Alison Littman - Radio Underground

Sincerely,

Mike a Korvinközből

Desire is fuelled by all, but fulfillment. —Ernő Osvát

SWEAT SEEPED FROM Dora’s forehead and back as she sat in Joszef’s office, facing him. Joszef combed his hair, or whatever remained of it, with his stiff, arthritic fingers. He sighed and turned to Dora, “We’ve had a development. It may come as a shock to you….”

Dora’s mind trudged through the possible scenarios. She didn’t know if Joszef was aware of her recent theft from his office or her encounter with the police, or both. She tried to speak, but couldn’t think of an intelligible response. He had called her in on a Sunday. This couldn’t be good.

Joszef studied Dora, his beady eyes doing laps around her face. Dora hoped he didn’t notice her right eye twitching or that she couldn’t take a deep breath.

“Today I was briefed on the new inmates we’ve acquired,” Joszef said. “Some of them were listening to Radio Free Europe when they were arrested.”

“Radio Free Europe?” Dora felt the twitch in her eye spread to her lips, which began to tremble.

“Yes, Dora.” Joszef leaned back in his chair. “And, now that we are on high alert for these Uncle Lanci letters, it’s a problem when anyone is put in jail who is a Radio Free Europe fan.”

Joszef placed a stack of folders on his desk, his eyes returning to Dora. “These folders seem to have been… disturbed.”

“I can look into that, sir.” Scarcely allowing herself to breathe in even a modicum of air, Dora put all of her energy into sitting up straight, meeting Joszef’s gaze, and soothing her shaking.

“We have more important things to do.” Joszef combed through the folders. “As you know, the Uncle Lanci fans use code names.”

“Yes, almost every letter is signed with one.”

“You also know we can decode these names, if need be.”

“Right, though we determined it wasn’t worth our time.”

“Well, now it is,” Joszef smiled, pulling a folder and opening it on his desk. “I did some digging. It just so happens, one of the men in jail writes to Uncle Lanci regularly.”

“Who…?” Dora tried, though failed again, to take a deep breath. “Who is it?”

Joszef turned the folder around for Dora to see. Pointing to a picture tacked to the top corner, he said, “This is Mike a Korvinközből.”

Now Dora’s breathing stopped all together. Her knees and legs shook so forcefully she heard them, like rain, pitter-pattering on the leather chair.

Dora was staring at a picture of Ferenc. Ferenc was Mike. Mike was Ferenc. He was smiling, his dark hair combed in a side part—this must have been an old school picture. He looked out at Dora with that gentle expression. It was the one that made Dora feel like she could tell him anything, that it wouldn’t be taken out of proportion. Whatever she said would just exist in space without being tied to expectation or pain. In the back of her mind, Dora suspected this was where her conversation with Joszef would lead, her logic guiding her intuition. And as it caught up with her emotions, she knew it made sense. The Mike she grew to know over the years was the playful and kind Ferenc from two nights ago.

Dora heard Joszef’s voice surround her, but she didn’t want to listen. She didn’t want to know what he was going to ask her to do.

“This is a delicate situation, Dora. It’s also one that must remain secret. Can you promise that?”

“I can.” Dora heard herself speak, but couldn’t feel the words coming out of her mouth.

“Good, because Ferenc is going to be released from jail today. They wouldn’t normally release him so soon. But, I pulled some strings because I want us to monitor him. I want us to build a case against him and prove to the administration how lethal these Uncle Lanci writers are. So, wherever he goes, you go. He is not to leave your sight.”

Dora couldn’t believe it. Joszef wanted her to stalk Ferenc, and with the explicit purpose of getting him in trouble. This was the last thing she wanted to do. He didn’t deserve that. He was harmless. Dora needed time to find a way out of this.

“I don’t understand… isn’t this a job for the secret police?”

“Not this one.”

“But, how will I do it?”

Dora was not trained for stalking people of interest. She was a bureaucrat who censored mail for a living, behind a desk.

“Before I go further, I need you to agree to this mission,” Joszef said.

Dora realized this had to be one of Joszef’s personal crusades. He must be doing it to prove his worth at the agency. She noticed that, lately, Joszef hadn’t been invited to key strategy meetings. Meanwhile, younger, sharper bureaucrats were on the rise. This was a last ditch effort to succeed, and it was a secret because Joszef didn’t know if it would work. Dora had very little choice in the matter. If Joszef was personally tied to the mission, it was hers.

“I…,” Dora started. “I agree to the mission.”

“Good.” A tiny smirk escaped from Joszef’s lips. “You’re just the right person for this.”

“What are my duties under this new… mission?” Dora clutched her pen and notepad, her knuckles turning bone white.

“You are expected to maintain a half-block’s distance from Ferenc at all times. If a letter is mailed, you will retrieve it immediately. You can check in to the office once a day, for ten minutes. All other hours you’ll spend following him.”

“Including after hours?”

“Especially after hours.” Joszef took out his wallet and handed twenty-thousand forints to Dora. “This will cover your meals, and then some.”

The money must have come from Joszef’s personal account. There was no way he would expense this mission. Dora began to fear that she would let Joszef down, risking her position with the postal agency and the protection it provided her. She had worked her whole life to stay safe and accept the sacrifices that such safety demanded. She couldn’t put herself or her dad in danger. That was the promise she made long ago. It was the promise Eszter could never keep—or make, for that matter. She would have to do this mission, and do it well.

Dora cleared her throat and sat up straight. “When do I start?”

“He gets out of jail in two hours.”

“Which jail is he being held at?”

“You must also promise…,” Joszef narrowed his eyes, “that you will not tell anyone where he is.”

“I promise.”

“He’s in a secret prison in the basement of the Ministry of Interior.”

Dora recalled the building was once used as a prison, but ever since the revolution, the government had transported all prisoners to camps at Kistarcsa or Tӧkӧl.

“There is no longer a prison there, though.”

“That’s exactly right, Dora,” Joszef winked.

Two hours later, in the deceptively bright light of the cold afternoon, Dora found herself crouching behind garbage bins outside a restaurant, yards away from the ministry. The smell of food made her queasy as she waited for Ferenc to appear. Every so often the murmurs of restaurant-goers drifted toward Dora, their voices heightening her anxiety.

Dora buried her head in her scarf, trying to cover her ears. Tiny snowflakes melted on her clothes, like little spiders crawling across her body. She was too distracted to realize they had completely overrun her, covering her jacket and amassing in its folds. Soon she’d be wet and shivering.

Dora closed her eyes, and as she did, the eyes from the ministry’s basement came into perfect view. Dora tried to convince herself that they belonged to some common criminal being held there for a short period of time, like Ferenc. But Dora had recognized something frighteningly permanent and familiar lingering in their gaze.