wall (London, 29 July to 14 August), the books on the shelf. Lenin’s The State and Revolution, Marx’s The Communist Manifesto, Stalin’s essay On Dialectical and Historical Materialism. If only she had time to hide them. Will he use these titles as evidence against her? When he does, will he recognize that the barriers to their friendship are insurmountable?
Or will his eyes drift on to the photographs, Dora as a baby, Dora aged three, Dora with her grandparents, Dora with Julia before she left for the Games, their arms around each other? How young and excited they look.
Julia. Julia.
The past breaks through her dreaming and reasserts its cruel hold on her. Today is the first morning in more than a year that she has woken up without thinking of Julia. She is immediately consumed by guilt. How could that happen? How could she betray her promises? Her mood changes.
The Englishman is a dream, and consciously and rightly she murdered her own dreams months ago. There can be no place for dreams or Englishmen in her life. She has other, more pressing commitments. Promises made that must be honoured. It is too late to cancel the invitation for dinner. But after tonight, that will be it. She will never see him again. She hugs herself in despair.
‘Mama,’ Dora calls, ‘there’s someone at the door.’
*
‘This is my daughter, Dora,’ she said. A tall, thin girl was standing behind her. Dora looked at Martineau shyly, smiled briefly, said something to her mother, smiled again at Martineau and left. ‘Dora goes to her night studies. She has important exams soon that she must pass if she wants to go to medical school. She will return later.’
She had prepared an arrangement of local sausage and salami, full of pepper and garlic, which made him thirsty. He drank two glasses of wine before she served him with stuffed pork in a paprika sauce and pickled cabbage followed by chocolate-filled pancakes. She watched him eat with pleasure. When they had finished, she refused to let him clear away, smiling at his protests. She poured him some brandy and, because the evening was so warm, apologizing that shehad no fan, suggested they sit out on the balcony, high up on the fourth floor, looking out over the dark street below.
‘Maybe it will be cooler outside.’
He calculated the hours they had spent together and realized that in all that time he had learned next to nothing about her. Except, of course, that she was a swimmer, had competed in the Olympic Games and had had a daughter when she must have been very young.
‘Did you win a medal?’ he asked suddenly, voicing the thoughts in his mind.
‘A medal?’
‘In London.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, a gold. I won the freestyle final.’
He knew who she was now, a Heroine of the State, a woman who had privileges and a charmed life. Someone who would be used by the state as an example to others. A part of the structure that kept the communists in power. His heart sank.
‘And London? Did you like London?’ Why couldn’t he bring himself to say what he wanted to say?
‘I did not manage to see that much. We were not allowed to go about by ourselves. We were always accompanied by the officials of our team.’
Always those bloody goons wherever you went, smiling, shameless men in ill-fitting suits who assumed an identity to fit the occasion. Physicists one day, swimming coaches the next, hardly bothering to disguise themselves. In the communist bloc, swimmers and physicists were state employees, living and working under the ever-watchful eye of the secret police, to ensure they neither did nor said anything out of line. He’d met them in Moscow and here in Budapest. Bastards always.
‘There was so much destruction in London. So many buildings without walls or roofs. I was surprised.’
We fought too long on our own to keep our world alive, he wanted to say, and now we’re too worn out to repair the damage the enemy inflicted. He said nothing. The night was too warm
Or will his eyes drift on to the photographs, Dora as a baby, Dora aged three, Dora with her grandparents, Dora with Julia before she left for the Games, their arms around each other? How young and excited they look.
Julia. Julia.
The past breaks through her dreaming and reasserts its cruel hold on her. Today is the first morning in more than a year that she has woken up without thinking of Julia. She is immediately consumed by guilt. How could that happen? How could she betray her promises? Her mood changes.
The Englishman is a dream, and consciously and rightly she murdered her own dreams months ago. There can be no place for dreams or Englishmen in her life. She has other, more pressing commitments. Promises made that must be honoured. It is too late to cancel the invitation for dinner. But after tonight, that will be it. She will never see him again. She hugs herself in despair.
‘Mama,’ Dora calls, ‘there’s someone at the door.’
*
‘This is my daughter, Dora,’ she said. A tall, thin girl was standing behind her. Dora looked at Martineau shyly, smiled briefly, said something to her mother, smiled again at Martineau and left. ‘Dora goes to her night studies. She has important exams soon that she must pass if she wants to go to medical school. She will return later.’
She had prepared an arrangement of local sausage and salami, full of pepper and garlic, which made him thirsty. He drank two glasses of wine before she served him with stuffed pork in a paprika sauce and pickled cabbage followed by chocolate-filled pancakes. She watched him eat with pleasure. When they had finished, she refused to let him clear away, smiling at his protests. She poured him some brandy and, because the evening was so warm, apologizing that shehad no fan, suggested they sit out on the balcony, high up on the fourth floor, looking out over the dark street below.
‘Maybe it will be cooler outside.’
He calculated the hours they had spent together and realized that in all that time he had learned next to nothing about her. Except, of course, that she was a swimmer, had competed in the Olympic Games and had had a daughter when she must have been very young.
‘Did you win a medal?’ he asked suddenly, voicing the thoughts in his mind.
‘A medal?’
‘In London.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, a gold. I won the freestyle final.’
He knew who she was now, a Heroine of the State, a woman who had privileges and a charmed life. Someone who would be used by the state as an example to others. A part of the structure that kept the communists in power. His heart sank.
‘And London? Did you like London?’ Why couldn’t he bring himself to say what he wanted to say?
‘I did not manage to see that much. We were not allowed to go about by ourselves. We were always accompanied by the officials of our team.’
Always those bloody goons wherever you went, smiling, shameless men in ill-fitting suits who assumed an identity to fit the occasion. Physicists one day, swimming coaches the next, hardly bothering to disguise themselves. In the communist bloc, swimmers and physicists were state employees, living and working under the ever-watchful eye of the secret police, to ensure they neither did nor said anything out of line. He’d met them in Moscow and here in Budapest. Bastards always.
‘There was so much destruction in London. So many buildings without walls or roofs. I was surprised.’
We fought too long on our own to keep our world alive, he wanted to say, and now we’re too worn out to repair the damage the enemy inflicted. He said nothing. The night was too warm
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