Fraternity-Testvériség, 1958 (36. évfolyam, 1-11. szám)

1958-11-01 / 11. szám

FRATERNITY

7

In 1953, after Stalin’s death, the Communists committed a grave blunder. They destroyed a god in Moscow and the demigods in the satellites. The youth, brought up in worshipping Stalin and his imitations, was told that the god they idolized was just a man with many sins.

“We were cheated . . . we knew then we were cheated . . .”, Julia said, and her fingers grabbed the gun excitedly.

Then Nagy replaced Mátyás Rákosi, Hungary’s dreaded “little Stalin”. Life for Julia became free for a year, at least much freer than ever before.

“When Rákosi came back in 1953 and Nagy was removed, we knew this hour would come. We exercised daily with the Tommy gun, the party secretary taught us how to make a Molotov cocktail — using an empty bottle and gasoline. He said we’ll need it against the Americans . . .”

Julia looked at her cheap wrist watch. It was seven.

“Maleter is going to the Russians tonight. You think they will pull out?” she asked. I had no answer.

“Maleter is a hero. We respect and trust him. But Nagy is our father. He is one of us, a good and kind man.”

What did she expect from the future, I asked. She smiled and her face became beautiful.

“A pink, long evening dress. I saw one on the movie . . .” and she looked down on her legs, in a man’s trousers, and her

feet, in clumsy boots too big for her.

She thrust back her hair. I saw a red scar on her forehead.

“Nothing ... a bullet. It came pretty near, though”, she

said. There was no trace of bragging in her voice.

“Yes, and I want to dance in my pink dress. I never had the chance to dance. There was always too much work, in the factory and at home. And my old people were always depressed and sad”, she said.

It was time for me to go. I stroked her head. “You’ll get your pink dress, Julia. This will be over soon and we’ll see to it that you get it”, I told her.

Did I believe it myself?

I phoned Julia’s little story. “War correspondents”, as we called each other jokingly, must write human interest stories sometimes. When I awoke it was stille dark, four o’clock in the morning. The air was ringing with gunfire.