He continued pushing my face into the ground until it almost merged completely with the floor of the capsule. My blood insisted on persisting through me, and out of me. I heard another one enter and then utter, “Kick him toward the stomach.” But he misstepped, and it was my arm that became the victim. Like a sentinel angel, Moris appeared. When the rest of the harem witnessed Moris standing there, with a cigar limping from his mouth, they absconded from me and evaporated around the corner. I listened to their trots, until finally, their footsteps grew faint and I heard zero noise.
“You’re going to leave here now,” he said.
“Gurgle-gurgle,” I replied. What I genuinely longed to utter was “No!” because I needed to acquire more time to ask the woman voice questions. I had to discover how to leave through her channels.
Moris said I just had to stand up and I could go. But my body said a definite no to lifting itself up. I was hurt. So I could remain!
But when Moris observed me unmoving, he called the guards back to my capsule. They coalesced in front of me, sending dust straight into my mouth.
They said, “Come with us,” and I said, “Where am I going?”
The inquiry I placed before them, however, was indication for them to commence beating upon my beloved arms and legs. With each push of force, I was shackled into passivity.
They split my arms between the two of them and dragged me on my back past the woman voice. I fixed my glimpse into hers, attempting to communicate that I am a loyalist to her. Her hair constrained of matted fluffiness with gray gobs of something in it. Her eyes were like extinct diamonds. Her entire body wore the same dirtiness of the cell walls. She looked toward me, and her eyes drooped then squinted and then wailed, bearing her pounds of abuse. I pressed my back to the ground so I could slow the guards as we passed her. They dragged me forth more slowly, and I looked at her. They dragged; I looked. You withstand the picture.
“What,” I stooped my voice to a much less strident tone as I was dragged. “What is your name?”
“Please, stop! Stop!” she said, but they continued with their dragging.
Her eyes squinted, her lips vanished, and my total view was her yellow teeth smushed together as she recited, “Eszter.”
Sincerely,
Mike a Korvinközből
Desire is fuelled by all, but fulfillment. —Ernő Osvát
DORA TURJÁN
January 24, 1965
SWEAT SEEPED FROM Dora’s forehead and back as she sat in Joszef’s office, facing him. Joszef combed his hair, or whatever remained of it, with his stiff, arthritic fingers. He sighed and turned to Dora, “We’ve had a development. It may come as a shock to you….”
Dora’s mind trudged through the possible scenarios. She didn’t know if Joszef was aware of her recent theft from his office or her encounter with the police, or both. She tried to speak, but couldn’t think of an intelligible response. He had called her in on a Sunday. This couldn’t be good.
Joszef studied Dora, his beady eyes doing laps around her face. Dora hoped he didn’t notice her right eye twitching or that she couldn’t take a deep breath.
“Today I was briefed on the new inmates we’ve acquired,” Joszef said. “Some of them were listening to Radio Free Europe when they were arrested.”
“Radio Free Europe?” Dora felt the twitch in her eye spread to her lips, which began to tremble.
“Yes, Dora.” Joszef leaned back in his chair. “And, now that we are on high alert for these Uncle Lanci letters, it’s a problem when anyone is put in jail who is a Radio Free Europe fan.”
Joszef placed a stack of folders on his desk, his eyes returning to Dora. “These folders seem to have been… disturbed.”
“I can look into that, sir.” Scarcely allowing herself to breathe in even a modicum of air, Dora put all of her energy into sitting up straight, meeting Joszef’s gaze, and soothing her shaking.
“We have more important things to do.” Joszef combed through the folders. “As you know, the Uncle Lanci fans use code names.”
“Yes, almost every letter is signed with one.”
“You also know we can decode these names, if need be.”
“Right, though we determined it wasn’t worth our time.”
“Well, now it is,” Joszef smiled, pulling a folder and opening it on his desk. “I did some digging. It just so happens, one of the men in jail writes to Uncle Lanci regularly.”
“Who…?” Dora tried, though failed again, to take a deep breath. “Who is it?”
Joszef turned the folder around for Dora to see. Pointing to a picture tacked to the top corner, he said, “This is Mike a Korvinközből.”
Now Dora’s breathing stopped all together. Her knees and legs shook so forcefully she heard them, like rain, pitter-pattering on the leather chair.
Dora was staring at a picture of Ferenc. Ferenc was Mike. Mike was Ferenc. He was smiling, his dark hair combed in a side part—this must have been an old school picture. He looked out at Dora with that gentle expression. It was the one that made Dora feel like she could tell him anything, that it wouldn’t be taken out of proportion. Whatever she said would just exist in space without being tied to expectation or pain. In the back of her mind, Dora suspected this was where her conversation with Joszef would lead, her logic guiding her intuition. And as it caught up with her emotions, she knew it made sense. The Mike she grew to know over the years was the playful and kind Ferenc from two nights ago.
Dora heard Joszef’s voice surround her, but she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to know what he was going to ask her to do.
“This is a delicate situation, Dora. It’s also one that must remain secret. Can you promise that?”
“I can.” Dora heard herself speak, but couldn’t feel the words coming out of her mouth.
“Good, because Ferenc is going to be released from jail today. They wouldn’t normally release him so soon. But, I pulled some strings because I want us to monitor him. I want us to build a case against him and prove to the administration how lethal these Uncle Lanci writers are. So, wherever he goes, you go. He is not to leave your sight.”
Dora couldn’t believe it. Joszef wanted her to stalk Ferenc, and with the explicit purpose of getting him in trouble. This was the last thing she wanted to do. He didn’t deserve that. He was harmless. Dora needed time to find a way out of this.
“I don’t understand… isn’t this a job for the secret police?”
“Not this one.”
“But, how will I do it?”
Dora was not trained for stalking people of interest. She was a bureaucrat who censored mail for a living, behind a desk.
“Before I go further, I need you to agree to this mission,” Joszef said.
Dora realized this had to be one of Joszef’s personal crusades. He must be doing it to prove his worth at the agency. She noticed that, lately, Joszef hadn’t been invited to key strategy meetings. Meanwhile, younger, sharper bureaucrats were on the rise. This was a last ditch effort to succeed, and it was a secret because Joszef didn’t know if it would work. Dora had very little choice in the matter. If Joszef was personally tied to the mission, it was hers.
“I…,” Dora started. “I agree to the mission.”
“Good.” A tiny smirk escaped from Joszef’s lips. “You’re just the right person for this.”