Gratitude Read Online Free PDF Page B

warren.
    It was here, in a corner of the park, that she felt another stab of pain at her side, and she slumped to the ground, curled up and writhed in agony. She remembered for a moment even in her pain that she was now almost certainly adding green streaks to her grey-white dress, remembered even as the stabbing radiated over her abdomen that the humiliation of expiring here in this spot after her ordeal would be at least as sharp as the pain itself.
    A shadow passed over Lili’s racked face. She clutched her satchel, felt for the ring on her finger. She opened her eyes and thought she saw someone quite tall, asking her something.

Two
    Szeged, Hungary – March 20, 1944
    IN HIS SUNNY OFFICE overlooking Klauzal Square in Szeged, Istvan Beck was drilling a molar. He pumped the drill’s motor vigorously by stepping down on a steel button beside his dentist’s chair. He’d begun to wonder whether he could save the tooth at all.
    Marta Foldi, his assistant, came in. “Dr. Beck,” she said, “your friend Miklos Radnoti is on the phone. He says it’s important.” Istvan kept working on Ella Brunsvik’s mouth. “It’s important,” Marta said again. “It’s about your father.”
    “My father? What about my father?”
    “Come,” Marta said, indicating the phone.
    Miklos Radnoti sounded out of breath on the phone, as if he’d been running. He was a calm man usually, a poet. Istvan had known him since his student days at the University of Szeged. They’d been in a philosophy class together and become fast friends. Miklos Radnoti had never known his mother. He was the twin that had survived, while the other one took his mother down with him. Radnoti had married Fifi Gyarmati, a Catholic woman who was charmed by his poetry and by his wit. He’d converted to Catholicism, but he’d still been taken away to a labour camp near the Ukraine to work with explosives.
    What a time Radnoti had spent. These labour camps were not as bad as the concentration camps they’d heard rumours about, but the inmates were worked like slaves nevertheless. Many died. Others survived and came home. Heinrich Beck, Istvan’s father, had used his influence as mayor of Szeged to persuade the authorities to get the poet out and back to Budapest. Radnoti had written to his friend Istvan to tell him that that experience made him appreciate life for the first time. Istvan still remembered some of the lines his friend had sent him:
To forget would be best, but I have
Never forgotten anything yet.
Foam pours over the moon and the poison
Draws a dark green line on the horizon.
I roll myself a cigarette
Slowly, carefully. I live.
    Now Radnoti had returned to Szeged, briefly, to visit an ailing aunt. The poet told Istvan, “My aunt’s housekeeper saw your father a few minutes ago at Mendelssohn Square. There’s trouble, and you have to save yourself, Istvan. Get out, fast, save yourself.”
    Istvan was still picturing Mendelssohn Square, the bronze statue of the composer, the little park. “What are you talking about?” he began to say, but there was static on the line and then the phone went dead. Istvan tried to call his father’s office, but couldn’t get through.
    Ella Brunsvik was now standing beside the dentist’s chair with all the gear still in her mouth and the apron hanging from her neck. Istvan told Marta and Mrs. Brunsvik what Radnoti had said. “The Germans must be here,” he said. “They’re right here in Szeged.” He rubbed his face and ran his fingers back through his hair.
    Marta said, “We should leave right away, Istvan. I know where we can go.”
    “We can’t avoid the Germans,” he said, “even when we’re allied with them. How can you invade an ally?”
    The siren had begun to sound in the square below. Marta said, “Please, Istvan.” She took both his hands and tugged as if he were a child. His eyes rested on hers. Never was there a more perfect specimen of a Jew than Marta, with her coal-black hair and eyes,