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A RIPPLE EFFECT by Geneva An old magic book is stolen from an old Gypsy woman. Her niece Zsuska retrieves it and uses it to take revenge on her enemies and help her escape from Communist Hungary. Warning. This story contains rape and brutality. Hungary, late 1970's. Zsuska Nemeth looked out to the countryside, just a little bored and a little apprehensive, as the train swayed along. She had almost finished reading her book and was spending more time just looking out of the windows. The countryside was much different from the stolid blocks, the straight boulevards and streets and the general grayness of the city. Here there were fields, some green, some brown, but with new spring growth beginning to show. The little houses, some with red tiled roofs, looked as if they had been haphazardly placed, and roads and lanes meandered over the landscape. She wondered about her upcoming visit to her aunt, if it actually would be worth it. It was not as if she did not have other things to do, and the train fare might have been better spent on other things. Some weeks previously Zsuska and her sister Marica had received a letter from their Aunt Lisa, who lived in a small village to the southwest of the city, more than half way to the Romanian border. The letter invited them to a family reunion. Szuska did not know her father's side of the family very well and had lost contact for some years, but, as she had always been interested in learning about the Gypsy part of her roots, this was a good opportunity. She smiled inwardly at the irony. She, who had the fair complexion and light reddish blonde hair of her mother's side, was the more interested in her father's side of the family. Her sister Marica, whose dark good looks hinted at her father's Gypsy ancestry, had not shown much interest in going to 'any dumb' reunion, although Zsuska wondered if that was because she was more and more occupied with her boyfriend Imre Molacz. Imre worked with the Weather Service, Marica with the National Museum. Marica and Imre had been spending more and more time with each other and it looked as if their relationship was getting more and more serious. Zsuska wondered where that would leave her. She and Marica shared the apartment they had kept on with after their mother died of a lung disease. Their combined wages were just enough to cover living expenses and the rent. If Marica and Imre got married, what would she have to do? It would either mean sharing with a stranger, or taking a much smaller apartment for herself. She did not like the idea of either. The sharp braking of the train interrupted her thoughts and when it had jerked to a stop at the platform she gathered her stuff and climbed out. A few people looked at her curiously. It was a small place and any stranger would be noticed. She looked at her aunt's directions. "Down the road to the left of the station, about two hundred metres, then right at the first street. About another three hundred metres further on you will see a lane on the right. It will be the pale green house at the end of that." The sun was shining, and the bit of freshness in the air put her into a more optimistic mood. There was smell of grass, and occasionally other agricultural smells. Birds were singing in the trees and some bushes at the side of the road were even in early bloom. She even started humming a little ditty, but her mind quickly changed when she saw the lane, and she wished she had worn her work boots instead of her best shoes, to contend with the mud and ruts. She picked her way carefully through the puddles, now beginning to wonder at the decision that had brought her to this rural backwater. Would it be worth it? The house, a small cottage, was at the end of the lane. In fact it was the only occupied house on the lane. The only other buildings were a burnt-out shell of a house and a dilapidated barn. The house itself may have been green at one time, but now its paint was flaking. The front was tidy enough, but the door had not seen paint for some years either. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. In fact her welcome was effusive. She thought her aunt's cries of delight would be heard back at the railway station. After being immediately hugged within an inch of her life, Zsuska was ordered to stand while her aunt examined her. "Oh, so tall now, and such a pretty girl! Oh you do look so much like your mother, but, oh yes, maybe a bit of you father's features too." It was years since Zsuska had seen her aunt, at her father's funeral. Then, Lisa had been tall, straight and gray haired. Now she was bent, her strong face lined and her hair snow white, but her eyes were still dark and penetrating. She had barely taken off her coat when she had to endure a further inspection by the other relatives crowded into the small room. In vain, under the flurry of comments on her looks and reminiscences of her father and mother, and her own apologies for her sister's absence, she tried to remember everyone and their relationships to her but eventually she just gave up. They were all very welcoming, but from the conversations she soon realized that she shared no interests with them other than family. She was a city girl. All of them had been brought up in the country. At length she found herself, a glass of strong tea in one hand and a pastry in the other, sitting beside another aunt, called Nusa. Trying to get family information, she attempted to bring the conversation onto something that had more relevance to herself and Marica. "Aunt Nusa, my father died when I was young, and my mother really did not talk much about them, but could you tell me about my grandparents and their family?" "Oh my dear, so nice of you to take an interest in your father's people. Yes certainly. You see, your grandfather, my father, he was called Tabor. He died just before the war. My mother was called Marica." "Oh, same as my sister!" Zsuska felt a jolt of pleasure at the information. She was sure her sister Marica had not known. Nusa beamed at her, but then her face suddenly became more serious as if with a painful memory. "Well, then there were the children. I was the oldest. Then there was Gabor, who was your father, then Lisa. Next, your uncles, Ambrus and Ferko. That's Ambrus there with the mustache, talking to Ferko." The two men must have heard their names mentioned as they waved jovially to Nusa. "Last, there was Ilanka. She does not keep well and could not come." "When did my Grandmother Marica die?" Nusa looked at her sadly. "It was in the war, close to the end. You see, when the Germans took over Hungary in 1944, they started rounding up a whole bunch of people, mainly Jews, but Gypsies too. She was caught in a Gestapo sweep and we never saw her again. She had seen trouble coming and she had hidden all of her family with Hungarian families, but someone betrayed her and she was taken. Whether the Nazis killed her immediately or later, closer to the end of the war, I don't know." Zsuska was stricken. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I did not know about her." "Ah well, past days, probably better forgotten now. Anyway, my dear, tell me about yourself. Any young man in your life?" Zsuska had been afraid of enquiries like that, people always trying to match her up, but really she dislike men. It had not always been like that, but several unfortunate relationships as a girl, and the subtle and not so subtle harassment at work had gradually soured her view of men. She also hated the voluptuous figure that she had inherited from her mother's side. It attracted all the wrong men. The rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough, but Zsuska could not shake the tale of her grandmother's death from her mind. It was the next morning, as she was preparing to leave to get the train back, that Nusa took her aside. "Zsuska, I have been thinking. You look like a nice sensible girl and I have an old family memento that I want you to have." Zsuska was taken aback. "But I know you have two sons. Would it not be better to go to one of them? I would not want to be responsible for any family squabbles." "No, I don't think it will. I have kept its existence quiet anyway. I think it should be passed down the female line, as it has in the past. I had a copy from my grandmother. She gave another to my mother." "What is it," Zsuska asked. "Well, my dear, it is a little book, but a remarkable book, a very valuable one. Please, why don't you come and visit me in a month or so. I live in another village, but just south of the city. It would not take you long to get there. Please?" "But what's the book about?" "I'll tell you, when you come. I don't want to say anything else just now." This all seemed a bit secretive. Zsuska really did not want to make the trip just for some old book, even though it had supposedly belonged to the family for generations. She quite liked her aunt, but the weekend atmosphere had been a bit smothering, not to mention the irritating enquiries on her personal life, and she wondered if she was letting herself in for more. Still, it seemed as if it was important to the old woman. "All right, Aunt Nusa, I will come and visit you." "Thank you, my dear." ............ " So, how was your weekend? Discover any long lost relatives?" asked Marica when Zsuska returned. "They didn't try to match you up with some young men, from our Gypsy relatives?" Her eyes twinkled. She knew about Zsuska's dislike of men but she always hoped that her older sister would find someone she liked. Zsuska shook her head. " Fortunately not!" She told her sister about her weekend, but Marica's eyes began to wander when Zsuska tried to explain the family relationships. She only looked interested when she heard the tale about her grandmother. "I didn't know that. Poor woman! So, are you going to see any of them again?" "Yes, probably. Aunt Nusa wants me to visit her again. She has some more family information for me." Zsuska thought it better not to tell her sister about the mysterious book. Her sister would think her half-witted to go on a trip just for an old book. At work two days afterwards, Zsuska was concentrating on assembling a piece of circuitry when she was aware that Varga, her supervisor, had come to stand behind her. She disliked anyone, especially Varga, standing at her shoulder, but she tried to keep her mind on her work. Then she had to grit her teeth. She was aware of him standing right at her back, so that he was actually lightly rubbing against her. He even began stroking her back. Worse, his straying hand descended to her buttocks. That was too much, she turned round sharply but by then he stood back with an innocent look on his face as another supervisor passed by. She glared at him and turned back to her work but her arm ran over a sharp piece of metal and tore her skin. She flinched with the pain and the sight of the blood. She ran to get it attended to at the first aid station and it was over a half hour later that she was able to return to her workbench. "That was your own carelessness," smirked Varga. "Another time your pay will be docked." She stared at him coldly. She would get revenge sometime. That night, as she sat at home, scowling over the events of the day, she heard Marica and Imre come in. Their faces were flushed and happy. They sat down beside her. "Zsuska," Marica said. " We have news for you. Imre and I are going to get married." "My congratulations," Zsuska said, but she did not feel like it. Dutifully she embraced her sister and I mre. Marica would now tying herself to a man. Still, she seemed happy. Zsuska immediately thought of her own future. Now she would probably need to find some place on her own. "You are going to live here?" she asked. "Well, no, but we have something else in mind. It's to do with Imre's immediate boss. His wife has died and he is going to live with his daughter. We have a chance at getting his apartment. It is in a nice part of the city, and close enough to our work that we could both walk to our work and save money. Unfortunately," she hesitated, "the rent would be more. But with three contributing, we could do it. You see, we wonder if you would want to come in with us. Then we could share some expenses. You would have your own room." "To be in the same apartment as these newly wed love birds?" Szuska snorted to herself, but then she thought about it. It would make life easier for her if she did not have to look for a place on her own. She and Marica got on fairly well together. No doubt she could learn to tolerate Imre around. But what if Marica got pregnant? Ah well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it. "All right, yes. I will be willing to share with you, but I want to see this place first." ............... Three weeks later, Zsuska found herself on the train again, heading to her aunt's house. Again she had misgivings about what she was doing. Nusa had said it was a family memento. A book! What on earth was she doing this for? A stupid old book? She began to wonder if it was really just a ploy to get her to meet some supposedly marriageable man. She decided that relative or not, she would head back home immediately if that happened. At her aunt's house, she took a deep breath and knocked on the door, but after Nusa welcomed her in, no men appeared. Nusa even seemed much more business-like and direct than before. "All right, my dear, I said I had a book for you, and here it is." She bought over a wooden box with ornate carving, opened it and lifted out a cloth wrapped bundle. She unwrapped it to reveal a small book. .Zsuska felt a little let down. It did not look like much, less than the size of her hand. It had a faded, mildewed, yellow cover and some pages were dog-eared or slightly torn. "Have a look at this, my dear," said Nusa. "What do you think of it?" "Well, to be honest, Aunt Nusa, it doesn't look like much. What is it for?" "Look at the pages." Opening the book Zsuska peered at several pages. She shrugged. "All I see are some pages written in...let me see...I think it's Gothic writing, not printed." She gave it a closer look. "I'm not sure, but the writing seems to be in German." "Yes, you are right. At least the left hand pages. What do you make of the right hand ones? Can you read them?" Zsuska studied the writing, trying some sounds. She shook her head. " It's Gothic again, but the sounds and combinations don't look like German. It's not Cyrillic either." " No, in fact it is not anything I have found out or been told. There are family stories that it represents the sounds of an ancient language." "What is it for?" Her aunt smiled at her. "It is an old book, of magic spells." Zsuska tried to be polite, trying to hide her skepticism. "But Aunt Nusa, are you sure?' Nusa grinned at her. "No, I am not deranged and yes, you are right to be skeptical. That's actually a useful quality, but I assure you that the magic is true. I have tried some of the spells myself." She smiled at Zsuska. "I see you are unconvinced. Let me prove it to you. You have a bandage on your arm. What happened there?" The old woman listened as Zsuska explained about her work. "All right, take off the bandage and I will show you what the book can do." Zsuska decided to humor the old woman and, unwrapping the bandage, held up the cut for her aunt to examine it. Her arm was healing well, but it would be weeks before it had healed completely. "All right," said Nusa, "I think the spell I want is near the beginning." She ran through some pages and opened the book completely, laying it on the table. She adjusted her spectacles. "This one. Just sit and listen." She began to read something from the book. The sounds were like none that Zsuska had ever heard. After a minute her aunt laid the book down and smiled at her. Zsuska did not know what to say. Nothing had happened. Yet the old woman was looking satisfied, even smug. Zsuska squirmed, wondering what she was supposed to do now. As her aunt was obviously off her head, Zsuska wondered if she should pretend to be cured and get away home as soon a possible, away from this nonsense. Then she flinched. Her arm had started to sting. She gave a little gasp as the cut seemed to get momentarily hot, but the sensation faded rapidly to a pleasant warmth. As she watched, her jaw dropping, the skin drew together, the redness faded and in a few minutes all that was visible was a faint line. "You see, the spells work." Her aunt examined Zsuska's arm. "It was a deep cut. You will have a fine scar, but it will be almost invisible." "Aunt Nusa, what is this?" Zsuska whispered. This was beyond anything she had ever experienced. "As I said, it is magic. There are other spells too. You can use the book to fix hunchbacks, club feet, squints, to ease labor pains. It can do many things. It does not cure all, unfortunately. Otherwise I could have saved your mother." "That is wonderful!" Yet Zsuska hesitated. "But magic is not supposed to exist, so this book is dangerous." "I agree. Very dangerous. It would in fact be a threat to society, science and religion. That is why it must be owned by a responsible, careful person. Now my dear, here are perhaps the most dangerous spells of all." Nusa flipped through the book until near its end. "These last spells, such as this one here. If this is read, it will change all men who hear it into women, beautiful women. They start to shiver, fall unconscious, and when they wake up some days later they are women. Totally!" "What?" Zsuska cried. She shook her head. "That's impossible!" "Just as healing a cut in a few minutes is impossible?" " Why on earth would any man want to become a woman?" Zsuska thought of her own difficulties. " It could be many reasons. It might be useful to get information. Men can be careless with their tongues after making love with women. Or perhaps it could be used for a very effective disguise. You see. There is a spell immediately after that one which will reverse its effects. And then there are some men who would prefer to live as women. This would make the transition totally effective. Yes, they would be women completely. They could even bear children. "Let me tell you about one thing. I have never used use this spell, but you remember I told you of my mother, your grandmother Marica, who was captured by the Nazis and sent off to Germany?" "Yes, you told me that was in 1944." Nusa nodded. "Well, it's impossible to tell properly, but there were rumors that after the cattle cars moved out of the station, a number of Gestapo, SS., and some Hungarian Nazi sympathizers fell unconscious. They were taken to hospital, but it is rumored that in a few hours most had changed into women. The ones who didn't, they died. Apparently it is a very severe spell on the body and some men cannot endure it. Unfortunately the hospital was bombed soon after by the Russians. Many were killed and the hospital records were lost." "But wouldn't my grandmother have been heard reciting any spell?" "In the noise and bustle of a railway station, among the screams and tears of the women being sent to their deaths? I don't think so." Nusa wiped a tear from her eye. Zsuska stared at her, ashen faced. " So an old woman, but she used the only weapon she possessed to take some kind of revenge on her oppressors." "Yes, an act of desperation." Nusa shook her head slowly. She was silent for a minute. She took a minute to compose herself while Zsuska watched. "How does the spell work? Does the person change immediately?" " No, I saw it happen once. The man first of all begins to shiver, more and more violently, and falls unconscious. Then the body changes over some hours, by a long series of ripples over the skin and flesh until it is woman. She takes a day or two to wake up. And one more thing, there is another spell too, and one that reverses it. This will change a woman into a man." Zsuska was immediately interested. With a spell like that she could live as a man and be free from the attentions of men. She could be away and free from this body that seemed to attract all kinds of male attention. Marica had always told her she should be happy with her body, but to Zsuska her voluptuous figure was a millstone round her neck. But she almost immediately dismissed he thought of becoming a man. She disliked men. Why would she want to be one? Besides, the Communist government's records were too well kept. After a change she would have no way of establishing a new identity as a man. She would be immediately suspect as a spy. Further investigation and the authorities might uncover the secret of the book. "Aunt Nusa, if I took this book it would be an awful responsibility. Have you no other relative you could give it to? What about any of your sons?" "I have thought about this for some time. I think you are the best. You are also female. The book should be handed down through the female line. One of my sons is a good boy. That is Gabor. He is married and I like his wife. The other, Ferenc, is a disappointment." She shook her head sadly." He is not married and his ..... activities, are unfortunately almost criminal. He even has an interest in a house of ill repute in the city. I don't know why he should be so different from Gabor. He gives the family a bad name." Zsuska felt empathy with the old woman as a tear ran down her cheek, and embraced her. "Anyway, my dear, the fact that you have to think about it and you have reservations tells me that you are the best person. Now my dear, why don't we have some tea and later something to eat, then you can get back to Budapest. Tell me about your sister's plans. You say she is getting married?" Zsuska told Nusa about their plans. "Ah, that's nice that Marica will have a man. I wish I could meet her, but I don't move around very well now. You don't have anyone in mind for yourself either?" Her aunt raised an eyebrow. "No, sorry, Aunt Nusa, I have not met anyone yet." Nor have I any intention of it, she thought. Back in Budapest Zsuska spent a lot of thought over her aunt's offer that next few weeks, but her attention was also taken up with the plans for the wedding, and then the move to the new apartment. Marica and Imre took a brief honeymoon, only a few days at Lake Balaton. Marica was stirring a pot on the stove when she heard the door open. She looked at the clock hoping it was Imre, but it was her sister. "How was your day?" she called, but either Zsuska had not heard, or she chose to ignore it. Marica heard the door slam shut on her room. She sighed. So her sister was in another of her moods! It must have been something at work. Marica shook her head. If this carried on she and Imre might have to think about getting their own place or Zsuska would have to move out. That would be sure to stir up some more problems. She thought about the new apartment that she and Imre now shared with Zsuska. So far things seemed to be working well, although Zsuska had complained about having to be more careful how she was dressed when Imre was around. The trouble was that they needed Zsuska's contributions to pay for everything. She scanned the next week's grocery list. Maybe if she extended things with more potatoes or bread they could shave a bit off the food bill. She shook her head. It was a continual struggle. At last she heard Imre open the door. She called to him and received a greeting. He hung up his coat and when he came to her, she turned to face him and welcomed his kiss and embrace. It always made her feel better. She felt the comfort of his arms stroking her back and she pressed into him. "Oops," she said, a minute or two later," I'd better keep stirring this," almost unwillingly turning away, but his arms were still around her waist and his hands rose to cup her breasts while he nuzzled the back of her neck. They had been married a few weeks, and she loved his touch even more. She giggled. "Better be careful or my sister will see us. And let me stir this pot!" After a few minutes he stood away from her. He gestured towards Zsuska's bedroom and raised his eyebrows. Marica understood what he meant and shook her head. It seemed her sister spent much time in bad moods. Imre set the table for the three of them and in a few minutes they called Zsuska for supper. Marica was relieved to see that she had at least worked through most of her bad mood. It would have been polite to ask her about her day, but Marica was afraid it would set off her sister's bad mood again. They understood her rants about her male coworkers, but they were getting tired of them. When they had cleared the meal, Zsuska washed as usual while Marica dried, and Imre put the food and the dishes away. Marica was surprised to see him pull out some small glasses and a bottle of brandy. She wondered at the reason for the extravagance. " I need to relax just a little," he said, motioning to the bottle, with a slight grin. "We have something important to discuss. We need to talk. All of us. Come over here by the radio." He switched on the radio, turned up the sound and gestured for the women to sit near it. He poured each a drink. " I saw a letter today," he whispered. "One of my colleagues showed me a letter smuggled in from his cousin. Maybe you remember Zandor Barthy? He used to live in the apartment opposite us when we were children. He escaped about ten years ago. Well, he was able to get to America. Now he says he owns a car, and he has just bought a house. His own house! Now look at us!" he gestured round the room. " We live in this small apartment. It needs three wages for us to afford it. I do not criticize you, Marica, but we do not eat lavishly. We have to be frugal." I think...." He took a sip of the brandy. "I think we have to consider escaping, getting out of Hungary. What is in the future for us here? Marica, I know we have discussed a family, but could we afford it?" Marica put her hand to her mouth and her eyes closed in fright. This talk was dangerous. If they were heard they would be jailed. Yet she had become tired of continually watching her money and the gray gloominess that seemed to surround everything. There seemed to be no escape. A generation previously, the hopes for changes in Hungary had been crushed, and only a few years before, the Czechs had tried the same thing, unsuccessfully too. Perhaps there had been some easing in Hungary, but still little real change. She took a deep breath. "I agree," she said. Zsuska saw them look at her. She stared back at them and slowly nodded her head. " I agree too. This society is becoming intolerable. I want to get away as well. Besides, if you decided to flee, the police would be after me too." "Yes, but how?" asked Marica. "It is very dangerous. The frontier with Austria is the only reasonable option and that is patrolled. There are barbed wire fences and mines." " I will have to ask around." He nodded at his wife's frightened face. "Yes, I know. I'll be very careful." Marica understood. He would have to be very cautious who he asked. They faced discovery, not only from police, but possibly betrayal by those who purported to be friends. If caught, his own government job at the weather office, and her position with the National Museum would be lost, even if they did not face prison sentences. Afterwards they would only be able to get menial jobs. Their lives would be ruined. The matter seemed to lapse for some weeks. In fact Marica thought Imre might have given up the idea. Both had received small increases in their wages, and even Zsuska as well. The extra little money eased their budget, but one night Imre sat them down again. "I have been making a few enquiries, about escaping, I mean. "You know there is a lake that straddles the Austrian border. There are minefields on the Hungarian side, but if we could get through these we could escape over the lake. Zsuska snapped at him. "Yes, and how are we to we get over the lake? We'd need a boat. How would we get that? How would we carry it? Also, it would be easily seen. The lake is too deep to wade, and we certainly couldn't swim." "Ah, but if it was well frozen we could walk over it." Zsuska felt more exasperated. "And how would we get it to freeze?" "We would need a little patience, but it does freeze in winter. That is one advantage of being with the Weather Service. You see, in most winters, cold air comes from the East and the lake will freeze. I have been studying the long range forecast and just now there is a mass of very cold air over Russia. If it follows the usual pattern it will drift over here in January and the lake will freeze. This is an especially cold and large mass, so the ice will be thick and support us. So, do you want to try?" He looked at Marica and Zsuska in turn. Marica was licking her lips nervously, but both nodded. "Well, what we have to do now is get ready. We should sell off as much of our stuff as we dare. Convert anything into cash that we can. We will have to be very careful. If anyone asks why we are selling anything, you can say that we are going to get new stuff. "Now, another thing. We will be better to get permission to be near the border, just in case anyone asks why we are traveling there. There is a small weather office near the border. I could ask permission to go there and check the equipment. There has been talk of upgrading it. "Marica, you work at the Library. I know that you are working on an inventory of historical architecture in the nation. Any way you could use that?" "Well, near the border there are some old historical building, churches, old Austro-Hungarian palaces and such. I could ask for permission to go and study and catalogue the architecture of these." "Wonderful! Now Zsuska, how about you?" " I am sorry, Imre, I'm just a factory worker. I don't think there is any way I could get permission." "Then we will just have to risk it. The police do seem to be getting careless about checking documents." It only took a few weeks for permission to come for Imre and Marica. Now they had to hope that the weather would cooperate. Zsuska had not forgotten about Nusa's offer. But she had thought about declining it until she had another letter from Nusa pleading with her to take the book. Nusa said she was feeling frail and worried about the book being taken by others. "It is your responsibility, your duty, to take it." Zsuska did not want the responsibility, but she was sympathetic to Nusa's worries that the book could end up in the wrong hands. Maybe she could take it and later destroy it. With misgivings she gave in and told her aunt that she would visit her in another two weeks. As Zsuska walked out of the railway station, she could see her aunt's house just several hundred metres along the road. She smiled. No doubt her aunt would be ready to give her another small lesson in family history. Then she slightly flinched and hesitated. Two policemen, in the uniforms of the Security Police had also got out of the train. She was curious. Why would two policemen be here from the city? She hung back as they climbed into a car with two other policemen and drove off. Then she watched in shock as it drew up in front of her aunt's house. She sat down at a small caf? outside the station and, over a cup of weak coffee, watched as the men got out. She saw one policeman put to standing guard outside the house while the others knocked on the door, but without waiting for an answer, they kicked it in. She even heard the crash from where she was sitting. Nusa had been eagerly expecting Zsuska. She had the book ready had even prepared some pastries. She heard a noise outside and got up from her chair expecting to welcome her niece, but she was almost pushed over as the door burst in on her. She screamed as the three black clad men pushed her back. "Sit down, old woman!" one of them ordered, and pushed her backwards into a chair. She watched helplessly as they began to ransack the house. Her cupboards were emptied on the floor, the beds torn apart, and the kitchen dishes were smashed on the floor. "What do you want?" she cried. The one who seemed to be the leader glared at her. "We need to see your documents to begin with," he snarled. She tried to rise but she was pushed back. She saw various letters and charts that she had gathered for Zsuska thrown onto the table. One was thrust under her nose. "What is this list? Are they spies? Are these members of a spy cell?" Nusa knew this was ridiculous. The raid was just an excuse to harass her. Or perhaps someone with a grudge had informed on her. "Please, it is just a list of my family members. See, they are grouped into families and you can see many names are the same." "And what is this?" He had picked up the small book. He flicked through it, peering suspiciously at the pages. "This is in German writing. What is it? A codebook for Austrian or West German spies?" "Please, it is worthless. It is just an old book that has been in the family for generations. You can see that it is very old." He threw it on the table, and kicked all of her collected documents over the room, but the men seemed to have run out of steam. Nusa sat trembling in her chair. Her interrogator pulled out a plastic envelope from his pocket and slid the book, some photographs and another few papers into it. "We are taking these. They will be sent to headquarters for further inspection. If they are spying documents we will be back." They left, but not before deliberately scuffing their boots on all of her old family documents, photos, and mementos. Waiting at the cafe, nursing her coffee and nervously smoking a cigarette, Zsuska watched them leave. She was desperate to get to help her aunt, but she forced herself to wait another hour over another coffee, to the annoyance of the caf? owner, before she cautiously made her way to her aunt's house. She pushed gently in the door, now hanging precariously on sprung hinges. Her aunt was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the ruin of her possessions, white faced, crooning slowly to herself, gently rocking to and fro. Zsuska embraced her, with relief hearing her aunt's shocked reaction slowly turn to tears. She helped the old woman onto a chair, covered her with a blanket and went to brew some tea. A dented saucepan was all she could find to brew it in. Zsuska watched over her aunt as she sipped her tea, her tears gradually stopping. By this time a neighbor had taken enough courage to approach the house and look in. Zsuska sent her to fetch Nusa's son Gabor, and she began the heartbreaking task of tidying up the mess. "Zsuska," her aunt croaked. "These men, they stole the book that was for you. They said it will be sent to the Security headquarters. This is awful. It will be a disaster if they read it." "Did they know what it was for?" asked Zsuska. " No, they just wondered about the Gothic writing. They suggested it was code." "Oh well," she tried to reassure her aunt, " I am sure no one will discover what it is for. It will just be forgotten about in the police station." But she did not feel that way. The book had to be retrieved. Over the next hours, with the help of Gabor and his wife, they began to get the house more or less straightened out, but that evening Gabor virtually ordered his mother and Zsuska to spend the night with him. "Thank you for helping," he said to Zsuska. "My mother had been looking forward to your visit. She is always happy when someone is interested in the family history. It is too bad that this happened. They just wanted to harass us. They know we have Gypsy blood." So Nusa had not told anyone about the real reason for her visit. As Zsuska waited the next day for the train, she saw the black police car draw up at the station and one man got out, the one who had stood outside her aunt's house while it was being ransacked. She wanted to hide but realized he would not have seen her at her Aunt's house and would not associate her with Nusa. He was carrying a case, with a chain round one of his wrists. Whatever he had, it was important. She began to tremble. Her aunt had said that the book was to be sent to Budapest. Was this man taking it? She became uncomfortably aware that the policeman was watching her. That worried her, but as a pretty girl came onto the platform his gaze shifted to her. He was just appraising her like any pretty girl. She briefly lost sight of him as she boarded the train. She shook her head in irritation. The coach was almost full and she would have to stand. She became aware that the man was now standing behind her, his case, probably containing the book, even touching her. It was so near, yet so far. She fantasized idly about the train crashing and being able to retrieve the book in the confusion. She felt something touch her buttocks, but she decided it was an accidental contact, until she felt another one and she tensed. It was man's hand, gently stroking her rear, a finger tracing the lower edge of her panties. She knew it was the security policeman, but she did not dare challenge him. She tried to move away but the carriage was too crowded. At last at a set of points the carriage gave a sudden sway and an opening appeared in front of her. She moved forward quickly to slide between two other passengers. She turned to face him but he only gave her a self-satisfied grin. She glared at him but there was nothing else she could do. At Budapest she slipped out from the train as fast as she could, almost running, and she did not see him again. It was when she was well away from the station, on her bus home that she had an idea. If he had been interested in her could she have used it to find out what had happened to the book? Or even get it back? She shook her head. She should have reacted more quickly. Now the opportunity was lost. Anyway, it would be extremely unlikely. Some days later Zuska was sitting on the bus getting home from work, glad to have the weight off her feet and idly staring at the streets. She was thinking about their plans to flee, when she heard a screech of brakes and the bus stopped, so suddenly that she was thrown forward. Whitefaced, the bus driver opened the door and hurried outside. "An accident," she heard someone at the front of the bus exclaim. Several of the passengers went out to have a look and Zsuska followed them. Her hand went to her mouth. A man was lying under the front bumper of the bus, a small pool of blood oozing from under him. It was obvious he was dead, but some passers by helped the bus driver pull the body out. A black car heading the other direction made a hurried turn and drew up in front of the bus. Zsuska watched as a policeman climbed out. He was in the uniform of the Security police. Usually an accident like this would have been the responsibility of the city police and no doubt they would be on the scene quickly. At the sight of this man most of the crowd began to melt away. Zsuska studied him. There was something familiar about him, and she recognized him as one of the police who had been at the raid on her aunt's house and had then fondled her in the train back, the one who probably had the old book. She had another chance. He had spotted her. "You, woman, come here!" He peered at her as she casually moved closer. Zsuska felt his gaze run up and down her body. She suppressed her hatred and stood a little straighter and put what she hoped was a flirtatious look on her face. "Haven't I seen you before?" She decided to say nothing, but gave him a faint smile. "Ah yes, I saw you on a train some weeks back." He looked her up and down, but mostly at her bust. " Show me your identification," he ordered. She pulled out her papers from her inside pocket, making sure to leave her coat well open. She breathed in a little more to emphasize her bust. "You saw the accident?" "Well, officer, I was on the bus coming home from work but I was at the back. I saw nothing." A city police car drew up and Zsuska knew they would take over the case. She only had a few minutes. "Look officer," she said. " I have to get home. Perhaps if we met again I could answer your questions. Say, tomorrow evening? We could meet at that tavern over there? Eight o' clock?" The policeman was taken aback. This woman was actually coming on to him. Usually women, and the general population for that matter, had as little contact with the Security Police as possible. "Your name is?" "Oh, I am Zsuska Nemeth, as you saw from my ID." She forced herself to give him a smile. The policeman took note of the girl's curved figure, noticeable even under her work clothes. "I am Andor Szekeli." Zsuska tried not to let her reaction show. There was another Szekeli who held a high position in the National Security Office. This one was too young, but could they be related? Next evening Marica looked in amazement as her sister came out of her room. She was actually wearing a dress, and had even done something with her hair. "Well, well! What's going on here? Don't tell me you are meeting someone?" "Yes, I am, and it's a man." Zsuska said to her sister's squeals of delight. " Now, can I borrow some of your lipstick?" "Yes, of course! Who is he? Where did you meet him?" "You won't like it. Better take a deep breath. He is in the Security Police. His name is Andor, Andor Szekeli." Marica's face went white with shock. "What?" she screamed. "Are you absolutely mad? A policeman! You know what they are like." Her hand went to her mouth. "Have you forgotten," her voice went to a low hiss, in case the neighbors heard, "that we are planning to escape?" "No, I had not forgotten. And I still do intend to escape. But if am seeing a policeman, don't you think that will make us less suspicious?" "That's still too dangerous. Besides, you know they are disliked. You will cut yourself off from friends." But Marica wondered how many friends Zsuska really had. Not many women. And certainly no men. Even Imre only tolerated her. " Look, Marica, I have another reason. But it will have to be secret. Please trust me." They arrived at the tavern almost simultaneously. Andor led her to a corner table and they ordered beer. She was relieved that he had changed into civilian clothes. He was even wearing jeans. The only thing that might have identified him as a policeman was his close cropped hair. He was quite good looking, but his mouth had a cruel twist and there was a coarse air about him. They began to talk about themselves and Andor actually seemed very attentive. She told him about her work at the factory but she carefully avoided much talk of Marica and Imre. When he asked her about being on the train she just shrugged. "I was visiting a cousin," and she spoke no more about it. "What were you doing there?" she asked. "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry into police business." She played innocent as she knew that if he thought she was prying that he might get suspicious. He waved his hands dismissively. "Oh, I had been sent from the city to help some local police in a raid. It was supposed to be so that we could get more liaison with other police forces, but it was a waste of time really. I only had to stand guard and then they just had me take some confiscated stuff back to HQ." So this man had probably taken the book. She tried to act casually but her heart was thumping. Slowly she became aware of another girl occasionally looking in her direction but she thought nothing of it until she had to go the washroom and the girl followed her in. "Excuse me," the girl said. "I see you are with Andor Szekeli. Do you know much about him?" " Well, no." Zsuska pretended to be naive. "I just met him a day or so ago." "You should know," the girl spoke in a whisper, watching the door carefully, "he has a bad reputation. He is a Security Policeman. He has been involved in some trouble. I know that from a friend who works at the Ministry. To tell the truth, he is a bit of a thug. To call him a ruffian would be kind. He is dangerous. He used to go out with this friend of mine. She wanted to break up with him but he raped her and beat her up." Zsuska tensed. So that was what she would be dealing with. She would have to be careful. "That's terrible. Was he not prosecuted?" The girl just looked at her skeptically. "A Security Policeman? They are almost immune. They are almost a law to themselves. I advise you to drop him, but just be careful when you do so. Be careful anyway!" "Thanks for the warning," Zsuska said." I'll be careful." As she sat down again Andor put his arm around her and it was not long before his other hand slipped to her knee. Slowly the hand began to inch up her leg under her skirt. She forced herself to remain calm. She wanted to appear innocent, and pretend she was attracted to him but she did not like the way things were going. She was saved by another couple coming in. The man apparently was on the same squad as Andor and when they started to talk about their work she took the opportunity to move away from him. After a few more minutes she looked at the clock. "Goodness, look at the time! I have to start work early tomorrow. I'd better leave." "Can I see you home," asked Andor. "Oh thanks, but don't bother. This was lovely," she lied. She gave what she hoped was an appealing look. "Can I see you again," he asked. "Yes, I tell you, there are some restaurants by the river. Could we meet at one of these and have a meal? Tomorrow?" These would be in an open area and she would be safer there, but she knew at some point she would have to make a serious decision about how far she was prepared to go. At some point he would force himself on her. She would either have to resist, or pretend to be enamored of him. That weekend she was careless. They had walked through a park, where she thought she would be safe, but in a secluded area he pulled her down beside him. In a moment his lips were on hers, and one hand at her breast. He pushed aside her hands and his fingers were inside her bra kneading her breast and pinching her nipple. She hated it. She wanted to scream and bite and scratch him but she forced herself to think of getting the book and suppressed her panic. Now his hand was under her dress, between her legs and stroking her, running up and down her groove, then in her panties and probing further. She did not resist when he pulled down her panties and in seconds he had opened his fly. 'Thank God for small mercies! He 's putting on a condom,' she thought. He pushed apart her legs. She felt a sharp pain as he pushed violently into her and she forced herself to passively accept his violent strokes until he climaxed. She wanted to scream at her violation but she had to suppress it. Instead she clutched him as if in ecstasy, but she swore revenge. He would pay. It was as if another person had taken over her body while she stood back and watched. She felt revulsion at this lout, but she forced herself to pretend an orgasm and then pull him tight and kiss his neck until he withdrew from her. That night at home, in the bathroom, she vomited and scrubbed herself in her hurt, shame and disgust, partly at herself for her own duplicity that had led her to this degradation. Yet she knew she would have to continue. Sometime she would make him pay. It did not help that in the next few weeks she saw the continual worry and distrust in her sister's eyes about her continuing to see Szekeli, but she dared not tell her the real reason. It did not help that over the weeks of having to endure Andor she had found nothing. Her subtle questioning brought no information from him. She decided she would give herself another week, and if she was still unsuccessful she would drop the relationship, if she could. It was two or three days later that she arrived home to see Marica with a letter. "Here. It's from Nusa's son. His mother Nusa died two days ago. He says she never really recovered from the shock." "That's terrible. Look, I'd better go to the funeral." "No," said Marica. "He's not sure if he wants you there in case the police come round again. They have made their presence felt at other Gypsy funerals. He says he will understand if you don't go and he is sure his mother would." "Yet another bit of revenge I have to take on Szekeli," muttered Zsuska under her breath but she decided to go anyway. In fact, there were no police visible at the funeral and Zsuska had an opportunity to visit with her relatives again. There was one newcomer, a small man, who stood mostly apart from the rest. Zsuska got the impression he was not quite in their favor. He came over to talk to her and introduced himself. "I am Nusa's son Ferenc." Zsuska could not completely hide her reaction. This was the black sheep of the family, a man who used women, but she forced herself to be polite. He gave her a half smile." I see you have been told about me, but you know, I live in the city too and I have many contacts. Maybe I can be of use to you sometime. Gabor told me that my mother liked you, so if you need a favor anytime, maybe you can call me." He gave her a card with his telephone number. She thought about destroying it, but on a whim she put it in her purse. ............. Izstvan Szekeli took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He arched his back to get rid of some of the stiffness and stretched his arms. He looked at the clock in surprise. He had not noticed the time passing. He gave a little smile to himself. Usually his staff let him know that it was closing time for the office by a not so subtle scraping of chairs on the floor and slamming of file cabinets. It had not worked today as he had been too engrossed in some reports on the surveillance of certain potential dissidents and the minister urgently needed his comments. One document had been fairly wordy and detailed but he had finally finished it. He grimaced at the other stuff still on his desk that still needed his attention. Atone time he had hoped that his diligent work habits would have a ripple effect with his subordinates, but that had not happened. The agenda for the big meeting tomorrow morning still need a last going over and there was another small envelope that had been placed on his desk just minutes before. He gathered it up with the rest so he would have cleared his desk. His staff warily eyed him as he rose, and methodically placed the documents in his briefcase. He would look at the material at home. He nodded to his staff as he pulled on his overcoat and hat and stepped out into the corridor, grinning as he heard the bustle of activity behind him. They would not have dared leave before him but now they would lose no time clearing the office and heading home as fast as their legs could carry them. He made his way down the two flights of stairs to the garage where his driver would be waiting for him. As he did so he passed Joszef Racz and nodded to him. He and Racz had once worked together, but Szekeli had won out on promotion and now had an office position, reporting to the minister's deputy directly on some matters. Racz still remained on more active duty, supervising the various day-to-day police activities. Szekeli knew that Racz resented his promotion, but of course he did not dare show it openly. His driver snapped upright as he saw Szekeli come out of the stairwell, ground out his cigarette on the floor and opened the door. "Home, sir?" Szekeli gave a curt nod and climbed in with his laden briefcase. He would not let it out of his sight. The car moved through the darkening city. It turned onto a boulevard, then onto a main street, then another. It was getting cooler as night fell, and the air was foggy, making dull halos round the street lights. It looked as if the streets might be slippery as well. The driver was being more careful this time, not travelling as fast as usual, Szekeli thought. Good thing, there was not much traffic. "Busy day sir?" the driver was watching ahead and did not look even briefly over his shoulder as he spoke. "Yes, a bit." Szekeli did not feel like talking, and he knew his driver was making a subtle comment on his lateness. In a few minutes, after a final left turn, the car drew up at Szekeli's apartment block, one reserved for high standing party members. It was supposed to be prestigious but Szekeli knew that it was not much better cared for than the others. Some facing was spalling off the masonry corners, revealing the underlying brick structure of the building. There was a general air of neglect. He sighed. Maybe someday there would be the money and the will to tidy up the city and restore its beauty. "Usual time tomorrow, sir?" asked his driver. "No, better make it seven, prompt. I have to be in a little earlier." His driver touched his cap. "All right sir, seven it is." Szekeli did not even watch the car as it drove off and he pushed his way through the heavy door of the apartment block. He nodded to the guard in the booth in the foyer. The man really should have checked his ID, but he only gave a slight wave as a brief acknowledgement. He did not even bother to remove his feet from the desk. Szekeli knew he should have admonished the guard for sloppiness, but he was tired and wanted to get into his apartment. He waited for the elevator door, sniffing at the smoke from the guard's cigarette. That was supposed to be forbidden inside too, but it was not worth making the point. At last the elevator creaked to a stop. He got in and pressed the buttons. It jolted and began a rattling ascent. He wondered if it would have any problems this week. It made enough noise and the previous week he had been stuck in it for an hour. He had complained, of course, but complaints seemed to have a habit of getting lost between the various ministries. Even his clout as a senior member of the Communist Party seemed to make little difference. He shook his head. Sloppiness spread, like ripples on a pond. His apartment door opened to a dark cold space. He could have left the heating on at a higher level, but he was a thrifty man and did not waste fuel if he was going to be out all day. For some reason he felt slightly depressed. Perhaps it was the gloomy winter day. Perhaps it was the cold lonely apartment he had come home to. He missed his wife. She had made coming home more of a pleasure, but she had died several years before of cancer. Now he shared it with his son Andor. The boy was no substitute for his wife and was often morose and taciturn. Izstvan was surprised that Andor was not at home yet. He supposed he was still at work or delayed. The apartment was adequate for him and his son. With his rank in the Party he could perhaps have get another bigger and fancier, but he was used to the idiosyncracies of the apartment. He had been in it fifteen years now. He switched on the light and turned up the heating, then, still in his overcoat because of the chill, opened a cupboard, pulled out a bottle of a brandy, and poured a small glass. He swallowed it in one gulp, grimacing as the fiery spirit hit his empty stomach. He was not quite ready to eat and he sat down on the sofa getting his thoughts in order. He stared into the gloom for another spell until the apartment finally began to warm up and his growling stomach told him he should eat. He hung his coat on the hook at the door and rummaged in the cupboards in the kitchen. He sighed. There was not much to choose from. He should have been more careful to get some stuff in. Finally, he selected a can of soup and some rye bread from the sparse offerings. That would have to do. He had eaten a substantial lunch at work anyway. Tomorrow he would have to send some underling to get some groceries for him from the store in the security building. He looked at the kitchen wall, noticing again that it really needed repainting. But so did the whole apartment, probably the whole building for that matter. He wondered how long it would take for action if he put in a requisition. After washing the few dishes he sat down at the sofa and methodically placed his briefcase on the low table at his right side, with the documents to his left. Then, with another small glass of brandy at his side he began to work systematically through the paperwork, making notes in the margins, or occasionally underlining some phrases or paragraphs, and slipping the completed documents into his briefcase. That took him most of an hour. He stretched and set to studying several office memos. These were mostly routine stuff and only needed a few brief notations. The last was the envelope that had come onto his desk just before he finished. The attached note said that it had been confiscated in a raid south of the city, and that it needed some inspection. The local police would wait for his instructions. His eyebrows rose briefly when he saw his son's signature as one of those who had handled it. He opened the envelope and stared at the contents. It was a small book, barely the size of his hand, and with a dirty yellow cover. He looked at it in distaste for a few seconds then opened the book and flicked through the pages. The writing was interesting, in an old fashioned Gothic script. Handwritten too! He adjusted his glasses and peered at the writing. He knew some German and could make out a few German words on the left hand pages. But the other words on the right hand pages made no sense. They did not correspond to any German or any language he knew. He laid the book back and stretched, suppressing a yawn. He shook his head. This book, whatever it was, was nothing at all. It was obviously fairly old. To think that some petty official had thought to bother him with it! Supposedly it had been picked up in some raid, but it looked like some useless trivial material. No one had had the courage or initiative to throw out. He remembered his son mentioning the raid. Someone in some rural office had suggested more cooperation between police departments, so his son had been sent. What a waste of manpower! Or maybe they wanted his son out of the way so he wouldn't have a chance to get into any more trouble. He stared at the book. It really should be thrown out. On second thoughts, he wondered if he should send it to some linguistic expert in the department for another opinion, just to make sure. He smiled to himself. Maybe he was falling into the same bureaucratic malaise as whoever had sent it to him. He heard a noise at the door, like a key in the lock and he heard voices. One he recognized as his son's. The other was a woman's. So the boy had finally come home, and had brought a woman as well. That was a change. He had not done that for a long time. Was he more serious about this one? He sighed. His son Andor was a disappointment. He was on the lowest rank but one of the Security Police, and unlikely to rise much higher if he continued the way he was doing. He had shown little initiative and was known for rough tactics. Not that rough tactics were necessarily a bad thing, especially when handling actual or potential dissidents, but in some action a year back he had roughed up the daughter of a senior party member. It was only after Isztvan had called in a few favors that the matter was hushed over. He scowled. He remembered that Racz had been in on that investigation and now would have the information in his files. "Hello Dad," exclaimed the younger Szekeli. "Still at work? You should give it a break, you know." "The work had to be done," he growled. Maybe if the younger one worked harder he might make something of himself, he thought. Isztvan's mind went to his daughter Ilona. She was married, with two young children but also worked full time as a laboratory technician. She ran an efficient household, and what he could see of it, had a happy marriage. "Oh, Dad, this is Zsuska. She's just come along while I change. We are going out in a few minutes. I'd better get on with it." He disappeared into his room. Now he was left with this strange girl! He was uncomfortable with new people in a social setting. It was different when his wife was alive. She had the knack of making small talk. Isztvan had relied on her a lot. " We haven't met," he said, trying to take the formality out of his tone. "I am Andor's father, Isztvan Szekeli." He looked for a reaction in the girl's eyes, but there was none. Most people he met had a wary look on first meeting him. Probably Andor had told her already about his position in the party and the Ministry. Andor had mentioned two or so weeks back that he was seeing this girl. "I am pleased to meet you, sir," said the girl. He wondered if he should have stood to shake hands with her, but it was too late now. His eyes took in the girl. She was fair complexioned, and quite pretty, from what he could see in the dim light. She looked fairly full figured. This relationship seemed to be lasting longer than with most women his son had met, he thought. Maybe with a good woman behind him the boy might yet settle down and make something of himself. Ah, wishful thinking! Andor came out of his room, buttoning his shirt. "What have you got there?" he asked. Isztvan noted with distaste that the boy was wearing jeans. He sighed. So American influence was creeping in regardless! " Oh just some stuff for a meeting tomorrow." He carefully gathered up the folders and placed them in his case. Some matters were somewhat confidential and he did not want the girl to see them. "There is also this thing here." He pointed to the little book. " I see that you brought it in to the Ministry? It was put on my desk just this afternoon. What do you know about it?" "I didn't look at it properly before it was sealed up and sent in," said Andor. "Can I see it? Izstvan passed the book to his son. "Strange writing, isn't it. You don't see much stuff wittten in Gothic nowadays." Andor tried to sound out the strange words out. "This side is German, I think, but I can't understand it. Here, Zsuska, Know any German?" Izstvan was a little taken back by the girl's reaction. It was as if she had been slightly shocked when she saw the book. Strange! But he dismissed the thought. Maybe he was getting too paranoid. Zsuska nodded. "Yes, I can read a little German. May I see it?" she asked Izstvan. "It's not secret, is it?" Izstvan shook his head. "No, far from it, but that's a good idea. Why don't you read a little of it, Zsuska? Maybe the sounds will make more sense if I hear another person reading it." Zsuska felt herself tremble when the book was passed to her. Now she had it. How could she keep it? Maybe if she pretended amusement at the book they would not become suspicious. "Uh, this page," she said. It tells how to.... uh.... heal a cut." She began to laugh. "It must be a piece of nonsense. Where did this book come from?" "Oh, some old peasant woman," said Andor. He was embarrassed and annoyed that he had been partly responsible for bringing this stupid book to HQ. Izstvan watched the girl laughing. It seemed just a little forced. Maybe she was still nervous in his company. He liked it when his wife had laughed. It seemed he had not laughed very much in the years since. "This one here, Oh, it's more of the same stuff. This is a supposed magic incantation to heal a club foot." She read out some words. "These are strange sounds," said Izstvan. "They are like nothing I have ever heard. They are neither German, Romanian, Czech or anything." "An old woman's mumbo jumbo, made up to impress stupid peasants, no doubt." snorted Andor. "Come on you! Put it down and let's get out. It's getting late." "No, let her carry on," said Izstvan, "I still don't recognize anything. Keep going. Try another page." The girl flicked a few more pages. "This one, something about a woman," she said. She began to sound out the words. The hair on Izstvan's neck began to prickle