which was an arm of the party, against the lectures and against restrictions on freedom of speech, association and the press. That she had mobilised young Germans and organised clandestine meetings. And that she could not have foreseen her arrest. No more than he did. But he knew he could not write that kind of letter. Everything he sent would be censored. He had to be careful.
Instead, he said he would not rest until he had found out what had happened to Ilona and secured her release.
He stopped attending lectures. During the day he went from one government office to the next, asked to meet officials and sought help and information. As time went by, he did this more out of habit, as he received no answers and realised he never would. At night he paced the floor of their little room in anguish. He hardly slept, dozing for a few hours at a time. Strode back and forth hoping that she would appear, that the nightmare would come to an end, that they would let her off with a warning and she would come back to him so that they could be together again. He woke up at every sound on the street. If a car approached he went to the window. If the house creaked he stopped and listened, thinking it might be her. But it never was. And then a new day dawned and he was so terribly alone.
Eventually he summoned up the courage to write a new letter to Ilona’s parents telling them that she had been pregnant by him. He felt as though he could hear their cries with every key he struck on her old typewriter.
Now, all those years later, he was sitting with their letters in his hands, rereading them and sensing again the anger in what they wrote, then despair and incomprehension. They never saw their daughter again. He never saw his girlfriend again.
Ilona had disappeared from them once and for all.
He heaved as deep a sigh as ever when he allowed himself to delve into his most painful memories. No matter how many years passed, his grief was always as raw, his loss as incomprehensible. These days he avoided imagining her fate. Previously he would torture himself endlessly with thoughts of what might have happened to her after she was arrested. He envisaged the interrogations. He saw the cell beside the little office in the security police headquarters. Had she been locked away there? For how long? Was she afraid? Had she fought back? Did she cry? Had she been beaten? And of course the biggest question of all: what fate did she meet?
For years he had obsessed over these questions; there was room for little else in his life. He never married or had children. He tried to stay in Leipzig for as long as he could, but because he no longer went to lectures and was challenging the police and FDJ, his grant was withdrawn. He tried to persuade the student paper and local press to print a photograph of Ilona with a report about her unlawful arrest, but all his requests were turned down and in the end he was ordered to leave the country.
There were various possibilities, judging from what he read later when he probed into the treatment of dissidents across Eastern Europe at that time. She could have died at the hands of the police in Leipzig or East Berlin, where the headquarters of the security police were located, or been sent to a prison such as the Honecker castle to die there. That was the largest female prison for political prisoners in East Germany. Another infamous prison for dissidents was Bautzen II, nicknamed “Yellow Misery” after the colour of its brick walls. Prisoners were sent there who were guilty of “crimes against the state’. Many dissidents were released soon after their first arrest. That was regarded as a warning. Others were let out after a short internment without trial. Some were sent to prison and came out years later; some never. Ilona’s parents received no notification of her death and for years they lived in the hope that she would come back, but that never happened. No matter how they implored the authorities in Hungary and East Germany, they received no information, not even whether she was alive. It was simply as if she had never existed.
As a foreigner in a country that he did not know well and understood even less, he had few recourses. He was well aware how little he could do against the might of the state, of his impotence as he went from office to office, from one police chief to the next, one official to another. He refused to give up. Refused to accept that someone like Ilona could be locked away for having opinions that didn’t match the official line.
He repeatedly asked Karl what had happened when Ilona was arrested. Karl was the only witness to the police raid on their home. He had been to collect a manuscript of poems by a young Hungarian dissident which Ilona had translated into German and was going to lend him.
“And then what happened?” he asked Karl for the thousandth time as he sat facing him in the university cafeteria with Emil. Three days had passed since Ilona disappeared and there was still hope that she might be released; he expected to hear from her at any minute, even for her to walk into the cafeteria. He glanced regularly towards the door. He was out of his mind with worry.
“She offered me some tea,” Karl said. “I said yes and she boiled the water.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing really, just the books we were reading.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing. It was just empty conversation. We didn’t talk about anything special. We didn’t know she’d be arrested a moment later.”
Karl could see how he was suffering.
“Ilona was a friend to all of us,” he said. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“And then what? What happened next?”
“There was a knock on the door,” Karl said.
“Yes.”
“The door to the flat. We were in her room, I mean in your room. They hammered on the door and shouted something we couldn’t make out. She went to the door and they burst in the moment she opened it.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Five, maybe six, I don’t remember exactly, something like that. They piled into the room. Some were in uniform like the police on the streets. Others were wearing ordinary suits. One of them was in charge. They obeyed his orders. They asked her name. If she was Ilona. They had a photograph. Maybe from the university files. I don’t know. Then they took her away.”
“They turned everything upside down!” he said.
“They found some documents that they took away with them, and some books. I don’t know what they were,” Karl said.
“What did Ilona do?”
“Naturally she wanted to know their business and kept asking them. I did too. They didn’t answer her, nor me. I asked who they were and what they wanted. They didn’t give me as much as a look. Ilona asked to make a phone call but they refused. They were there to arrest her and nothing else.”
“Couldn’t you ask where they were taking her?” Emil asked. “Couldn’t you do something?”
“There was nothing that could be done.” Karl squirmed. “You have to understand that. We couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything! They meant to take her and they took her.”
“Was she scared?” he asked.
Karl and Emil gave him a sympathetic look.
“No,” Karl said. “She wasn’t scared. Defiant. She asked what they were looking for and if she could help them find it. Then they took her away. She asked me to tell you that everything would be okay.”
“What did she say?”
“I had to tell you that everything would be okay. She said that. Told me to pass it on to you. That everything would be okay.”
“Did she say that?”
“Then they put her in the car. They had two cars with them. I ran after them but it was hopeless, of course. They disappeared around the next corner. That was the last I saw of Ilona.”
“What do they want?” he sighed. “What have they done with her? Why won’t anyone tell me anything? Why don’t we get any answers? What are they going to do with her? What can they do with her?”
He rested his elbows on the table and clutched his head.
“My God,” he groaned. “What has happened?”
“Maybe it will be okay,” Emil said, trying to console him. “Maybe she’s back home already. Maybe she’ll
