When the Danube Ran Red

25 The Siege

150 25 The Siege I slept until the morning, when explosions started to shake the room. The front windows of the house opened to the Danube: they were exposed to the barrage. Within seconds the concussions and shrapnel from the artillery and mortar rounds pounded the blinds, shattered the glass, and broke every piece of furniture in the room, knocking off the lamp, blowing holes into the walls, turning much of the place into rubble . Frightened to death, I first hid under the blanket, then jumped out of bed and yanked the door open. “Mrs. Lóránt,” I screamed, “let’s leave!” Of course, deep down, I knew that we could not leave. Erzsi had told me so. It would be dangerous to go to the shelter, even if I were taken by Mrs. Lóránt, she warned me, because people gathered there would immediately notice that I was a stranger. Some might even think that I was a Jewish child hiding from the authorities and decide to call the police. “Of course, your story as a refugee from Békéscsaba,” she had argued and tried to reassure me and, I think, herself, “is quite believable . Your papers are proper, and your status not at all unusual—after all, Budapest has been overrun by refugees, and among them are many children. Still, being noticed, you might be exposed to danger, or at least to intense interrogations. Therefore, it is better,” Erzsi had concluded, “to avoid such confrontation.” Amid the rise of dust inside the room and the roar of guns outside, however, I forgot about these warnings. I simply was looking for the The Siege 151 beautiful landlady who had been so kind to me the previous night. I wanted to talk to her, share with her my fear; to have contact with a human being, rely on an adult, who would know, and could tell me, what to do. But in vain did I look for her; in vain did I call her name. I could not find her. With the shooting sometimes far off, sometimes quite nearby, I searched desperately for her, running through every room again and again. I started to tear open all the doors of the apartment , looking under the beds, into the closets, into the bathroom. Still I did not find her. Driven by panic, I kept calling out again and again, “Mrs. Lóránt, where are you?” No answer. After a long silence, the thunder from the shooting resumed. Running to an entrance hall that had no windows, except two small ones opening to the corridor, I yanked open one of three doors and discovered a large closet in a very small room. Jumping in, I saw on the shelves, and threw on the floor, a pile of bed sheets and pillowcases. In addition, I looked around and noticed blankets and summer clothes as well as several pairs of sandals. The place felt comfortable ; if I closed the door, even the explosions were muffled. I made myself a seat on the floor. Suddenly I could hear the rattle of machine guns get louder; this was followed by an eerie silence. I crawled out of the closet. Still looking for Mrs. Lóránt, I searched the apartment and went to the bathroom. It was clean, in fact, immaculate. Opening the cabinets, I noticed that they held no toothbrush, no toothpaste, no hairbrush, no soap, no perfume. The shelves were empty. Fear grabbed my insides. I suddenly remembered that I had looked around that bathroom the night before and admired Mrs. Lóránt’s pink toothbrush and her lipsticks placed around the sink. Now I could see none of them, either around the sink or in the cabinets. “She isn’t here at all,” I thought. Everything was quiet outside. I ripped her closet doors open; it was empty. When the Danube R an Red 152 “Did she leave?” I screamed to myself. “Where did she go? And why?” Looking into the large closet for a while, I suddenly thought, “My God! I am alone!” And I was. (Mrs. Lóránt had left the apartment with her German boyfriend on the night of my arrival, taking along, of course, my mother ’s bracelet and everything else that was portable, including every bit of food.) Not knowing this at the time, I just stood in the middle...