Midnight Train to Prague - Carol Windley Page 0,120

with Alena. Natalia loved Alena; she was a graceful child, her smile was heart-melting, and every time Natalia looked at her, she saw her son, Krisztián, beside her.

Miklós had a setback; the fever returned, he woke drenched in sweat, he coughed up blood. Natalia, terrified, sent for Dr. Imre. He told her that her husband had pulmonary tuberculosis. Your husband needs immediate treatment, the doctor said. Complete rest, three meals a day, sunshine and fresh air.

“Are you all right?” the doctor asked her. She said she felt a little faint. She didn’t know what was wrong with her; she was tired all the time. He insisted on examining her. He took blood and urine samples. When he came back to the castle, he said she was anemic. He gave her a bottle of iron pills. Then he told her that fatigue was not an uncommon symptom of pregnancy. “You didn’t know?” he said.

How was she to know? Natalia thought. Nothing was regular with her body, not after the camps, being starved, being sick with typhus. Like most doctors, she thought, he believed every symptom a woman had indicated pregnancy. How could she look after a child? And a sick husband. And a sick mother-in-law. And she wasn’t young anymore.

* * *

In Budapest, Natalia walked around the streets near the hospital where Miklós had been admitted for tests. When she saw Russian soldiers, she tried to avoid them. She had heard how, during and after the siege, they had committed acts of brutality and rape, as they had in Berlin. She didn’t know where Max Nagy lived in Budapest or even if he had been alive in 1944 or how he could have survived. When she was in a shop or at a café or at the hospital, she would ask people if they knew Max Nagy. Some people did know a Max Nagy but not the one she was looking for.

At the hospital she sat in a waiting room furnished with three straight-backed chairs and a small statue of the Virgin Mary on a table. Miklós came in and took her hand and pulled her up, out of the chair, and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.” On their way to the car, he saw a stationery store that was open, and they went in, so that Miklós could choose a new fountain pen. It took a long time. He compared the filling mechanisms of various pens and considered the merits of iridium nibs over gold nibs. The store’s proprietor offered his opinion, and Miklós said his wife would make the decision. “Why?” she said laughing. “Go on, you pick,” Miklós said. Natalia decided on a dark blue Pelikan fountain pen with a fourteen-karat-gold nib. It looked like a jewel; it looked like the most civilized thing in the world. It came in a silver and gold box. They left the store. They were optimistic, suddenly, about Miklós’s health. Surely, after all they’d been through, they deserved good news.

When they got back to the castle, they sat in the car for a few minutes, dazed, exhausted. Should it be now? Natalia thought. How much longer could she keep such a secret? Dr. Imre had not been wrong when he’d told her she was pregnant. She started to open the car door. “What is it?” Miklós said. “It can wait,” she said. “No, tell me,” he said. She closed the door. She told him.

He didn’t say anything for a long time. He stared out the cracked windshield. Then he asked her when this would be. In the fall, she said. November, maybe late October.

“How long have you known?”

“I didn’t know. I was tired, I wanted to sleep all the time.”

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know what to say.” He kissed her. “This changes things, doesn’t it,” he said.

* * *

Perhaps, Miklós said later, he should think about doing what the doctor advised. “Good,” Natalia said. “I think you’re right.” But she was afraid too. Still, she telephoned Dr. Imre, and he arranged with the doctors in Budapest for Miklós to begin treatment. The specialist was Dr. Ferenczi. He ordered more tests, more X-rays. He talked with Miklós and Natalia in his office. He wanted to know everything: when the cough had begun and when the fever had started. He wrote and then placed his pen on the desk. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and at length gave his opinion, which did not, to Natalia, sound