CHAPTER I

End of September, a few days before the High Holy Days. We are driving back from the cottage a day early because of the steady and relentless rain. The hills are still dark green, even darker now painted by the rain; an occasional premature red or yellow bough breaks the monotony. Clouds cling to the flank of the hills, like tufts of cotton-candy. A sense of dÈja vu overwhelms me.

In the late fall of 1943 we went to Budapest (Vinyi and the two of us) and joined Zuli, Imre býcsi and a widowed friend of theirs with her 14 year old son, Bubi, to drive to the mountains for the High Holy Days. We drove to the Matra among cloudy, rain-darkened mountains. Thrilled, singing all the way, an exuberant holiday mood permeated our little party.

A room in the hotel was designated as the synagogue, the men prayed, wrapped in their large prayer-shawls, swaying, chanting. We took long walks, breathed the marvelous mountain air, enjoyed the springy, pine-needle covered paths under the gigantic pines, the good food and the company of an "older" boy. Bubi was gloating with self-importance to be the indispensable 10th man at the prayer gatherings, and could not make up his mind which one of us he preferred. We all marched down to the little brook and emptied our pockets of crumbs, in the traditional taschlich ceremony, and tried for the first time to fast on Yom Kippur.

That fall schools did not re-open on time. The Allies were steadily advancing, the news about the war was good, it may be finally winding down. To concentrate children in schools might expose too many of them to excessive danger: a wait-and-see attitude was adopted by the government and lessons were broadcast every morning over the radio.

The family gathered once more in Subotica during the previous summer: Zuli, Vinyi and Babi in Vinyi's sumptuous light blue satin-bedecked bedroom. We were called in solemnly and "enlightened". The "facts of life" a completely new concept to me: this all has to be done in order to have babies; it is done on the wedding night ("Nicholas did that to you Babi?" - I was non-plussed) it is all very unpleasant and painful, and females bleed every month in preparation for future child-bearing. Mari haughtily declared that she knew all about it, facts culled from various books and encyclopedias. I was aghast at this plethora of new information (and at her knowing) and went out to Marcel, our cook, to check out the story. She blushed and confirmed it. We were now prepared to face approaching adolescence.

But chiefly, talk among the adults was about the war. What our chances in Hungary are to avoid the destruction suffered wholesale in other parts of Europe. What our chances are to avoid organized "action" against the Jews, rumors of which reached and frightened all of us. The young men of our town (including Nicholas) were already in forced labour brigades, some others became P.O.W's during the extremely short-lived Yugoslav war against the Axis.

News from them reached us sporadically, and everyone dreaded the approaching winter. Zuli--ever practical, shrewd, pragmatic Zuli--decided that what we needed most at this time was Christian friends. She established the solid friendship of two women in Budapest: one a widow of a very high-ranking army officer who had a son (also called Bubi) a cadet in a good military school. This lady was young and pretty, living with a high-ranking officer whom she did not marry, so as not to lose the pension from her first husband. We drank in these little snippets of delicious gossip with glee. Her other new friend, Julia was also a widow with a son in medical school. A somewhat impoverished, once wealthy woman, awed by the friendship offered by THE Mrs. Tieberger, she would do anything for any of us, should the need arise.

Mid-October we were back in the convent. School life after all, has to go on, a sense of normalcy returned to our lives. The food was even worse and more scarce than the previous year. Rumors were now rampant about what is going to happen to Jews (there was one other Jewish girl in the convent); bombing raids intensified in ferocity and number, there was hardly a night we could sleep through undisturbed. We became experts at guessing whether it was the Russians or the Americans bombing. I slept with a miniature teddy bear.

However--the nuns reassured us--all is not lost, we could all be redeemed with even more prayer, more self-sacrifice. How about dedicating our lives to Jesus for the many sins committed by our parents and grandparents (your mother was divorced! Jews don't go to heaven!). Frightened, passionately trying to do the right thing, I promised to become a nun.

In keeping with the strict black-out regulations, we groped our way from mess-hall to main-building, it was early December, frozen, slippery stairs, I missed a stair in the dark and broke my ankle. Vinyi, distraught in spite of reassurances that all is well, my ankle has been set at the nearest hospital, immediately came to Budapest, took me to the well-known orthopedist who set my leg once before, and hence back to Subotica. For some reason she made my bed up in their bedroom--maybe she felt sorry for me: the first time in my entire life I would be sleeping alone in a room. I was happy to be home, to be so near to her, to be an only child, pampered and privileged, catered to. One morning when Apu--as usual--came to help me hop to the bathroom, he took the covers off me, I was wearing white silk pajamas, we both looked down in horror, from the waist down to my knees I was covered in blood. He quickly covered me again and told Vinyi, "You better deal with this."

Rites of passage, the becoming of a "woman", in a small town this was news, the paraphernalia had to be bought, the pharmacist is a close friend, who in turn told....there were excited telephone calls, "it is not possible, little Dolly, so soon...." the sisterhood of women, the gloating and commiserating....the terrible embarrassment of it all!

Mari came back for the Christmas break, so did Zuli, Imre býcsi and their good friend Julia Szentirmay with her son George. There was a huge Christmas tree, presents; days and days of celebrations, entertaining and abundant food. The biggest gift was--as usual--from Apu to Vinyi. But instead of the traditional beautiful handmade piece of jewelry that he made for her for every occasion, this year it was a 5 kilo canvas bag with coffee beans, an unobtainable treasure. If there was a war going on, we certainly did not know it.

George took us to the movies, with some other youngsters. On the way back he managed to loose our companions. He pushed me against a wall, gently murmuring endearing words, our breath steaming in the cold air, the snow crunching underfoot, tilted my face up to his and gently, deliciously kissed me on the mouth. This was not a Szatyi's peck on the cheek, this was the real thing, the thrill, the moment preserved, savored, the incredible happiness: this is happening to me, not to Mari, the beautiful, blue-eyed blond Mari, but bespectacled, clumsy, shapeless, mousy haired me.

What was going on? While taking a bath (we graduated to bathing alone, the tub was now too small to hold both of us at the same time) Vinyi invited Julia to the bathroom. "Look how pretty she is becoming, what a beautiful little body she already has," she pointed at me smiling, "look at that lovely mole on her tummy."

I'll never do this to my daughter, was the only thought flashing into my mind. It was all very confusing, the late night shouting matches between the adults. "Something has to be done to protect them," Zuli was hysterical, "they would not fall off the bed any more".

And--relief--we were back in the convent again. The mysterious feelings generated by that dreamlike kiss faded into that grab-bag of "happiness-treasures" which could always be relied on, replayed during scary, stressful moments.

Spring came early in 1944. On March 19th the world as we knew it ended. Dr. Farago Annus came in during recess to pick up her daughter Panni who was in grade school. Our beloved Annus nÈni was wearing a yellow star on her dark overcoat. We ran to her, she squatted down and spread her arms to embrace us, we were all sobbing hysterically. There was no need for explanations, there was a lot of growing up, reality condensed in one panicky moment.

CHAPTER II

And so it all started.

On March 19th, 1944, the German forces occupied Hungary. Historians will quibble over this definition for many generations: apologists for Hungary will call it an "occupation", those who condemn Hungary's role in the war will say that the German troops were invited. It does not really matter. The specter of antisemitism, implied, whispered, feared, unfathomable; suddenly became the focus of our lives: ever-present in every breath, menacingly staring from placards, newspapers, movies, theatres: it was everywhere, and everything else in comparison was dwarfed in importance.

The school-year came to a hasty end. Unbeknown to us serious negotiations took place between our mother and Mother Superior for the possibility of accepting us, and sheltering us at their mountain retreat as servants, students, whatever; in exchange of large sums of money. Mother Superior refused.

Our parents moved to Budapest, rented a room in the Hotel Lukacs, and a semblance of life started. I remember most the daily tedium of going for short walks, but mostly of sitting in the room, listening to the radio, calling room service (the waiter's name was Armand), or standing by the circuit breaker in the hotel's corridor and switching back the breaker every time Vinyi's attempts at cooking in the room overloaded the power supply.

The hushed conferences at night, the crying; Apu's constant efforts to soothe, to reassure, his absences during the day, Vinyi's vigil by the window. We took up a position to see what she is watching so intently every afternoon at the same time, smoking one cigarette after the other, hands trembling. We saw a handsome, tall, dark stranger standing across the street under the window. We confronted her. She tearfully "confided" in us. "No matter who asks you about him, you never saw anything, you never saw anybody, my life and reputation are at stake, you know Apu...this man is my lover, we meet secretly everyday."

We were excited. Romance, adventure, like in a movie, a ray of colour, sunshine in our drab, fear-filled days.

Later, much later, we found out that the man was Zuli's butler's brother, the farmer who was hiding Zuli & Imre býcsi since March 19th, in the attic of their farmhouse where they were not allowed even to move about during the day, not to arouse suspicion. Imre býcsi offered them, in writing, in case they survive, the Gy–mr– property.... The man who came to the Hotel nearly every day brought messages, requests. The requests were monotonously the same: Imre Býcsi wanted cyanide to end it all.

Events unfolded at a maddening pace. We were drilled to remember the new birth dates, birthplaces, names on our falsified documents, luckily the 2-years convent school left us proficient in Catholic prayers. We were also warned about two attachÈ cases: two black fairly large attachÈ cases: no matter what happens, those two valises have to be rescued. If Vinyi and Apu disappear, if there is a bombing raid and things are destroyed, the most important thing in the world apart from having each other, is hanging on to the black valises. Never mind what is in them.

The summer was hot, we were discouraged from using the pool or any public facilities, we even avoided going to the shelter during air raids. We were "in hiding". Our life was in danger, not from the war, not from the bombs, but because we were the prey and there were hunters all around. On a very rare occasion on a foray to the city, we were crossing one of the busiest thoroughfares of Budapest hanging on to Vinyi from both sides, when one of the nuns from the convent saw us from across the street "Why aren't the little girls wearing the yellow star?" she shouted over in lieu of greeting. Mother looked at us "run", we boarded a tramway that just pulled in and sat in petrified silence, our hearts pounding in our throats.

Apu's many forays to the German headquarter with suitcases filled with bricks of gold resulted in a deal: if the Tiebergers come out of hiding they will get on the train with the wealthiest Hungarian Jews headed for Switzerland. The deal was negotiated with Eichmann himself and since the Tiebergers were one of the wealthiest Jews, the price was high. Zuli's 35 carat diamond ring had to be turned in as soon as the first official order came through for all Jews to turn in their valuables: it was a diamond that was in the world's official diamond registry and too visible to hide. The hazelnut sized ring was always on her finger, we were intrigued by its size and by the affection she had for it. When we went swimming--in the "good old days" she used to pin it with a safety pin inside her bathing suit, between her breasts.

It took days of anguished meetings and nights filled with whispering and sobs. "How could he say that to me," Vinyi sobbed, "I thought that the Diamants are our friends. He actually said to me, wait till they torture your precious twins at the Gestapo, you will remember where Elza and Imre are hiding." But--apparently (this I am reconstructing posthumously)--they finally decided to come out of hiding and did go to the railroad station at the appointed time. Hundreds of Jews were ready to board the train, and the names were read, as family after family came forward with a small bundle of personal belongings. Zuli, Imre Býcsi, Babi & Gyula stood anxiously among them. Another official suddenly came forward and read another list: the list of those who will not be permitted to board the train for freedom. The Tiebergers were among them. A taxi was summoned, their cover blown, they returned to a room in the ghetto, a small room on the 5th floor. Imre býcsi walked out to the balcony, and with an athlete's ease and assurance, in one graceful movement dived off the low parapet. After the "troubles" started, we often heard him talk about the epitaph for his tombstone: "He lived fifty years." I never saw his tomb, but I understand that all it says, "Imre Tieberger, He lived fifty years".

There is no way to describe the agony and the chaos of the following days. A million deaths is a statistic, one death is a tragedy. We were still counting deaths one by one. Our Imre b·…·csi, whom we worshipped, was no more; it was difficult to comprehend. Yet life went on: Vinyi dared one morning to take us by the hand and walk across the bridge to visit our beloved F·…·ni n·‚·ni. It was a brilliantly sunny day, yet she was behind drawn curtains, still in her old apartment - which was part of the ghetto - at noon still in bed, with her blond hair strewn on the pillow in disarray. She jumped out of bed when she saw us, she was wearing a short, white nightgown, she hugged us to her ample bosom, bestowed on us her usual wet kisses, and told our mother: "the girls are very pale, they need vitamins," she grabbed a bottle from her night-table "you must give them vitamins, I know you keep them in the room all the time, but they have to have vitamins." Whispers from the two of them huddled on the bed: "Yes, the girls and Agi got out safe, Sebike...he did not want to leave me...some arrangement...the Portuguese consul"...suddenly everyone was crying and hugging. We never saw her again.

Deals were being made hastily, more deliveries of gold ingots, and we were told that Zuli, Babi, Gyula and Gyula's wife (?) were spirited out to safety, to Romania. Gyula had a wife? we wondered. When did we see Gyula last? Seems ages ago that we stood so proud faces pressed to the railing of the balcony of the University's huge ornate Hall, and listened to him pledge his oath of Hippocrates. Gyula, the loved/hated big brother, who swaggered in to every family gathering, proud, arrogant, self-confident, with a chip on his shoulder. Gyula, the doctor.

The war became the background noise to our anguish over the "Jewish persecution". The bombings continued, escalated in frequency and power, the news from the front was "good" i.e. the Allies were advancing. One bright Sunday morning Admiral Horthy spoke on the radio: astonishing message, "We were wrong, Hungary will right away capitulate to the US troops," words to that effect. I am sure the entire event and the entire speech is part of history books today. To us it was delirious jubilation. Apu sounded a note of warning. "Very difficult days lie ahead," he said. "It is not going to be that simple." By evening it was over; Horthy was under house arrest, a German commando took over the running of the country, the Jews were warned with even heavier penalties, the people pasting placards on every available wall-space were busy, every "crime" was punishable by death.

Gyuri Szentirmay was a frequent visitor to the Hotel, bringing sad news about his mother, she was in the hospital, dying of cancer. He was exempt from the military service--he said--being an only son to a dying mother and as a student of medicine--although all schools were of course closed. He often spoke in hushed tones to Apu. Things were discussed during the night: Vinyi warned Apu against him, she did not trust him. "Leave it where it is, it is safe." "No," Apu retorted, "I believe it will be better out there"

I fell asleep wondering.

Dr. Farago Laci was another frequent, furtive, scared visitor. He was told about the black attachÈ cases. He told us that they had to move to the ghetto. But everybody is fine, not to worry.

Robi Baruch was another friend who knew our whereabouts and came often. Having fled with his family from Germany to Holland and from Holland to Subotica hoping for safety; he hastily once more left the small town where Hitler's long arm reached for them again. Everyone knew everyone else in Subotica, he opted for the anonymity of a large city. Hiding out with false papers their only contact was our family, and of course Apu & Vinyi moved heaven and earth to help the brother of their close friend. I witnessed as Apu told Robi of the deportations of Subotica's Jewry, among them Robi's beloved sister Erzsike Fenjves. Apu stood helplessly by, till the last minute, taking food, encouragement, to the many friends he saw being herded into the cattle cars during one of his frequent visits to Subotica. Robi collapsed sobbing, his arms on the table, his body shaking.

On October 15th another event shook our besieged city: the extremist faction, in retaliation for a flagging enthusiasm in a war that was being lost, in an effort to stir up enthusiasm in a war that could still be won: the war against the remaining Jews of Budapest; staged an uprising under their leader Szýlasi and took over the city.

Armed gangs now roamed the city on trucks, on foot, flushing out scared Jews from hiding places, shooting, pillaging, creating havoc.

I am not going to write about it: historians do a better job; it was the background noise to our everyday existence, and important to our story only for where and how these events touched our lives.

One morning the dreaded knock on the door: Mrs. Paul is under arrest. Documents were produced, while we cowered in our beds: Vinyi was taken away by the police. Apu left immediately after: he told us to call Szentirmay Gyuri pack a suitcase with some clothes and leave the hotel immediately with the attachÈ cases,

We did as instructed. Gyuri came, took us to his apartment. "You are my little cousins from the country," he instructed us. "We cannot go down even to the air raid shelter from now on. Do you understand? Do you have your documents?" We were surprised to find Zuli's butler living there. A few weeks followed that sometimes come back in dreamlike shreds to haunt me. One memory is of a sick woman in a hospital bed. Julika nÈni shrunken to the size of a child, hugging us, barely able to speak; the other is the dark anonymity of movie houses, theatres, operas; the rain slicked, dark, shiny streets, and the three of us going from movie to movie, huddled together against the cold, against the fear. The long tear filled nights, when Gyuri started taking us to his bed. What was he doing to me? His reassuring whispers: "I love you, I am going to marry you, I am not doing this to Mari, only to you." My mind went blank, all I felt was the warm pleasure of his embrace, the cozy, warm bed, his caressing, searching hands, sometimes I even managed to stop the shivering, stopped being frightened, stopped yearning for my mother.

You can get used to everything. One eats, one takes a bath, one goes out, comes in, a routine of a sort, visiting Julika in the hospital. On November 1st we remembered Zuli. It was her birthday. Was it really only one year ago that Imre býcsi threw such a lavish party for his wife? When Janos & I, bored, dodging the overdressed and overfed crowds, decided to count the orchids? When in war-torn Europe in November 1943, Zuli Tieberger, for her birthday, received 103 orchids? When her husband gave her an incredible machine, a large box that you plug in and it makes ice from water in a special little compartment, and in the rest of the box you can keep food cold without having to put ice in it. Janos tried to explain to me how this miracle takes place, but I frankly doubted whether he really knew.

The ominous knock at the door in the middle of the night. I was sleeping with Gyuri, he went to the door. Two uniformed Szalasi men with guns poised came in. We were to produce documents. I sat in an armchair and my teeth chattered. Gyuri went to fetch another quilt and tucked it in around me. I sat glassy eyed and answered questions. Yes we came from Subotica and are his nieces. We don't know where our parents are right now (this, at least was true). They pointed the gun at us. The neighbors suspect that we are Jews in hiding, as we never go down to the shelter during air-raids. Why don't we. We are not afraid, we reassured him, teeth chattering. Why are we afraid now? They wanted to know. We are very sleepy. Some physical altercation ensued between them and Gyuri when they wanted to approach us roughly. Finally they left.

Gyuri had an interesting book. Large, illustrated, easy to understand The Miracles of the Human Body. Sex organs. Babies growing in their mother's womb. The many layers of skin. I whiled away many hours fascinated by it all.

Then one day Apu called. How is Vinyi, where are you? He can't come and get us as yet. We are safe, he is safe, Vinyi is safe, soon we will be together again.

In the night, when things were quiet, we listened to the rumblings of the distant guns, the katyushas, the deep, rumbling explosions of the large cannons. The Russians are coming. It can't last too long anymore.

In the middle of December Apu called and told us to come to Zuli's condo in Buda. Fearfully we crossed the Danube, attachÈ cases and small suitcase in hand. The bridges were festooned with dynamite, cigarette-package sized bundles fluttering in the wind, glistening in the setting sun. Only a few weeks previously another bridge was blown up "by accident" at the height of rush-hour traffic, we looked next day at tramways grotesquely hanging in the abyss, between bridge and water. Hundreds of lives were lost, more casualties of war.

It was a tearful reunion. Many explanations followed: Vinyi decided to go into hiding after getting out from the "brick factory", she tied a kerchief around her head, borrowed some dilapidated clothes and knocked at the door of Zuli's apartment offering her services as a maid. No one in the building recognized her. The high ranking officer living in the apartment felt that this good-looking maid fresh off the farm will be helpful to his paralyzed wife. She was hired on the spot. She joked--as she was telling us the story--about her feelings: she planned heroic deeds, to poison the entire dinner party assembled one night around the table, high ranking officers still deluged with the possibility of victory, while defeat could be heard a few miles away. Her plans came to naught, but she asserted herself splendidly when the officer decided to flee to the west and started packing Zuli's best silver. She "advised" him about what looked more valuable, and more worthwhile to take. Such chances she took.…how would a peasant girl know the value of antique sterling silver? Yet many fine pieces were saved this way...

CHAPTER III

In 1955, after my divorce, after I got to the oil camp, I found myself completely alone for the first time in my entire life. No one to tell me what to do; no parents, twin, teachers, husband, friends; no parameters, no limits to my life. Worked from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m., and then what?

I decided to start organizing the jumble in my head I called "my memories". All those terrible things that happened a scant 10 years ago, and for the first time I allowed--nay, willed-- myself to retrieve them.

Here I was, in Roblecito, with a typewriter, with time on my hand, and I wrote it all down. Looking back now, 35 years later, what is strange that I still could not write it in the first person!

The "book" the way I wrote it, stands, mostly unread and forgotten. I will not refer to it now, as I became a different person in the intervening 35 years. Older, steadier, fires banked, memories in check, probably condensed to the bare essentials by the necessary and welcome erosion of the years. Silted over with myriads of new experiences, the bare bones of the horror of those six weeks sticking out, now bleached by the relentless passage of the years.

We did not have "counselors" or "psychologists" waiting at the end of the war to guide us through mine fields of memories, to help us digest them, cope with the enormity of it all. We were--fortunately--thrown into life: "sink or swim". There were no self-help books written about the Holocaust and how to deal with its aftermath for those first 10 years. There were no books written at all. Later came Elie Wiesel and the floodgates of memories opened. Suddenly it was all right to remember, to look back, to try to live with it.

Apu made arrangements in the shelter of the building where Tieberger Imre's office was, to let us stay during the--then inevitable looking--siege of Budapest. It was mid-December when, bundles in hand, we started out to cross the bridge from Buda, where Zuli's condominium was and where we all lived together for a few days, to Pest where the office was. After about an hour's walking (vehicular transportation was out of question) we realized that we would never make it, and we also realized that it might not matter too much where we would stay during those few dangerous days that the siege was going to last.

We returned to Zuli's apartment, set up two beds in the corner of the shelter (which was just barely underground, not the three stories underground--and considered safer--as Imre býcsi's office building's air-raid shelter was), took down food, cooking utensils, and waited. There were about 40-50 other people in the building, tenants, servants, the janitor's family, refugees, some very fine people (I remember a judge), several small babies, and including us, 5 teenagers: two boys and three girls. The shelter built to wartime specifications of reinforced concrete, deep underground, was the safest spot, but there were several other rooms on the basement level: the laundry room, the furnace room heaped high with coal, and a row of lockers the size of large closets, assigned to each tenant. In our locker Vinyi tried to bring a semblance of normalcy to our lives. The ever clean, genteel Vinyi conjured a table with a tablecloth, proper eating utensils, napkins; here in this cramped little place, the four of us sat down three times a day, surrounded by shelves of bric-a-brac and some zealously guarded food, and ate our meals. The dishes were cleared and a basin produced to wash the dishes.

The relentless bombing and shelling went on day and night. The building was heavily damaged. Zuli's apartment uninhabitable, the furniture exposed to the elements, I can see the white lace curtains billowing back and forth through the wall where windows once framed the beautiful view. We did not go up very often. A semblance of life started: we had a phonograph and we danced in one of the dark cubby-holes. Romances flared up, sputtered and died, I sat earnestly and kept a diary: mostly dreaming of meals I would like to have (these diaries are in the toy chest in the country). There was no gas, no electricity and no water. We fashioned candles out of tallow and rags for wicks. Sanitary conditions became unbearable, we melted snow for cooking and washing our hands. We never undressed anymore. The days turned into weeks, Apu sat at the stove in the furnace room, wide-brimmed hat on his head, peering over steel-rimmed glasses, resting his chin on his walking stick and guarded Vinyi's last remnants of coffee that all eyed with jealousy. We had potatoes and a large case of sardines. Some flour too. Vinyi baked something we called "bread". The tedium lead to daily fights, the high-class people developed mange (i.e.: scabies). Radios did not function, batteries wore out. We lived by rumours. Where are the Russians? We heard that Pest had fallen, but they will not give up Buda. They are fighting house to house. It was very cold, we shivered with all our clothes on under the eider-down comforters. Vinyi gave us each 300.00 peng–s to put in our shoes. What trust, how grown-up we are now!

The Germans dragged in a few badly wounded soldiers. There was lots of blood, moaning and screaming, I could not look.

They took off their uniform jackets and with little sharp pocket knives removed all the insignia, the epaulets, built a small bonfire on the concrete floor and burned them all. Something was indeed happening.

During the night the Russians arrived. There was a lot of shooting, and then we were face to face with them. Huge, high cheek-boned, burly men in a different uniform, yelling, yelling yelling. Brandishing machine guns.

All of a sudden a small, a frightened German soldier was kicked down the stairs leading into the shelter . He rolled down the stairs. He was alternately holding his hands high into the air in the international sign of surrender and shielding his head from the kicking boots of the Russians. It was a slow-motion movie. No one understood what was going on. The Russian officer kept repeating spion, a spy, we were harbouring. We are all going to die now. He pulled out a hand-grenade from his belt, removed the pin and raised his hand to toss it down. Vinyi lied down on top of us and told us not to look. We shivered and sobbed uncontrollably. Like in a movie, an arm reached out from behind, slowly, ever so slowly removed the grenade from the officer's hand and told us in Hungarian to relax, we are not going to be killed. A handsome Hungarian officer who defected to the Russians weeks ago took control of the situation.

Chaotic days followed. It was over but it was not over. There was nowhere to go, it was terribly cold and the Russians were menacing. Rumours of rape and pillage were rife, and the men were constantly being ordered out to work. Malinki robot (small work); Davaj chasi (give me your watches), and Barishnje (women) became part of our language. Vinyi painted red dots on our forehead with her lipstick, braided our hair, put us to bed and told us not to move. Every time a Russian came in, she told him, that her children are sick, very sick. They started bringing us huge pails of cooked horse meat. They broke in to our locker and drank everything that was in bottles: imitation rum-flavouring, imitation vanilla flavour, cough medicine, Chanel 5 cologne. What they did not drink, they wantonly destroyed. The floor was littered with broken bottles, cans, ripped suitcases, stomped to smithereens by raging, frustrated Tatars.

And so more days passed in panic and chaos. Then one day some high-ranking Russians approached Apu. He is a "Bourgeois", he is a jeweler, where is his jewelry hidden. He has to hand it over. Apu feigned not to understand. They held the gun to his temple, another one hit him with the butt of his rifle. Where are the jewels, where are the watches.

We were in the bed, shivering under the covers. Vinyi was calm. "Give it to him, please give it to him." Apu pulled out one of the attachÈ cases from under the bed. He opened it. There were 300 gold Pathek Phillip watches neatly packed in the attachÈ case. We looked on dumbfounded while the Russians stuffed them all in their pockets. More soldiers came in, they pinned Apu's hands behind his back, held the pistol to his temple. More, give us more, where is more. Apu pulled the other attachÈ case out from under the bed. They opened it. It was full with unset diamonds neatly packed in glassine paper. A suitcase full of diamonds. There was also some gold jewelry on the bottom, chains, bracelets. A king's ransom. They packed it all into their pockets. More, they demanded, more, we were told you buried some in the garden. They lead and kicked him out of the door. Vinyi carefully smoothed her hand over the covers. She pulled a small lace handkerchief out of her pocket, and filled it with about a dozen stray diamonds that exploded and scattered around when the Russians opened the little envelopes.

She worked calmly, quietly, no one said a word, the neighbours cowered, seemed to retreat, the private agony of one family, the private burden; we were marked, unclean. She carefully folded and knotted the handkerchief, made a little bundle out of it. She beckoned a Hungarian officer who was observing all this silently. "Here," she said to him, with a charming smile, "take it, I rather you have it then them." The officer first refused it, then scrawled a number on a piece of paper. "When you get out of here," he said "Call me. I live in Pest. I will give it back to you. I will keep it safe for you." Vinyi smiled (she did get it back!).

Apu dug out a small jar with a few trinkets in the garden, came back, a broken, old, tired man, with the circle on his temple red, deeply etched where the pistol was held. They both sat down heavily on the bed, looked at us, and Vinyi said: "Now no one can say any more that I married you for your money". Next morning her hair was white. She had troubles with her passport: no one believed that the picture was only a year old. Vinyi was 41 years old when the war ended.

A few days later the Jewish husband of one of the young women arrived. He was in Sobibor. No, he does not want to talk about it. No, it was a horror beyond words. He walked all the way back home. The devastation of the war is beyond belief. There is nothing out there, up there, only death and ruins. He is happy to be home, to see his wife and little son safe.

Szentirmay Gyuri came in one day. He survived, hiding in the shelter of a neighbouring building. He wanted to go with Apu to retrieve the jars that they buried together. They set out in the morning. Apu staggered back late at night. He was crying. The jars were all gone. Someone who knew exactly were they were. Nothing was removed only that one little square of earth, so well hidden so well disguised. It was all gone. It was all Zuli's fortune. What are we going to tell her. They both sobbed and talked late into the night. Vinyi was sure that Gyuri did it.

He took us up to the apartment the next day. "What did you do while living in Gyuri's apartment? You read some forbidden books," he heard. "They were medical books," I protested," I was interested, I learned a lot." He was sitting in an armchair. He started hitting me. With his hands, fists, with his arm, with his feet kicking. I was spinning with the blows. He was roaring like a wounded animal. He did the same to Mari.

CHAPTER IV

On a sunny, crisp, early February morning, an apparition walked in to our shelter.

It could have been only an apparition, as we were not used anymore to seeing beautiful people.

The visitors we had every day were the soldiers and the neighbours complaining about the soldiers. The words we heard all the time were "davaj", "robota" (from the soldiers) and "rape", "pillage", "destruction"," death", "hunger" from the others.

And now this apparition walked in, wearing a mink coat, a smile and trailing perfume.

I had to touch her and smell her before I broke into tears. It was Zuli, our Zuli, our old beloved Zuli, come to rescue us. Her nails were manicured and her cheeks rouged.

"We have to get out of here immediately," she commandeered in her usual forceful way. "This is no place and no way to live." Between sobs and hugs Vinyi told her everything, but we rejoiced that our little family was alive. Yes: Gyula, Babi, are here too, waiting for us in Pest. The apartment, the furniture can wait. Best to get back to Subotica.

The rest is a speeded up movie. We packed bundles, into large sheets just as much as one could carry. No, the beloved opera arias cannot go, the records are too heavy, they will break, I will abandon the whole bundle because of the records, they will stay behind. "We lost more at Mohýcs" a favourite and--alas--a very often used Hungarian saying.

The bright sunshine still reflecting off the snow, the trudging down to the Danube's shore with the bundles. Zuli's magic all-purpose "document", as soon as a Russian soldier approached her for papers (very often) she theatrically whipped out a picture of Stalin, showed it to him, and with the gesture of a diva, kissed it. It worked every time!

We boarded rickety rowboats plying their trade between the two banks. Bloated corpses and debris floated by, there was still ice, the boats took on water, there was some bailing, lots of shouting, the money had to be removed from our shoes and handed over, we clambered out on the other side.

The destruction we faced was indescribable. All the bridges limply hanging into the water, masses of coiled steel; all the buildings, the beautiful, luxury hotels lining the shore destroyed, blind, gaping holes where windows and awnings and terraces used to be, I looked and sobbed, blinded by tears, almost collapsed under the weight of my bundle.

Zuli moved in with an old employee of grandfather's. Christian people whose home was undamaged, and who were willing to put us all up for a few days. Vinyi stretched out on the only bed standing in the room. Gyula burst through the door and threw himself on her, howling, choking her with his large hands: "You killed my father, you let them kill my father!" This is how we found out that Dr. Halberg, our beloved uncle-dentist was dragged out in the middle of the night at the end of December from the protected Swedish building where Apu's efforts got him a room, lined up at the shore of the Danube and shot with hundreds of others, by the Szýlasi gang.

Tempers flared, tempers subsided, fatigue, hunger, gave way to emotional outbursts, we have to leave, there is not much food to share, we had a bath, we slept in clean sheets, but the tomorrows loomed threatening ahead.

Zuli--with her "magic"--made a deal with a Russian army convoy to take us (Mari & me), Babi and her to Subotica. We were to leave tomorrow. Lots of whispering, shouting, crying, subdued voices during the night. There is a beautiful word in Hungarian for "statutory rape." "Liliomtiprýs" (the stomping on a lily). Zuli insisted that we have a good chance to get Szentirmay Gyuri to stand trial, and he might make a settlement and give us some of the stolen treasures back (most of which was Zuli's). Vinyi cried, "Didn't they go through enough? You want them to stand up in court and testify? You want them to face him and live through it all again? I will not let you do it." Quarrels, quarrels, sleep overcame me, in my dream the shelter walls caved in with a tremendous roar.

The claustrophobic ride in the army truck, hidden under blankets. Zuli must have promised much more than the gesture of the Stalin picture-kissing. This was definitely forbidden activity, the war was not yet over and here are the Russians transporting women over a frontier. We were not supposed to open our mouth, we were riding as army dependents. We all stopped at a small roadside inn and had tea. The Russians spooned applesauce into their tea, crunched cubes of sugar between their teeth and laughed uproariously all the time. And sang. God, how they sang. Those haunting, mellow, painful melodies, that soft language, strange yet familiar, those voices. Under the blankets, with every nerve in my body soaking up new sensations, smells, feelings, pleasures and fears, I drifted off to sleep.