Now You See It, Now You Don’t and House of Cards have been included as part of the Open Society Archive dedicated to this period in the CEU. You can read a serialisation of them here on Xpatloop. You can also buy the dual-volume book on Kindle as well as in Stanfords London.

Book Two, Chapter 5
Part 4  – A new kitten; evening escapade

Some minutes later Mrs. Kis knocked on the door to inquire about the results of the police visit, and we settled the three children down to watch a video. Virginia watched too – Sesame Street  - a nostalgic reminder of her time in America. ‘I’d forgotten what a good programme this is!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes, John’s learnt all the letters and sounds from watching it – couldn’t you get a video recorder? They’re not so expensive now, and then Flora would have access to American and English-speaking films and programmes. We have got lots of things we could lend you.’

Virginia’s face clouded. ‘My parents offered to buy us one last time they were here, but József doesn’t like the idea.’ We made no reply; this news came as no surprise.

The following morning I heard the children chattering to one another and I went into their room. I opened the curtains and cast a cursory glance at the glass bowl which now contained the new pet.

The goldfish, however, appeared to be swimming upside down. John, observing my puzzled look said, ‘I don’t think it liked being in bed with Hannah.’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Hannah took it to bed last night.’

I hadn’t known she could climb out of her cot. But clearly she wanted an animal she could cuddle, and I thought a cat might be a suitable replacement for the fish.

Fate soon stepped in to solve the problem: I was sitting on the number seventeen tram, one of my favourites, which bumps its way along the cobbled streets of Óbuda, when I heard mewing. I looked around but could see nothing.

The mewing continued. I turned and saw a girl of about twelve pushing a kitten’s head back inside her rucksack. Noticing my attention she asked, ‘Would you like it? I can’t keep it, my parents won’t let me.’

I went to sit opposite her. ‘How old is it?’ I asked her.

‘About six weeks,’ she replied. ‘My cat had kittens, but my parents said that I can’t keep them.’

I had the space of three tram stops to make up my mind. I had no bag with me, but my coat pocket was just large enough, so I stuffed the fragile fur bundle in there.

As I walked to my next tram I wondered where the girl had been going and what her intentions had been. The children named him Gulliver, and he proved to be much more appreciative of their attentions than the goldfish had been.

Some nights later I went to teach Éva’s group, though this time at Erzsi and Pista’s, in the thirteenth district not far from Margit híd. Pista still had no book illustration work, but he had had the idea of producing an illustrated dictionary of English idioms, using many of those he had busily sketched in our lessons: to have butterflies in one’s stomach, bull in a china shop, and others he found amusing.



I had arranged to visit Kata after the lesson, at nine o’clock, to borrow a book. She was a student from the same group as Geoff, who like him had gone to study English at ELTE University. Her flat was a block from Erzsi’s.

I rang the bell next to her name and waited. A moment later a young couple arrived home, and let themselves and me into the building. I had forgotten which floor Kata lived on and asked them if they knew.

‘Yes, on the third floor,’ they replied, getting out of the lift on the second.

I found Kata’s door at the end of the corridor and rang the bell. No answer. Glancing at my watch I saw it was nine-fifteen – something must have gone wrong. After ringing again I decided to leave and to telephone her the following day.

I took the lift back to the ground floor. I walked down the entrance steps past the rusty letterboxes, and pulled on the door handle. It was locked. I resigned myself to waiting for someone to leave the building, or more likely arrive home, who could let me out. It was a large house with many flats: I should not have to wait too long.

Twenty minutes passed and not a movement disturbed the tomb-like silence of the house. I walked back up the stairs to see if there weren’t some other means of escape – an open window I could climb out of at the back, perhaps, where another flight of steps led down to the cellars. There were no windows there at all.

This was not an uncommon situation to find oneself in, and some years previously it would have not have proved more than slightly uncomfortable.

Every house had its resident caretaker, one of whose duties was to lock the main gate somewhere between ten and eleven at night. If you then found yourself in the unhappy situation of being locked either in or out – if you had left your gate key at home – the caretaker’s bell could be rung, and for the price of a profuse apology, and preferably a small gratuity, he would open the gate.

We jokingly used to remark, ‘It’s too late to lock the gates, the Russians are already here,’ – there seeming then to be no obvious reason to do so. But since burglary had become a feature of everyday life the necessity of locking the entrance door could not be questioned: residents now kept it locked, day and night. 

However, the old job of caretaker, and the flat that went with it, had since disappeared with the system that provided it. Thus, there was now no escape.


Photo courtesy of Fortepan/ FŐFOTÓ

It was nine-forty-five, and it seemed I would either have to find someone in the building willing to let me out, or wait here until the morning. I rang the bell of one of the two flat doors adjacent to the lift on the ground floor.

No answer; and then I saw the brass nameplate of a solicitor’s practice: this was obviously an office and not inhabited outside working hours. I went to the other door and rang.

Faint scuffling noises emanated from within, and a weak ray of light shone through the grubby net curtain that shrouded the small glass window in the front door. I knocked on the glass.

‘Yes?’ came an elderly disembodied voice from within.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but the front door’s locked and I can’t get out – would you be so kind as to unlock it for me?’

‘How did you get in?’ asked the suspicious voice.

‘Someone was coming in and they let me in, but…’

‘Then ask them to let you out,’ the voice interrupted.

‘But I don’t know where they live.’

The light switch snapped off inside, and my hope of liberation disappeared with its extinguishing ray.
 

I felt a slight panic at the idea that Kata might not come back this evening, and that there was no way I could let Paul know where I was. I decided to try and find the couple who had let me in, knowing at least that they had alighted on the second floor.

I walked up the stairs, but the second floor was in total darkness, the black bulbs in the lamps bearing witness to the residents’ inability to accept the absence of a caretaker who would have replaced them.

If the ground-floor resident had been able to observe me skulking in the darkened corridor, ear pressed to each flat door in an effort to determine the identity of the residents within, he would certainly have had his worst suspicions confirmed. Finally, I heard youthful chatter and laughter and decided to risk ringing the bell.

‘Do you remember me?’ I asked the man. ‘You let me in.’

‘Of course. What’s the problem?’

‘My friend’s not at home and now the front door’s locked, and I can’t get out,’ I replied.

‘Look, near the front door is a green switch. If you press that you’ll hear it buzz and then you’ll be able to open it.’

I thanked him and groped my way back downstairs. I located the switch, pressed it and made for the door – but before I could pull it open, the buzzing stopped and the door was again locked.

One clearly had to run from the switch to the door – this seemed a bizarre form of entertainment, which, when I attempted it, proved impossible.

I laughed aloud. I could still not escape! Then a last solution presented itself: by putting the strap of my bag over the doorknob and stretching as far as it would allow, I could just reach the green switch with my other hand.

At the second attempt I managed to press the switch and pull the strap simultaneously, then to grab the door and pull it open. It was ten-fifteen.

Click here for earlier extracts