Erich Segal - The Class

“What do you think the government will do?” George asked.

“Resign. They have to.”

The immensity of the crowd in Parliament Square was almost frightening. Hundreds of thousands — it seemed like millions — were laying siege to the venerable government edifice with its embroidered Gothic pinnacles. All were shouting for the return of the only leader they trusted, Imre Nagy, who had been removed from office by the Russians the year before.

Evening became night and the air grew bitingly cold. But many had made torches of the newspapers and pamphlets they held in their hands and continued to shout for Nagy.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a slight figure appeared on a balcony. From the front rows a ripple of voices began to echo and crescendo toward the back. “It’s Nagy, it’s Nagy!” Somewhat weakly, himself overcome by the emotion of the moment, the deposed leader raised his hand to plead for silence.

“Has he gone mad?” George wondered out loud, “He’s waving his hands like a lunatic.”

But in an instant all became clear. He was leading the massive throng in the singing of the national anthem. It was a stroke of genius!

After the song ended, Nagy disappeared as swiftly as he had materialized. The crowd — thrilled and elated now — began to break up. Instinctively, they knew no more would happen that night. At least not in Parliament Square.

George and Aniko were halfway back to the university when they heard gunfire. He took her hand and they began to run down toward Muzeum Boulevard. The cobblestone streets swarmed with people, excited, curious, frightened.

When they reached the Muzeum Garden, there were still traces of tear gas in the air. She took out a handkerchief and held it to her face. George’s eyes were beginning to burn. A hysterical young girl was shrieking that the Secret Police had massacred defenseless people.

“We’re going to kill every one of those bastards!” she sobbed.

“Fat chance,” George whispered to Aniko. “I’ll believe it when I see my first dead AVO man.”

He took her hand and they began to run again.

Less than a block later, they stopped in their tracks, horrified. Above them, strung up by his feet from a lamppost, were the bloody remains of a Secret Police officer. George felt sick.

“Gyuri,” said Aniko with a shudder, “we know what they did to their prisoners.”

On the next block they saw corpses of two more AVO agents.

“God,” Aniko pleaded, “I can’t bear this anymore.”

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Well, yompetz , I see they haven’t arrested you yet.”

It was nearly 5:00 A.M. Istvan Kolozsdi was seated close to the radio, exhausted, smoking nervously. Marika rushed to embrace her brother.

“Gyuri, we’ve been hearing such terrible rumors. I feared that something had happened to you.”

“Forget rumors, Marika,” the patriarch interrupted. “The truth has just been on the news.”

“Really?” George said softly. “And what is Radio Budapest’s version of tonight’s events?”

“There was a small Fascist insurrection, which the police have dealt with severely,” said Istvan Kolozsdi. “And where have you been all evening?”

George sat down in a chair opposite his father, leaned forward, and said with a smile, “Listening to Imre Nagy.”

“You are mad. Nagy is a nonperson.”

“Try telling that to the thousands who cheered him in Parliament Square. And we’re going to get him back as party leader.”

“And I’m getting my hair back on my head. You’re all a bunch of crazy idiots.”

“Spoken like a true socialist,” said George, as he headed out of the room. “I’m going to sleep. Even lunatics need rest.”

Scarcely three hours later, his sister was prodding him. “Wake up, Gyuri. Nagy is named premier! It’s just been on the news.”

George forced his weary body to get out of bed. He had to see his father’s face.

Still buttoning his shirt, he shuffled into the sitting room. The old man seemed welded to the spot beside the radio, surrounded by ashtrays spilling over with cigarette butts.

As Marika handed George a cup of black coffee, he asked his father, “Well?”

The patriarch looked up and, without the slightest trace of irony, replied, “You have never heard me say a word against Imre Nagy. In any case, he must have the blessing of Moscow, because he has asked for help from the Soviet troops.”

“Now I think you’re the dreamer, Father.” And then, turning to his sister, he said, “When Aniko calls, tell her I’ve left for the university.”

He tossed a jacket over his shoulder and hurried from the house.

In the years that followed, George looked back at this moment and wondered why he had neglected to say more of a farewell. Not to his father. For he was angered by the old man’s shameless display of hypocrisy. But why had he not been more affectionate to Marika?

He was never able to console himself with the thought that, on that cold October morning in 1956, he could not have dreamed how far he was going.

The university was a tornado of rumors. After every radio broadcast, people would scurry around the hall like town criers. The exhausted students cheered upon hearing that President Eisenhower had said, “The heart of America goes out to the people of Hungary.” They sang to one another, “The whole world is watching!”

But the peak of euphoria came on Tuesday afternoon, when Premier Nagy announced that the evacuation of Soviet troops had begun. George must have knocked down six people as he dashed ecstatically across the room to embrace Aniko.

On the morning of November first, George was rudely awakened by Geza, a fellow law student.

“What the hell —”

And then he noticed something very odd. Scrawny Geza today looked like a circus fat man. George rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

“What the hell has happened to you?” he asked. “We’ve got to get out of here,”

Geza said. “I’m wearing all my clothes — at least everything I could squeeze on — and heading for Vienna.”

“Have you lost your mind? The Soviets are gone. Don’t you hear Radio Free Europe?”

“Yes, but I also hear my cousin in the village of Gyor. He rang about two hours ago and said there were hundreds of Russian tanks massing at the western border. They’re just regrouping to come back.”

“Is he sure?”

“Do you want to wait and find out?” George hesitated, but only for a split second. “Let me get Aniko,” he said.

“Okay, but make it snappy.”

She was reluctant.

“What makes you so sure the Soviets are coming back?”

“How many reasons do you want?” George answered impatiently. “Look, if Hungary goes independent, that will give the Poles and the Czechs big ideas. Then boom, the Russian empire tumbles like a house of cards.”

Her face grew pale. She was frightened by the magnitude of the decision being forced upon her.

“But what about my mother — she can’t manage without me.”

“She will have to,” George replied impassively. He put his arms around her. She was sobbing quietly.

“Let me at least call her,” she pleaded.

“Yes. But please be quick.”

They started walking. George and Aniko with just the clothing on their backs, Geza wearing his entire wardrobe. As they reached the outskirts of Buda, George saw a phone booth and suddenly thought of his sister.

“Anybody got some change?” he asked.

Aniko pressed a coin into his hand.

“Gyuri,” his sister said anxiously, “where are you? Even Father’s been concerned.”

“Listen,” he replied, “I’m in a hurry —”

Just then, Geza stuck his head into the booth and Whispered, “Tell her the Voice of America is passing code messages from refugees who make it across.”