Dacia Maraini - Train to Budapest

But very soon the music is brutally silenced. ‘It is 23.30 hours on 23 October 1956,’ says an agitated voice, ‘we must give you the facts, comrades, before those damned people falsify them. The ÁVH opened fire on the crowd after several of them were hit by stones thrown from below. They have killed about a hundred people. Many are still lying wounded in the road. They are being taken to hospital though there is little light or water there. One boy has just died from loss of blood, we’ve brought him here to the radio so everyone can see him. If you have a camera, please come and take a photograph. His first name is László, surname unknown. He was fifteen years old. Hit in the head by a Soviet bullet. The government says it never ordered the ÁVH to fire on the crowd. But they did it nevertheless, encouraged and supported by Soviet troops. They must be held accountable for this …’

More shots are heard. The radio goes silent. A cry rips the air followed by desperate weeping. But what’s happening? The loudspeaker pours out an avalanche of song: a Red Army chorus. The five sit in a circle round the ancient Orion waiting for more news. But the music continues with no human voice to explain what is happening at the Hungarian National Radio.

The friends start arguing again. Tadeusz lights a cigarette. Hans pours a little homemade brandy into a dirty glass and offers it round. Each takes a sip and passes the glass on. They know how much that brandy is worth and how little is left.

A voice at last! Attention switches to the big Orion standing on its iceless icebox. ‘This is Radio Budapest. Here is an announcement by the Government of the Hungarian People’s Republic. fascist and reactionary elements have attacked public buildings and assaulted troops and the police. In order to re-establish order and promote eventual initiatives designed to re-introduce the rule of law, from this moment all assemblies and demonstrations are forbidden. The army has orders to apply every measure consistent with the law to all who do not obey these orders.’

A long silence follows. The radio seems to have gone dumb. Then the calm voice resumes: ‘Dear listeners, a special announcement. At today’s meeting of the Politburo the date of the next session of the Central Committee has been fixed for 31 October. On the agenda will be the present situation and the duties of the Party in this connection. Report by Comrade Gerö.’ An old-fashioned version of the Soviet national anthem follows.

Horvath looks around in astonishment. ‘So it’s all over, then?’

‘Nothing is over. They’ve recaptured the radio. That’s all. They want to persuade the Hungarian people that those who come out into the street are enemy agents, hired criminals. To give the real situation, they would have to admit that everybody is in the street, starting with the workers, who are all signed-up members of the Communist Party, together with students, professors, housewives, shopkeepers, craftsmen, writers and artists; all there to protest. They can’t either admit this or deny it.’

The radio splutters and crackles but recovers, after an attempt at more Soviet choruses. ‘Dear listeners. The Politburo has requested the Central Committee to announce an immediate meeting to discuss the present situation and the duty that faces us.’ Band music follows.

‘And now we shall tell you about a film soon to be shown in cinemas throughout the land,’ announces a peaceful female voice. Shots can be heard in the background, some quite near at hand. The male voice returns and interrupts the publicity for the film: ‘Dear listeners. The recent announcement about a meeting of the Central Committee was based on mistaken information. The Central Committee will meet again in a few days.’

General laughter. ‘They really don’t know what to say.’

The shots continue.

‘I think we should go and have a look.’

‘When can we sleep? I’m tired.’

‘You think this is a night for sleeping? All bedlam has broken loose and all you can think of is going to sleep.’

‘But I’m so sleepy.’

‘Stay here then. We’ll go, okay, Amara?’

Amara looks at them in confusion. She is tired, but she realises this is an exceptional night and not for sleeping. She must send a report to her paper and she wonders if the phone lines to Italy are working.

Meanwhile the carefully modulated voice of the presenter has resumed: ‘This is Radio Budapest: a special announcement. The armed attacks carried out during the night by sinister counter-revolutionary gangs have created an extremely grave situation.’ A short silence. Cries are heard in the background. A dry shot. Then the music begins again at full volume.

‘See, they’re admitting it, now they’re admitting it!’ shouts Horvath.

‘Quiet, let’s hear what comes next!’

‘The outlaws have forcibly entered factories and public buildings and killed many civilians, members of the national armed forces and State security agents,’ announces the voice, forcibly keeping itself under control.

‘What the hell do you mean, outlaws!’ shouts Tadeusz, aiming punches at the radio. ‘Have you been out in the street yourself, you bastard, have you been out? Where are these outlaws, you fucker!’

‘Quiet, I want to listen.’

‘The government has been taken off guard by such a violent and ruthless attack,’ continues the voice, rapid and breathless, ‘and for this reason, bearing in mind the provisions of the Warsaw Pact, it has asked for support from units of the Soviet services stationed in Hungary.’

A cry of rage in the room. Meanwhile the voice continues undaunted: ‘The government expects that Soviet units will participate in the restoration of order. We ask citizens to keep calm and support the Soviet and Hungarian troops in carrying out their mission.’

Hans rushes to get his jacket. But Tadeusz stops him, his face tired and desolate. ‘Don’t go out now. You can do nothing to help. And you could get a bullet in your head for your pains.’

‘The city is about to be invaded by the Soviets and you expect me to stay at home and sleep!’

‘It isn’t about to be invaded. The troops they are talking about are already stationed here. Everything is still to be decided. Till now nearly all those Russians have fraternised with us. Didn’t you see the tanks passing with university students on top of them?’

‘I want to see it all with my own eyes.’

‘It’s late, better to go to bed and get some sleep. After all, they have to sleep too. We’ll have a tough day before us tomorrow.’

‘Do you think they’ll bring in their real tanks, the ones from outside Hungary?’

‘I don’t know. If Europe helps us … If the United Nations recognise our neutrality … If they’re afraid of the masses and trust Nagy … If someone makes a move, perhaps Tito … we may be able to establish a different Hungary.’

‘I’m going, Father. I’ll be back soon.’

‘But leave Amara here.’

‘She can decide for herself.’

‘She’s an Italian. What has all this got to do with her?’

‘We’re up to our necks in it.’

‘Goodbye, everybody. If you don’t see me tomorrow morning, come and bury me.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ says Horvath. ‘And be sure to keep us in the picture!’

Amara decides at the last minute not to go. The need for sleep has given her a violent pain in the nape of the neck. She needs to lie down for a bit. I’ll join him later, she tells herself. But she falls asleep at once.

It’s almost morning when something wakes her. A sense of suffocation. Amara gets up and opens the window. Outside, at last, it is silent. The cold hits her in the face. She goes back to bed, but cannot get to sleep. In the dark her fingers reach like thieves for Emanuele’s black exercise book which she keeps under her pillow. Her eyes begin to read again the familiar words that seem perpetually new.