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In Arad, he’d barely had time to buy a ticket. As soon as he climbed up into the carriage the train began to move. It was surprisingly crowded and although there were only a few seats available he didn’t like the look of the company he’d have to keep. He placed his case on the rack and sat down opposite a young woman and her two children. The girl was probably around 10 or 11 years of age and occupied the window seat with her little brother who looked to be about 3 years old as far as Radler could tell; it’d been a long time since he’d had the company of children.
The mother, a pretty woman, dark wavy hair that glinted auburn when the sun caught it, leant over to retrieve the family’s bag which occupied the window seat but Harald pleasantly demurred insisting it remain. When she was momentarily occupied, he made a brief assessment concluding she was around 36, generally happy but slightly stressed (the eyes told him that). Perhaps there was an illness or there’d been a death in the family, he mused. Her manner with the children was nothing but love and kindness so they couldn’t have been the source. She caught him looking at her but his benevolent smile extracted a similar response. He’d broken the ice. The little boy cast furtive glances in his direction eventually sticking his tongue out and when Harald did the same he couldn’t help but giggle. Ice crushed.
It was an agreeable journey which caused the angst inside Harald to dissipate to the far reaches of recognition. They fell into a conversation, he mixing a little truth with a lot of fiction and she letting her concerns and hopes escape from their prison within. Her husband was Hungarian and drove a taxi. She, a Romanian, had been to visit her parents but her father was not well and they feared it could be cancer: they were waiting for results from the hospital. The children were Kata, who smiled demurely, and Viktor, who stuck his tongue out again and grinned. Their mother introduced herself as Stefania.
When she broke out the food and drinks, she asked if he would like something. He declined, saying it would be impertinent but she insisted they had more than enough and anyway they were getting off in Szolnok. He complimented her on the sandwich she gave him and drank coffee from the small cup she passed over. Not long after, the little lad wanted her to read to him from the slim book he’d been clutching as if it were his favourite toy. Stefania asked him to wait as she tidied up around them and Viktor pulled a sad face so Harald asked him if he wanted him to read the book. The boy nodded enthusiastically and plonked himself in the window seat next to the East German. Mum wedged the family bag between her and her daughter and smiled apologetically. Harald assured her it was more than fine, he hadn’t done this sort of thing for many a year and he’d missed it.
He looked at the book title; Nemtudomka. In Hungarian, it meant, ‘I don’t know’. It was the story of the little boy called Dunno. He knew this book, written by a Russian, he’d read it to his son Theo who’d always loved the voices his father would assume for the different characters. It had been a long time but Harald gave it his best shot. Viktor appreciated the effort, very much.
As they pulled into the platform at Szolnok, Radler couldn’t help but notice the plainclothes officers dotted amongst those travelling and collecting. To the untrained eye, they were invisible but to someone of his ability they stood out because they weren’t doing what expectant train passengers or greeters do.
She struggled to release the large family suitcase from the luggage rack so he dragged it down then told her he would carry it and the boy for her if Kata would carry his lightweight case (he’d been living in a ‘one set on, one set washed’ clothes world for the past week. The heaviest thing in there was his service pistol). She thanked him, it would be a struggle to carry the other bags and see to the little chap at the same time and with Viktor being so keen on the idea, then why not. Stepping from the train, he helped them down with the bags, lifted Viktor with one arm, pulled his hat as low as he dared without looking suspicious, took up the family suitcase and joined in the chat as they made their way off the platform, down into the underpass and along to the station entrance where they would await the husband’s arrival. The Hungarian intelligence and police people on the Budapest bound platforms were looking for an old guy travelling alone carrying a small bag. They weren’t looking for a family man carrying his son and a suitcase the size of a small boat.
A handshake with Kata, mutual sticking out of tongues between him and Viktor and a kiss on the cheek from Stefania and he left for where his next train was waiting impatiently. As he settled in his seat, he saw little Viktor waving at him so he waved back as the train jolted then slipped slowly along the platform.