Inadvertently Entangled: Day 7

Word Count: 42,024

Summary of Events:

The following day, Pierson was taken on a tour of Budapest by Mr. Nyilas, before being taken to a meeting of Hungarians who were committed to helping Hungarian Jews escape Hungary, where Pierson saw the beautiful young woman from the Swedish Embassy again, along with an even more beautiful young woman whose name he was unable to learn. Following the meeting, Pierson and Mr. Nyilas were given a ride home by Árpád, who'd also driven them to the meeting…

Excerpt of the Day:

“How many Jews are left in Hungary?” Pierson asked as Árpád drew away from the curb.

“I can’t say for all of Hungary, but for Budapest our estimates are over one hundred thousand,” Mr. Nyilas replied.

Pierson raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “Not all of them are native-born, as some actually fled to Hungary from other German-occupied territories.”

“But Hungary is an ally of Germany,” Pierson said. “Why would Jews be coming to Hungary?”

“Because even though Hungary has enacted repressive laws against Jews, they’ve not conducted any pogroms against them,” Mr. Nyilas replied.

“What are their laws?” Pierson asked.

“The First Jewish Law was passed five years ago, and restricted the number of Jews in commercial enterprises, the press, medicine, engineering, and law to twenty percent,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “The Second Jewish Law, passed nearly a year later, defined Jews as individuals with as few as two Jewish-born grandparents. The Third Jewish Law, enacted two years ago, prohibited intermarriage and penalised intimacy between Jews and nonJews.”

Pierson nodded.

“Prime Minister Kállay and Regent Horthy are resistant to German pressures to allow the deportation of Hungarian Jews to their facilities in Poland so far,” Mr. Nyilas added. “Which is heartening, except when it comes to wondering how long they’ll be able to hold out, especially seeing as they’re without an army.”

Part of Pierson wanted to stare at Mr. Nyilas like he had an extra head. Why were the Hungarians allies of Germany if they didn’t agree with the policy of Jewish elimination Uncle Ashford, in particular, had been almost adamant was a core policy of the Nazi regime?

“You don’t have confidence they will be able to hold out?” Pierson asked, even though that wasn’t the question on the forefront of his mind.

“They have no army,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “How can they?”

“Considering how much other fighting Germany has to do everywhere else, do you really think they would have the men to spare to go after their own allies?” Pierson asked.

“If their territory continues shrinking the possibility exists,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “And, like I said earlier, Hungary is technically the biggest ally they have left, even if it has no real army, outside of Japan, who are rather busy out in the Pacific, and can’t really spare anyone to help here, and I don’t know that Germany would really be all that inclined to try and sustain this war on their own. In fact, I don’t think they can.”

“You mean to say that you think Germany’s position is slipping?” Pierson asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “The Allies are gaining traction and the Germans are losing their footing. I don’t think the end of the war is by any means imminent, but I certainly do think that it’s nearer on the horizon than it may’ve once looked, and with an outcome more hopeful than once had seemed possible. At least, when it comes to Europe, I can’t say about the Pacific, I don’t hear much about it here.”

Pronunciations:

Kállay: kahlay

Horthy: hohrtee

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 6

Word Count: 36,011

Summary of Events:

Once the taxi driver and his friend had succeeded in losing one another deliberately, the taxi driver took Pierson first to meet with a Hungarian man who didn't seem to trust Pierson, and then to the Swedish Embassy, as Pierson had emptied his pockets for the Hungarian man they'd met, revealing he had a Swedish passport under a false name, where Pierson was barely able to get the name of the pretty young woman who helped them, before finally taking Pierson to the apartment of a man who was fluent in English and Hungarian, who questioned Pierson and asked to see the birthmarks on Pierson's hip before addressing the taxi driver in Hungarian…

Excerpt of the Day:

The driver seemed quite pleased by what the man was telling him, and after a few minutes the two men shook hands and the driver rose, putting on his cap. The man rose as well and the two walked to the door. Pierson got to his feet and took up his coat.

“Jó éjszakát!” the driver said cheerily, waving at Pierson in the open doorway before the man closed the door after him and put the chain in place, as well as locking the door.

Pierson felt a bit bemused at his having been left behind, and he felt a bit wary of the man, if he was honest, although the man smiled at him easily, his gaze rather warm and disarming.

“My name is Constantine Nyilas,” the man said. “I’m with Broadway.”

Although he felt very confused, Pierson nodded. Broadway was New York, and the world’s, most famous theatre district. How was that supposed to be reassuring?

“I got a message from Kraków that you’d disappeared near a train heading to Budapest and to be on the lookout for you,” Mr. Nyilas said. “I was even at the station looking, but I must’ve missed you. Thankfully you found Árpád, otherwise I’d have gone back to the station tomorrow.”

For some reason, Pierson felt relieved.

“What happened that you ended up getting on the train to Budapest?” Mr. Nyilas asked.

“I’d been instructed to take a taxi to a rendezvous that would take me to the airfield so I could fly to Sweden,” Pierson replied — not that he was sure why he was telling this man the full details. “But we were stopped by the SS, and even though they let us through, a car followed us, and we couldn’t shake it, so I was dropped off at the train station to try and fool them, but a man followed me into the station. Because the platform wasn’t busy, I decided to board the train to make him think I meant to take it, but before I could get off the train it started in motion, and because I wasn’t expecting it to, I hit my head and got too dizzy to risk jumping, so I stayed on the train. I’d like to get back to Kraków, and just wanted him to take me to a hotel, but for some reason I needed to accompany him on his errands around Budapest and now he’s left me with you.”

“You don’t think a colleague would let you stay in his flat if he has two bedrooms?” Mr. Nyilas asked.

Pierson felt confused. Colleague? How was Mr. Nyilas his colleague when Mr. Nyilas was a theatre actor?

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Pierson said, despite his confusion.

“It’s no imposition,” Mr. Nyilas said. “Besides, I would need to wireless Kraków and let them know you’re here, and then we can discuss what should be done.”

“Well, I’m going to go back to Kraków,” Pierson said.

“It might not be wise, especially if you were followed,” Mr. Nyilas said. “It might be better to get you to Switzerland, or Spain, or Italy, maybe even Egypt.”

“I guess so,” Pierson conceded.

Pronunciations:

Jó: yoh

Éjszakát: aesahkaht

Nyilas: naelahs

Árpád: ahrpahd

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 5

Word Count: 27,045

Summary of Events:

Pierson was able to stay on the train by finding an unused ticket from Gdańsk to Warsaw in his coat pocket for the conductor to punch, who didn't notice the incorrect locations, before managing to sleep in his seat on the train. The next day Pierson determined that the train was travelling south and mused on what he should do about that fact, as well as on his lack of hunger despite how long he'd been awake without eating, and also on how boring riding a train was. Eventually the train stopped at a major city — where Pierson hoped he could find a currency exchange office so that he could change his money and buy a ticket back to Kraków after spending a night in a hotel — and approached a taxi driver just to ask directions, as he was unfamiliar with where he was and what language was spoken there, but the driver insisted he get in the taxi, and when Pierson saw the man he was afraid of exiting the station, he was grateful that he'd conceded…

Excerpt of the Day:

Hardly had Pierson closed the door before the driver pulled away from the curb and accelerated quickly, not unlike the time Pierson had been in New York to visit one of Mom’s cousins, whose daughter had implored Pierson to go on a taxi tour of New York with her, which had been a harrowing experience of he’d ever had one.

He watched the man he was afraid of as the car pulled away and saw the man rush to a taxi, pointing forcefully as he spoke to the driver. He was ordering the driver to follow them, which the taxi soon did.

“Take me on a tour of… wherever we are,” Pierson said.

“You not know where you are?” the driver asked.

“No,” Pierson replied.

“You are in Budapest,” the driver replied. “You never visit Budapest before?”

“No,” Pierson replied. “No, I haven’t.”

“But why you want tour of Budapest when so late?” the driver asked.

“Well, um, just… I think… we’re being followed,” Pierson replied.

“Ah, yes, I notice,” the driver replied.

Pierson startled. Maybe this driver wasn’t the novice he’d supposed.

“You want us to lose them?” the driver asked.

“That would be appreciated, yes,” Pierson replied.

Pierson startled when the driver — instead of accelerating and turning sharply as he’d expected — suddenly braked sharply three times, almost pitching him into the front seat of the car, and making his wrist feel a little shot of pain again as he put out his hands to keep from smashing his face into anything.

The fourth time the driver braked gently, coming nearly to a full stop before carrying on.

“Who taught you how to drive!?” Pierson exclaimed.

The driver laughed, which made Pierson feel even more indignant. “I just signal my friend who driving taxi behind us so he know he supposed to lose us.”
“Oh,” Pierson said. “Couldn’t you maybe give those signals a bit more gently? I just got a bad whack on the head recently, and I don’t really want to suffer another one.”

“Oh, I am sorry,” the driver said. “What happened?”

Pierson hesitated. He wasn’t sure what he should — or could — tell the driver about what had happened. He should be able to make it vague enough.

“Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve been followed lately,” Pierson replied. “And last time I was being followed I ended up getting into an accident that caused me to hit my head.”

“You be followed often,” the driver said.

“Yes, I have something of a penchant for being followed,” Pierson agreed.

“Penchant?” the driver asked.

“Yes,” Pierson replied. “It’s something that happens often, almost as if I like it, except that I don’t.”

“Ah,” the driver said.

Since the driver had resumed a consistent forward motion — and had even accelerated beyond the speed he’d been travelling before — Pierson relaxed against the back of the seat, hoping that the driver, with the help of his friend in the taxi behind, would soon help the man he was afraid of to lose track of him so that he could exchange his currency, find a hotel, and get some sleep.

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 4

Word Count: 23,018

Summary of Events:

Pierson left for the taxi stand he was told to go to and found the taxi he was supposed to. On their way to the next stop in his journey to the airfield, the taxi was stopped by SS officers, among whom Pierson saw a man in civilian clothes that he, for some reason, felt very afraid of, even though he had no idea who the man was. Once they left the SS men behind the taxi driver observed they were being followed and tried in vain to shake the follower, eventually telling Pierson to go into the train station and follow a set of instructions to try and give the follower the slip. Unfortunately, as Pierson was waiting on a platform as instructed, the man he was afraid of appeared, and seemed to be watching him, prompting Pierson to board the train, where he chose to advance through the cars toward the rear of the train before he'd get off further up the platform, and hopefully out of the man's sight…

Excerpt of the Day:

Checking quickly over his shoulder to ensure he couldn’t see the man he was afraid of so that the man wouldn’t be able to see him, Pierson opened the door and entered the train car, walking down the aisle that divided the two rows of two-person seats, forcing himself to do so somewhat meanderingly, as if he was looking for a seat that suited him when he was just using the train as a covered escape route.

Exiting at the rear of the car, Pierson once again crossed at the coupling and checked to be sure that the man he was afraid of wouldn’t be able to see him before passing through the next car in the same fashion as the first. He moved straight into the third car without checking over his shoulder, as he was pretty sure the only way the man he was afraid of could see him now would be if he got up and walked along the platform, meaning he ought to be able to descend the stairs at the car’s rear ‘balcony’ — or whatever it was called — and head for the ticket desk.

The train whistle blew just as Pierson stepped into the third car, and before he’d reached the end of it he heard a decent amount of noise. He didn’t want to hurry down the car, lest people realise he didn’t mean to stay on the train, but he wasn’t sure he liked what he was hearing.

Just as he reached the back door of the car, it jerked suddenly and Pierson, unready for the jerk, slammed into the door heavily, which caused him to drop to his seat on the floor, his head spinning worse than it had in days.

Moaning, Pierson could feel the sensation of motion. If he wanted to get off the train he’d have to jump from it, but with his head spinning faster than the tire of a car attempting a land speed record rotated, Pierson was sure that would only end badly.

He’d have to ride the train until its next stop and then find his way back to Kraków from there, or something, unless it was heading north, as then maybe he could sneak on a boat to Sweden and get out of the country that way. He felt badly for Clem and Arek, though, as he was sure they’d be waiting for him, and then be worried about what happened to him.

Having suddenly thought of something, Pierson fought against the dizziness to find something solid to grab onto as the train continued rather slowly edging forward. He hauled himself to his feet and clung desperately to the rearmost seats of the car he was in, onto which he managed to seat himself despite his spinning head.

He looked out the window, not that the motion helped his dizziness, seeking desperately for any sign of the man he was afraid of, in the hopes that he’d given that man the slip, but he saw no sign of the man on any of the benches, all of which he had a respectable amount of time to look at as they eased by. It appeared that the man had gotten onto the train too.

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 3

Word Count: 18,096

Summary of Events:

Clem and Arek came by and confirmed Pierson's identity by a cluster of birthmarks on his hip that he didn't recall having ever possessed before, and everyone living in the house welcomed him warmly based on their testimony; in fact, a young woman staying at the house even seemed to be developing a crush on Pierson, which left him a bit concerned, as he knew for a fact Uncle Ashford had never married. Clem and Arek informed him before long of a plan for him to fly out of Poland to Sweden, from where he'd either be reassigned or return to England. As he was preparing to depart for that flight, he was startled by a knock at the door…

Excerpt of the Day:

The door opened a small crack and the youngest of the boys — whom Pierson had, by this time, gathered was Mrs. Lis’ youngest child — peeked in.

“Is it suppertime?” Pierson asked.

“No,” the boy replied, slipping inside and closing the door quietly behind him.

“Then what brings you here?” Pierson asked.

“I wanted to know if you’re a spy,” the boy replied.

“Do you think I am?” Pierson asked.

“Well, you’re from England,” the boy replied. “And you keep having secret meetings with Clem and Arek.”

“You’re very observant,” Pierson said.

“I want to be a spy,” the boy replied. “I want to help defeat the Germans and send them back to Germany.”

Pierson nodded. “How old are you?”

“Nine,” the boy replied. “But I’ll be ten in December.”

“My birthday’s in December too,” Pierson said. “The day before Christmas Eve.”

“Mine is on St. Nicholas’ Day,” the boy replied.

Pierson nodded, even though he had no idea when that was, or if that was Polish slang for Christmas, but he doubted it was.

“You’d have to wait eight years yet to become old enough to be a spy or a soldier,” Pierson said. “Surely you don’t want the war to last that long?”

“No,” the boy admitted. “But I do want to become a spy.”

“Do you think we’ll need spies after the war?” Pierson asked.

“Well, maybe there will be another war,” the boy replied.

“I hope not,” Pierson replied. “Two large-scale conflicts in the span of thirty years is too much as it is.”
“Were you in the other war?” the boy asked.

“No,” Pierson replied. “I was born after it finished. But my father was in it, and my uncles. Three of my uncles died in it, and one of them left a wife and children behind, and one of his sons has done the same in this war.”

“You mean, he’s died and left a wife and children?” the boy asked.

Pierson nodded. Uncle Ashford hadn’t really shared a lot of stories about what had happened to his relatives, but he had at least shared the stories of each one who’d become a casualty of war once, as well as usually listing off all their names as specific people that the family should remember on Remembrance Day, as they were people for whom the day had been created.

“Does there always have to be a war to be spies?” the boy asked.

“Not necessarily,” Pierson admitted. “But there are more spies in wartime than there are in peacetime, which would make it easier for you to get a job, but war is a horrible and gruesome thing that no one should ever wish for.”

The boy nodded. “So are you a spy?”

“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” Pierson said. “But, if we ever meet again, I might tell you the answer.”

“Do you think we will meet again?” the boy asked.

“I can’t say for sure,” Pierson replied.

“I hope we do,” the boy said. “I like you.”

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 2

Word Count: 12,034

Summary of Events:

Pierson was taken by the man with the moustache and the slim man — whose names he learned were Clem and Arek, respectively — to a house, where they told him he'd be staying until they could determine how to get him out of Poland. Having slept alone in a basement room for the night, it wasn't until the following morning that Pierson discovered the woman whose home he was staying in was also hosting two Jewish families when he was invited to join the household for breakfast…

Excerpt of the Day:

As the food was passed around, conversation started, but it continued to be in the same language, which Pierson was supposing to be Yiddish or Hebrew, as it didn’t sound like the Polish he’d spoken the evening before.

The man who’d offered the prayer made eye contact with Pierson as Pierson passed a dish on and spoke in the language. Pierson was sure the man expected him to understand and reply, but he had no idea what had been said to him.

An understanding look came over the man’s face. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

The man thought he was afraid to speak.

“I don’t know what you said,” Pierson replied. “I don’t know that language.”

Everyone around the table — including the woman he recognised — startled, and many immediately looked alarmed, while the men and boys looked suspicious and defensive.

“What languages do you know?” the man demanded.

“English… and Polish,” Pierson replied. He was pretty sure those were the only two languages Uncle Ashford had known.

A scan of the faces around the table made it clear that no one was really all that inclined to believe him, including the woman he recognised and was presuming to be the hostess.

They probably all thought he was some sort of German traitor — not that he’d ever met a German with rich auburn hair such as he’d verified was still on his head in the bathroom — so telling them he was a Canadian from the 21^st century wouldn’t do him any good, and he didn’t recall Uncle Ashford sharing any stories about being accidentally mistaken as a Jew by Jews.

“There is nothing to worry about, as you said,” Pierson said — not that he was sure why, but he forced himself to look calm. “Even though I am not of your people, I am an ally and am here in an effort to help you. I care deeply for you, and am sympathetic to your plight, but, unfortunately, my ability to help you has been compromised and my life has become as imperilled as your own, thus I am here with you instead of out doing the work to help you that I would like to do. Do trust me, please. I am a friend of Clem and Arek, and they will vouch for my identity, I can assure you.”

“They’d better,” the man who’d prayed warned before taking up his utensils and starting to eat.

Everyone around the table followed the man’s lead, although Pierson could tell they were all massively suspicious of him, including his presumed hostess, who looked rather flustered.

Pierson felt badly, but nonetheless followed the lead of those with him and started eating the breakfast, which had what he felt was an appropriately Eastern European flavour to it, not that he was sure how he knew what an Eastern European flavour was, as he was rather used to North American, Hispanic, Asian, and Italian cuisines. He wasn’t even sure that he’d ever seen an Eastern European restaurant anywhere that could possibly have given him the opportunity to try Eastern European food.

Pronunciation:

Arek: ahrehk

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 1

Word Count: 6,068

Summary of Events:

Waking up, Pierson finds himself in a very old-fashioned hospital room. He soon comes to realise that somehow he's in 1943, living the experiences of his great uncle, who was hospitalised in Kraków after running away from an SS roadblock and getting into an accident, following which his car was shot up and burned by the Germans, while he was rescued by the Polish resistance and taken to the hospital. Two men whom he presumes are associates of his tell him most of the information, as even though he nearly knows his great uncle's stories by heart, he finds some parts of them hard to remember — but not as hard to remember as what happened to him in the real world that got him into the past. When it comes time for him to be released from the hospital, the men bring him fresh clothes and Pierson suffers a nearly nauseating dizzy spell when he sits up to put them on…

Excerpt of the Day:

“Maybe move a little bit more gingerly next time,” the man with the moustache said, a sympathetic and rather paternal smile on his face.

The man with the moustache helped Pierson remove the long nightshirt he’d been wearing and start dressing in his clothes, except they weren’t his clothes.

Nothing had elastics in it — not even his underwear — and the shirt, pants, and suit jacket were all even more fitted than he usually wore, and he did prefer his suits to be on the more fitted side when he had to wear them.

In fact, his socks were held on with garters which felt beyond weird against his legs, and he was glad the man with the moustache had put them on so he wouldn’t have to bend over and suffer the lurching throes of dizziness again, as he had no idea how to put them on or attach his socks, but he felt absolutely ridiculous, and he wished that elastic had been invented by 1943, as he didn’t know how he was supposed to dress himself if he had to stay in 1943 much longer.

Once his shoes were on — having been tied by the man with the moustache — he was then slowly eased to his feet by the man with the moustache, for which he was grateful, as a second wave of dizziness came over him whose severity he was confident the slow and gradual nature of the action had mitigated.

The slim man then lifted the coat off his arm and he and the man with the moustache manoeuvred it around Pierson, who slid into it easily and comfortably, fastening the familiar buttons himself.

Lifting the pocket flap, he reached into the deep, roomy pocket — even for a man’s coat — expecting his fingers to make contact with his cellphone, but he felt nothing remotely like the slim-but-sturdy case of his phone, or its sleek screen.

A check of his right pocket yielded the same. But this was his coat! He knew this coat inside and out. This was the coat he’d taken from Uncle Ashford’s effects when the family had gone through Uncle Ashford’s stuff after the stuff he’d specifically willed to people had been dispensed. His cellphone and his wallet, for sure, ought to be in the pockets, but neither were present. What had happened to them? Who’d stolen them?
“I’ll go warm the car,” the slim man said.

The man with the moustache nodded and Pierson watched him go. As soon as he’d recognised the coat he’d been confident he’d find what he needed to prove that he wasn’t Uncle Ashford, but those items had been removed, and he felt horribly disheartened.

“Once he’s warmed the car up a few minutes we’ll go out and join him,” the man with the moustache said.

“Right,” Pierson said. How was he supposed to figure out what was going on and get himself back to the present without his cellphone?