“I noticed it on top of some letters being prepared for Joszef’s review.”
“And you just took it?”
“First of all, I don’t think Joszef has seen it yet. And also, this is a copy. Mike’s letter is back in its place.”
“Thank God.”
“Just read.” Marta put a glass of vodka in front of Dora. “Then drink.”
As Dora scanned the copy of Mike’s letter, a rush of despair coursed through her. She learned not only that Mike wanted to leave Hungary, but he also confessed to hearing something in the basement of the Ministry of Interior. She knew, with this government, coincidences didn’t just happen. When a person had a feeling two horrible things were connected, they usually were. From the second she saw it, she knew the moaning was related to those eyes. She had almost been successful at escaping them. But they followed her, tracking her movements like a cat in the night.
Dora also thought about the regime’s new hunt for Radio Free Europe devotees. Mike would surely encounter problems if he tried to leave now that he discussed plans to head to Munich—the headquarters of Radio Free Europe. And yet, it was his sister’s need for a mom driving his desire to leave Hungary in the first place. Dora struggled to reconcile her sense of duty with her guilt over turning someone in who seemed so compassionate.
“Dora…,” Marta hesitated.
“Look,” Dora pointed to the letter matter-of-factly. “He has plans to leave Hungary. We cannot let these come to fruition.”
“He wants to leave. You are right, but it’s not forever. He obviously wants to bring his mom back here, so it’s not that bad. We can still help him, can’t we?”
Dora knew every person her age despised the regime, but they rarely documented these feelings on paper. It was stupid of Mike to write about them so openly.
Mike’s letter confirmed one of Dora’s biggest fears: Mike was both confident and optimistic. The lethal combination invariably led to the greatest crimes. Rather than fearing the government, he would joyfully flout its rules, carrying on in a separate world, leading a separate life, and loving a separate government—the government of his own. Dora knew what she had to do.
“We have to tell Joszef,” Dora said. “Mike is just going to get more determined. He’s not going to stop until he finds himself thrown in jail. We can help him now by squashing his dreams of leaving.”
“No!” Marta plucked the letter out of Dora’s hand. “Mike has been your constant companion; you can’t just abandon him.”
“It’s not just about me anymore,” Dora reasoned with Marta, who gripped the letter in her hands. “It’s about Mike, and you, and my dad. This is the best way of stopping something before it gets out of hand and affects us all.”
“I know you’re worried. I am too, but there is something we could do about this letter.”
“We can’t destroy it,” Dora said.
“No. I think we need a delay tactic. Let’s take it from Joszef’s office, for now,” Marta said.
“What if he notices it’s missing?”
“He might notice, but he won’t know who took it.”
Normally, Dora would have stifled a plan requiring any sort of deviousness. But, she reasoned, a delay could buy them some time to come up with an alternative.
An hour later, Dora found herself positioned in front of Joszef’s office watching Marta fumble a hair pin as she tried to unlock his door. They had waltzed up to his floor without coming into contact with the remaining employees nestled in their cubicles. It wouldn’t have been completely strange for them to be at work on that night.
They tiptoed into Joszef’s office and closed the door. Hardly able to discern anything in the dark, Dora closed her eyes and counted down from five. When she opened her eyes, Joszef’s impeccable office spread before her. So painstakingly clean, it sent shivers down Dora’s arms. She wondered if he kept it this clean so he could catch trespassers.
Dora searched under Joszef’s desk for a pair of cabinet keys. She could detect the faint traces of his most personal attributes, like the somewhat moldy scent that clung to him every morning, or the small pieces of hair he shed when he rubbed his face in concentration. She found his cabinet keys taped to the bottom corner of his desk.
Dora was impressed by the immaculate organization of Joszef’s cabinet files—every single paper had a proper place, its destination defined with a printed label. She found not one loose paper, which meant Joszef might very well notice the absence of Mike’s letter.
Careful to maintain absolute silence, Dora painstakingly lifted each paper, inspected it, and placed it back where it belonged. With each movement, Dora felt like a piece of machinery executing its next, precisely-timed maneuver. She endured this sensation many times in this building, except now she waited for the glitch—the letter—that would allow her to influence the machine’s operations.
Dora propped open a folder entitled To Read, which held all the latest letters and reports passed on to Joszef. Dora plucked the first letter from the file and realized it was, indeed, Mike’s.
“He probably hasn’t seen any of these…,” Marta said.
“You’re right, although it was on top of the pile, so perhaps he’ll remember it was there.”
“That’s possible, but we don’t have any other choice, Dora.” Eyeing the letter, Marta mustered her most calm voice, “Okay, let’s take it. It’s time to take it. It will just be gone for a little while….”
Dora nodded.
She understood—they had gone this far, and to turn back would be to admit that they committed a crime. As she moved to close the drawer, she noticed Marta clutching something against her. Glued tightly to her stomach was a folder bending awkwardly on Marta’s torso.
“Marta, what is that?”
“It’s our employee evaluations.” Marta had that look on her face she got when she was excited about plans. It was a far-away giddiness in her eyes, as if she had leapt ahead to where they had succeeded instead of addressing the present reality.
Dora gently slid the folder out of Marta’s grasp. “We’ve broken enough rules for one night.” Dora straightened the file the best she could and returned it to Joszef’s filing system. “Plus, I think we can wait for our evaluations.”
When they finally made it outside, Dora breathed deeply for the first time in hours, releasing the focus that allowed her to operate so methodically. At least for a few weeks, Dora hoped, Mike would be spared the repercussions in store for the select, unlucky fans of Radio Free Europe.
As soon as they made it a few blocks from their office, Marta declared, “Dora! You are coming out with me. We’re going to a bar or a club or whatever you want, but you’re going out.”
Dora rolled her eyes and then did something she hadn’t done in weeks—she laughed.
“All right, Marta, but I’m tired. I’m not staying out that late.”
“Of course not. We can have our fun and get home early.” Marta hurried them toward a local bar that was known for playing The Beatles, softly, and only once in awhile. Other bars hosted actual Beatles cover bands. Fans used secret passwords for admission. Sometimes the police arrived in the middle of a set, yelling at everyone to get out. Sometimes they were cited for participating in the “black market” by buying tickets for and attending a concert that was not officially sanctioned. In reality, they were being punished for listening to rock ‘n’ roll and subjecting themselves to the music and culture of the West.
“So, Dora, any men you see here tonight that you might want to talk to?” Marta scanned the men surrounding them at the bar. “That bartender is looking rather groovy with his wild hair. It’s mysterious. I wonder what I will find… in there.”