'56

By Gabriella Horvath

'56 is a gripping tale of love and treachery amid the Hungarian revolution. In 1956, the once-proud nation is a Soviet pawn, and a decade of Communist oppression has made everything scarce except suspicion and cynicism. Rumors of change begin an avalanche of militant optimism among a people deprived of hope. Then Soviet tanks head to Budapest, the West looks the other way, and the citizens must accept that their hopes of freedom are doomed: can true love survive when defeat is inevitable? Escape is an option, but is that a lost cause too? The events are illustrated with stills from newsreel footage shot on the streets of Budapest during the height of the uprising. Gabriella Horvath tells the story of her family and her people with drama and humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriella Horvath
• Release date: Jan 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301805488

Gabriella Horvath

Gabriella grew up in Chicago and currently lives in New England. She is grateful for the support of friends and family who made this book possible.

Book preview

'56

Published by Gabriella M. Horvath at Smashwords

Text Copyright © 2012 Gabriella M. Horvath

All Rights Reserved

Book Design by Gabriella M. Horvath

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Although several characters and many events in this book existed historically, this work is entirely the author's creation and should not be construed as historical fact. Names, characters, events, and locations are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This file is licensed for private individual entertainment only. The book contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into an information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photographic, audio recording, or otherwise) for any reason (excepting the uses permitted to the licensee by copyright law under terms of fair use) without the specific written permission of the author.

Table of Contents

Preface

Map - Hungary & Budapest, 1956

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Sources

Preface

The thing that makes each popular revolution the same is the trigger, the moment when the anger and discontent of an oppressed people can no longer be contained by the laws meant to control them. However, each has its own historical context, which can fade as time passes and successive generations contend with their own uprisings, civil wars and insurrections. In the decades since the Hungarian revolution of 1956, the Cold War has come and gone, as have the people who waged it: that particular brand of international tension between superpowers has been virtually replaced with economic battles and asymmetric warfare. People still suffer under oppressive regimes, but it's getting harder for despots to maintain their control under the withering gaze of international scrutiny. My book is set in a time and place before technology could easily penetrate into all corners of an empire, revealing cruelty and injustice: it was a time when the cult of personality could drive over a people once, twice, three times in quick succession and the outside world would know almost nothing about the privations suffered by millions.

The best book written on the topic is 1984 by George Orwell, which reveals the truth about authoritarian brutality with real skill and daring. It's a fiction in that the characters are invented, but the dreary life in a totalitarian regime is clearly and accurately depicted: it was a living hell of relentless hunger, fear and suspicion. No one was safe from imprisonment, torture or execution, from the lowliest worker to the leaders in powerful political circles. Far from that reality, we in the 21st century can only read about it in books, or possibly hear about it first hand from the few remaining people who lived it. My book is based on the stories told by my family and their friends, refugees who escaped from Communist Hungary during the revolution, as well as fragments that I found in books and interviews of others. Many incidents in this book actually happened, many did not, but my goal in writing it is not historical accuracy: I want to share the stories of the Hungarian freedom fighters of '56 in a way that reflects their courage and humanity into our century, because they deserve to be remembered.

GMH

December 2012

A bátraknak

— for the brave ones

Map - Hungary & Budapest, 1956

Chapter 1

Feri Bácsi, könyörgöm, she pleaded.

I'll do what I can, Feri replied. He stared intently at the young woman who sat across from him, looking for the telltale signs of deception. The usual sources have dried up, he said. I'm waiting for a delivery that should arrive soon. Come back on Thursday afternoon, I'll have an answer for you by then.

I will be here, the young woman said as she wiped tears from her large dark eyes. You must understand, there’s nothing left of my grandparent’s estate. Nothing. They took it all and put us in some kind of barn—in the countryside… Her head bowed down with the weight of the words: a shaking hand smoothed over the sleeve of her thinning velvet coat and neatly folded under the ragged cuff. I don't know how to thank you, she whispered without looking up. Feri was moved by her bewildered grace, but quickly returned to the business at hand.

No need for thanks yet, just be here on Thursday and we'll come to an understanding, he said. He watched as she nervously collected herself and skittered into the narrow street outside the empty cafe. Béla! he shouted toward the back door to the alley. Get in here!

Béla ducked his head and stepped over the worn wooden threshold into the dimly lit room. Feri struck a match and fired the cold pipe in his left hand. Follow her. Make sure the story checks out. Hurry, before she's gone. Wordlessly, the lanky, pale young man rushed out. Feri puffed until a curl of smoke drifted out of the long black pipe and turned to consider the chess set that rested at the end of the table near the wall. Sanyi said checkmate in five moves. How can it be?

One more frightened, desperate citizen on the slowly sinking ship, Feri thought as he moved the black pieces back and forth. This country has lost its soul, lost its future. A young girl like that should be dreaming of her first love, instead she’s here to sell trinkets to keep her family alive for another week. It's no way to live, always in fear, always guessing at the motives of everyone around you. Who is your friend, who will report you, when will you be dragged away in the middle of the night? Things are far worse now than during the war: then he was Ferenc Zsigmond, proprietor of the Buda Kafe. When the bombs weren't falling, it was a lively place to meet a friend for a few glasses of pálinka and listen to the gypsies play for stray coins. There was color and life, big ideas and small dramas. There were reporters from everywhere, in Budapest to watch the epic battle between the Nazis and the Soviets; they wrote in a frenzy as the sun set, bellowed the stories over crackling phone lines, and then ran to the Buda to drink and argue about politics all night. Alongside the journalists were the locals who lingered, waiting for the offer of a drink or a cigarette in exchange for an insider story about the back room antics of a perverted general or some warmed-over corruption scandal in the war office. Artists and writers came to blows over lofty ideas, over paint and poems, while dark-eyed girls in worn satin frocks sat at their tables, looking bored, nursing glasses of cheap wine. Radicals, priests, housewives, thieves, Feri closed his eyes and saw them all, hovering in the air like smoke. It seemed like a hundred years ago, or maybe only a little more than ten.

When he returned, Béla locked the door and pulled down the tattered canvas shades on the windows. It was after midnight: the weary gypsy violinist had long since given up on the handful of stingy customers that had been dawdling over their coffee. Feri had announced closing time at curfew, and the small crowd filed out.

Is she clean? Feri asked. Béla nodded and gestured with his right hand.

I'm glad to hear it. Or see it, I should say. Feri exchanged a thin smile with his mute friend and waved him off to bed. Remember to take some chocolate to Eva at the bakery in the morning—the good stuff. We owe her for a week.

Béla nodded again as he turned into the narrow staircase that led up to the upstairs room. A dark and musty quiet descended on the old cafe. Time for the last pipe of the day and another look at the board, Feri thought. Maybe sleeping on it will help.

The morning broke gray and cold, another spring day of biting wind and rain. The damp caused a creaking, brittle ache in his joints, and Feri cursed the whole time he got dressed; a clean shirt and one of the suits that Béla pressed for him. Smart black boots that gleamed in the weak lamplight, and then a shave in the kitchen.

Did she give us another week of credit? Feri asked. Béla nodded as he fried the sausages and peppers. Bless her heart, I'll have to go down there and flirt with her some afternoon. After breakfast Feri settled himself in front of the chessmen to see if the night had brought him any answers.

Go watch for Sanyi, he said he'd be by this morning before the rally.

Béla sat on a stool under the tattered awning in front of the Buda Kafe, quietly whistling an old folk song while he picked the dirt from under his nails. Eventually he let out a set of three loud chirps like a bird's warning, signaling that Sanyi was on the street.

That kid gives me the creeps. I don't know why you keep him around. Sanyi said as he came in and shook the rain from his long black leather coat.

Come now my friend, don't be a boor. You know I rely on Béla. He's my eyes and ears. Feri said.

That's about all he is. Don't you feed him?

We eat well enough, no thanks to Comrade Rákosi.

That kind of talk could get you sent to the camps, you know.

Good thing I have friends in high places to protect me from Stalin’s disciple, Feri said as he waved Sanyi into the seat across from the chessboard and they settled into the quiet rhythm of the game. Sándor Vass first walked into the Buda during the war. Back then he had no particular occupation, no obvious means of support, and yet he wore fine imported clothes and always had enough money to stand the bar a round or two. Sparrow, the gypsies hissed: they immediately recognized and resented the low-rent black market dandy. At that time Feri’s own extensive black market trade reached from Istanbul to Paris, and he took the newcomer in as a runner. They bonded over a fanatical devotion to the game of chess. Their bond cooled when Feri found out that Sanyi had slipped into a position among the secret police after the Communists took over the government. The less said, the better. A regular payoff and his standing as a good Communist allowed Feri to remain the proprietor of the Buda Kafe. I can outlast them, he said to himself, if I play along and keep my head down. After eight years of the five year plan, however, he was beginning to wonder.

Do you have anything for me? Sanyi asked in an offhand way as he lit a cigarette and waited for Feri to make his move.

Nothing new. Same misery as before. Normas raise the production quotas, workers in the factories fall over dead trying to fill them. Want to put that on a banner in the rally? Feri asked sarcastically.

No need for that tone. I was just wondering if anyone new has come in asking for your 'services.'

Béla gave out a long low whistle, and Feri's attention snapped onto the street. He waved his pipe, and Béla turned away. Sanyi ignored the pantomime.

Like I said, it's all the same. Cigarettes for sugar, wedding bands for meat. I'm not exactly trading in Napoleon brandy like the old days. Sanyi glanced at his watch.

Well, I'd love to stay and bicker all day, but the rally starts in a half hour, he said. I can still see checkmate on the horizon.

I've fended you off so far. Don't forget to give my warm greetings to the propaganda arm of the Central Committee, Feri said as they shook hands. Sanyi snapped his hat in place and left without a word.

It's awful out there—for once I can't blame you for sitting in this dingy hole all day, Gizi said as she breezed into the Buda like a wave off the sea. Feri smiled for the first time that day, and went behind the bar to make coffee.

So tell me, he said, what brings you to the city today. Were you at the rally?

Don't be silly, old man—all the secret police in the world couldn’t get me to march in one of those. No, I'm here on the official business of the Commissioner of the Building Ministry of Tatabánya, she said as she perched on a stool and whispered over the bar. My tired little boss needs a special birthday gift for his wife.

So you offered to help him find one.

Of course. My reputation all over town is that I can get anything.

For a price.

Gizi set her small canvas bag on the bar and pulled out a stack of 1000 forint bills.

What will this get me? Feri nodded his head in appreciation as he counted out the money.

20, 30, 40 thousand. That should bring an heirloom ruby ring.

I think that would do nicely—let’s take a look.

Feri smiled again and waved at Béla, who was standing inside the door, openly admiring Gizi's legs.

Stop that staring and go get the ruby, Béla. Feri said. Béla blushed and ran upstairs.

I don't mind, Feri. He's harmless, and I like him.

Still, it's rude. I don't want him to grow up to have the manners of a dog.

You act like you're his father, she said with a smile.

He doesn't remember his family, there's no one but me, so I guess I am his father by default. Enough about Béla, bring your coffee over and show me how to beat my friend at chess. They walked to the back room and sat down at the chess table.

Your mystery friend—someday Béla won't be out front to whistle and warn me away. Then I'll meet this handsome stranger who beats you at chess. Startled by her comment, Feri's attention jumped up from the board: he fixed his gaze firmly into the clear blue eyes across from him.

I told you before, just forget all about him. He could be dangerous to you and your family. I mean it Gizella, don't cross me on this.

Relax Feri Bácsi, it was only a joke.

It’s no joke. And don’t tell anyone that you know about him. Your lives may depend on it. Feri puffed his pipe back to life, and eventually regained his usual calm. Now look at what he did with the bishop and rook—do you think I'm in danger? he asked.

Maybe it's a ploy to distract you from something else. I wish my brother was here, he was a national champion once, he could tell you.

How is Tibor—is his family doing well out in the countryside? Feri asked distractedly.

Gizi looked away from the board, her lovely face contracted into a sour frown.

They're very poor. I worry about them. The last time I went to Komárom I took as much as I could carry, but I think they traded everything for work boots: Tibor's were held together with string and cloth. The girl is so thin as you can see her bones.