“What are my duties under this new… mission?” Dora clutched her pen and notepad, her knuckles turning bone white.
“You are expected to maintain a half-block’s distance from Ferenc at all times. If a letter is mailed, you will retrieve it immediately. You can check in to the office once a day, for ten minutes. All other hours you’ll spend following him.”
“Including after hours?”
“Especially after hours.” Joszef took out his wallet and handed twenty-thousand forints to Dora. “This will cover your meals, and then some.”
The money must have come from Joszef’s personal account. There was no way he would expense this mission. Dora began to fear that she would let Joszef down, risking her position with the postal agency and the protection it provided her. She had worked her whole life to stay safe and accept the sacrifices that such safety demanded. She couldn’t put herself or her dad in danger. That was the promise she made long ago. It was the promise Eszter could never keep—or make, for that matter. She would have to do this mission, and do it well.
Dora cleared her throat and sat up straight. “When do I start?”
“He gets out of jail in two hours.”
“Which jail is he being held at?”
“You must also promise…,” Joszef narrowed his eyes, “that you will not tell anyone where he is.”
“I promise.”
“He’s in a secret prison in the basement of the Ministry of Interior.”
Dora recalled the building was once used as a prison, but ever since the revolution, the government had transported all prisoners to camps at Kistarcsa or Tӧkӧl.
“There is no longer a prison there, though.”
“That’s exactly right, Dora,” Joszef winked.
Two hours later, in the deceptively bright light of the cold afternoon, Dora found herself crouching behind garbage bins outside a restaurant, yards away from the ministry. The smell of food made her queasy as she waited for Ferenc to appear. Every so often the murmurs of restaurant-goers drifted toward Dora, their voices heightening her anxiety.
Dora buried her head in her scarf, trying to cover her ears. Tiny snowflakes melted on her clothes, like little spiders crawling across her body. She was too distracted to realize they had completely overrun her, covering her jacket and amassing in its folds. Soon she’d be wet and shivering.
Dora closed her eyes, and as she did, the eyes from the ministry’s basement came into perfect view. Dora tried to convince herself that they belonged to some common criminal being held there for a short period of time, like Ferenc. But Dora had recognized something frighteningly permanent and familiar lingering in their gaze.
Trying to find some comfort, Dora touched the note tucked away in her pocket, a habit she developed years ago. It always calmed her down when she needed it most. Crumpled and softened from wear, Dora held the note to her cheek, breathing in the faint opium scent lingering on it still. Dora could no longer make out its words, but she knew them by heart.
Dearest Dora,
Now that Boldiszar is gone, I think of you constantly. He loved you like a sister. The day before he was killed, I talked to him briefly. He said, if anything happened, to tell you he loved you. It was a simple request, but I’ve had a hard time doing it. Your father said we can have no communication, but I want Boldiszar to be remembered exactly as he wanted. I’m leaving you this note in hopes you’ll find it. I hope that when you’re cold, you’ll reach your hand into your pocket and find comfort in the memory of my son. He would want that.
Dora wondered what Boldiszar would think of her now—would he be proud? Whenever Boldiszar asked her what she wanted to be, Dora always said she’d work for the government. She never thought twice about it—that’s what Ivan did, and that’s what she would do. Despite his anti-communist ambitions, Boldiszar never pushed anything on Dora. He always seemed so pleased when she told him she wanted to follow in her dad’s footsteps. But, now Dora wondered if Boldiszar would suggest she seek a different position—one that didn’t involve stalking a seemingly harmless young man.
Boldiszar thought he would lead an illustrious career as a politician, though there wouldn’t have been a place for him in Hungary’s government now, anyway. The revolution he fought for died just as quickly as it started. Gerő had been ousted but once Imre Nagy, the revolution’s reluctant leader, declared Hungary’s withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact, the Soviets moved in. They captured Nagy and replaced him with his second-in-command, János Kádár.
Kádár complied with Soviet wishes, promising to put an end to the country’s counter-revolutionary elements. Authorities rounded up thousands of people, many of whom had only minimal involvement in any sort of underground activities. Regardless, they disappeared with everyone else. Meanwhile, those who aligned themselves with the Soviets, and their distinct wishes, like Ivan, came out ahead.
The thud of a door opening reverberated near Dora. She wished she hadn’t heard that thud. She wished she wasn’t standing there in the cold and that she hadn’t been assigned this job by Joszef. She wished for yesterday, even. Anything would be better than this.
When Dora saw Ferenc emerge from the ministry’s large doors, she closed her eyes and made one last wish—that he would be safe. She pressed her back against the wall, hiding in the shadows, and watched him. He put his hat and gloves on at the pace of a stiff old man. He looked hurt, wincing with every movement. He wobbled slowly on the sidewalk, his hands flared out, ready to break a fall. Witnessing Ferenc make his feeble ascent into daylight, an unwelcome sensation overcame Dora—she wanted to hug him.
He increased his pace as he adjusted to navigating the icy sidewalk. Soon, he crossed the street and Dora, running on her toes, lunged to keep up with him. Strangely enough, Ferenc headed straight for the university. He walked through the courtyard and the maze of gothic buildings, then slipped into the back entrance. Sidling through that same door, Dora snuck in behind him.
Dora found herself in a library with high ceilings and light-yellow bricks that reached up to an expansive skylight. The library was virtually empty, which meant Dora would need to hide quickly before Ferenc saw her. She crouched behind the bookcase opposite Ferenc and watched him search the shelves. A constellation of cuts and bruises spread across his face, and through his scabbing lips, she could see him mouthing the words “Radio Free Europe.” She wished he would just stop his obsession with the radio program and lie low for a while. She thought about writing him some sort of anonymous letter warning him to cease interacting with and talking about Radio Free Europe for a few months, until further notice. Knowing Ferenc, that would encourage his obsession even more.
Without warning, his eyes shot up from the spines of the dank and moldy books and peered through the bookshelf. They ran straight into Dora, who jumped back against the bookcase behind her, knocking two books onto the floor. She nodded at Ferenc, as if greeting a stranger, and scurried away.
“Excuse me,” Ferenc said, following her. “Wait.”
Dora found herself heading toward a dead end.
“Sorry, I think I’m lost,” Dora said, looking down as she scooted past Ferenc.
Ferenc stopped her, gently grabbing the crook of her arm. “You look familiar.”
Dora studied Ferenc’s lips. She almost forgot she had heard him speak that night at the bar. He didn’t sound anything like Mike, who she only knew through his broken English. Ferenc’s voice had a soft yet masculine quality to it, as if there was something important he had to say, if she would only listen.