Marika: Based on a True Story

By Vivien Varga

Marika is a captivating and fast-moving story which transports the reader through time: from past to present; childhood to adulthood; from peace to war and sorrow to happiness. Interwoven are the tales of a mother, Berta, and her daughter, Marika.

A count chooses love of a commoner over status. After a tragic death we learn of the transportation of a baby from her mother in Hungary to grandparents in Austria and a privileged life awaiting her. Years later, in 1907, Berta’s story starts shortly before her journey back to Hungary.

In 1929 we first meet Marika, a young child aged five, living on the family farm in Hungary. Her capers at school and exploits with friends and family draw us into her life there. Later, in her teenage years, we see sorrow strike with the tragic death of her mother. The narrative turns to wartime and a harrowing flight through occupied Hungary into Austria.

This story is an ever-evolving painting of life, through hardship and uncertainty to romance and hope. After marriage there follows a journey to England. But will Marika finally find peace and a new home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Apr 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781803139388

Vivien Varga

Vivien Varga has worked as an English and Drama teacher in Warwickshire and the West Midlands and lived for several years in Bologna teaching English as a Foreign language. Now retired, she spends her time travelling and writing. Her first book, Marika, was published with Matador. 

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Marika. 1929, Hungary.

Shining serenely over the fertile land of an imposing farm on the outskirts of Jászapáti in the heart of the Puszta,¹ the bright afternoon sun gently gazed down upon a field of fresh sunflowers, thus lighting up a thousand suns. In the warm shade of these yellow bobbing heads, a small child could be seen, skipping and chattering contentedly to herself, in her own secret world, safe and sound, sheltered by the towering suns, protected by their soft, swaying faces.

Marika² was the child’s name, and with an intensity beyond her years… soulful brown eyes, an inquiring mind and a winning smile, she was loved by all. An even smaller speck revealed her doting pet hen, a treasured bundle of ginger and vanilla feathers, who faithfully followed the five-year-old everywhere.

On reaching the edge of her beloved field, she would stare transfixed onto the vast, soporific Puszta, which stretched out ahead of her like a sandy desert reaching infinity; spellbound, she would gaze, as if for ever, until the relentless light played wily tricks and the magic land would start to ripple like tiny waves in a far-away, halcyon ocean.

The land was her world. Every minute detail was noted by her eager eyes: little gnats swarming confidently overhead, in a solid circle, to give the illusion of power; shiny, new shoots of grass, sprouting forth to join larger blades; the child would stretch these skilfully between her thumbs, in carefully cupped hands, leaving a small gap through which to blow vigorously, hence creating a long, high-pitched note. This shrill, vibrating sound delighted Marika, but sent her usually calm hen, Bolyhos,³ into a fearful frenzy, causing the girl to giggle and tenderly stroke the nervous bird.

Tiny red ladybirds would catch her eye as she ambled on with the utmost tranquillity, faithful Bolyhos in tow, and she would halt to scrutinise these ruby-red creatures intently, counting their black dots out loud as they climbed delicately over large, fragrant geranium leaves, quietly tickling the velvety green surface. The industrious ants too would draw her attention, as they rapidly transported scraps of grain and fallen seeds to their nest, like tireless farmers in the potato fields.

The Puszta reached far, far into the distance, an ever-changing verdant carpet, flecked with red, blue and yellow flowers, golden hay, galloping horses, small houses dotted like boats; and Marika marvelled at its sheer magnitude as she slowly relaxed her eyes to approach vicariously the beckoning seas.

It was suddenly that her daydream was broken by a powerful, yet melodious call:

Marika, Kész az ebéd!⁴

Her beautiful mother, Berta, had the most endearing, selfless nature. Habitually working, whether lovingly cooking a fragrant gulyás,⁵ Marika’s favourite dish; or starching cotton to add a crispness and structure to the otherwise limp material, or skilfully fashioning soap from pig fat; she always found the time to be with her daughter and would tell her captivating tales of her adored Austria.

Ausztria a legjobb hely a földön,⁶ were words which the child remembered with intense fondness well into her adulthood. Berta passionately imparted vivid stories about the turquoise lakes of Austria and the stunning mountains, which lightly brushed against the sky, and her magnificent life there before the devastation she had suffered when forced to leave. Marika soaked up her words like a sponge and vowed she would, one day, go to the place where the mountains touched the sky.

Flying into the outstretched arms, she eagerly related the events of her day, laughing loudly as she excitedly told of Bolyhos’ fear of the grass flute. Hand in hand, they skipped insouciantly towards the handsome, white farmhouse which rested, relaxing in the balmy heat, calmly awaiting their return.

On approaching the warm sanctuary of home, the little girl smiled expectantly, wondering when the sublime aroma of her mother’s cooking would ignite her senses, like a cosy, secure pleasure which never disappointed. Zestfully, she turned the shiny brass doorknob and opened the pale-pink front door, its colour (chosen by Berta) a unique feature in the area and Marika’s pride and joy.

A light and spacious hall was revealed on entering, with wooden doorways, like sentinels, to the left and right, one of which she rushed towards and eagerly opened. And instantly, there it was: the enticing, delectable smell of gulyás. She breathed in, blissfully savouring the moment, before reaching up to kiss her mother’s cheek in thanks. The soft, warm skin had a faint but memorable Jasmine fragrance about it, which always reassured her.

Once inside, the room revealed a long oak table, decorated with a soft cloth of simple embroidered cotton, which comfortably covered its substantial length. A cream candle in a floral-patterned, red-painted pot, perched modestly in the centre, very different to the tall, silver candleholders displayed when her father invited regional farm managers over for dinner. This simpler decor was Marika’s best-loved, and she also relished being alone with her mother at these times, so she could bathe in her enchanting stories of the wonderful, far-away land of her childhood.

Tell me about my nagyapa, Anya,⁷ entreated the child.

Well… he was a handsome young man, and he lived in the land of beautiful, snowy peaked mountains, which rose so high they kissed the hazy clouds, and anyone who climbed them could whisper to the angels in heaven.

The steam from the bowl of gulyás rose, like the mist in the mountains, and Marika luxuriated in the instant, gently reaching into its warm vapour and whispering sotto voce.

He fell desperately in love with a beautiful, warm-hearted Hungarian woman, continued Berta, and wanted to marry her, but his parents were immensely unhappy about this, as he was rich, and she was poor, and they wrongly thought that she was not good enough for your nagyapa. They told him to leave her, or he would no longer be called their son.

Nagyapa must have been so sad, remarked Marika, as she chewed reflectively on the succulent beef.

Yes, he was very sad, repeated Anya, and she sighed.

Notes

1 Puszta – A vast expanse of grassland on the Great Hungarian Plain (Alföld).

2 Marika – Little Maria.

3 Bolyhos – Fluffy.

4 Kész az ebéd. – Lunch is ready.

5 gulyás – goulash. Hungarian meat and vegetable stew, flavoured with paprika.

6 Ausztria a legjobb hely a földön. – Austria is the best place in the world.

7 Nagyapa – grandfather. Anya – mother.

Chapter 2

Berta. 1907, Austria.

As a child, Berta had harboured an ocean of questions regarding her parents, only some of which she felt able to voice, as personal chats did not flourish in the household. Her grandmother, Eva, though kind, was also somewhat staid and distant and this issue was a particularly sensitive one. Berta’s burning desire for clarification, however, was too strong to ignore, so the subject was eventually broached. A knife cut through the air when the moment arrived, releasing a grey cloud of tension in which festered raw grief and remorse.

I knew this moment would come, dear. Her grandmother appeared drawn and wan. Of course, you have the right to know the truth. I shall try my utmost to answer your questions.

The child naturally sought information about her father, Josef Von Kneiszl, which her grandmother provided as best she might, despite their long years of estrangement. Knowledge about her mother, Erzsébet, however, was in very short supply and Berta’s vivid imagination was obliged to fill in a multitude of gaps.

The girl learned that she was the youngest of nine children and that, due to the sudden death of her father in a hunting accident, she had been collected, as a baby, from her mother’s house in Hungary and transported by a horse-drawn carriage to Löffelbach to be brought up by the Von Kneiszls.

After the demise of Erzsébet’s husband, money had been in short supply, rendering this offer from his parents – plus some modest financial aid – crucial. However, the pain of giving up her daughter had been like an open wound, which only over the path of time had faded into a dull numbness.

The life Berta enjoyed in Austria with her grandparents was a privileged one and she thrived and became a beautiful young woman.

In the summer months, the Von Kneiszls would travel to their house in Kussnacht, a hamlet by the Grüner See, and she would spend many a precious moment by the lakeside, with its glorious vista of the majestic mountains and would gaze at the gentle ripples in the turquoise-green waters and admire the robust, rugged peaks in the distance, which soared confidently up to the heavens. Here, in her private domain, she could reflect on past events with ease.

Eva had explained that Josef’s future, already mapped out, was to serve God, as this was expected of the youngest son; yet he had openly refused to fulfil this duty and his foolhardy decision had impacted on the entire family. It had transpired that, whilst on one of his hunting trips in Hungary, he had met and befriended a Hungarian woman of humble status, who had charmed him and captured his heart.

My son wanted to marry this girl, but how could it be when our position in society was so diverse and his future had already been sealed? It was utter madness. He was a count, she a mere peasant girl! These words, voiced out loud, seemed to deeply distress the usually composed woman and her lips quivered gently with indignation coupled with an intense sadness for past circumstances. Josef had duly chosen to marry Erzsébet, instead of conforming to his parents’ stringent expectations, and had, as a result, been shunned by them, forcing him to leave for a new life in Hungary.

Staring into the lake one summer’s afternoon, Berta glimpsed a cluster of white lilies roosting on leafy aits, which punctuated the water like clouds in an azure sky. She breathed in and then out slowly, keen to absorb this ubiquitous tranquillity, and smiled, before lying on the soft grass, close to the slender reeds which stretched ever skywards.

On one such occasion, she became suddenly aware of a quiet rustling in the long grass by the shore. Her secret place was so silent that any sound could be detected instantly. Thus, she had awakened from the magical reverie of her alluring mother beckoning Josef…hypnotising him with her exquisite eyes…and she had admired the brave, romantic nature of a father she had never known.

As the sound grew louder, she realised that this was not some inquisitive hare or roaming squirrel, but a much larger presence; so, tentatively, she turned to view the intruder.

Forgive me!

From out of the reeds came a hesitant voice, shortly followed by the awkward entrance of a fresh-faced and extremely flushed young man. He stood peering down at his feet like an embarrassed schoolboy, nervously anticipating a response. When none came, he filled the silence.

I believed I was alone. I had no idea there was someone else here.

She found herself inadvertently staring at this handsome boy, both amused and charmed by his gaucheness. A slight giddiness came over her and a pleasant shiver, like the delicate brush of a passing butterfly, teased the nape of her neck. And when she gradually broke into a smile, his relief was plain. Now, shyly reciprocating, he patiently waited for this stunning young woman to either dismiss him or invite him to stay. Berta invited him to stay. This was her introduction to Johann – a blond, curly haired, sun-browned boy – on vacation visiting relatives in the area. Coincidentally, he hailed from the outskirts of her very own village of Löffelbach and had been out exploring the lakeside, contrary to his mother’s precise instructions for him to gather mushrooms from the surrounding forest for dinner.

After their initial encounter, they spent many an afternoon by the lake, swimming in the crystal-clear waters, dancing barefoot on the flower-flecked bank, and living in anticipation of these sub rosa rendezvous where they savoured each second as if an exquisite dish beyond all imagination. He was so funny, and she laughed and laughed; their private encounters by the lake were her lifeblood, and she loved his shiny, brown body when he emerged from the water. He touched her heart, her Johann. And now, she cherished and understood her dear father even more.

However, Grandmother, on meeting Johann, who shyly informed her that he worked on his father’s farm and was learning the business, had told Berta that yes, he was a decent enough lad, but not of her station, and Berta had smiled ever so slightly, sensing a theme.

Johann would bring soft cheeses, smoked meats and homemade wine from the village and the couple would tell stories, sing songs and eat and drink… and the hours would pass unnoticed as they were both exactly where they desired to be.

Once, he gave her a dainty silver necklace with a small cross, which glistened in the bright sunshine like the sparkling water in the lake, and she kissed him lightly on the lips and their love for each other was sealed.

My sister says she can tell I’m in love, because I keep grinning and I’m nice to her for once. And she teased me for preparing a picnic… said I’d gone soft and slushy.

Well, I think it was a wonderful gesture. Your sister sounds funny. How old is she? What’s her name?

She’s ten going on twenty, he replied. And her name’s Anna and she should have been a boy!

Why do you say that? enquired Berta.

Because she made a rope swing and tied it to a tree so she could swing across the brook near home; she also catches fish, and she’s always outside helping Papa with the animals and shovelling horse manure for the crops. And she kicks stones along the track. Is that enough for you?

She sounds fun, the girl chuckled. I like her already. I don’t know any of my sisters or brothers. And there are loads of them … eight in total, nine including me.

That is actually a lot, Johann agreed. I imagine it’d be hard to remember their names. He laughed. Having just one sister is plenty! She always wants to hang around with me, which is annoying ’cause she’s constantly talking – the whole time! I don’t know how she finds space to draw breath.

Sounds nice to me. You’re lucky. You should be flattered. I wish I had siblings around who would spend time with me. I get lonely in this big, empty house.

Well, you don’t need to be alone anymore, because I’m here now, he smiled. And we’ll be together for ever.

On their return home, Johann visited the imposing Löffelbach residence and Berta, after the required small talk with her grandmother, soon made excuses to leave. And once the pair were alone, she took Johann by the hand and led him quickly, so as not to arouse attention, into a snug little room off the main hall, which became another hideaway, its welcoming log fire generating a cosy warmth, thus enhancing their clandestine meetings. Two velvet chairs in fashionable maroon with delicately carved cabriole legs adorned this room, and a brightly coloured Austrian hook rug hugged the hearth side; this was an indoor sanctuary, where secrets left their lips safely and their love could thrive.

So when, a few months later, her mother, out of the blue, requested she be returned to Hungary, the child’s heart broke and a deep sorrow wrapped itself around her like Achlys’ shroud.

Chapter 3

Marika. 1929, Jászapáti.

From high up in an acacia tree, delighting in the fragrant perfume of the delicate white, waxy flowers, Marika called out to her best friend, Józsi.

I’m a little princess sitting in a tree; if you climb up, you can marry me, she chanted rapturously, frightening the sensitive birds from their perches.

The slight, dark-haired, olive-skinned youth climbed with fervent gusto to reach the excited child. They vowed that they would stay true to each other for eternity, and he fashioned a ring from the thread of a stem, kissed her warmly on the cheek and they sat happily holding hands, at least for a few minutes until they yearned to run free again and avidly made for the fields, Bolyhos clucking enthusiastically behind them. They had declared their undying love – until Józsi needed to return home for tea, post-haste, to avoid his mother’s chagrin, which would most certainly be aroused if he arrived late.

See you tomorrow, he chirped, and flew across the field like a swift leveret, turning into the lane and disappearing from view.

The girl sauntered through the long grass chattering to herself and