“But we’ve been safe until now, even as others have been deported,” Rozsa protested.
“We are safe no longer, Rozsa. Pack for me, my dear. Only what we can carry. Sandor,” he said, looking at his ten-year-old son. “Pack your things and some for Elek. I’ll meet you all upstairs in ten minutes.”
“My sister,” Rozsa gasped. “I must warn her.”
“There is no time, Rozsa. I’m sorry, love. We must leave the house in fifteen minutes.”
Dezo left his family in tears as he made his way to the gallery. Masterpieces hung on the wall from Dali, Monet, Munch, Rembrandt, Picasso, Caravaggio, Renoir, Degas, Vermeer, and so many more. How could he abandon this history? How could he leave this part of him and his family’s legacy for the Nazis to take or destroy?
His heart broke as he grabbed what paintings and sketches he could. He felt his soul rip apart as he cut them from their frames and shoved them between the pages of his ledger books. He wanted to take more, but he couldn’t. Some were too large to pack in the bags they had to carry.
The door to the gallery shook as someone pounded on it. His time was up. Dezo raced up the stairs and ordered his family out the back door to the car. “Meet me down the block,” he told his wife. Together they walked downstairs, his wife and son carrying all they could take with them before they turned and went out the back. The gallery door was about to be kicked in when Dezo answered it. A young man in Nazi uniform stood looking annoyed.
“Heil Hitler,” he said, his arm shooting up.
“Heil Hitler,” Dezo forced out, the words making him nauseous.
“We have reports that this is a Jewish-owned gallery. I need your papers.” Dezo looked behind the soldier to find three more young men and a truck. “Are you the owner?”
“No,” Dezo said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the papers Gellert had given him. “I’m just an assistant. The owner left this morning.”
The Nazi soldier looked over the papers and then handed them back. “You may leave. We are taking all the art for der Führer. Heil Hitler.”
“Heil Hitler,” Dezo mumbled as he allowed himself one last look at the art his family had collected over generations. He vowed to himself, to the paintings, and to his ancestors that he’d come back for them one day. One day his family’s collection would be complete again.
Dezo walked out the door and didn’t look back. “Hurry, we must find Elek,” he said as soon as he got into the car.
Chaos erupted all around them as they drove through Budapest toward the Danube River. People were running in the street in a blind panic. Nazi soldiers were shooting anyone who defied them. Rozsa smothered her cries as they approached the river and a group of Nazi guards held up their hands to stop them.
“Pretend to be supporters of Hitler,” Dezo ordered his family as he rolled down his window.
“Heil Hitler!” the guard shouted as he saluted.
“Heil Hitler,” Dezo responded as his stomach turned in revulsion.
“Where are you going?” the guard asked.
“We are returning home from a trip from the country. Our house is on the other side of the river,” Dezo lied.
“Papers?”
Dezo took a deep breath and handed him the envelope from Gellert. As the guard examined them, Dezo watched as two men were dragged from a house and shoved to their knees. When they refused to submit to the soldiers, they were shot in the head.
The guard turned to his fellow guards. “Let them through.”
Dezo drove slowly through the now German-occupied Budapest toward the river. “Papa! It’s Elek!”
Dezo slowed the car at the sight of his son walking with his head down along the buildings. He was hidden in a group of well-to-do teens rushing home. “Rozsa, don’t create a scene. Just call him over to the car.” Even as Dezo’s whole body shook, he tried to appear calm as he stopped the car.
Rozsa opened the car door and stepped out. He could see her skirts swaying as fear shook her body. “There you are, Elek. Now, get in the car so we won’t be late for dinner.”
Elek’s head shot up and he ran for the car until he saw his mother motion for him to slow down. Dezo’s heart pounded as his son closed the distance between them and finally slipped into the car.
“They’re killing people, Papa,” Elek said with his face streaked with tears. “They killed hundreds and just tossed them in the river.”
Dezo put the car in gear and did what he had to do to save the Alder family. He lied, he stole, and he prayed.
It took two days to reach the farthest western border of Hungary. Dezo and his family parked the car in the small village and prepared to make the rest of the trip on foot. They’d seen all cars attempting to leave the country turned away. This was now their only option. They ate in silence as Nazi guards patrolled the street around them. Dezo pocketed a loaf of bread and ordered his family to do the same before they strolled to a nearby park with their backpacks containing everything they now owned.
The west end of the park sat next to a forest and mountainous region. Dezo’s plan was to stroll through the park to the forest at the border. They would lay out their blanket and pretend to have a picnic dinner until the park cleared. Then it would be a 600-kilometer hike through the forest and mountains of Austria that were filled with Nazis to reach the Swiss border. They would have to hurry, yet hide the entire way. Dezo knew they were likely to be killed, but he had to try to save his family.
As the sun set on Hungary, the Alder family slipped into the darkness
