Magyar Baráti Közösség

1956  :: Laszlo G. Fulop: 1956 October 23 - a belated report (Part 2) ::

(209 olvasás)     

Magnificent events begin on ordinary days

At the Parliament

Slow and unrelenting they arrived to the Kossuth Plaza in front of the Parliament. People already filled the plaza, but the newly arriving column was unstoppable. It was moving forward in a diagonal direction toward the main gates of the Parliament. The boys, pushed from behind, made way in the crowd, until they were no farther than 100 feet from the main entrance. There, the pressure abated, the standing crowd resisted, and everybody came to a halt. Some of the student leaders went all the way to the Parliament's entrance, but Andy could not see what went on up there. The crowd filled up the entire plaza, chanted slogans, sang songs, sat on bases of statues, on top of streetcars, which stood, - electric current collectors lowered - on the perimeters of the plaza. The chants were as varied as their originators, ranging from demands to put out the lights of the large red star on the Parliament's steeple: "Smother the star on the Parliament! It only wastes electric current!" ("Oltsák el a csillagot! Fogyasztja az áramot!"), to sending the Soviet troops home: "Russians go home!" ("Ruszkik haza!") But soon it became unified in: "We want Imre Nagy! We want Imre Nagy!"

After settling down in one place they made friends with the people in their immediate surroundings. Andy checked: Imre was still with him; they felt warm friendship toward each other by now. Next to him stood a young army captain, a good looking girl, some high school students and other civilians, young and middle aged mixed. All were flushed with excitement. They talked to each other as if they had always known each other. The captain took out his cigarettes and in a friendly gesture offered them to anyone interested. University students came and distributed pieces of the Hungarian tricolor ribbons they had just cut off a roll. One with a broad smile, turned to a young brunette, a lanky high school girl who'd probably just began high school:

"You haven't even got a ribbon" and with that he pinned one on her overcoat. Her face got flushed with joy and maybe a little from the student's warm voice. Imre lifted Andy up again and he could report that the entire plaza was a sea of people, in them some distinguishable groups, some even in uniforms. Now Andy was glad they were pushed that far to the front.

They could see everything that went on, could hear and understand the speeches, the poem recitals from the balcony of the Parliament. One of the highlights came when a young, talented actor, Imre Sinkovits stepped out on the balcony. (Was everybody Imre today?) He began reciting Petöfi's stirring poem "Rise Magyar!" The poem was written for March 15th of 1848, which became the beginning of the Hungarian Revolution. On that day, filled with feelings of destiny Petöfi recited this poem several times. Once, in front of thirty thousand people, from the steps of the National Museum. After a while the thirty thousand recited the refrain with him, swearing to the pledge that they would rise and cast off the long hated chains of victims. This poem had special meaning tonight. And Sinkovits spread his rich tone on powerful wings and floated the words of rousing diction toward the four corners of the immense plaza. The crowd, size more than ten times the one of 107 years earlier, again solemnly swore with the refrain:

"...By the God of the Magyar

We do swear,

We do swear,

Chains no longer

Will we wear?!

The plaza shook as the old buildings reflected the thundering pledges, the refrain of each stanza. Andy wondered what would they have to do to shed the chains that had been gradually loaded onto them and finally secured so that just to shake them they had to turn to mass demonstrations. But whatever it would take they were ready to give. Andy knew he was. There was no way to disperse the crowd now, at least not without bloodshed. They were not leaving from here as the Soviets' slaves, not without some significant concessions. Even the communist leaders had to see this was the will of the people. There were no simmering bourgeoisie here, everybody, the people came here. But where were the country's leaders now?

Not all speeches were greeted with uniform enthusiasm. When one of the officially sanctioned writers, Péter Veres, (whose last name means: "red") tried to speak the boo-ing was followed by rhythmical: "We don't want red! We don't want red," ("Nem kell veres!") chanting which was a pun on the writer's name and the color of the communist movement: red. By some reports, the basically well-intentioned man, who collaborated at least for a while with the Rákosi clique in the hope of attaining just, was staggered by this reception and burying his head in his hands, he kept repeating: "what did I do to the Hungarian people?" Perhaps he realized he had befriended some in the wrong crowd.

The people's attention to speeches was disrupted by various events. Once it became obvious, the authorities were still lurking in the background. Perhaps hoping to disperse the crowd all the lights on the plaza were shut off. But the stunning darkness lasted only for a few minutes. People made torches out of newspapers and other papers. An obviously high school student, who probably joined the demonstrations right out of school, shrilled:

"Use the Russian books to light up the plaza!"

"Would you venture to say that in school our friend was not a glaring example of Russian language scholars?" someone asked mockingly.

The plaza lit by thousands of paper-torches took on a romantic mood. But everyone knew the "lights" could not last forever. Andy already worried what'll be the crowd's reaction to an elongated period of darkness. He hoped people would not leave without some signs of concessions on the part of the authorities. Some recognition that they - all these people - want something else. They wanted something different. That... the exploiting and tormenting this nation had to end. They wouldn't take it any longer.

Andy started worrying that he would have to go back to work tomorrow and give a report of a magnificent demonstration that fizzled. Emotions that geysered high into the air just to splash on the ground and dissipate into the cracks of paved reality. That the unyielding authorities won. Back to the same factory, the same life, and the meek patience and not dare to differ with the political authority of the foreman. Damn it! He was not going to go! And he resolved to try to dissuade others from leaving, if it came to that. Step-by-step he was abandoning his cocoon of timidity. Andy was getting belligerent.

Soon, however, his worries were alleviated.

Large army trucks arrived. At first his heart thumped loudly, and Andy thought this might have to be the first hard test of their resolve. Like others he thought the army came to disperse them. This would be the first confrontation. But the soldiers drove very slowly and carefully, so they would not hurt anyone and drove to places where they could connect their electric generators to the lights of the plaza. And soon he lights went on. Almost immediately the crowd responded with the chant: "The Army is with us! The Army is with us!" ("Velünk van a hadsereg!")

People were filled with gratitude toward the soldiers, who risked a great deal more than reprimand for their daring participation. Andy would have liked to hug the genius, who invented the chant. The catchphrase gave people feeling of strength, and indeed recognition that at least part of the army was with them. Just as importantly, it reminded the soldiers and officers among them that they, too, indeed, were part of the people. They came from this nation, their mothers, fathers, and brothers, wives may well have been in the crowd.

The people were still demanding Imre Nagy. Believing that he could voice the people's desires his stature grew to immeasurable proportions. Some began guessing that he could not come because he'd been detained by the authorities. "But if the army is with us..."

Promises were repeated from the balconies, so they stayed.

Another time a truck loaded with youth drove slowly into the crowd shouting:

"People are being shot at the Radio! They are shooting at us!"

People looked at each other. Who is shooting? Obviously, the communist system. But this... no, it is impossible. Who can believe this? Perhaps this was just a trick the authorities are using to break up the crowd. The demonstrators' size reduced, the demands might not have enough clout...

"don't leave! Let's stay here and continue demanding Imre Nagy! Don't give up!"

A few hundreds left anyway following the withdrawing trucks. Andy and others shouted after them:

'don't leave! We need you here!

Then finally close to nine o'clock some movement could be seen in front: "Imre Nagy is coming," somebody said. Ten-fifteen minutes later Imre Nagy appeared on the balcony. The crowd cheered him, then, - filled with anticipation -, became silent. Everyone wanted to hear him.

"Comrades" he began with the traditional communist greetings. The crowd volleyed back boos and whistles almost in unison and a bit of disappointment grasped the hearts: they wanted him, but will he join the people? "No comrades here, only citizens!" yelled back many. Then Nagy began again: "Citizens! My Hungarian Brothers!" - as if his voice was trembling - Andy thought it might have been because of emotions. The crowd roared its approval.

Nagy gave a short speech in which he promised to review and apply remedies to the hurts of the people - if he were to become the prime minister, which he thought would soon follow as the Party would have to recognize the wishes of the people. At the end of his speech he pleaded with everybody to return to his or her home. He did not want anyone to get hurt.

After the speech the crowd began dispersing slowly. But not too many were in the mood to go home. Groups of people were still standing, talking, and debating what had happened and what would be the right thing to do from here and on. Imre and Andy drifted to the edge of the plaza, from group to group. At one they met a girl Molly, who was as undecided about what to do as the boys were. She joined Andy and Imre. As they walked on they heard people debating whether anything did happen at the Radio. When they arrived to the edge of the plaza, they heard excited talk in another group. A tall, young man stood in the middle, his hair and face disheveled, loudly describing something. Andy, Imre and Molly joined the group.

"...and they were shooting at us, I tell you" he was using his inflection to emphasize his point.

"Where were they shooting at you, when and who?" a late arrival asked.

"At the Radio, where we demonstrated. It was the AVO. We wanted to read our demands, the Sixteen Points into the Radio. The student delegation went in to negotiate terms of the broadcasting of the Demands. We, a large crowd, waited outside for quite a while, when one of the delegation members jumped out to the second floor balcony and yelled that they'd been captured. Then he was grabbed and dragged inside. Then the crowd pelted the building with stones; we probably broke all windows in the Radio block. Then from the Brody Street entrance they turned fire hoses on us. Demonstrators fell, because the water pressure knocked them over, but then we attacked and wrestled the hose away and turned it on them... They ran to the gate, retreated into the building. That's when they began shooting. Several people were hit..."

"Let's go to the Radio. I think this guy is telling the truth." Andy said to Imre and Molly. They passed at the side of the American Embassy; the windows were dark, like on the other buildings around it. Andy wondered if those inside knew what was going on in the streets.

At the Radio

They were only a few blocks from the Kiskörút, the 'Lesser Ring Road' one of the main boulevards, enclosing the Downtown. They were too impatient to walk and started running. But others had the idea, too, for we were running in the midst of a loose group of a couple hundred people. They ran by the American Embassy, this time not interested in the flashy cars parked on the side street; the building was dark and curtains drawn in the windows. They were still running when they turned on the main boulevard when a truck driver called to them:

"Where you runnin' to?"

"To the Radio."

"Give you a ride," he said immediately folding down the rear gate.

People stormed the empty 3-ton-truck. Imre pulled, Andy pushed Molly up to the flat surface where the space got sparse in no time. And the truck driver was already starting the vehicle. When Andy jumped on the flat bed of the truck, Imre and Molly pulling him by his clothes, the vehicle was already rolling. The truck took them on the main boulevard to the Astoria; it could not go farther. From there the three went on foot, holding hands so they would not lose each other.

Between the Astoria and the National Museum the large boulevard was full. Full of people, streetcars standing on their tracks, some cars and trucks stuck in the congestion. The closer they got the more skeptical Andy became. Had there been shooting at the Radio we should have already heard it. The Radio block was a block off the main boulevard, behind the National Museum, bordering on the Bródy Sándor Street. It was a huge complex, it occupied a megablock. The closer they got the denser the crowd became. When they arrived to the Brody Street it was filled solid with people. One glance at the situation made it clear it would be hard get to the Radio without having to wrestle their way through the crowd. There were no shootings and the crowd was reasonably peaceful, too.

"Let's go through the park of the Museum" Andy suggested. Imre and Molly followed instantly and so did about a dozen others, who were around them. And then more people followed. The Museum Garden was surrounded by tall, decorative, wrought iron fence, whose gates were open. The Andy-led group entered the park from the Museum Boulevard and ran around the building, across the walks and lawn of the formal garden, to a back gate opening to the street that separated the Museum Garden and the blocks of the State Radio. This way they got around the crowd filling the Brody Street and faced the Radio block directly. They stopped and looked back at the wrought iron gate. Andy could see that more and more people came, many looked, lining up behind the fence. At this place the street level was a few feet below the level of the Museum's garden. Directly across from them in the Radio block was an internal court. Dimly lit, they could distinguish shrubs and people moving behind them. Some wore flat-topped military hats: the fearsome AVH.

"Damned bastards" a man hissed next to Andy. Then someone opened the wrought iron gate and they went down the steps to the street. There the group - about a hundred strong - stopped and started yelling slogans and at the figures who moved about with bent backs, stooping low behind the shrubbery. Now it could be seen, they had weapons in their hands. Some officers standing behind them with revolver in their hand, motioned to the troops, or so it seemed. The group where Andy was did not move, but kept yelling and those remaining behind the fence strengthened their voices. The crowd that had filled the Bródy Street was to the left of them a short half block distance, extending only to the line where the solid wall of the building ended. And from the point where the ornamental fence of the court replaced the solid wall the front line of the crowd carefully angled away in a wedge shape. Andy thought, there, in fact, might have been some shooting that's why these people sought the protection of the solid wall.

Andy barely had time to survey the situation and people in his group were still shouting, some were shaking their fists at those in the courtyard, when the first round of firing cracked. Immediately they heard wailing, but none on the street seemed to have gotten hurt. The troops'd raised their rifles and sent shots above the heads. Perhaps, wanting only to disperse the street group, but the volley of bullets hit some who'd remained behind the wrought iron fence, on a few feet higher ground.

"Oh, my God! Help me! I'm hit! I've been shot," calls pierced the air in a mixture of cries and confusion. It was a frightening, shrill response to the hard bursting of gunfire.

People ducked behind the fence; the brave dragged away the hurt. But Andy did not have time to survey the situation. His group on the street began to run, to join the crowd standing protected by the building wall. At least partially shielded from being exposed to the open, away from being an easy target. Andy still could hardly believe that troops would shoot at unarmed people on the street. He was frozen and did not move. Or, rather, he did not move fast enough for those, who - thank God - did not take time out to assess the validity of their beliefs in this situation. The crowd of about a hundred pushed him over unceremoniously in their effort to get out of harm's way. Many feet ran over Andy, legs stumbled in him and he just instinctively covered his head with his arms.

"What a scared bunch" Andy thought unbelieving and rather perturbed as the last one ran by and he began to brace himself to recover. That's when the second volley of fire sounded. The bullets hit the low retaining wall of the Museum Garden and then Andy was glad he did not yet have the time to stand up. He probably would have gotten hit. Andy looked around, there were about four more people on the ground and none seemed hurt. After the second volley of fire no one got up, just crawled on their bellies, hands and knees to the crowd standing and still shouting slogans at the Radio Building about forty yards away. Andy was slowly awakening from the shock: those, behind the shrubbery were Hungarians, shooting at them: Hungarians. 'this is unbelievable, just unbelievable,' he kept repeating. The crowd at the intersection was of very mixed composition. Younger, older, blue-collar workers, white-collar workers, students, some officers, but mainly the everyday people - upset and disappointed. Because those, behind the wrought iron fence, or hiding behind the closed window louvers of the Radio Building were doing exactly the opposite they had been preaching to them for a decade: everything for the people. "But, here, we're the people. The brazen liars'" Andy thought we used to think that even if they did not understand us, at least this meant wanting to establish solidarity with our daily problems, with our struggles concerning the issues of society. Now we could see they meant literally what they said.

"They consider themselves the 'people' and want everything 'for the people' " - as one of his co-workers once said with bitter irony. Now, they have not shown any interest in what the people on the street wanted to say, they were protecting what they had established. When Andy got to the first line of the crowd and finally got himself upright, several people showed genuine concern and asked if he was hurt. The AVH did not shoot in their direction, so it probably was not looking for any more confrontation than it could handle. At least not at the moment.

As the people standing in the crowd exchanged stories of the day, soon Andy heard about the street confrontation again. The people led by students marched to the Radio and wanted to read the 12 points - or, by some accounts, 14, others even talked about 16 points, - into the broadcast. At first refused, later they were told that a committee could go into the building to negotiate. A committee of students was fast formed and disappeared behind the gates.

Then nothing for a long time.

All of a sudden a door opened onto a second floor balcony and a student jumped out, shouting:

"We've been arrested! We are betrayed!"

He got this far when he was dragged back, into the building again. The crowd broke all the reachable windows on the building and they banged on the gate that opened onto Bródy Street. The AVH in turn, opened water cannon on the people, who at first scattered and the water pressure knocked some down. But they soon recovered, took the hose away from the uniformed men and turned the water on them. Now it was the AVH's turn to taste their own medicine. The AVH, however, soon began to fire into the air, into the crowd and forced the retreat of the unarmed crowd from the gates.

And it was a standoff when Andy and the other newcomers arrived.

Some rumors were heard that the AVH troops got reinforced by truckloads of troops, who entered the building complex a couple blocks away. But that did not scare anyone; the crowd still kept up the chant. It wanted the students back. Meanwhile, the AVH men behind the iron fence went on the offensive. They threw smoke and tear-gas bombs over the fence onto the street. But that, too, backfired. Courageous young men jumped forward from nowhere and lobbed the bombs back into the courtyard, before those had a chance to explode. Those then exploded inside the court of the Radio complex. Andy wasn't a slow thinker, but was dazzled at the instantaneous reaction these youngsters had. What if the bombs blew up in their hands? They just smiled when Andy asked the question. The AVH then tried to keep people away from the smoldering bombs by firing again across the street. Although the youngsters generally ignored the deadly danger, a few bombs, that landed farther away, did explode. People began wiping their eyes and nostrils.

And then it happened.

The first casualty that Andy saw. A young man in brown coat was particularly brave and practically ignored the gunfire that cracked sporadically in the courtyard. Then as he jumped to throw back a bomb, gunfire sounded, he grabbed his stomach and fell. There he moaned and yelled. In seconds four young men, Andy was one, in the front dropped to their hands and knees, crawled to the hurt man and carried him, stooping, running low, back to the safety of the crowd. There, a doctor, in a lieutenant-colonel uniform, with medical insignia and a doctor's case, gave him first aid. The crowd gave way as the young men carried the brown-coated hero to the beginning of the Bródy Street, where - they were told - the Italian Embassy had owned a few buildings. The colonel came with them and stayed with the boy who was carried into one of the buildings. Andy went to the Museum Boulevard away from the Radio, to breathe some fresh air, for by then, smoke of tear gas and the sour smell of gunpowder lingered everywhere in the side streets.

On the Museum Boulevard lots of people were milling around; some in groups discussing the events. Others stood on the sidewalks, like spectators, quietly horrified, because they didn't know what would be the communist authorities retaliation and when would it come. Could all those, who now were in the forefront of activities, disperse in time before the authorities identified them?

Andy was about to return to the front line, when trucks pulled in, on the Museum Boulevard and came to a halt in front of the Museum. The vehicles were covered with tarp and they were loaded with soldiers. People quickly surrounded the trucks.

"Did you bring weapons?"

"C'mon, we need you against the AVH. They should be smoked out of the Radio."

A young officer stood up, came to the end of the truck, apparently courageous enough to confront the crowd. He shook his head. But before he could utter a negation, a barrage of questions was thrown at him.

"Then what did you come for? To disperse us? Hey, everybody! They are sending our soldiers against us. Aren't you ashamed to come here against your own?" People of the street were not afraid at all.

Accusations and questions were flying without order, or logic. The soldiers were sitting inside the truck on benches, not saying much. Then one of them, perhaps defying order, said:

"Don't worry, we wouldn't shoot at you." Then pausing a bit, he continued: "But we cannot fight alongside of you."

"Why not? You are Hungarians, aren't you?" "If you cannot fight, then help us and give us your weapons!" others said impatiently. The flow of the conversation took on an urgent tone.

"Yeah, give'em to us. Even if you are afraid, we can use them."

"We don't even have bullets in our weapons" said the lieutenant.

Nobody believed him. At least not until one of the soldiers opened his rifle. Its magazine was indeed empty. Disappointed, people turned away .

The trucks drove away.

Andy returned to the Bródy Street and the Pushkin Street corner, working his way through the crowd. Just in time. In the firing and the tear gas bombs the crowd's mood was turning irritated. A young soldier in uniform was being pushed around. In the midst of some loud shouting, he was trying to explain something, but the crowd would not listen. As Andy got closer, he saw his insignia: the pick and shovel. He was from a "work-service" division as the communist authorities called the forced labor branch of military service. Andy used to be part of that outfit, for his father had been imprisoned as a political prisoner. That regiment was a reserved for the "politically unreliables". For those, the communist system did not trust. After 'the unreliables' were drafted they worked in a coal mine in south Hungary, then on building and road repair in Budapest. They were unexpectedly released from the Kilian Barracks in the last days of 1955, when Hungary embarked on a drive to become a member of the United Nations. Hungary had been criticized for keeping slave labor. Andy stepped in the circle of confrontation and held up his arms asking to be heard. Somehow, the people did what Andy asked and suspended the angry confrontation. Andy turned to the soldier:

"What are you doing here?"

"We heard there were demonstrations and came. There are several of us here. We are from the Kilian Barracks. Working regiment."

"I know. I recognized your insignia." Andy turned to the crowd and explained to people, who were still ready to push and shove that a terrible mistake was almost made here. These soldiers were from a forced labor regiment. The young soldier accepted the apologies and asked how they could help. "Bring weapons here," several urged. "Otherwise the AVH will disperse us. If they feel strong enough they may attack us."

"I'm sure I could get at least fifty who'd come with weapons to smoke out the AVH? the soldier turned to Andy. Andy asked if he should go to help, because more weapons may be needed, but the other shook his head. "I don't know what the situation is back at the Kilian Barracks, so it is better for me to go alone."

The soldier left, promising to bring back weapons and more of his comrades.

Sporadic shooting still could be heard from the direction of the Radio building, although most people withdrew from the fence of the Museum Garden. The crowd reacted angrily to every crackle of gunfire. 'these idiots don't even allow people to calm down,' Andy thought. As the young man of the labor regiment disappeared in the direction of the Calvin Plaza, Andy was not sure any longer whether he desired the soldier to return with others as promised, or just to disappear for good. He knew he had no right to expect the soldier to put his life on the line by coming back. No one will remember him in this chaos, but in uniform, if caught, will be dragged to military court and executed. God! What's coming yet? However, there was not much time to contemplate for the situation was changing by the minute. Now, another group arrived on the boulevard to the Museum gates. Youngsters from the Rákóczi Military School in dark uniform with red edging. They came in loose order, but in a disciplined manner. A couple shouted orders, the others obeyed silently. The leaders began asking people to come out of the Museum Garden because that's where they wanted to take up positions. They'll clean out the AVH from the Radio Building. Andy, who happened to be on the Museum Boulevard at the garden's gate, near their arrival, was quietly impressed. The leader asked him to help to get people out of the Museum Garden. "What serious and determined boys! No, young men!" Andy corrected himself. "Are they going to be the first to fight back" Cadets from the military school that had been established by the communist government?" Andy shook his head. But soon set aside his perplexity and asked the cadets for weapon, so he, too, could participate in the fight. The cadets did not have extra weapons, did not want extra help. Andy went with them into the garden, beyond the statues and asked people to move out and stay out.

'this is not for those who are not used to it' one of the cadet leaders said. 'We will ask for help if we need it, but now, please divert people from the Garden. We don't want anybody to get hurt.'

Sounds filtered out from the Garden, but suddenly the sound of other weapons also filled the air. The cracks of the new weapons began to dominate. People looked at each other with an anxious, yet elated smile and moist eyes:

'these are our boys! They're shooting back! Unbelievable! This is stunning!'

The young soldier also returned from the Kilian Barracks in about an hour. He brought reinforcements: other soldiers with weapons, ready to take part in the fight. Standing on the boulevard Andy was talking with a young cadet, who came to get fresh air, and realizing the kind of soldiers approaching, turned to the newcomers. The cadet's face also brightened. He, too, was glad to see reinforcements. After a short talk, the newly arrived soldiers moved into the Museum Garden.

Now, the crowd had to be gradually withdrawn from the side streets, too. The sound of shooting became steady; the battle took on serious proportions. Andy and others kept asking people to move back from the Pushkin Street to the Museum Boulevard. They could do no good in the battle area, but could be useful if the boys get attacked from the rear.

As people gradually realized their inability to participate in the developing battle, they began to disperse. This was no longer a demonstration. Imre and Molly had been long gone; Andy did not even know when they'd lost each other. The rattle of the guns was still going strong at an hour past midnight. Looked around, then slowly, Andy began walking toward Calvin Plaza. Not knowing what else to do, he wanted to get home. Now he'd have to get home and tell everyone what happened, to carry the good news to his family. Maybe there'll be more to do tomorrow. He could hear streetcar wheels rumbling on the tracks beyond the plaza. He was not heading to Szentendre, but to his sister's apartment in the 11th District. He walked isolated, numb, his steps accompanied by the crackle of gunfire. As he climbed onto the deck of the streetcar, the memories of the magnificent day and the fate of the fighters were whirling around in his mind.

And the fighters ? how could they eventually take on an entire army? True, the 1848 freedom fight began here, too, but not against such odds. If only the AVH troops reinforced were rallied against them they would not stand a chance. What a pity to loose such brave boys. For they'd all die. Either in battle, or they'll be executed. Communist dictatorships are vengeful. By the time the streetcar rolled onto the Freedom Bridge, Andy's mood got gradually more despondent. He would have liked to turn back to persuade the fighters to disperse and return to their barracks or dormitories, before they get recognized. The country needs brave people in the long run, who won't buckle under Soviet oppression. Andy was not afraid, but now, in a let-down he sensed a great futility in this heroic sacrifice of precious human lives. If he had any weapon, he would not be contemplating, but be among them, fighting the AVH without pondering the consequences. But standing on the deck of the streetcar he felt deep sorrow for those who were destined to die. He leaned against to cool metal doorframe of the streetcar, and his chest heaving, he was on the verge of crying. But tears did not come. Chest heaving, his body shook by the repressed sobbing, he just kept staring on the dark, rocky silhouette of the Gellért Mountain hovering over the Danube like a frightening omen.

* At dawn, about 5 AM they awoke to the shaking of the earth. Earthquake? Buildings were trembling, rumbling sounds of metal tracks were grating on stone of the Fehervar Road, just half a block away. Columns of Soviet tanks were rolling into the city heavily. It was obvious to Andy that they came to maintain the Soviet system. But this is an internal Hungarian affair! How can they interfere? This is an international scandal! God, help! What'll happen here? Andy and Arpad, his brother-in-law were grabbing for their clothes and were getting dressed hurriedly. Andy's sister, Kati began fixing sandwiches for them. "You two be careful. Won't you?" She kept repeating while stuffing the sandwiches into their overcoat pockets between hugs. "Where are you heading?"

"Back to the Radio."

* That morning, between ten thirty and eleven o'clock the insurgents took the Radio Block.

(1996/LGF) (Translated by Laszlo G Fulop, April 2006)