Other Earths (collection)

Margit had been trying not to remember. She had been ahead of Judit, who had been carrying D’nes and leading Magda by the hem of her skirt. Aunt Ilona had been behind them. And then—a sound, like a loud crack. She had looked back to see Aunt Ilona lying on the stones that paved the alley, in a green puddle. Aunt Ilona had lived on a farm, and Margit remembered visiting with D’nes, feeding the chickens, eating apricots picked from the orchard, swimming in the river Tisza. But eventually Aunt Ilona had moved to Szeged, saying that the countryside had become too dangerous for T̈nd’r. She had brought Magda, a farmer’s daughter whose father had been afraid to keep her. That day, Margit had wanted to go back to where Aunt Ilona lay, but Judit had not let her. She had said, “Don’t stop, Margit. Go through the Szomorys’ garden. Hold Deb’ra’s hand, and don’t lose your school bag. It has all the food in it.

“No,” said Judit, “we’ll do what our fathers planned. We’ll cross the border to Romania and find my uncle in Arad. As soon as it’s light enough to see, we can walk across the field and into the forest. The border is to the west, so we’ll just keep walking toward where the sun sets. It’s too bad the map and the compass were in the other bag. If only I knew how far it was!”

“What about food?” asked Margit. She was not going to remember the green puddle. She was going to be practical, like Judit.

“We’ll have to steal it.”

“Hunh,” said Magda. “HunhHunhHunh!”

“Hush, Magdi,” said Margit, but then Judit put a hand on her arm again, as though to hush her too.

“Listen,” she said. “Do you hear it?”

The engine of a motor car. She could hear it, faintly at first and then louder. Then suddenly a sound as though the motor car were coughing, right in front of the barn. Then silence.

“Damn these country roads! Sergeant, you told us you could get us to the farm.”

“Yes, sir. But, sir, the roads do get like this. When it rains, sir, and it’s been raining heavily—”

“And while we sit here, stuck in mud, the children are escaping.”

Margit felt Judit’s hand clasp hers, hard. She wanted to tell Judit that her fingers were aching, but she was too frightened to make a sound.

“So sorry, sir. I’ll go to the farmhouse and wake the farmer. He’ll be able to tell us if he’s seen anyone.”

“Is it time for breakfast?” asked Deb’ra. She sat up in the straw and looked around, as though expecting to see her bedroom on Gutenberg street. When she saw D’nes lying beside her and the horse champing at the edge of his bucket, she cried, “Papa!”

A voice outside said, “Did you hear that, sir?”

“Come on,” whispered Judit. She let go of Margit’s hand and pulled Deb’ra up from the straw. “There’s a door in the back, I saw it when we came in. We’ll have to go out that way.”

Margit shook D’nes. “Wake up! It’s time to wake up.” He opened his eyes and looked at her the way he did when he was going to open his mouth and wail. “But you have to be very quiet, because we’re going on an adventure. We’re Imre and Fair Ilona, and we’re taking the children of the T̈nd’r to the mountains. We can’t let the Turks hear us, or they’ll capture us again. Do you understand?”

He nodded, got to his feet, and took her hand. She held the other hand out to Magda, who was always happy to follow wherever she was led.

The back door opened with a creak as Judit pushed it, and they emerged into the night. The moon shone over the fields, alternately veiled and unveiled by clouds. They waded through barley, which scratched Margit’s knees so that she wished she were wearing pants. They went quickly, as quickly as they could, but there was a sea of barley ahead of them and already they were faltering, because oh, how tired they were, thought Margit, dropping D’nes’ hand for a moment to scratch her itching knees. And every step seemed more difficult, pulling D’nes and Magda, both of whom lagged behind, until she felt as though she were carrying them. And D’nes was about to cry, she knew it.

She looked behind them. The barn was already filled with light, and a voice cried, “Sir, I found a handkerchief!” Which meant the voices knew they were here, and they would be caught, and their blood would form puddles among the stalks of barley. If I really were Fair Ilona, she thought, I would make the barley grow so that the Turks could not find me. But that’s only a story.

“Margit,” said Judit ahead of her. Even Judit was moving slowly, carrying Deb’ra, who was whimpering and refusing to walk. “What’s that in the trees?”

There was a light among the trees at the edge of the forest. Not like the light of a lantern, but pale and still.

And then, although a dog began barking behind them, which meant that the farmer was awake, Margit stopped and stood among the barley, thinking to herself, can it be true? But D’nes said, “Look, it’s the White Stag.”

He shone like the moon, and he stamped his hoof on the ground as though telling them to hurry.