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excited to see him, soon found reason to regret his arrival.
    Me, I was at once repulsed and curious. Rough-edged porcelain stubs protruded from his gums where his front teeth should have been, and the tips of his fingers on both hands were disfigured. Who was he? What had happened?
    From my stairwell listening post, I overheard him in heated conversation with my mother in the kitchen. They spoke Hungarian, but I understood every word. The subject was my mother’s twin, Kati.
    â€œNo, that cannot be. Rózsa, she would write this to me.” My mother’s voice was nasal as if she had been crying.
    â€œEdit, I am sorry. But kindly try to understand, they are afraid to write this. It is expected the AVO reads all letters leaving and coming into the country.”
    The sound of my mother’s plea was heartbreaking. “But vanished…How?” Silence. Then, “Tibi, you are holding something back.” Another silence. “AVO?” The sound was more of a croak than a word.
    â€œThis we do not know. But, yes, it is possible.” A pause. “It is the worst time there, Edit. Rakosi is a butcher…”
    A low keening noise from my mother brought tears to my eyes.
    â€œThere is something else, Edit. Something nearly as bad as a death sentence.” The freedom fighter rushed on. “There are rumors she was a traitor. That she escaped…”
    â€œWhat? Where?”
    â€œCould be anywhere…or nowhere.”
    I retreated from the stairwell, my mother’s muffled sobs more than I could bear.
    ***
    Later, I was introduced to the freedom fighter, Tibi, my mother called him. Tibi and I took a walk. I wanted to ask about my aunt Kati, but didn’t wish to expose myself as an eavesdropper. Especially as he was describing life in a country where a person’s every move was watched.
    â€œAfter Second World War, Hungary it was liberated by Soviet Russia,” he began in broken English. “Do you know of Stalin? Have they teach you about him in your school?” He read my puzzled look. “No, of course. You are still very young. For now, believe me when I tell you this: he was the devil himself. And Stalin he appoint his evil disciple, Matyas Rakosi, to be master of Hungary. When Rakosi decide something, if others do not agree…simple—” The freedom fighter sliced his finger across his throat. “He get his way. What do the people get? Those who not join the Party get meager wages, little food, few clothing. All freedom gone.”
    In my storybook, a spell robbed the princesses of their free will. But there were only twelve of them to control. “Hungary has many people…many throats,” I said. “He can’t cut them all. How does he do it? Hold power over an entire country?”
    â€œRakosi’s power? The AVO. His secret police. Heartless animals, always on prowl for signs of Party disloyalty. They hound us, fill us with fear. Offer food for information or, more common, take people from their homes in the middle of night, force them to talk. If want, they make things up. Atmosphere it become so poisoned, no one can be trusted. Neighbors they tell secrets on one another. Even within families people turn.”
    Tibi shook his head. “A terror state. This is how Rakosi rules. People feeling always fear, humiliated, trapped. Helpless, even as tens of thousands of Hungarians disappear. Sent to hard labor. Or maybe kept in cells below AVO headquarters, never to emerge.”
    I was horror-struck. “Never to emerge?”
    He nodded. “In chamber of AVO basement is opening to underground canal, ending at Danube. Convenient for disposal of bodies.” He held out his hands, displayed disfigured fingertips. “This happen at interrogation before I am sent away.” His nails had been lifted off with bamboo sticks for keeping banned Western books in his apartment. “Only books on history of Communism,