Magyar Egyház, 1963 (42. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1963-12-01 / 11-12. szám
14 MAGYAR EGYHÁZ he was working. He teas a young trainee then just out of college, going from department to department to get an overall picture before receiving his final assignment. Magda was an old clerk in the Draft Department. This was at least what Magda told him as they were standing beside each other at the buffet and he asked her who she was. It was so funny to hear from a blooming young girl with smiling eyes and cheeks fresh as peaches, “Oh, I’m an old clerk at Drafts. I have been prying into the personal finances of Budapest prominence for more than three years.” She didn’t do it for long after that Christmas Party. They were married next May. The world was already on fire in a war of hatred but they found peace in each other’s love. Little János was born early in the Summer of 1942, and János was called up the day after the gay christening party. A last embrace, a last kiss mingled with salty tears, whispers that “I shall be thinking of you every minute until you come back”, a last glance at Little János in his sparkling white swaddling clothes, sleeping so peacefully and crying out as his father picked him up and squeezed him to his breast — and he was gone. And the months of agony came. First wonderful advances on the front, “I have received a medal”, János wrote, “Little János got his first tooth”, Magda wrote, “I miss you so much I can hardly bear it”, they both wrote. Then János’ letters from the field stopped. “There’s big action on the fronts” —- was the explanation Magda received — “mail cannot come through for a while”. The big action was over and still no letter. Until the dreaded communication arrived on a chilly morning in February, 1943: the War Department regretfully informed Magda that 2nd Lieutenant János Mészáros was missing in action. The months passed and the years — no news from János, none about him either. Magda just couldn’t sit around all day at home, she had to do something to take her mind off János. “I shall be thinking of you every minute until you come back” — the memory of the words was piercing pain, she couldn’t bear it anymore. They were glad to have her back at the bank. They treated her gently and with respect due to the wife — or maybe the widow — of a hero. The air attacks came, British, American, Russian, days and nights of horror, encouraging news broadcasts about wonder-weapons and discouraging news about retreats on all fronts. German occupation, proclamations, political upheavel, then the siege of Budapest, Soviet occupation, war’s end. The city was slowly awakening from apparent death, people came forth from the basement-shelters. Magda came forth, too. Their home was bombed out but she still had her job and her mother helped with the baby. No news about János. The first trains with released prisoners of war arrived. Magda went to Debrecen where the trains from the East arrived and where the released prisoners were screened. Tibor Bat ár was an officer at the screening station. He was very nice to the young woman who was frequently inquiring after her missing husband. He assured her that everything will be done to find him. He said he sent out extra tracing notices, private ones. “I have some connections, you know. Even in Moscow,” ■— he said. One evening he took her out for dinner. There was champagne and cautious, smooth talk. “We arrived at a dead end” — he showed an officially looking sheet of paper with Russian letters. “Your husband is nowhere. No camp, no hospital has a record of him. He must have died years ago during one of those big retreats when they were running like rabbits.” His eyes flickered with hate but as he noticed the stiff look in Magda’s he hastily added: “1 didn’t mean your husband. It’s just that it was another world. Not mine. You must realize there is a new world, a new order, a new society in the making. We are standing at its cradle. Forget the old one.” He wasn’t talking anymore, he was making a speech. Then suddenly he changed his voice: “Magda, I want you to stand beside me as I make this new order grow. I want you to marry me.” “You are out of your mind” — was Magda’s prompt reaction. But Tibor Batár was persistent. He assured Magda that there was no sense waiting anymore. János is dead, gone. And she is beautiful. She must live. He can make her life wonderful. He has an important position in the Party now, but he will go higher and higher. He will not only live in a new world, he will shape it. And he will be a good father to Little János. Of course, he will adopt him. The past will be deleted completely. Magda gradually gave in. The man was kind, she needed someone to stand by her and he was also so enthusiastic, so full of fire ■— maybe she had misjudged his kind — she was sure he would really do what he talked about. And János must be dead — and if he isn’t he forfeited his rights. Through the years he could have sent one word, one sign that he was alive and that he loved her. Tibor Batár provided all the necessary papers, they were married. Their apartment was luxurious — Batár belonged to the new class. * John Mészáros sat at the desk and all this passed through his mind. He had it from the Hungarian pastor of the refugees whom he asked to talk to Magda and Little János without mentioning him. And he also remembered his past fifteen years. The battlefield, the advance, the letters from Magda, the retreat when he was captured by the Russians, the endless marches from camp to camp, the typhiod, the strange moment when after months of illness he stood at the side of a puddle in the prison camp and he didn’t recognze his own face in the reflecting water. The letters he wrote to Magda, the promises that they will be forwarded but never an answer; the smooth approach of the camp-commander to be willing to transfer him into a comfortable camp, a school in fact where he would be able to learn about the wonderful Soviet world. He remembered the school — comfortable indeed — where he soon found out that he was about to be trained in order to be sent back to Hungary as a political agent for the takeover. He remembered his escape, his recapture, his transport to the work-camp in the icy North. How they completely lost track of time — they didn’t know what hour of the day or what day of the year it was. He remembered his prayers each time when he went to sleep, each time when he was kicked to wakefulness by the guard: “O Lord, don’t let me die before I know what has become of Magda and Little János.” Then, suddenly, with no explanation at all, he was released. When he arrived in Budapest it was November, 1948. Pleasant, sunny autumn weather, but he was cold.
