The Exiled (19 page)

THE NIGHT WAS DARK AND WARM.
Dzsenifer couldn’t sleep in the cramped shack. Rambo had gone off somewhere with his friends and made Dzsenifer promise to stay put.
You mustn’t go anywhere without me,
he’d shouted at her, and she had promised she wouldn’t.

She was afraid. The rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. She was afraid of storms, though she’d never admitted it to anyone – not even her brother, who she missed so much that her stomach hurt. She fetched one of Sándor’s dirty T-shirts from the pile in the corner of the room that served as a wardrobe, clenched it tightly in her arms and curled up in bed.

The black night behind the window flashed brightly, as if it were lit up by the strobe lights at the Turbofolk concert she’d seen on television. The boom followed shortly afterwards. The storm was coming closer. Dzsenifer was close to tears. She pulled the T-shirt over her head and felt the sharp smell of sweat in her nose. She’d never been this close to her brother. And never this far away. Water started pattering against the shack window.

Even if she hadn’t been wrapped up in bed, her eyes covered with the T-shirt, there was no way she could have prevented what happened next.

She heard someone step into the shack. Had Rambo come back early? But, before she knew it a sock or some other stinking rag was stuffed into her mouth, a sack was pulled over her head and her little hands and feet were tied with a rough length of rope so tightly that any attempt to kick felt like she was cutting herself with a knife. Dzsenifer didn’t even have time to cry out. If she’d just been able to shout, someone in the neighbouring shacks might have heard her.

The attacker snatched her into his arms and carried her out. Dzsenifer felt the cool, stormy air and the rain against her bare shins. She sensed a bolt of lightning flash somewhere nearby and heard the
boom that almost burst her ears immediately afterwards. At that point she fainted.

She was unconscious as the attacker bundled her into a car and drove away.

ANNA AND PÉTER WALKED
through the town to Péter’s house. Storm clouds were gathering across the western sky, making it darker still. The metal gates opened with a screech, and they stepped into the pleasant garden at the front. Péter fetched a corkscrew and some glasses from inside and they sat down on the patio. Lightning flashed far across the sky. Anna noticed a child’s shovel and sand bucket tumbled to one side of the paving.

‘When was the last time you saw your son?’ she asked.

‘Today. He and my ex came over to collect some clothes.’

Anna tasted the wine. Through her drunkenness she could hear the note of wistful sadness in Péter’s voice.

‘Have you found any new leads?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Bits and pieces … This wine’s pretty good. I’ll have to start buying from them directly. The selection in the supermarkets is pretty lame.’

‘Was Lakatos known to the police?’ Anna went on, refusing to be distracted.

‘Yes. He had a few convictions for petty theft, that sort of thing. All of them took place in and around Szabadka and Palics.’

Anna hesitated before continuing. ‘He might have been involved in some kind of people smuggling – maybe as a contact between the smugglers and the refugees. Are you looking into that?’

‘There was one conviction for smuggling, but I’m not on that case. Things like that are generally dealt with by the Central Criminal Police and Interpol. Local police only help if they can.’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘The people smuggling? I know it’s on the increase – because of the huge number of refugees, of course. Soon there will be more of them here than there are inhabitants in Kanizsa. It’s only a matter of time before something explodes.’

‘A bomb?’

‘It was a figure of speech. People are on edge. Some are on a short fuse.’

‘They’re no trouble. The refugees, that is. Or are they? They haven’t bothered me once since I’ve been here, if you don’t count the annoyance that the world is such a shitty place that people have to flee their homes in fear of their lives.’

‘They make a mess. And lots of people are afraid of them, call them ISIS terrorists.’

‘Jesus Christ, how stupid can people be?’

‘You never know, amongst all those people, there might be a few terrorists.’

‘Sure. But isn’t terrorism exactly what the others are trying to escape?’

‘People take comfort in the fact that the refugees aren’t staying here. They’re just travelling through on their way into the EU.’

‘What crimes were on Lakatos’s record?’

‘Pickpocketing, shoplifting. One count of assault, but he was only arrested on suspicion. In the end he was cleared of all charges. Interestingly, the assault case was the only connection I could find to Kanizsa.’

‘In what way?’

‘The guy they eventually convicted was from round here. Lakatos had been with him – the two of them had been out drinking together – but Lakatos didn’t touch the victim. Even the victim confirmed that.’

‘So who was the Kanizsa man they convicted.’

‘Orsós Gyula was his name.’

‘Orsós? Not Judit’s husband?’

‘The very same. He’s currently serving a thirteen-month sentence for common assault.’

‘So Judit’s husband and Sándor knew each other?’

‘Seems that way.’

‘That means Judit must have known him too. And Dzsenifer. That woman lied to my face.’

‘They’re like that, the gypsies.’

‘Don’t you start,’ Anna sighed.

‘Sorry, I don’t really think that. Who’s Dzsenifer?’

Anna explained how she’d found the girl and what she told her. The wine had robbed her of her natural caution, made her trusting and open. Besides, Péter had helped her so much, Anna could think of no reason why she shouldn’t tell him everything. He listened intently and was about to ask her something when his phone rang. He apologised and stepped inside to answer it.

The storm was coming closer and bringing the rain with it. The night was finally cooling down. Anna watched as swollen raindrops drummed against the roses in the garden. A frog leapt across the lawn.

Péter came back out to the patio and lit a cigarette. His expression was taut.

‘Who was it?’ asked Anna.

‘Nobody. Nothing important.’

Anna didn’t want to pry any further, though she could see that Péter’s good humour had vanished. He sat down, calmly smoking his cigarette.

‘Let’s forget about investigations and gypsies and handbag thieves for a moment and concentrate on finishing off this bottle,’ he said.

‘What will we do then?’

‘Then I think I’ll investigate you for a change.’

‘
ANNA!
Time to get up!’ Her mother’s voice calling from downstairs almost burst Anna’s ears.

She rolled stiffly on to her other side and tried to open her swollen eyes. A throbbing pain was hammering at her head, and in her dry mouth she could still taste the night before. Or rather, it wasn’t the night before at all. Anna had only come home a few hours ago.

‘It’ll soon be time to go to church,’ her mother shouted up the stairs. ‘Don’t you feel well?’

‘Hmmm…’ Anna mumbled in response and dragged herself out of bed. The room seemed to swirl, and Anna felt weak. She staggered downstairs, her legs still shaky.

‘Dear girl, what a sight,’ her mother laughed. ‘I take it the wine tasting was a success?’

‘Hmmm,’ said Anna.

‘Have a cup of coffee, take a shower and you’ll be right as rain.’

‘Do I have to come?’ Anna asked as though she was still a child.

Her mother replied as she would to a child. ‘Yes.’

‘But I don’t want to see anyone. I can’t. I feel dreadful.’

‘Nonsense! If you’re a hero in the evening, you have to be a hero in the morning, too.’

Anna did as she was told, took some ibuprofen, gulped down a cup of coffee and ate a banana, then went into the shower and stood beneath the cool water long enough that her grotty hangover began to ease.

Returning to the kitchen, she ate the omelette her mother had prepared and felt herself gradually coming back to life.

‘Feel better?’ her mother asked.

‘A little.’

‘There, what did I tell you? And try to lay off the cigarettes today. They’ll only make you feel worse,’ her mother continued to lecture her.

‘I don’t want any. Ugh, the mere thought.’

Anna watched her mother clear away the breakfast things and wondered about how best to bring up what she’d heard at the wedding. She knew her mother would get upset. But the matter was so important, Anna was prepared to risk it.

Very carefully, she began. ‘Mum, there’s something I want to talk to you about.’

‘What’s that?’

‘At the gypsy wedding I heard something about Dad’s death.’

Her mother’s breezy movements tensed, her happy smile froze for a moment. ‘Let’s talk about it later, once we’ve come back from Totovo Selo. We’ll talk this evening.’

‘No, we’ll talk now. An old Roma gentleman told me that the man convicted of Dad’s murder wasn’t the real killer, that somebody else did it. Could there be any truth in that?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Your father is dead, that’s all that matters to me. And that’s the end of it. It’s been quite a job taking care of everything without a husband’s help and support – leaving as a refugee, living in Finland, that cold, hostile country where neighbours don’t even say hello to one another.’

‘Did you really hate it in Finland?’ Anna was surprised at her own question.

‘Yes, I hated it. People told me the long winter months would be the most gruelling, all that darkness and wind and snow and ice. But for me the worst was the summer. I hated the fact that it never got warm at all.’

‘It gets warm there too, Mum.’

‘A few days in the year there might be something you could call warm. What kind of summer is that? It’s nothing at all. I felt cheated, taunted. I hated that apartment and that house. I hated Koivuharju.’

Anna was speechless. She’d never realised that this was how her mother had thought of their life in Finland. In fact it had never crossed her mind. Mum was just Mum. A stoic, a survivor. Dinner was always at the same time each evening; we all had to go to sleep on time; we made sure our homework was done, and Mum had never complained or looked unhappy. As far as Anna was concerned, everything had been fine. She wanted to talk more about it, to find out all about her mother’s experiences of Finland, but at the same time she was disappointed that her mother flatly refused to discuss the subject of her father. She always managed to steer the conversation in another direction.

‘This is all very interesting, but now you’re changing the subject,’ she said. ‘I asked about Dad.’

‘We have to go now or we’ll be late,’ said her mother. ‘Come on, get yourself dressed.’

THE CHURCH SERVICE WAS HELD
at the local community centre, in one of the smaller rooms, whose primary function Anna couldn’t quite figure out. Kanizsa was predominantly Catholic, and the congregation of the Reformed Church in the town and surrounding area was so small that there was no need to build a separate church.

In the room were gathered a total of nine people, including the priest, Anna and her mother. The service was austere and simple. A few hymns, a prayer, a short sermon – and that was it. No liturgy, no communion, not even a cross on the table that served as an altar. A white tablecloth had at least been draped over the table on which was displayed a vase with yellow and red flowers. Molnár László spoke in a monotonous and almost pompous voice, and Anna couldn’t bring herself to listen properly. Instead she stared through the window at the glorious weather outside; the temperature was getting warmer by the day. She watched the blurred blue sky and a flock of pigeons that swooped through the air, from the roof of the community centre and back again. When the priest asked those present to join him in prayer, Anna clasped her hands together and lowered her head but didn’t mutter along with the canonical words. She said her own prayer instead.

Heavenly Father, or whoever you are, look after that little Romani girl. Look after Réka, József and their baby, and forgive me for what I did to my own. Let Ákos be happy. Amen.

The congregation sang a final hymn, and, with that, the service was over. Despite the dull throb in her head and the fact that she’d only had a few hours’ sleep, Anna felt surprisingly well. Perhaps I could do this more often, she thought – go to church. It wouldn’t do me any harm.

László chatted with the members of his small congregation for a while. Anna heard them discussing something about an upcoming charitable event. A clothes collection for the refugees. Food packages for families with children.

Once the priest had done his duties, Anna and her mother set off for his place in Totovo Selo. They had decided to take their own car. So you don’t have to drive us home, her mother had told László when he offered them a lift. Anna realised she was still well over the limit and shouldn’t get behind the wheel. What the hell, she thought; when in Rome. She was grateful for the powerful air conditioning in her small rented car, which dried the droplets of sweat on her forehead and seemed to wipe away the last of her morning grogginess.

The garden at the vicarage was swarming with stray cats. They scampered into hiding as Anna and her mother walked across the yard. Her mother explained that László had always liked cats and that one of his many callings in life was to feed the strays. The sun was beating down, and the priest’s wife, Ágnes, showed the guests to the shade of the covered terrace, where drinks had already been laid out on the table, Anna poured herself a glass of lemonade. Its sharp, citrus tang fizzed in her mouth.

‘How has your holiday been going?’ asked the priest’s wife.

‘Very nicely, thank you.’

Anna’s mother scoffed. ‘Very nicely? Apparently it’s nice to spend all your free time working.’

‘What have you been working on?’ László enquired instantly, and Anna recalled how strange she’d found the man’s questions when they’d met outside Békavár.

‘I’ve just been looking into the theft of my handbag, that’s all,’ said Anna, trying to play it down as much as possible.

‘I heard about that,’ said Ágnes, aghast. ‘The man died. Do we know what happened to him?’

‘He drowned. It was an accident,’ said Anna. She could sense both László and her mother staring at her pointedly.

‘Yes, that’s right. How terrible,’ said Ágnes.

‘Were you at the wine fair when it happened?’ asked Anna.

‘You went there, didn’t you dear?’ said Ágnes, and László nodded.

‘I was supposed to meet Nagy Béla but I couldn’t find him. I arrived too late, and Béla must have left.’

‘Did you see the incident?’ Anna asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

The priest hesitated for a moment.

‘There was some commotion going on as I arrived. That must have been the moment he snatched the bag. I couldn’t find Béla anywhere, so I sent him a text message, but he didn’t answer and I left straight away. Why do you ask?’

‘There are a few details I’d like to clear up, that’s all. I’m a slave to my work,’ said Anna.

‘Anna,’ her mother cautioned her.

‘That’s right, you’re a police officer. Just like your father,’ said Ágnes and gave Anna an irritating tap on the thigh.

Anna instinctively jerked her leg to one side and noticed her mother’s disparaging look. Am I supposed to let myself be groped by complete strangers just so you don’t feel embarrassed? Anna thought angrily, but forced herself to give a reluctant smile.

‘Come on inside, Mária, and I’ll show you the embroidery I’ve been working on,’ said Ágnes, standing up.

‘How lovely,’ her mother replied. The look she gave Anna was clear: do not ask anything else about this case. Please try and behave properly, this once.

The women went indoors, leaving Anna alone with László.

A scrawny grey cat pattered towards them and started meowing at their feet. It began rubbing its head against the priest’s bare ankles. László stood up and fetched it some food. The clatter as László shook food into the bowl attracted the rest of the cats that had been hiding in the garden. They ate greedily, glancing warily at Anna as they did so.

‘Your father was a good man,’ László said eventually, breaking the awkward silence.

‘So it seems. Were you living in the area when he died?’

The priest looked at her intensely. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered. People always ask where you were when Kennedy died, don’t they? Or Princess Diana.’

‘I was in Kanizsa when I heard the news. I came straight over to your house. Do you remember?’

Again Anna tried to think back to that day. The weeping, the shouting, the silence. She vaguely remembered people coming and going, but she couldn’t recall seeing the priest. She shook her head.

‘I was told they convicted and executed the wrong man for my father’s murder,’ said Anna.

‘Who told you that?’ László’s expression tightened and the furrows on his brow deepened.

‘I heard some talk about it. Probably just a rumour.’

‘Who have you been discussing this with?’ he asked. He was clearly agitated and began gripping tufts of his thinning grey hair in rapid, edgy movements.

‘Nobody.’

‘Good. Don’t talk to anyone about it. There’s no point spreading rumours like that.’

Anna was taken aback by the priest’s reaction; it was at once dismissive and curious, agitated and reserved. Her police officer’s instinct was triggered; she wanted to ask this strange man what else he knew about the matter. But just then her mother and the priest’s wife came back outside. Anna thought her mother seemed a bit too fulsome in her praise of Ágnes’s embroidery.

‘Have some more lemonade, Anna,’ said Ágnes.

‘Thank you. I heard at the church that you donate clothes to the refugees.’

‘That’s right. We collect the clothes – and money too; we use it to buy water and hygiene products for them,’ Ágnes explained.

‘How do you get it all to the people that need it?’

‘I visit Szabadka once or twice a week. I take everything to the camp,’ said László.

‘I’d like to help too, if I can. It bugs me when I see all those people wandering around and I don’t know what to do.’

‘It’s just awful,’ said her mother. ‘Women and small children too.’

‘Could I join you?’ Anna asked László. ‘When are you going there next?’

‘In the next few days. But I warn you, it’s grim there, truly shocking. I’m not sure whether…’

‘Of course Anna can join you if she wants to,’ said Ágnes.

‘It won’t be a fun day out,’ said László.

‘I don’t expect it to be. But it would be nice to help people, seeing as I’m here anyway.’

‘Well done, Anna, that’s the spirit,’ said the priest’s wife. ‘We should always help those in need. You’ve been a refugee yourself, you know what it’s like.’

Do I? thought Anna. I haven’t had to walk thousands of kilometres or cross an ocean in a leaking tin can. I haven’t had to cross borders illegally, get myself in debt to smugglers and be entirely at their mercy. I haven’t had to live in camps in inhumane conditions. What do I know about any of this? The reception centre where we lived in Munkkisaari was probably heaven compared to the forests outside Szabadka. I’ve been damn lucky – privileged in fact. I have an old home and a new home, a job and an apartment. I have experienced what it’s like to feel different, an outsider, homeless in a way, but I’ve never thought of myself as a refugee, not even when the local kids taunted me about it at school.

‘What are you thinking about, dear?’ asked her mother.

Anna snapped back to reality. Everyone was staring at her.

‘Nothing really. Just lost in thought.’

‘Anna went to the wine tasting at the new vineyard last night. I think she tasted a little too much,’ her mother explained.

‘Good for you, Anna,’ said Ágnes. ‘Life isn’t worth living if you don’t drink some good wine every now and then.’

Anna smiled. The priest’s wife seemed nice. Much nicer than her agitated husband.

‘Have you ever seen any skinheads in Kanizsa?’ she asked.

‘They’re no problem. Just kids. The difficulties are elsewhere,’ said László.

‘Where?’

‘In people’s minds and opinions. The far-right have stoked resentment here, just like they have in Hungary. It’s brainwashing, if you ask me.’

‘Do we have to talk about this subject again?’ Ágnes said, trying to intervene. But the priest was now in full flow.

‘The Hungarian government churns out xenophobic propaganda from every media outlet, and there’s no way we can avoid it over here. The Serbian authorities scrutinise anyone trying to cross the border, but the media is free to send out whatever crap they like. You know, yesterday I heard that a local policeman robbed some of the refugees. Can you believe that? Even the police are taking advantage of the situation.’

‘That’s enough talk about all these horrible matters,’ Ágnes said, clearly deciding to lay down the law. ‘I can’t bear listening to it any longer. Anna, tell us about your life in Finland. Do you have a husband over there?’

I thought we were supposed to stop talking about horrible matters, thought Anna. She ignored the question and started telling them about the kind of things that always seemed to interest people: the Finnish weather; the cost of living. When László began asking her about the church in Finland, Anna had to admit she knew very little about it. She hadn’t gone to confirmation camp, and since the end-of-term services at school she hadn’t even gone to church. I’m a hardened heathen, she thought.

As they drove home through the endless fields, Anna started to crave a cigarette. Despite her mother’s nagging, she pulled the car over to the verge, stepped out into the heat, lit a cigarette and checked her phone for messages. The wheat fields shimmered in the gentle breeze, carrying the faint smell of ripening grain. A flock of dark birds – starlings, perhaps – flew overhead in a large, dotted swarm. Réka had sent her a message.

I’ve got some important information. Call when you get home. I’ll come straight round.

Anna pulled the smoke deep into her lungs, felt her heart beating intensely from the combined effects of the hangover, the nicotine and the contents of the message. The birds had disappeared, the sky above was cloudless. Below it, the oil rigs that punctuated the skyline looked like nodding dinosaurs as they slowly pumped black gold from deep within the earth. The hypnotic movements of their silhouettes fractured the vast horizon, making the landscape look almost apocalyptic. Here the sky is never so bright that it hurts your eyes, thought Anna. Or am I the only one with a hazy gauze hanging in front of my eyes? Am I missing something important? Is there something I can’t see? She thought of Judit’s premonition. And Péter.