Dora knew her mom led Boldiszar to the Soviets, but she had assumed it was a Soviet soldier who killed Boldiszar, not Eszter. The world transformed once again, and this time she felt herself falling, falling in the space left behind.
“We don’t know much more than this,” Ivan said. “We believe Boldiszar was encouraged to go to this location by Radio Free Europe, with the help of your mom. We don’t know what happened next, but we do know your mom somehow killed him, along with Dmitry.”
“How do you know this is true?”
“There were other soldiers who witnessed the murder. They describe your mom shooting both of them.”
“That’s not possible. I don’t believe you.”
“It’s right here, Dora.” Ivan pointed to the memo.
“How do you know those soldiers weren’t making it all up?”
“Please, I can’t entertain any more questions right now. I have to get to work. Believe me when I tell you that Radio Free Europe ruined our family and the people we loved.”
Dora sat there trying to piece together everything her dad had said and showed her, along with everything she knew about her mom. No one piece of the puzzle fit the other, because the big picture could not possibly be that Eszter murdered Boldiszar. She had to find out the truth for herself. She wanted to look her mom in the eyes and ask her what happened. She couldn’t put credence in these memos, especially if Ivan wasn’t willing to answer any of her questions.
Dora remembered that man in the cemetery, and how he wanted her to tell Eszter they knew it was a mistake. Dora never did deliver the message, barely able to speak when she finally came face to face with her mom. But what was the mistake? Dora had assumed it was Eszter leading Boldiszar to the Soviets. But could he have been referring to Boldiszar’s death?
Dora’s mind started grasping for answers, sending her into a tailspin. Maybe Boldiszar made a grave mistake during the course of the revolution, one so serious that the Freedom Fighters threatened Eszter’s life if she didn’t kill Boldiszar. He could be careless and impulsive sometimes, poor at calculating outcomes, and Dora wouldn’t be too surprised if he did something to anger the higher-ups in the movement. But Eszter wasn’t reckless enough to kill a Soviet soldier too.
Dora thought about how her mom looked that day in the courtroom. She couldn’t imagine her as a murderer. She seemed so frail and old, at least twenty years older than Ivan. A wildness lit up her eyes, but only when the judge spoke to her. When she saw Dora, her eyes softened, and she seemed almost shy. Dora felt so deeply sad to see her mom’s tattered clothes, her missing teeth, and how she incoherently mumbled to herself.
Everything Dora tried to ignore for the past nine years—her anger toward Eszter and simultaneous longing for her—tore through her. But none of it seemed to matter when she realized just how much Eszter needed her. She had no one, and Dora had been no one for too long.
“You know what, Dora, I need some help with this jamming initiative,” Ivan said, summoning Dora from her thoughts.
“What do you mean?”
“I want you to lead it. I really have too much to do right now.”
“I don’t think I’m really in the right position to do so….”
Marta would tell her that this was an opportunity to stop the jamming, but Dora knew Ivan too well. He would expect her to do the job, and do it well. He would check in on her daily and probably ask Dora’s colleagues about her performance.
Within seconds, Ivan had Joszef on the phone to negotiate the terms of Dora’s temporary employment with Radio Budapest. Dora understood it wouldn’t really be a negotiation, since Joszef would say yes at all costs due to Ivan’s high ranking in the party. At least she wouldn’t have to stalk Ferenc anymore.
“It’s done.” Ivan clicked the phone back onto its stand. “You can start today.”
At the Radio Budapest studios, the head DJ greeted Dora with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. Tomasz, who was roughly the same age as Dora, eyed her up and down without saying a word. He scratched his head, launching flakes of his scalp into the air. Dora followed their luminous trajectory until they came to a rest on his black, wrinkled shirt.
“So, you’re the bearer of bad news,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
Tomasz’s eyes wandered down Dora’s stomach to her hands. “The jamming, is that the schedule?”
Dora nodded.
Tomasz fiddled with the radio switchboard, putting Bartók’s Gyorspolka on the air.
“Apparently, with enough repetition, teenagers will like the classics just as much as The Beatles.” Tomasz sank into his chair and laughed mightily, almost to himself more than anything. “So besides delivering me this jamming schedule, what brings you here today?”
“I’ve been assigned to help you.”
“Lucky you.”
Dora liked that Tomasz openly displayed contempt for the work. Maybe there was an opportunity here, after all.
“We will be jamming every rock program at increasing intervals, starting with ten minutes at a time. That is, until March first, when complete jamming of the station will commence,” Dora said.
“Complete jamming?”
“That is correct.”
“I thought we were done with that.”
“We aren’t. We have to prevent Radio Free Europe from undermining efforts to provide citizens with high quality, socialist entertainment.” Dora sounded so much like Ivan in that moment, it scared her. She hadn’t formulated a plan to prevent the jamming, but she knew she couldn’t foster any suspicion in Tomasz before she really knew him. If he proved untrustworthy, then toeing the party line would give her the cover she needed.
In the hours that followed, Tomasz trained Dora on the inner workings of the radio system. She even orchestrated a test-run when Radio Free Europe broadcasted its Cars and Trucks program, which Dora always thought they could do without anyway. She hadn’t yet figured out an alternative plan for Eszter or Ferenc, but she knew she had to, at the very least, warn Ferenc that they were running out of time.
Dear Mike,
Thank you for your letters. Each one I read. Each one I will think about. And now I must confidently tell you some bad news. It appears my radio station will be officially jammed on March 1. No longer will you be able correspond with me as you do now. That means you must prepare for your departure from Hungary. Since Eszter has not revealed to you the exact details of the code, please visit her every day until you can persuade her to do so.
Trying to get Ferenc to read the letter as soon as possible, Dora made plans to meet up with him, as Anika, of course. She told herself it was only to persuade him to stop at Varga’s office, though she craved his presence. With Ferenc, she felt a lightness she had lived too long without, like turning a street corner to feel the sun directly hitting your face, after a long, dark winter.
They met at a café, though Ferenc didn’t sound too excited on the phone. Dora hoped his feelings for her hadn’t flagged. She needed his full attention now, for many reasons, but most importantly, for her mom. As Ferenc played with his carrot soup, whirling his spoon through the creamy broth, he avoided speaking to Dora. She sipped some tea, hoping his mood would shift enough so they could go on a walk past Varga’s office.
“Anika,” his voice faltered at the last vowel of her fake name. Reaching for her hand, Ferenc wove Dora’s fingers through his, one by one, making sure to touch as much of Dora’s skin as possible. Lifting his glassy eyes up to her, he said, “Will you come with me?”