Erich Segal - The Class

“We cannot enter Budapest. Repeat, we cannot enter Budapest. The Soviets have surrounded the city and there is fierce shelling.” And then the most startling piece of information: “We are turning back. We must go all the way to Sopron.”

Geza, George, and Aniko looked at one another. There was jubilation in their eyes. In a few moments, the train started up slowly… away from the Soviet stranglehold on Budapest.

The entire journey toward the border seemed to be through a corridor of tanks. When they finally arrived and stepped onto the Sopron station platform, hope permitted them to take one deep breath. So far, so good.

It was now late afternoon.

“Which way is the border?” George asked Geza.

“I don’t know,” he confessed.

“Well, what the hell do you expect us to do?” he snapped. “Ask some Russian soldier?”

Then it occurred to Aniko. “Isn’t there a School of Forestry here? We could ask a student.”

She didn’t have to finish her thought. In a split second, George had obtained directions from an elderly woman and they were off.

The minute they entered the great hail, a young man in a beret asked, “Do you need ammo, comrade?”

The atmosphere inside the school was actually festive. Dozens of patriots were arming to drive the Russian invaders from their homeland.

They were each given a piece of bread, a cup of cocoa — and a handful of bullets scooped out from a large vat.

“Where are the weapons?” George asked, his mouth stuffed with bread.

“They will come, comrade, they will come.”

The three of them went to sit down in a corner and plan their next move. One thing was certain. They had not come all this way to join a doomed rebellion.

“These people are crazy,” said Ceza, shifting a half-dozen bullets from hand to hand as if they were mixed nuts. “The shells are all of different calibers. I don’t see two alike. What are they going to do — spit them at the Russians?”

And then he rose and walked off to seek out geographical orientation.

George and Aniko looked at each other. This was the first time they had been alone in days.

“How do you feel?” he asked her.

“Scared. I hope we can make it.”

She clasped his hand.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. And then after a few minutes inquired, “By the way, what did you tell your mother?”

“I know you’ll laugh, but it’s the only thing she would’ve believed.” She smiled weakly. “I said we were going off to get married.”

He grinned wearily and squeezed her hand.

“Maybe it won’t be a lie, Aniko.”

“Do you really mean it, George?”

He hesitated for a split second and replied, “Why else did I bring you along?”

Then they both leaned back, silent and exhausted.

A few minutes later she said sadly, “I wonder how it’s going in Budapest.”

“You must force yourself not to think of these things,” he replied.

She nodded. But, unlike him, she could not so easily eradicate her memories.

Geza reappeared. “Austria is a few kilometers’ walk through those woods back there. If we left now, we could still get there by nightfall.”

George looked at Aniko. She stood up, saying nothing.

It had begun to snow heavily again. Thick, silent chunks of white. All three of them were soon soaked and freezing. Their thin city shoes made it worse than walking barefoot.

But they were not alone. Every few minutes a group or a family with children would pass. Some times they would merely nod. At others, they’d exchange what meager information they possessed. Yes, we think the frontier is in that direction. Yes, we did hear that most of the Border Patrol has deserted. No, we haven’t seen any Russian soldiers.

Deep in the forest they would pass bunkers from which submachine guns protruded menacingly. These were Border Guard stations, apparently — hopefully — unoccupied. They just moved on, half-expecting a sudden burst of bullets in the back.

The snow reflected an eerie light. In the distance, they heard a growling dog. They stopped in their tracks, paralyzed.

“Is it the guards?” Geza whispered in a panic.

“How the hell do I know?” George shot back. A second or two later, a man with a German shepherd crossed their path. But that was all he was — just a local peasant out for a stroll with his dog. They pressed forward again.

Less than five minutes later, they were out of the woods. On a hill overlooking what had to be the Austrian border. They could see soldiers in overcoats stopping vehicles at a gate, talking, gesturing for documents, et cetera. Some cars were waved through, others turned away.

“Well, we’re here,” Geza announced, a tinge of triumph in his exhausted voice.

“Yeah,” George commented wryly, “now all we have to do is get past the guards. Anybody know how to fly?”

The next words were spoken in a strange voice.

“Halt — put your hands in the air!”

They whirled and saw two men in uniform behind them. One was holding a machine gun.

Damn — the Border Patrol!

“You weren’t intending to go on a picnic in Austria, by some chance?”

Neither George nor Geza nor Aniko answered. They were numb beyond despair. The second officer had a radio, with which he now began to contact headquarters.

Knowing they had nothing to lose, George tried desperate diplomacy.

“Listen, we’re all Hungarians. In a few hours, we’ll be Russian prisoners. And I mean you guys, too. Why don’t we all —”

“Silence!” barked the man with the radio. “We have caught you illegally attempting to cross the frontier.”

But the soldier with the gun seemed to be trying to catch George’s eye. Could he be hallucinating — or was the officer tilting his head slightly as if to say, “Run for it”?

Actually, it didn’t matter. This was their last chance for freedom and they all instinctively knew it.

He touched Aniko’s hand lightly. She understood. And at the same instant they both broke into a run. Geza, equally hungry for survival, dashed to the left as George and Aniko bolted to the right.

They had taken two or three steps before the bullets began whistling through the air. Perhaps the gunner was not really aiming, but George didn’t want to find out. He tucked his head down and sprinted and sprinted and sprinted.

George had no idea how long he had been running. He knew only that he still did not feel tired. He flailed on and on in the knee-deep snow until gradually he began to realize there was no more gunfire. In fact, there was no noise at all. Suddenly, he found himself in a vast, empty field of snow.

He felt safe enough to slacken his pace. Only now did he sense that he was exhausted and near collapse. All he could hear was the sound of his own labored breathing. He turned to look at Aniko.

But he saw nothing. No one. Gradually, painfully, he began to comprehend that she was no longer with him. He had been too preoccupied with his own flight to think of her.

Had she tripped and fallen? Lost her way in that blinding snow? Had one of the many bullets struck her?

George started to retrace his steps, wondering if he should call her name. He opened his mouth, but no voice emerged. He was afraid. Afraid to attract attention. And if he kept heading back, the police might get him. As they might already have gotten her. Was there any point to committing suicide?

No, Aniko would want him to go on and save himself. He turned again, trying not to think of the girl who loved him and left everything to be with him.

Moments later, in the distance, he saw — or thought he saw — the outline of a tower against the evening sky. Then he recognized it as a steeple.

They don’t have churches like that in Hungary, he realized. This has to be Austria. He set out toward the horizon.