Outcasts (15 page)
Domokos looked at her lovingly, with concern. "Dragam, don't worry about Mezeredi. He can't and won't touch Tibor." He wiped at her wet cheek. "I promise you, nothing will happen to Tibor." Simply verbalizing her fears to her husband and hearing his reassurances calmed Karola and they sat together quietly for some time holding each other's hands.
As the sun finally made its way to the horizon, their son, Bela, joined them on the balcony. Karola hugged her son close. He seemed to be growing into a young man at such a fast pace. "Bela is doing so well at military school," she said as much to herself as to Domokos. "He is first in his class."
Domokos eyes glistened with pride as he looked at his son. There was a growing sense of urgency in his voice when he spoke. "I have something on my mind that I want to share with the family." He stood up, stretching a hand out to help Karola up. "Could we go back inside?"
Karola, Tibor, Bela, and Picke gathered around him in the parlour as Domokos lit a cigarette. He asked Picke to make sure the maids were all downstairs in the kitchen and out of earshot and then he began.
"There is a formula," he said slowly, making sure they understood each word. "For every soldier who is fighting at the front, the military needs eleven men to support the infrastructure." He paused, looked at the faces he loved gathered around him, and continued. "These eleven men provide for the needs of each soldier fighting on the front lines. They cook the food and transport water, move the ammunition and gasoline to the front, dig the latrines, provide first aid, and remove the injured and sick. These eleven also include the people manufacturing ammunition and organizing the transport of the ammunition to the front lines." Domokos looked directly at Bela. "Undoubtedly you have learned about this in military school, son." Bela nodded and looked seriously at his father.
"Presently, the number of men supporting the front-line soldiers is continuously diminishing while the territory at the front to be defended is always widening and increasing." He put his cigarette in the ashtray, stared as it burned down a bit, then inhaled again. He wanted to give them all a few minutes to comprehend what he was saying. Then, lowering his voice, he continued even more slowly. "Unless the soldiers at the front are properly supported, the front lines will collapse. It is inevitable." He waved his hand and was suddenly lost in thought. Then he looked up and continued. "Although the men under my command in the press corps continue to provide reports of glorious victories and the politicians continue to say what they will, based on what I have seen at the front, the Germans have already lost this war."
They all sat in stunned silence as the smoke from his idling cigarette curled as it rose from the ashtray. No one spoke; no one responded; no one asked any questions. It was dusk and hard to see but no one reached to turn on the lamps on the side tables. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog was barking.
L
ESS THAN ONE YEAR
after Domokos Aykler made his dire prediction, his family came to see that everything he had said was coming true. The winter of 1942-43 was so bitterly cold in Karpatalja that horses, sheep, goats, and cows had to be kept in sheds and barns and cars and tractors wouldn't start. Business and travel ground to a halt as trains became unreliable due to frozen tracks. Schools had to be closed for weeks at a time and local newspapers and radio broadcasts warned people of the risk of frostbite after just a few minutes of exposure outdoors.
As the residents of the region stayed indoors keeping their families and pets close to their wood-burning stoves, they had little knowledge of the tragedy that was unfolding on the Russian front during those same frigidly cold weeks. Some two thousand kilometres to the east, more than 130,000 Hungarian soldiers were being killed, maimed, or taken into captivity, virtually wiping out the Hungarian Second Army in what would later be termed the "Catastrophe of the Don."
Faced with overwhelming odds against Russian forces, the Romanian and Italian armies fled. The Hungarian army, abysmally equipped for the bitterly cold Russian winter and the long impending battle, was ordered to stay and defend the front line. As a result of this completely senseless order, the battle resulted in forty thousand Hungarian soldiers dead, thirty-five thousand wounded, and sixty thousand taken prisoners of war. In February 1943, when the Germans lost their Sixth Army at Stalingrad, it was clear that the tide of the war had turned and Hungarians realized what a horrendous price in lives and human suffering would be exacted by their desire for border revision.
In the fall of 1943, Hedy started noticing that her mother was becoming tired more and more frequently. Normally, their mother was constantly on her feet; always working from the moment she woke up in the morning until she placed her head on her pillow late at night. Lately, however, even when she was performing simple tasks around the house, Terez became short of breath. And she was losing weight as well. Vilmos worried as he watched his wife growing weaker and finally insisted that she go to a doctor. Terez resisted, explaining away her weakness and breathlessness. Lots of women, she told them, went through the same symptoms. Then, one day, she fainted in the garden while hanging laundry on a clothesline.
Within a few weeks after her visit to the doctor, they received the dreaded news: Terez Weisz had cancer, which had already metastasized and spread to several other organs in her body. Vilmos sat down with his older children and explained the gravity of the situation to them. They agreed to shield the younger ones, Suti and Icuka, from the full extent of their mother's illness.
Tibor was desperately worried about the emotional toll her mother's health was taking on Hedy, and offered to help in any way he could. He suggested that she come in later in the mornings so she could help get Suti and Icuka off to school and insisted she leave the office earlier in the afternoons so she could help with dinner and be there when her little brother and sister got home.
Hedy took on more household chores and tried to spend more time with Suti and Icuka, explaining to them as gently as she could that mother was sick and that, until she got stronger, they would all have to look out for one another and help around the house. Suti and Icuka recognized the situation for what it was and quickly adapted, becoming much more sensitive to the needs of the family, hardly ever complaining or quarrelling. Hedy's eyes welled up with tears of emotion as she watched her little brother struggling, without a word of complaint, to drag in large buckets of water from the well or set the table and, with the help of his sisters, wash dishes after dinner.
Before bedtime, they still gathered around their mother for story time but she usually sat, bundled up in blankets and shawls, resting her eyes while Hedy or Aliz read the story. Every once in a while, Terez opened her eyes and smiled faintly, as if acknowledging how pleased she was at how the family was coping.
As her family's need of her grew greater, Hedy turned more and more to Tibor for comfort and advice. It was debilitating to watch her family crumbling around her. Terez became increasingly fragile with each passing week and she had already lost more than twelve kilograms. For Hedy, it became impossible to maintain a brave front. As time passed, words of encouragement became painful to verbalize as the lump lodged in her throat grew larger whenever she tried to speak to her mother, even just to calm her. She couldn't imagine the day they would have to say goodbye to her. She simply couldn't get the words out without feeling like she was going to burst into tears. There was no one else but Tibor she could talk to about her mother's ever-weakening health and the effect this was having on her family.
In December 1943, through their family doctor, they learned of a specialist in Budapest who might be able to offer a cure. But how would they get their mother to Budapest when Jews were not allowed to reserve a place on the train? As always, Hedy turned to Tibor and he offered to make all the arrangements.
A cold mist hung around the hillsides surrounding Nagyszollos on that bleak morning in December as Hedy secured a spot for her mother on one of the few benches on the platform as they waited for the train. She pulled the extra shawl around her mother's frail body and gazed lovingly into her hollow eyes. She smiled and tried to sound cheery as she offered words of encouragement. "Tibor will be here soon, Mother. Don't worry."
The platform was packed with people awaiting the arrival of the train to Budapest. Because of the nighttime bombings, the evening train to the capital had been cancelled a year ago, so this was the only scheduled train route of the day. When the train pulled in, Hedy didn't have any idea how she was going to find Tibor. The crowd was clamouring on board, shoving and jostling each other for a good seat. Hedy couldn't imagine how she would manage the two light bags they had packed and her sick mother who could only walk very slowly and with much assistance. And what if they didn't get a seat? She knew there was no possibility her mother could stand for any amount of time.
Hedy stood on the platform, her eyes welling up with tears, and desperately scanned the crowd looking for Tibor. Suddenly, he appeared from the throng, smiling broadly, and confidently leaned in and spoke directly to Terez. "Are we ready to board, ladies?"
Hedy watched as her mother nodded and closed her eyes in relief and agreement. Without another word Tibor tenderly gathered Terez in his arms, gave Hedy a loving look, then winked as he turned and deftly carried her across the platform and up the narrow metal stairs of the car and onto the train.
It all happened so fast Hedy barely had a chance to realize her worries were over. She grabbed the two light bags and hurried after Tibor as he entered the compartment with her mother. Then she noticed the sign on the compartment door that read:
FIRST CLASS. RESERVED - DO NOT DISTURB.
As she clambered in with the bags, she realized that they were the only passengers in the compartment. Tibor must have boarded the train earlier that morning at Kiralyhaza
,
one stop before Nagyszollos, in order to reserve the first class compartment. She put the bags in the rack above the seats and looked around. There was ample room in the private compartment for her mother to stretch out comfortably and Tibor had already made sure everything was in order. He stood up after tucking the blanket around Terez's legs and told Hedy to lock the door from the inside when he left. Then he asked her if there was anything more they needed. Hedy could hardly speak, she was so moved by what he had done. She simply shook her head and smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears of love and gratitude. All the way to Budapest, her mother slept peacefully and no one knocked or attempted to enter the private compartment where they sat.
I
N
J
ANUARY 1944,
T
EREZ
Weisz was sent home from Budapest. The doctors were unable to do much for her because the disease was in such an advanced stage. Within two weeks of her return, she passed away in the hospital in Nagyszollos. Her twelve-year-old daughter, Icuka, whom the rest of the family had tried to shield for as long as possible, sat on the floor near the entrance to her mother's room and cried uncontrollably upon hearing that her mother was gone. No matter what her family tried to do for her, she was inconsolable.
Vilmos Weisz felt as if his life was over. He had lost the love of his life, the woman who meant everything to him, and the pivot around which his family revolved. Even though all the children were in deep shock and mourning, Aliz and Hedy realized they had to forge ahead and organize the funeral.
The news travelled fast and soon relatives from Beregszasz, Munkacs, and Fancsika started arriving for the funeral by train, horse-drawn cart, bicycle, and even on foot. The funeral procession, from the synagogue to the Jewish cemetery, was long and the extensive line of mourners wound its way directly through the centre of town. At the front of the line, directly behind the family, walked two Christian men - the younger Baron Zsigmond Perenyi and Tibor Schroeder - both dressed in black suits and hats, showing their respect for Jewish tradition. According to religious law, all the women were barred from entering the Jewish Orthodox cemetery, but Hedy stood outside the gate, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude as Tibor and Zsigmond stood next to Vilmos, Bandi, and Suti when they placed the coffin of Terez Weisz into her final resting place.
The participation of the two Christian men at this Jewish funeral was a flagrant violation of the anti-Jewish laws. But, despite all the grumblings, the two men were untouchable. It was understandable, and considered a great honour, that the son of the baron, the young, Oxford-educated Zsigmond Perenyi, would demonstrate his family's respect for the Weisz family in their loss. After all, Vilmos Weisz had been an integral part of the Perenyi estate since 1923 when he had taken over management of the distillery.
To anyone who wondered why Tibor Schroeder, the son of a high-ranking military officer, was walking side-by-side with the Weisz family, well-meaning relatives and friends replied, "Well of course. Tibor Schroeder is Hedy's employer. It is a profound sign of respect that he has also come to the funeral."
But for those who suspected that their relationship was more involved, the answer became obvious when they caught a glimpse of Tibor looking at Hedy. The look was undeniably that of someone in love. The secret was out.
After the funeral, young Jewish men vented their anger at Tibor. "How dare this Christian man become romantically involved with one of the most talented, beautiful young women in our community?" Tibor heard about their indignation through Jaszli Berliner and he received written and verbal threats to leave Hedy alone or "he would suffer the consequences." But he remained unperturbed. The funeral was a turning point for Tibor. Despite all the warnings, he no longer made any attempt to conceal his love for Hedy. Considering he was going to marry her, he felt it was only natural that he walk alongside his fiancée and her family as they mourned the loss of their mother.
