One Sandwich

Day One
He walked briskly from the subway looking around at the signs to the various exits as he walked to make sure he was taking the right one. The wrong exit would cost him an extra five minute walk that he did not have. Riding up the escalator, Scott Ellsworth examined the advertisements. Gone were the old posters showing off strip clubs, now low cost clothing from the latest Western European mega-store which had recently opened to feed the buying frenzy that this flowering capitalist economy was producing. At the top of the escalator he was stopped briefly by the ticket checkers, he thought it odd here at the western train station stop, but they just looked at the ticket and looked away to the next person. He walked rapidly through the crowd, looking left and right at the peddlers of cheap luggage, CDs clothes and food, he stops abruptly to appear to look through the CDs while he actually looked around to take in the people moving by him. If he were picked up, it would be here. Moving on he sees that the 1505 fast train to Szeged leaves in ten minutes. He hurries to the ticket counter but the lines are so long he decides to go straight to the train and buy a ticket from the conductor, there would be a penalty but that would be a small price to catch this train and be on his way. Soon, Scott had settled into his favorite spot for the two and a half hour ride south, a table in the dining car next to the window, this three o’ five train would afford him a view of sunset over the Hungarian plain since the sun set early on this late November afternoon. He tried to call his friend Laszlo but there was no answer. He noted his minutes available and made a mental note to buy more minutes the next day. He bought his ticket from the conductor and had begun to sip a cappuccino, an early dinner had been ordered. He had stopped eating airplane food some time ago and was hungry since his breakfast in London. As he considered the tasks ahead of him this weekend; He looked out the window and began to pray. “Oh God, let us be of use to help those troubled people in the south...”
The path of the railroad comes into Szeged from the north but not directly into the city. It comes in 5 km to the west as though it were going to bypass the city altogether and then makes a 180 degree curve eastward and then northward into the city. As the train makes this long left turn one can see several views of the city, from the newest housing estates (which all his fiends called ‘commie condos’) to the oldest part of the city that dates back to the 13th century. The curve’s southernmost point is a mere 3 km from the Serbian frontier; near there is a “lorry piggy back” station. Long distance trucks, mostly heading north from Bulgaria and Romania sit here for customs checks. The drivers could always be seen in the one passenger car of the train. In the summer they leaned out the windows waiting for the train to be cleared, but in the dark of this late afternoon the brightly lit rail yard was filled with empty trains, the lorry traffic had dried up. In ’99 the bridge destruction caused by NATO had closed the Danube to barge traffic and now with several Yugoslav borders closed, truck traffic had dried up as well. As Scott took all this in, he noticed much larger numbers of border police patrolling. The old timers in Szeged remembered how the city was neglected during the Soviet era. Stalin and Tito had fallen out and the Hungarian Communist Party had not put much effort into Szeged, being on the border, it would not take long for determined Yugoslav forces to take over. So now they remembered those days, days with much frontier guarding but not much border confidence. Now it was different, as a member of NATO, Hungary had some assurances of its security. The people south of the border knew this and all that could have moved north into what they hoped was safety, Szeged.
The train arrived right on time at 17:37. From the window, he saw the platform was, as usual, full of people eagerly awaiting loved ones arriving in the early evening. He gathered his belongings and slowly made his way to the door. He thanked the waitress, she had waited on him many times the last couple of years, though there was little communication, there was the small degree of comfort in the recognition of a familiar face. He wished her well by using the native phrase 'cho-ko-lom' which means “I kiss your hand.” As he stepped off the train he noticed the presence of armed policemen patrolling the platforms. “This is certainly new.” He thought as he made his way through the crowds of reunited families.
There would be no rooms available in town. Ever since the independence of Montenegro from the Serbia, some leaders in the northern-most province of Vojvodina with its now slight majority of ethnic Hungarians had made lots of noise about independence from Serbia. Many, fearing military retribution from the Serbs, had locked up their homes and fled persecution from the Serb government into a wary Hungary. Many had taken up lodging in the few hotels in Szeged’s newly invigorated downtown. Other’s lived with friends. Others found safety in homes opened by Christians. This is why the streets were full. He had not had time to call his friend Sergei. Now he wondered where he would stay. So to the city center he would travel, finding what he could. So he left his bag in the ‘baggage room’ and went to the tram stop.
The tram was packed as full as sardines; this was the norm when a train from Budapest arrived. Immediately, he saw a checker asking for tickets. “Odd,” he thought “these guys are usually at home by now and certainly not at this end of the line. The number one tram connected Szeged’s two train stations, the main station and the small one used mostly for commuting and local traffic near the American style mall with the multi-plex cinema. Things had certainly changed in the years since the dissolving of the Warsaw Pact of nations, the Soviet Union’s western border countries that it controlled and used as a buffer against NATO. The crowd on the tram thinned out as it made its way into the city center. At the main square he got off and called Sergei, still no answer. “Well,” he thought to himself, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get some dessert and coffee.” He walked through the central park to the Vienna Café.
The last time he had been to the café it was the middle of winter and the place was packed, but the atmosphere was dark, smoky and noisy, just the kind of place where he could blend in for an hour. Sipping his cappuccino, his mobile began to ring. “Curious, no one knows I’m on this side of the Atlantic, who would be calling me?” he pondered. “Halo” he answered, copying the eastern European style of answering the phone.
“Scott?” The female voice seemed surprised.
“Yes, who’s this?” he asked not recognizing the voice.
“Never mind that, we’ve been waiting for you since you landed, are you ready to head south?”
“Do you have the Cubans?” he asked, sticking to the security protocol.
“Yes, they are in a bag with the Tokaji” it was the correct response.
“Okay, then I’ll be glad to light one up.”
He looked around the café and then out the window and saw her looking at him from the corner.
“Meet me at the number one stop at ‘Anna’ fountain at 7:05”
“Understood” and he hung up.
Watching that she hung up and went in the direction of the agreed upon place, he hadn’t recognized her but prepared to go. Since the trouble in the south, lots of new faces were to be seen. Looking at his watch, he realized that he had 25 minutes to spare. Finishing his coffee, he paid the waitress and left. He walked out of the café in the opposite direction of the agreed upon stop. He decided to walk several blocks out of the way just in case someone else had discovered his arrival.
At this time of the evening in winter there were few people on the streets, so he decided to walk through the main street where there we more people to be seen with. He would risk being recognized by one of his many contacts here. But it was worth the risk to avoid being the only person on the street. His roundabout path gave him a chance to look over the city he had spent so much time in.
Several years earlier the work had expanded into Serbia. Helping kids learn English and showing them that it was indeed cool to follow Jesus was the mission. They had had limited success. As he neared the fountain, he saw her again, at the far end of the platform. In the distance he could see the tram approaching. He picked up the pace to get to the platform just as the tram arrived. When he saw her get on the back car, he boarded the front car. He checked his phone; he had received an ‘SMS’. It read ‘get off at the main station, collect your bag and walk to the monastery.’ He instinctively looked around, there was no one watching him, in fact the only people on the tram were a group of teenage boys bothering three girls. From their dress, it was obvious that they were headed for one of the clubs that most of the kids hung out in at night. He could see her in the back car but at Hero’s gate she got off and walked toward the university. He sat still.
At the train station he collected his bag and immediately noticed that it was bulkier and heavier. “Sergei” He thought. One block down the street, he looked inside, there was a new travel kit in it. He opened an envelope and found three 4500 forint phone cards inside, Sergei had gotten the email and taken care of things, he turned on the phone and began to recharge it; the last card was complete and he finished his walk to the monastery. Scott mused on how fast everything was happening. At the monastery he just walked around a bit. He noticed that two of the big spotlights were out. It was beginning to get colder, a breeze from the north bit at his bare face and uncovered head. He looked in his bag and found a stocking cap.
“I wouldn’t wear that if I were you.” A British accent was cautioning him.
Scott turned to see who was making the comment.
“Well, it’s getting a bit too cold to go bear headed, wouldn’t you say.”
“Yes,” the stranger said, “but in the south, you will look like a security officer and that will not breed trust among the people you want to help.”
“Point made and acknowledged.” Scott replied, “Thanks for the tip, I haven’t had the pleasure,” extending his hand.
“Marton Reves, Scott, I’m glad to meet you”
“Good to meet you Clive, do you have information on the ride south?”
“Yes, I’m going to drive you, why don’t come with me?”
They walked away from the monastery to the car park. They got in a Kia that was pretty beat up.
“Sorry for the condition of the ride, but we need to blend in where we are going. It doesn’t look like much, but its in top running condition. We never know when we will have to move fast.”
“Fine, we’ll stop at the bank and get the first withdrawal taken care of here, then the others in the morning in Novi Sad. This will really be of great help to the refugee workers in the south.”
After they made the transactions at six different banks, they drove across the old bridge across the river Tizsa and took the road to Mako.
“Do you mind if I take a bit of a nap? I’ve been up quite awhile, you know, can’t sleep on those flights very well.”
“Go right ahead, the border crossing we are using is a half hour from here.
“Will this run smooth?”
“No problem, it’s a little used country crossing that is manned at night by a Serb guard who is a good friend, he will not require us to line his pocket nor will he inspect the car. The Hungarian side guard is my wife’s cousin; I’ll wake you up if he needs to ask you any questions”
Scott closed his eyes and was almost immediately asleep.
____________
Scott awoke with a start, “where am I?” he thought; then as he regained his senses, he looked up and saw a sign in front of the car, the headlamps illuminated a sign in Cyrillic and Hungarian. “I’m in Serbia” he thought to himself. The car was sitting on the side of the road, he looked around, the border was in the distance behind the car, the trunk was opened, keys in the ignition, engine on, heater running, but Marton was gone.
Scott put on his coat, he noticed that his bag was open. On top was his passport, stamped, no money. “That takes care of that” he thought, He checked his money belt, all there. “Praise God” he said audibly. He got out of the car and looked in the trunk. It was full of boxes of medicines and first aid supplies. He looked at it without moving any of it and absentmindedly closed the trunk. When he did he noticed that the tag was German, “I guess that is better than Hungarian under the circumstances” he thought. He looked around at the surrounding farmland. “Pretty desolate,” he thought and then looked up into a beautiful starry sky. He thought of the Abrahamic covenant, “as many as the stars of the sky…” The three quarter moon illuminated the landscape.
Two wheels of the car were in the grass on the side of the road, the sign in front of the car read Coka 29 km. He hadn’t heard of Coka before. He was unfamiliar with this road and with this country in general. The roadway was raised some 2 meters above the farmland below on both sides. It was a narrow road, one car could pass from the other direction but without much leeway. There was only one house visible. Behind the car there was the border shack. He saw two men inside talking. He looked at his watch, two forty-five. He looked at the fuel gauge, it read three-fourths of a tank. He turned the engine off, locked the car and walked back to the border shack.
He figured from the proximity of the border guard shack that he was just a half a kilometer south of the border. When he got close to the shack he saw that one man had on a uniform and the other was in civilian clothes and was talking into a mobile phone. The uniformed man pointed to Scott and the other man turned and looked at him. It was Marton. He continued to talk on the phone; the guard came out and said, “stop here.” Marton held up his hand for Scott to wait. Presently he put the phone in his pocket and stepped to the porch. “I can’t come any further, so you must go on alone. I was going to call you and wake you. The Serbs have restricted the border even further. I do not have a letter so I cannot get a visa. Your U.S. passport is all you need; it is in your bag. I have sent SMS directions to you, I would give you a map if I had one, I’m sorry about all this.” All this perturbed Scott but it seemed there was no way Marton could have known about the change. “My wife is borrowing a car and coming to pick me up. I was going to call you before I left; I thought it wise to let you get a bit of sleep when I realized you would be doing your own driving.” Marton continued, “The car is registered to me and has German tags. A friend who owns several dealerships has contacts there and we keep it registered there. It is not a big deal really, just costs us little extra. As I told you, it is top condition; you will have no troubles. When you get to the camp they will take charge of it. I was supposed to bring a family back. Some of the money you are taking will buy visas for them. They will make arrangements for you when it is time to leave. Again, I am sorry that things have changed.” Scott began to understand that if Marton did enter illegally he might wind up in a detention camp too. As he understood the situation better he became less upset. “I understand Marton. You say the directions are in my phone?”
“Yes, I have sent you the first instructions; it is straightforward to get there.”
“Okay. Well I guess I should push off.””Good, be careful, and follow the instructions carefully. I’ll be praying for your journey.”
“When will we meet up again?”
“As soon as you return to Szeged.”
‘Whenever that might be.’ Scott thought to himself. They shook hands and Scott turned and began walking back to the car. When he arrived he started the car and looked in his bag to get the directions from his phone.
He was surprised that the sender of the message was ‘withheld’ but he knew it was be Marton. ‘Drive to Coka, trn rt. Go 2 hghwy, to Beograd, stop before city, sleep, will call in am. -Marton’ this was the typical shorthand that people who sent SMSs used with each other. But with the sender ‘withheld’ Scott did not have Marton’s number.
He looked back at the guard shack with the barricades in place blocking the road; the street lamps illuminated the area.
“Well, I guess I’ll follow orders.”
He sat in the driver’s seat and grabbed the shifter but paused. “Lord,” he prayed, “I need your wisdom and protection from both what may lie ahead and protect me from fear. ’Ye are of God, little children, and have overcome them: because greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world.’” He turned the key, the engine fired up immediately. “Marton wasn’t kidding about keeping this thing in good working order. He leaned over and checked the glove box; there was a map after all. He pulled out onto the road and began the journey.
In about fifteen minutes he entered the settlement of Coka. In the middle of town he came to an intersection, he turned right. As he drove through the settlement, he noticed many boarded up houses with no cars. Further along the houses were not boarded up had cars in front, and smoke coming from the chimneys. “I’ve driven through the Serb part of town.” He thought, recalling that Milosevic had resettled Bosnians in this region in the early nineties to give the Serbs more political sway. The only building with lights on was the city hall. “Cops playing cards” he thought, “or asleep.” He drove on through three more settlements that were much the same. Each town had a section of boarded up houses and a section of houses being lived in, one end of town had a catholic church and there were smaller orthodox churches as well. After about an hour he saw the on ramp to the highway. He pulled over before getting onto the highway to look for a map. He noticed a registration document and pulled it out. It was registered to Marton Reves and there was a letter with a stamp in Hungarian. He couldn’t read it but there was a name printed there… Scott Ellsworth. “Hmmm, when did they decide this was necessary?” he wondered.
The map was there and he looked to see that he had quite a drive ahead of him, but he knew that the road was a good one and that he could make good time. By now it was four am and he doubted if there were the normal cops on the roads. He turned onto the highway and headed south.
Day 2