Balaton.
“And second of all, none of you have travel papers.”
Brano reached into his jacket and took out his documents. Inside his external passport was a slip of paper folded into quarters. Madai read it briefly and handed it back.
“Well, one of you has travel papers.”
“Then he can go with you,” said Jan.
Lia tightened her grip on herself.
“I don’t know,” said Brano, rubbing his sore eye. “If I’m caught
…”
“But you won’t be caught,” said Jan. He looked at Lia. “Okay, then? Is that good enough?”
She glared at Brano. “I guess it’ll have to be.”
“Well, then?” said Madai. “Will you get your goddamned bags now?”
They took Madai’s stumpy flatbed truck, a Russian UAZ, into Pest, the sooty Habsburg buildings growing more frequent as they neared the center.
“I can’t take you to him,” Madai said as he drove. “You know this, don’t you?”
“Of course,” said Brano. “But we’ll see how it goes.”
“What does that mean?”
Brano stopped gazing at the buildings for a moment to focus on him. “Have you been told what I do for a living?”
Madai’s tongue moved around his mouth. “I was told what you did.”
“Yes, well, I think you know what I mean, then.”
Madai remained quiet until they parked along Kerepesi ut, across from the rail tracks that led to Keleti Station. He opened the door and reached behind the seat for the luggage. “Are you really going to follow me?”
“You point the way,” said Brano.
As they waited for the number 7 tram, each with two suitcases, Madai grew visibly nervous. He kept wiping his hands on his pants, glancing at the crowd of young men and women waiting with them. Brano, though, ignored
