“Just when I thought I could not eat another bite, two waiters appeared with trays of pastries and tortes that would not have been out of place in an Austro-Hungarian throne room, all swirls of chocolate or whipped cream, and with cups of coffee-‘Eszpresszó,’Aunt Éva explained. Somehow we found room for everything. ‘Coffee has a tragic history in Budapest,’ Helen translated for Aunt Éva. ‘A long time ago-in 1541, actually-the invader Süleyman I invited one of our generals, whose name was Bálint Török, to have a delicious meal with him in his tent, and at the end of the meal, while he was drinking his coffee-he was the first Hungarian person to taste coffee, you see-Süleyman informed him that the best of the Turkish troops had been taking over Buda Castle while they were eating. You can imagine how bitter that coffee tasted.’
“Her smile was more rueful than luminous this time. The Ottomans again, I thought-how clever they were, and cruel, such a strange mixture of aesthetic refinement and barbaric tactics. In 1541 they had already held Istanbul for nearly a century; remembering this gave me a sense of their abiding strength, the firm hold from which they’d reached their tentacles across Europe, stopping only at the gates of Vienna. Vlad Dracula’s fight against them, like that of many of his Christian compatriots, had been the struggle of a David against a Goliath, with far less success than David achieved. On the other hand, the efforts of minor nobility across Eastern Europe and the Balkans, not only in Wallachia but also in Hungary, Greece, and Bulgaria, to name only a few countries, had eventually routed the Ottoman occupation. All of this Helen had succeeded in transferring to my brain, and it left me, on reflection, with a certain perverse admiration for Dracula. He must have known that his defiance of the Turkish forces was doomed in the short term, and yet he had struggled for most of his life to rid his territories of the invaders.
“‘That was actually the second time the Turks occupied this region.’ Helen sipped her coffee and set it down with a sigh of satisfaction, as if it tasted better to her here than anywhere in the world. ‘János Hunyadi overcame them at Belgrade in 1456. He is one of our great heroes, with King István and King Matthias Corvinus, who built the new castle and the library I told you about. When you hear the church bells ringing all over the city at noon tomorrow, you can remember it is for Hunyadi’s victory centuries ago. They are still rung for him every day.’
“‘Hunyadi,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I think you mentioned him the other night. And did you say his victory was in 1456?’
“We looked at each other; any date that fell within Dracula’s lifetime had become a sort of signal between us. ‘He was in Wallachia at the time,’ said Helen in a low voice. I knew she didn’t mean Hunyadi, because we had also made a silent pact not to mention Dracula’s name in public.
“Aunt Éva was too sharp to be put off by our silence, or by a mere language barrier. ‘Hunyadi?’ she asked, and added something in Hungarian.
“‘My aunt wants to know if you have a special interest in the period when Hunyadi lived,’ Helen explained.
“I wasn’t sure what to say, so I answered that I found all of European history interesting. This lame remark won me a subtle look, almost a frown, from Aunt Éva, and I hastened to distract her. ‘Please ask Mrs. Orbán if I could put some questions to her myself.’
“‘Of course.’ Helen’s smile seemed to take in both my request and my motive. When she translated for her aunt, Mrs. Orbán turned to me with a gracious wariness.
“‘I was wondering,’ I said, ‘if what we hear in the West about Hungary ’s current liberalism is true.’
“This time Helen’s face registered wariness, too, and I thought I might get one of her famous kicks under the table, but her aunt was already nodding and beckoning her to translate. When Aunt Éva understood, she dropped an indulgent smile on me, and her answer was gentle. ‘Here in Hungary, we have always valued our way of life, our independence. That is why the periods of Ottoman and Austrian rule were so difficult for us. The true government of Hungary has always progressively served the needs of its people. When our revolution brought workers out of oppression and poverty, we were asserting our own way of doing things.’ Her smile deepened, and I wished I could read it better. ‘The Hungarian Communist Party is always in tune with the times.’
“‘So you feel Hungary is flourishing under the government of Imre Nagy?’ Since I’d entered the city, I’d been wondering what changes the administration of Hungary ’s new and surprisingly liberal prime minister had brought to the country when he’d replaced the hard-line communist prime minister Rákosi the year before, and whether he enjoyed all the popular support we read about in newspapers at home. Helen translated a little nervously, I thought, but Aunt Éva’s smile was steady.
“‘I see you know your current events, young man.’
“‘I’ve always been interested in foreign relations. It’s my belief that the study of history should be our preparation for understanding the present, rather than an escape from it.’
“‘Very wise. Well, then, to satisfy your curiosity-Nagy enjoys great popularity among our people and is carrying out reforms in line with our glorious history.’
“It took me a minute to realize that Aunt Éva was carefully saying nothing, and another minute to reflect on the diplomatic strategy that had allowed her to keep her position in the government throughout the ebb and flow of Soviet-controlled policy and pro-Hungarian reforms. Whatever her personal opinion of Nagy, he now controlled the government that employed her. Perhaps it was the very openness he had created in Budapest that made it possible for her-a high-ranking government official-to take an American out to dinner. The gleam in her fine dark eyes could have been approval, though I wasn’t sure, and as it later turned out, my guess was correct.
“‘And now, my friend, we must allow you to get some sleep before your big lecture. I am looking forward to it and I will let you know afterward what I think of it,’ Helen translated. Aunt Éva gave me a hospitable nod, and I couldn’t help smiling back. The waiter appeared at her elbow as if he had heard her; I made a feeble attempt to request the check, although I had no idea what the proper etiquette was or even if I’d changed enough money at the airport to pay for all those fine dishes. If there had ever been a bill, however, it vanished before I saw it and was paid invisibly. I held Aunt Éva’s jacket for her in the cloakroom, vying with the maître d‘ for it, and we sailed back into the waiting car.
“At the foot of that splendid bridge, Éva murmured a few words that made her chauffeur stop the car. We got out and stood looking across at the glow of Pest and down into the rippling dark water. The wind had turned a little cool, sharp against my face after the balmy air of Istanbul, and I had a sense of the vastness of Central Europe ’s plains just over the horizon. The scene before us was the kind of sight I had wanted all my life to see; I could hardly believe I was standing there looking over the lights of Budapest.
“Aunt Éva said something in a low voice, and Helen translated softly. ‘Our city will always be a great one.’ Later I remembered that line vividly. It came back to me almost two years after this, when I learned how deep Éva Orbán’s commitment to the new reform government had actually been: her two grown sons were killed in a public square by Soviet tanks during the uprising of the Hungarian students in 1956, and Éva herself fled to northern Yugoslavia, where she disappeared into villages with fifteen thousand other Hungarian refugees from the Russian puppet state. Helen wrote to her many times, insisting that she allow us to try to bring her to the United States, but Éva refused even to apply for emigration. I tried again a few years ago to find some trace of her, without success. When I lost Helen, I lost touch with Aunt Éva, too.”