On the morning of November first, George was rudely awakened by Geza, a fellow law student.
"What the hell-"
And then he noticed something very odd. Scrawny Geza today looked like a circus fat man. George rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
"What the hell has happened to you?" he asked. "We've got to get out of here," Geza said. "I'm wearing all
my clothes-at least everything I could squeeze on-and heading for Vienna." - -
"Have you lost your mind? The Soviets are gone. Don't
you hear Radio Free Europe?" - -"Yes, but I also hear my cousin in the village of -Gyor. He
rang about two hours ago and said there were hundreds of Russian tanks massing at the western border. They're just regrouping to come back."
"Is he sure?" -
"Do you want to wait and find out?" George hesitated, but only for a split second. "Let me get Aniko," he said.
"Okay, but make it snappy." -
She was reluctant.
"What makes you so sure the Soviets are coming back?"
"How many reasons do you want?" George answered impatiently. "Look, if Hungary goes independent, that will give the Poles and the Czechs big ideas. Then boom, the Russian empire tumbles like a house of cards."
Her face grew pale. She was frightened by the magnitude of the decision being forced upon her.
"But what about my mother-she can't manage without me.
"She will have to," George replied impassively. He put his arms around her. She was sobbing quietly.
"Let me at least call her," she pleaded.
"Yes. But please be quick."
They started walking. George and Aniko with just the
clothing on their backs, Geza wearing his entire wardrobe. As
they reached the outskirts of Buda, George saw a phone booth and suddenly thought of his sister. -
"Anybody got some change?" he asked. Aniko pressed a coin into his hand.
"Gyuri," his sister said anxiously, "where are you? Even
Father's been concerned." -
"Listen," he replied, "I'm in a hurry-"
Just then, Geza stuck his head into the booth and Whispered, "Tell her the Voice of America is passing code messages from refugees who make it across."
George nodded.
"Please, Marika, don't ask me any questions. Just listen
to the Voice of America. If they say that-" He hesitated once again. "That 'Karl Marx is dead'-that'll mean I'm all right."
"Gyuri, I don't understand. You sound scared."
"I am," he confessed, and then added, "so for God's sake, pray that he does die."
He hung up without another word.
"What about your father?" Aniko asked. "Won't he get into trouble when they learn you've fled the country?"
"Listen, he's a consummate politician, with a genius for self-preservation. He'll be just fine, I assure you."
And in his heart he thought, He turned his back on me
during my whole childhood, why should I care what happens to him now?
They plodded on in silence. The only traffic on the road was the - occasional ancient truck-nearly always heading
toward the western border. Once in a while the trio would get a lift for a few dozen kilometers. The drivers never asked where they were going or why. -
it was nearly nightfall when they reached the outskirts of
Gyor.
"What do we do now?" George asked Geza. "It's much too
cold to sleep outside, and I've barely got a few forints in my pocket for food."
"I don't even have enough for a bowl of soup," Aniko added.
Geza merely smiled. "Leave it to me. Do you have the strength to walk another hour?"
"Only if I knew we could get inside somewhere," said
George. Aniko nodded agreement.
"Tibor Kovacs's parents live in Enese-about ten kilometers from here. He was going to leave with us. His parents would be expecting him."
Aniko gasped. "Don't they know he was shot two nights ago?"
"No," Geza replied, "and there's no point in telling them."
And he began to lead them toward Enese.
In half an hour, they were trudging down an icy country
road lit only by moonlight. They had been walking since early morning and were almost too tired to speak.
"Tomorrow would be a good day to try to make it across," said Geza. "It's All Souls' Day. The roads will- be filled. Everybody will be going to the cemeteries."
The Kovacs family was glad to welcome friends of their son and did not seem concerned that he was not with them. He had been instructing various groups of the newly formed militia in the use of arms, so that George's fabrication-that Tibor was needed for another few days in Budapest-seemed perfectly plausible.
Dinner was a dream. Unlike the capital city, the villages had plenty of food, and Mrs. Kovacs set before them a feast of chicken and vegetables. There was even a bottle of Tokay.
"I admire you." Mr. Kovacs smiled broadly. "If I were a
few years younger, I'd be going, too. For sure as snow will fall tomorrow, the Russians will be back. Everyone I speak to has seen the tanks. They are off the main road, but they are out there in the forests, waiting like hungry bears."
Aniko was offered Tibor's bed. Though inwardly horrified, she knew she had to accept. The two young men curled up by the fire in the main room.
The next morning it was snowing heavily.
Geza looked at George and Aniko. "In this weather, I think the best idea is to try to catch a train to Sopron. From
there, we have a long and very sparse border with Austria. If we are lucky, we should be able to walk across tonight."
At midday they thanked the Kovacses and started off, leaving all sorts of encouraging messages for Tibor. At the outskirts of the village, they got their first
shock. The Russian tanks were no longer hiding behind trees. Two of them were squatting right in the center of the road.
"Well?" George asked Geza.
"Don't panic, Gyuri. It's snowing like hell and they don't seem to be paying very close attention. We're not carrying any luggage, so why should they suspect us of anything?"
"You, Geza, look like a walking football in all those
clothes,'~ said George. "If you intend to try to bluff your way past those tanks, you'd better strip down."
A sudden look of anxiety crossed Geza's face. He was loath to part with five-sixths of his worldly possessions.
"Let's go around the town and see if we can reach the railroad from the other side," he insisted nervously. And so they set off.
But there were two more tanks at the farther entrance to
the village. They had hiked for more than an hour in the snow to no purpose. George and Aniko stared at Geza. Without a word, he began to unbutton his top jacket. His fingers were trembling-and not merely from the cold.
"Who-who--who'll do the talking?"
"Come on, Geza," George replied, "we've all had at least six years of Russian. Let's just be sure we tell the same story." -
"Your accent is the best, George," Geza insisted. "It
would be much better if you spoke for us. Besides, when it comes to inventing lies, you're something of a genius."
"All right, comrade," said George, "I'll be our ambassador." After Geza removed his penultimate suit and
buried the rest of his garments in a snowdrift, they started off toward the tanks. -
"Stoi! kto idyot?"
A soldier asked them to identify themselves. George took a few steps forward and began to engage him in impeccable Russian.
"We are three students from Eotvos Lorand University, visiting a friend who is ill with glandular fever. We would like to take the train back to Budapest. Do you wish to see our papers?"
The soldier had a whispered conversation with one of his colleagues and then turned back to George.
"That will not be necessary. Proiditye!" And he waved them on. They hurried into the village, toward the train station, their hearts pounding. --
"Damn," said Geza, pointing to the station up ahead. "They have tanks there too."
"Ignore them," George replied. "I don't think these soldiers know what they're supposed to do, anyway."
He was right. No one stopped them from getting onto the platform, where a very crowded train was about to leave.
There was much noise and confusion. All three of them called desperately to various people, "Sopron? Going to Sopron?' There was shouting and waving from inside the train, which now began slowly to pull out. Geza leapt on board first. George helped Aniko and then clambered on himself. In an instant, they had left the station.
There was not a single empty seat, so they stood in the corridor looking out the window. Each knew what the other two were thinking. In an hour and a half at most they'd be in Sopron. And then the border.
There were startling new additions to the otherwise
familiar Hungarian landscape. Russian tanks. Everywhere. All with their guns aimed straight at the train.
They did not exchange a word in the next half-hour. Then came the shock. -
"George," said Geza, sounding as if a noose were around his neck, "do you see where we are?"
George looked beyond the Soviet armor. His heart nearly stopped.
"We're going in the wrong direction! The damn train isn't going to Sopron-it's going back to Budapest!" Aniko grabbed his arm in terror.
The train suddenly halted with a jolt. Aniko fell against George, who kept his balance only because he was holding on to the window rail. The passengers glanced at one another in fear and confusion. George's eyes were fixed on the Russian tanks outside the window.
"You don't think they're going to shoot, do you?" Aniko whispered.
"I wouldn't bet against it," he replied, biting his lip. Then, suddenly, at the far end of the car, a conductor in
a faded blue-gray uniform appeared, trying to weave his way through the crowd. Questions were fired at him from every direction. He cupped his hands and announced:
"We cannot enter Budapest. Repeat, we cannot enter
Budapest. The Soviets have surrounded the city and there is fierce shelling." And then the most startling piece of informa
THE CLASS 125
tion: "We are turning back. We must go all the way to
Sopron." -
Geza, George, and Aniko looked at one another. There was
jubilation in their eyes. In a few moments, the train started up slowly. . . away from the Soviet stranglehold on Budapest. The entire journey toward the border seemed to be through
a corridor of tanks. When they finally arrived and stepped onto the Sopron station platform, hope permitted them to take one deep breath. So far, so good.
It was now late afternoon.
"Which way is the border?" George asked Geza.
"I don't know," he confessed. -
"Well, what the hell do you expect us to do?" he snapped.
"Ask some Russian soldier?"
Then it occurred to Aniko. "Isn't there a School of
Forestry here? We could ask a student."
She didn't have to finish her thought. In a split second, George had obtained directions from an elderly woman and they were off.
The minute they entered the great hail, a young man in a beret asked, "Do you need ammo, comrade?"
The atmosphere inside the school was actually festive.
Dozens of patriots were arming to drive the Russian invaders from their homeland.
They were each given a piece of bread, a cup of cocoa- and a handful of bullets scooped out from a large vat.
"Where are the weapons?" George asked, his mouth stuffed with bread.
"They will come, comrade, they will come."
The three of them went to sit down in a corner and plan
their next move. One thing was certain. They had not come all this way to join a doomed rebellion.
"These people are crazy," said Ceza, shifting a half-dozen bullets from hand to hand as if they were mixed nuts. "The shells are all of different calibers. I don't see two alike. What are they going to do-spit them at the Russians?"
And then he rose and walked off to seek out geographical orientation.
George and Aniko looked at each other. This was the first time they had been alone in days.
"How do you feel?" he asked her.
"Scared. I hope we can make it." She clasped his hand.
"Don't worry," he replied. And then after a few minutes