the story continues

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His passport now gone, Scott stood dumbfounded wanting to do something. The border guard stared at him waiting to see what he would do next. He had a gun and looked like he would be willing to use it.
“You’d better do as he said” Barnabas said quietly to his friend. Embarrassed, Scott sat down.
“He has taken my passport, I was just going where my passport went..” Scott said in a not-so-sure tone.
“Yes, but he didn’t ask you questions and he did not look through your bag. They may just be jumpy because of the girl they took off. The best thing for us to do right now is to sit quietly and see what happens. This train isn’t going anywhere anytime soon anyway. The best thing for us to do would be to pray.” At this both men silently prayed that God would intervene into this situation and that it would work out for them.
The first guard noted the men had decided to sit quietly and the tension on his face and in his posture seemed to relax. He went on to the next passenger. Soon, he was almost through the car and would be moving on to the next car.
Scott pulled his prayer book out to read the Psalter. All his Christian life he had found comfort in the Psalms, now was a time where he needed comfort. As he read Psalm forty-six he was reminded that God is indeed his refuge. He began to calm down.
The guard left the car and went to the next car. Scott was looking out the window at the station and his mind wandered to the overnight trains that stopped at borders and the border guards got on with great noise and fanfare. They fling open the door to each compartment, turn on the blinding light and sternly said “PASSPORT.” Each occupant would then have to look at the guard and verify that his sleepy face was indeed the same one pictured in the document. Then they would leave with the light left on and the door open. Scott would always warn the members of his groups what would happen and for them to not be concerned. He always made a practice of standing in the doorway and silently observing and reminding his group members what was expected of them.
He remembered one such night traveling into Slovakia from Hungary, when there was a commotion because an American woman and her teenage daughter occupied a compartment alone and the woman didn’t know what was going on so she would not open the door and the guards became more belligerent than usual, finally the girl figured out what was going on and unlocked the door just as the porter was coming with the key. They were yelled at in Slovak but were none the worse for wear after it was over.
Suddenly he noticed a presence next to him and then Barnabas nudged him with his foot and Scott looked up to see a new guard looking from his passport to his face and back to the passport. Suddenly he spoke in English “Where do you enter Serbia?”
“At a country border crossing from Hungary near Romania.” Scott answered.
“Why is no date in visa?” The guard asked.
“I do not know, the guard did not speak English”
“You have letter?” The guard continued to query Scott. It occurred to Scott that in his fatigue during those first hours that he had never examined his passport to see that there was a proper stamp. Increasingly there were less stamps in Europe but this was not true of the non-EU countries. He regretted not having looked at the passport and began to worry about what would happen next.
“Did you enter by car?” The guard asked.
“Yes”
“Where is the car now?”
“I don’t know; I was given a ride. I am returning to Budapest by train” Scott offered.
“Why were you in Serbia?”
“I took medicine to the refugee camp near Beograd”
The guard looked him over again and stamped the passport and handed it to him. “Be careful with passport stamps next time in Serbia”
Scott had an urge to argue with him but thought better of it. He took the passport and thanked the guard. The guard left the car in the direction that the first guard had left. Scott let out an audible sigh. He was very relieved.
“That was pretty stupid of me,” he said to Barnabas “I should have made sure that visa stamp was right.”
“Its over now.” Barnabas replied with a yawn. The friends sat quietly.
Soon the Hungarian border police visited the car. They were more efficient and paid little attention to either man. They were more interested in the Serbs. When Hungary entered the European Union and their borders had been tightened. The people entering must have the proper visas. Americans had entered and left freely from Hungary for a long time now.
After about an hour later, the train left the station and traveled north. It was now one thirty in the morning. The incidents of the last few hours now over, Scott and his friend were sound asleep in their compartment the rest of the way to Budapest.

another episode

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Scott smiled broadly as he watched his friend Barnabas coming toward him. He gripped his friend’s hand and they embraced. Barnabas took off his coat and hung it up and took out an envelope and laid it on the table. The train jerked slightly as it began to pull away. As they both sat down and Scott broke the silence in a subdued tone of voice.
“It is so good to see you, why have you come down here? When did you arrive? Why didn’t I see you in Szeged?”
“Well, my old friend, let me just tell you the story. I received your email the day you left. I had been home in Kiev. By the way, I saw Roman and he said to tell you hello the next time I saw you.” Scott smiled to think of his Ukrainian friend who ran a ministry that helped the homeless and runaway children. “So I called Marton” Barnabas continued “and told him what to do. I was not coming back to Szeged until this morning and there was so little to do and I thought he would be able to take care of things. I told him about filling your phone with money and the instructions for getting you down here. I asked him to figure out a way to get you here other than by train. Our contacts here are not what they used to be. Almost all of our Hungarian friends have gone into Croatia, Romania or are in Hungary. We only have contact with a priest in the camp. His name is Balint Szoke, did you meet him?”
“Yes”
“He is new to us and we don’t know him very well.”
“He didn’t have much to say…”Scott then related the conversation he had with the priest. Outside he had noticed the snow was piling up. He thought first about the street-kids and then about the refugee camp, wondering how this bad weather would affect them and their care. The countryside was very hilly until they got to Novi Sad and crossed the Danube then the path flattened out. They ordered dinner, it was slow in coming but that gave them time to talk about Scott’s experiences over the last few days. He learned that the woman he had been in contact with was Marton’s sister and that they had family in the camp. Things were coming together for him. Dinner finally arrived and the two friends enjoyed their food while Barnabas brought Scott up to date on recent events in Kyiv.
The work among the street kids continued and the economy continued to be bad for the common folk which was hampering development while at the same time allowing the dollars Scott raised for them to go farther. After dinner, they were interrupted by the conductor and soon after that the train arrived at Novi Sad.
The two friends walked to Scott’s compartment and continued to talk until after Subotica. At the border, the train slowed and stopped.
The Serbian border guards had boarded the train at Subotica and made their way through the train car by car. There were three guards, one took the passport and looked the passenger over carefully comparing him to the photograph in the passport. He would then look through the pages to find the visa and then scrutinize it. If everything was in order he would take a stamp from a holster on his belt and stamp the passport and move on to the next passenger. The second guard carried a small leather book that was a reference guide. Scott watched these men do their work; the third person checked had some problems. The second guard went to work with the problem passenger, a well dressed girl in her twenties. He spoke with her first in Serbian and then in halting English, the girl's English was no better. She tried another language but to no avail. He said something to the third guard who until now had quietly stood over the process with an automatic weapon ready, he turned and left the car in a hurry. The girl looked frightened. The first guard said something to her and pointed to a back on the overhead rack. He took it down, opened it and began to look through it. She watched. The second guard was talking on his cell phone when the third guard returned with a female guard; she and the girl talked for a moment. The girl stood, the third guard took the bag and walked out of the car, the girl followed and the woman followed her. There was obviously a problem with her papers or visa. That was not a smart thing to do in these countries. But it struck Scott odd that she got in and was having trouble getting out. When he mentioned this to Barnabas, the later replied that she could be a Serbian citizen trying to sneak out, this caused Scott to wonder it she were ethnic Hungarian.
The other two guards continued to work their way through the car. When they got to Barnabas they saw his European Union passport, made a quick glance to verify his face and stamped the passport. The first guard took Scott’s passport, looked at him carefully and all through the passport, said something to his partner that neither Scott nor Barnabas could understand and made a phone call. Scott looked at Barnabas in surprise. His friend shrugged, Scott looked at the guard and asked, “Is there a problem?”
“Maybe.” The guard said simply. He handed the passport and the phone to the second guard and went on to the next passenger. The second guard said “ok” into the mobile and left, passport in hand.” Scott looked at Barnabas, and then stood to follow the guard, the first guard, seeing this shouted, “SIT DOWN!” Startled, Scott stopped and looked at the guard.

One Sandwich continued

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He was surprised by the intrusion, but he wanted to have a working phone tomorrow as he headed for Hungary, so Scott took a minute to plug his phone into the charger and plugged the charger into a wall socket above the sink. He laid the mobile phone on the sink as it charged. He walked over to the door and opened it. A man he recognized from the meeting was standing in the doorway, he wore a priest’s collar. Scott remembered that this was one of the men who prayed before he ate.
“Jó estét! (Good evening)” Scott said, offering what little Hungarian he could pronounce semi-correctly as he grasped his visitor’s hand.
“Good Evening” the priest replied. I am Balint Szoke, I serve the spiritual needs of the camp. May I speak with you?”
“Yes, come in” Scott replied. He stepped away from the door to make way for the visitor to enter. He offered his visitor the only chair; Scott sat on a bed.
“Please forgive my English, your language is difficult. I have come here to caution you about doing business with government. They will say to you one thing and do different.” His English was not polished, but quite understandable. He had the look of serious concern on his face. He was a man who seemed to be in his late forties. Scott thought that he had, perhaps, seen much. “I do not say to you do not help our situation, just to use wisdom. I noticed that you prayed at the meal. What is your religion?”
“I am a Christian, not particularly protestant, not especially catholic, not opposed to orthodox. I try to follow God through the Bible, I work with any Christian who follows Jesus.”
“What kind of church do you attend?”
“Episcopal”
“I do not know this.”
“It is the American branch of the Church of England.”
“I see.”
Scott wondered why this priest would come to ask about his religion. “Why do you ask?”
“Because American Christians come here and offer, but they do not return. Most are against Catholic Church, they dislike the pope and our system.”
“I am sorry about this, I know it is true, I have met many that have had the same experience. While we should understand that there are people who do not truly believe in the savior in every tradition and in every Church, but that is for God to evaluate. It is our working as agents of God’s grace that makes a difference.”
As Scott spoke a small smile came over Balint’s face. “I am glad to hear these words, I believe you are my brother.”
“Thanks be to God!” Scott replied.
“So let me tell you, be careful, ask God to give you wisdom as you deal with government officials.”
“Thank you Balint, I do try to be discerning, um…to… use wisdom and have God’s eyes when I deal with, uh… do business with people.” Scott was trying to be sure Balint understood him. “My prayer is for wisdom and God’s mind about things. I have many people praying for me at home, they too pray that God would give me His wisdom.”
“This is very good, very wise; very… what is the word? Prudent! I am sorry about my English”
“Please, no, your English is excellent; I admire your efforts to learn such a language.”
“Thank You”
There was a knock at the door; Balint told Scott that he must go. Scott asked him to pray so they shook hands and prayed for each other. There was another knock at the door, this time louder. Someone was impatient. Scott went to the door and Sara stood there, not happy at being kept waiting, she entered. She and the priest exchanged pleasantries and he left, closing the door behind him. She had an envelope in her hand.
“I bring you train tickets and your passport.” Scott had surrendered his passport at the gate which he knew was standard procedure in this type of facility. He was surprised to get it before leaving.
“Your train leaves in an hour and forty-five minutes. I’m sure you have wondered about the car. It was taken back to Szeged the morning after you arrived by a family who had received their visas with the funds you brought with you. It is now back in the hands of its owner, a Mr. Szoke. You are being driven to the station in Beograd by one of my Serbian colleagues, there will not be any trouble in town as you experienced on the way in.”
Scott wondered how she knew about that. Then he wondered why he wondered about anything on this trip.
“We kept two clerks late and they have completed the verification of the information you need. It is all here in this envelope. We hope for the sake of these people you have at least some success.”
“This is all very sudden; I don’t even know the logistics of how to get whatever funds I can get my hands on to the right place.”
“It’s all in the envelope: bank routing numbers, addresses, names, everything. We wish you well. Now, you should go, you’re late, it is an hour drive to the train station in good weather, and it’s beginning to snow.”
“Thanks, I’ll just get my things together.”
He took the envelope from her and turned and put it in his bag. He walked over to the sink and unplugged his phone and put the charger in his bag and the phone in his coat pocket. He put on his coat and scarf and walked out the door closing it behind him. Sara was waiting at a car with the door open. As he approached the car, she extended her hand; he grasped it firmly in a businesslike handshake.
“We look forward to your successful return, I wish you well, Scott”
“Thank you Sara, may God bless you. I look forward to our next meeting”
“Sasha will drive you straight to the station.”
“Thank you, Sara.”
She closed the door and the car pulled away abruptly, he still had his bag in his lap. He looked at Barnabas but Barnabas’s attention was on his driving.
“Do you speak English?”
Sasha shook his head. Scott wondered how much he really understood. Scott took the envelope out and looked in it. The tickets showed that he was on the 20:05 train to Budapest. “Just as well,” he thought, “I can get a room and get in contact back home.” There was a six hour time difference and he would arrive in Budapest by five in the morning. That means he would be in Hungary at about 2:00 am. When he arrived in Budapest, it would be eleven in the evening on the east coast. He would have to wait until the afternoon to make the call unless he called when he crossed the border. He was unsure of when to call.
The ride was bumpy and slippery, he noted the gas station that he had stopped in and then slipped into a nap.
The stopping and starting of the city traffic woke him up. The streets were mushy but the rest of this city of 1.5 million was covered with a white blanket. The snow masked the bombed out buildings from the ’99 war with NATO. These buildings would sit there until there was enough peace and stability for economic growth to begin. He remembered his first trip to Hungary ten years before.
On that first trip, his friend Mihaly had taken him the Buda side of the Danube and up to the castle. Here were remnants of either the battle of Budapest from World War II or from the Hungarian revolution in ’56, he could never get it straight. It didn’t matter either way, the bullet holes in the stucco of these buildings were at least forty years old. Failure to repair was due to the failure of the socialist system, or at least that’s what he was told. Now the region was embracing capitalism and the free market. There was a time in the early twentieth century that the Hungarian stock market was third in all of Europe. Anyone who had spent any time in Budapest could see the beauty of the city and could see how it had once flourished as a cultural center. The parliament, the opera house the beautiful train stations, the wide avenue from the center of the city to Hero’s square, it was a very beautiful city that he loved to visit. Three days ago he had never even been above ground until he rode the escalator to the platform for his train. He would stay in Budapest for a couple of days.
The car came to an abrupt halt. “OK, here train.” Barnabas told his passenger. Scott looked out and saw that they were in a bustling station parking lot, he got out, said thank you to Barnabas in Russian, Barnabas smiled and drove off almost before Scott could close the door. He walked into the main part of the station and found the schedule board, there was no platform listed for the Budapest train. It was eight twenty, but he didn’t really expect the train to be on time. He decided to get coffee.
In the station café he ordered coffee then realized that he was hungry. He looked around for a place to get something to eat but the stands were all out of sandwiches. Then he remembered that he had a candy bar in his bag and so he found it and ate it, “there,” he thought, “this will take the edge off, perhaps there will be a dining car.” He heard the public address say something and thought he heard it say Budapest. So he left the café. The board now showed that the train to Budapest left from platform fourteen, so he followed the signs to the platform.
He was so intent on following the signs that he did not notice the tall figure watch and follow him down the platform. Scott walked the length of the train looking for a dining car. This train was bound for Novi Sad, Subotica, Budapest, then it split; some cars going on to Vienna, some to Krakow, others to Kiev; he thought it must have one. He passed the couchette and sleeper cars and finally found what he was looking for. So he boarded the train still not noticing the tall man following him. Once in the dining car Scott chose a table that seated two, put his bag on the overhead rack and hung up his coat. Sitting down he looked around the car; it was then that he noticed the man approaching him from the other end of the car.

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Day Three

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Scott Ellsworth awoke from a long deep sleep. He looked at his watch, it was just before six in the morning. It took a minute for him to realize where he was. He heard activity in the next room and got up, washed his face, dressed and packed his few belongings. Again, his phone was nearly dead, he had forgotten to charge it last night. It was not holding a charge well due to disuse in the states the last five months. He decided not to worry about it too much and plugged it into the wall in the bathroom to see if there were any messages. There was only a welcome from the local mobile company. He turned it off and put it on his belt, put the adapter away and made a mental note to charge it when he knew his first step.
There was a knock at the door. Sara was waiting outside to take him to breakfast the guard told him. Scott walked with him to the front entrance and there he met Sara again.
“Good morning” she offered, “how did you sleep?”
“Like a log, as we say in America.”
“Good, hungry, are you?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Then we’ll be off to get some breakfast, I hope you like the traditional Hungarian style.”
“Oh, yes, that’ll be a treat.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up too high…”
As they walked to the administration building Scott was thinking of fresh Hungarian bread, slices of cold cuts and tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes with yogurt, peach juice and strong coffee. When they went into her office, what he got was stale bread and margarine, fairly dried cucumbers and coffee.
“Not so hungry after all?” Sara asked with a bit of a smile.
“Well, this reminds me of the food we feed kids who live on the streets of Kiev. I was expecting a bit better.”
“Well, this is actually a pretty good breakfast for these folks, there are many days that we are glad the Serbs let us get fresh bread and margarine. Sometimes we don’t have sugar for the coffee, today you got milk and sugar.
There was a knock at the door, and then the door opened. A tall man in his thirties with graying light brown hair and a trim build walked in.
“This is Gabor. He will be translating for you today as you get to know the camp and the people. Gabor this is the American we have told you about, Scott.”
Scott stood and shook hands with the tall man.
“I am glad to meet you Mr. Ellsworth.” Gabor said, smiling.
“Please, call me Scott, I am glad to meet you also.” Scott replied.
“Gabor,” Sara interrupted the niceties, “please tell Scott about some of the history of the situation. You are feeling like a bit of a history lesson aren’t you Scott?”
“Of course, I love history and I especially appreciate the stories behind the history” he replied. Scott turned a chair for Gabor to sit and then picked up his cup.
“Have you heard of what the Serb-led government did in the early 90s?” Gabor began, Scott shook his head. “They brought in Bosnian refugees and showed them the houses and told them they would be empty soon. The rumor was that they had busses waiting to take us and our single piece of allowed luggage to Hungary or Slovakia, wherever our ethnic background suited us best. On the bus we would be given one or two sandwiches, one sandwich for Hungary, two for Slovakia.”
Scott considered his attitude about the breakfast and regretted his lack of thankfulness.
“I noticed you said a prayer before you ate, you’re religious, a Christian, are you?” Sara asked.
“Yes”
“You know religion is a big part of what has torn this country up.” She continued.
“Yes, I’m well aware of that;” Scott was aware from the paltry coverage in the United States media and had heard stories when in the region. “Muslims being killed by Catholics who are killed by Orthodox. They were all kept quiet under Tito and let loose after his death. I’ve heard about the plight here, and that’s why I have felt led to come here to try to help this group before they become the next victims.”
Gabor poured Scott more tea while saying, “You know what it will take to get people out of here don’t you?”
“Yes, money” Scott replied.
“And lots of it, do you have that much?” Gabor asked.
“I don’t but I know someone who does.” Scott said, smiling.
“Oh, this is the ‘God of a cattle on a thousand hills’ thing, isn’t it?” Sara said with an unpleasant look on her face. ”I’ve heard it before; my father was an Anglican missionary who was in the relief business. He spent himself in Africa with the same type of efforts as you apparently are pursuing.”
“Well, you seem to have me pegged.” Scott replied, a little defensive.
“You’re sort are pretty easy to figure out aren’t they?” Sara continued. “I mean, you are God’s man, here to save the world, or as you put it, a small piece that you can reach.”
The room was silent for a moment. Sara seemed to want to catch her breath, Scott wondered what to say to her. He said a prayer asking for words. After that brief silence he replied, “I don’t know what to say to that. I just do as I believe I should and try to follow the leading I am given.”
“Well,” Sara said, now more composed. “I hope that philosophy doesn’t get you in the same boat it got my father.”
“May I ask what that is?”
“Dead, in a prison in Congo.” Sara said, looking out the window.
Scott looked at his cup. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be, he is in glory now, as he would say to us if he could, he lived the life he wanted.” Sara replied still looking out the window.
“But you don’t sound as proud of that life.” Scott prodded carefully.
“Proud? No. Resolute? Sure.” At this she turned again to face the men. Gabor seemed to have heard this before and avoided looking at Sara as she looked at Scott. “Disappointed is the better word, he doesn’t have to be dead; he could’ve been smarter.”
Scott spoke quickly. “Smarter? Is that why you are here in the latest Balkan crisis?” He immediately regretted the words.
“I guess, you are finished with that coffee aren’t you? Gabor and I will show you around the camp and meet the camp leadership to see how you think you can help them. Just do us all a favor.” She said, clearly upset by the conversation.
“What’s that?” Scott asked, realizing that this conversation did not go as well as it could have.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep!” She rose, they with her.
“Okay, point taken.” Scott said as he began to put his cup on the tray. Sara led the way, Gabor, extending his hand for Scott to follow Sara, brought up the rear and brought the tray of dishes and uneaten food. He left them and took the tray to the dining hall.
Sara led Scott on a quick tour of the facility. Scott had seen worse, much worse. He remembered the conditions of the refugees he had seen in Western Hungary at a permanent UN refugee camp. In fact he was surprised at how good the conditions were. The buildings turned out to be quite adequate for the inhabitants. Everyone he met seemed to be in decent spirits, hopeful in fact. She left him with Gabor, who had caught up with them and the leaders while she left to attend a meeting. She gave him directions to the administration building and left him in the capable hands of Gabor who would serve as translator.
Gabor took him to the community’s school and introduced him to the head teacher and to some of the classes. The children, who ranged from kindergarten to eighth grade were hard at work. The teachers seemed in good spirits. In each class the students were asked to give a demonstration of their English skills. The classes were crowded, there seemed to be between thirty and forty students in each classroom. The rooms had been swept clean, the windows were clean but the paint was chipped and peeling all around. The children sat at tables in small chairs and had a variety of different kinds of papers and writing utensils. There were no blackboards, only the occasional bowed piece of plywood that had been painted green and leaned up against a wall. Teachers used large crumbling pieces of chalk. But no one seemed to notice these things but Scott. In fact, as Gabor showed him the school, he described it with great pride. Scott made some mental notes of some simple things that he could do to improve the conditions in these classrooms. But then he remembered that his task was to help these people leave this place, not fix it up.
One teacher asked Scott to have a conversation with one class of older students. Their ability to converse was good. Scott caught himself and did not spend too much time here. He wanted to stay longer but knew he and Gabor must move on. What one girl told him during the brief conversation stuck with him. “I want to go to high school and I want to be able to practice my faith in freedom.” He noticed the cross around her neck and that several boys near her laughed cynically. He remembered the hope that she had. He remembered what Paul said about suffering, perseverance, character and hope in his letter to Rome.
In another class, small children sang a song for the visitors. Scott was moved by the experience of the school and wondered what would happen to these children.
After the school they visited the place where food was distributed, Gabor took lunch rations for seven and they walked to a building in the center of the camp. The leaders he met earlier sat outside this building. They entered the building, it became obvious to Scott that this was the meeting he came to have. They all sat down to a lunch of bread and soup. Scott noted that two of the men crossed themselves and prayed before their meal. He likewise asked a blessing from God for this meal. Gabor ate when he could, but his translating duties kept him busy.
“We are happy that you have come and that your organization is willing to help us.” The man who was the apparent leader and spokesman of the group began. He was introduced as Attila; Scott thought that it was an appropriate name for a Hungarian leader. “Our situation is, to us, quite strange. None of us lived in the northern province and when things began to look bad for ethnic Hungarians many of us began to pack up and try to immigrate to Hungary, some through Vojvodina others through Romania. As you know there are thousands of ethnic Hungarian families in Romania who understand our plight and were willing to help us. As some of our people left, it drew attention to the rest of us and then as others of us began to make the necessary preparations, the government began to threaten us. The leaders feared that we would take too many resources with us.
“They told us that if we left we would forfeit our property rights. Then they upped the ante by threatening our citizenship and then some were arrested on false charges. Finally those who were in route were being detained and eventually everyone who left was detained. None of us at our towns knew what was happening. Finally those who have not yet left have learned that the borders are closed to Hungarians in either direction…”
“Wait, please” Scott interrupted “do you mean that Hungarians cannot come here?” He asked, wondering if this is the answer to what happened to Marton two nights previously at the border. But it would not answer why Marton hadn’t awakened him and told him what was going on. Scott wondered if this would be a place to ask about that but he didn’t think these people would have that kind of information.
“Yes, the border is closed both ways now. The Hungarian government is working to get us passage, but without certain payments to the Serbs we cannot leave. We are treated as well as we might hope for. But these payments, the government would not make. They consider it a kind of ransom. We see it as a form of exit visa fee. The price is high by any standard and is two hundred and fifty of your dollars for an adult and six hundred dollars for a family with children. We have used up the funds that we had on transportation and to pay for the food we are eating here.
“You are paying for the food?” Scott again interrupted.
“We were, but now that the UN has stepped in and made this an official camp, they are taking care of things. The foreign administrators have assured us that we will be fed and cared for. We believe them because they have taken care of us so far, but we want to go home or on to Hungary. The local merchants help us as well. Serbs are not out enemy, they were our neighbors. It is the government. The uncertainty of the politics in this country has gone on so long that many of us want a fresh start. Tito kept peace, at a price, but there was peace and safety. Since his death there has been everything but peace and safety and so we want to move on. And so, Mr. Ellsworth that is how you can help us, we need funds to buy our freedom.”
Scott was quiet for a thoughtful moment after he heard the translation, then he asked a few questions.
“You say that they want two hundred and fifty dollars per adult and six hundred dollars per family with children?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Can you break the population down for me? Families and individuals, I mean.”
“Yes, we can.”
“How long will it take to compile these numbers?”
“Not long at all, in fact before the end of our meeting I can have it for you.” Attila looked to one of the younger men and spoke to him in Hungarian and the younger man departed. As he left, a woman entered with a bottle of clear liquid and some small glasses. “Palinka toast” Scott thought. Sure enough the glasses were distributed and the bottle opened and the clear and very strong apricot brandy was poured and traditional Hungarian toast was made.
Scott knew that here these men were genuine in their need and appeared genuine in their trust of him. “six thousand people,” he thought “that’s a lot of people.”
In less than an hour the young man returned and gave a sheet of paper to Attila; it was the figures Scott had asked for. The page was handed to him with a small bit of explanation. Scott looked this over quietly and then looked up, around to each man, then looking Attila in the eye he said.
“I will make no promise today other than this, I will help in whatever way I can, but I cannot promise anything yet. I will not raise hopes above what I know I can do.”
“This I appreciate.” Was Attila’s reply, with this he raised a toast to this new friend who had come to help, “egéségedre!”
Scott red their greetings to the assembled men and he and Gabor took their leave of the group. Gabor walked him to the administration building. Inside, he spoke privately with Sara and then left.
“You have made quite an impression on the leaders” Sara told him as he was shown into her office. “I am about to take tea, will you join me?” She kept the British custom as often as she could. The tea was awful in this part of the world and there was rarely milk but there was usually sugar. She had begun to drink it plain. Cakes and sandwiches were out of the question but the solitary cookie could often be found. Scott had developed an appreciation for the late afternoon ritual because when in Europe he was generally fighting jet lag and this trip was no different. He was tired.
Looking at his watch he noted that back home near Washington it was ten in the morning and he wished he could call home. He thought of his wife. Susan would be at her desk in the office right now. Probably reading emails from all over the world as Christian leaders sent reports of what was going on. These reports would then be sorted and used to inform financial supporters of the needs around the world. From here a call was impractical. But it would be good to hear her voice.
“You’re in luck, you may have milk and sugar again, quite the unusual treat.” He accepted both gratefully and stirred his tea while watching some children play on a basketball court. In its day, Yugoslavia had produced some great basketball teams for the Olympics. Perhaps even some from soldiers who practiced in this very camp, but those days are long gone. Today, the soldiers were fortunate to be paid, but their situation was better than their old friends the Russians, whose Army was still begging for food. The old had certainly passed away. He noticed that one of the kids had on an old Chicago Bulls jersey; again, the old had passed away.
“Biscuit?” Sara asked.
“Yes, thank you” Scott was gratefully enjoying his tea.
“When will you leave?” She asked.
“As soon as I can verify these numbers with your administrative people.” He replied as he handed the paper Attila had given him.
“It will be morning” She replied without looking up. “But I can tell you right now that these numbers are accurate. You will want something official I presume.”
“Yes” He replied simply, still glancing at the kids. He now realized that he recognized these kids as some of the boys in the oldest class he had visited earlier. Sara looked out the window and smiled.
“These students play basketball all the time, they seem quite good to me, am I right?”
“Yes they do seem to enjoy themselves and could match-up against typical Americans of their age. You know several years ago I brought groups over and teaching basketball was one of the camps we held. That was a different time.” He mused, half talking to Sara and half to himself.
“Yes a different time indeed. How’s the tea?”
“Wonderful, a treat for me that I would have never expected.” He made a mental note that when he came back he would bring her some proper tea. And then thought about a question. “How long will you be here?”
“Unknown, I anticipate as long as it takes to get these people out of here. And that depends of course on the political situation.”
“What do you think about paying the high prices for the visas?” he asked.
“You mean the ransom, don’t you?” she responded flatly. There was some residual tension from the morning conversation that Scott didn’t quite know what to do with. So he didn’t respond but looked carefully at her expression for the first time since he had rejoined her company this afternoon, finally he asked. “Do you think it wrong to buy their freedom if people are willing to pay?”
“Wrong? No. Foolish? Yes! Waste? Probably. Because you don’t know what will happen after you have paid the ‘fees’.” This reply was made with a clear sarcastic emphasis.
“What would you do?” He asked.
“I have no idea, I make neither big decisions nor policy, I just work here in the real world, trying to make the lives of people like these as comfortable as possible in the situation we find ourselves in, excuse me.” She picked up her phone and said something in what sounded like French. You will have your verified numbers with our official credentials attached at nine in the morning. Until then, I would suggest you get as much rest as possible. I will have someone show you to your sleeping quarters tonight. Are you ready?” She asked, standing up. He finished his tea and stood. Thanked her and was led to a different building with a room with five sets of bunk beds.
The room was deserted. Sitting on the bed, he thought about all the conversations he had been in today. They had drained him. But he felt that he had a much clearer picture of the situation. He washed his face and wondered about dinner. There was a knock at the door and the boy in the Bulls uniform handed him his bag. Scott said thank you in English, the boy smiled and responded “Don’t mention it!” He turned and walked away from the building. It was then that Scott realized that he hadn’t seen the car for over 24 hours. Where could they have taken it? He opened his bag and plugged his phone in to the outlet in the washroom; he noticed that he had a new SMS. “Will come south tomorrow. See you in Beograd, Sergei” Scott just looked at the message for a moment when he heard a knock on the door.

next episode

story part three

miss the beginning? click here

After what seems like an eternity, the guy that he had talked to came back with the papers in his hand and asked “Where is medicine?” The policeman began to rummage around in the trunk. The medicines were all in German packages so he could not read much, before long they had emptied the trunk, taken his bag and emptied it on the hood of the car and were searching the passenger compartment. Scott could do nothing but wait watch and pray. He prayed against fear most of all. He remembered Jesus’ words, “Greater is he that is within you than he that is within the world” “Lord,” he prayed, “give me the strength to not appear fearful, please don’t let the Enemy prey on my fear, please give me an additional dose of the fruit of self control I need in this situation.”
The vehicle search was complete. They handed Scott his papers and phone, said good bye and left. Just like that. Scott watched them drive away and then realized that the contents of the car were all over the sidewalk. He began to load his personal stuff first and threw it into the passenger seat and then reloaded the medical supplies. When he was finished he got in the car and turned on the phone, there was a new SMS from Marton, “Don’t stop in Beograd!”
“Yeah, I guess” he said aloud.
He got in the car and drove out of Beograd at the speed limit.
At three o’clock Scott came into Kovin. The day was waning and he needed to find the camp before dark. As he drove through town he noted a hotel that actually had the word Hotel in English, he noted it but thought it odd for a town like this to have a hotel with an English sign, but then who knows? His fuel gauge was near empty so he pulled into the town filling station and told the attendant to give him 40 liters. The custom is to tell them how many liters you want and then to go pay. They pump the gas and look your car over for you.
Very loud European techno blasted from a television in a corner near the counter. A girl in her twenties was reading a magazine. The store was hot inside and she was dressed like it was summer.
“Forty liters and this” he said to her placing a coke and a sandwich on the counter.
“You English?” she asked.
“American.” was the reply “Do you know where the refugee camp is here?”
“Yes, go down this road ten kilometers and you will see it on the left, old Army camp, Dinars.”
“Where did you learn such good English?” handing her 100.
“American students used to teach in my home town, then I learn from MTV and Cartoon Network” pointing to the satellite dish outside,” She handed him the change.
“I see,” he smiled “keep studying, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” and she turned back to her magazine.
Outside, the car was ready, he put his lunch in the passenger seat and drove off.
Turning right from the gas station he headed down the road as the clerk directed him. When he checked the road to his left he noticed a car with two guys who seemed to be watching him. As he straightened out on the road, he looked in the mirror as he reached for his Coke and saw them pull out behind him. It only took ten minutes to get to the camp but he must have checked his mirror a dozen times to make sure they were still there. They were. When he arrived at the camp, he didn’t signal, he didn’t slow down much either, he just pulled into the driveway and kept going until he arrived at the gate. The car passed by slowly; the passenger was taking a picture.
The guard came out to meet him. He asked Scott for his papers and his purpose for being there. Scott told him that he was bringing medicine and handed him his passport. He got out and opened the trunk, the guard saw the trunk, radioed something and told Scott to close the trunk and wait in the car.
In a few moments a woman came walking down the road. She introduced herself to Scott as the social worker on duty her name was Sara. She was a Brit working for the government. This camp she explained was one of many in this part of Europe funded and overseen by the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees). She got in and told Scott to drive up the hill.
“I am familiar with this type of camp, there are several in Hungary with residents from all over the world wait for entry to the EU.”
“Yes,” she said “but our camp is different, we have only ethnic Hungarians here who have fled the central part of Serbia for fear of retaliation by the Serbs like that of the nineties against the Kosavars. The Serbs will not let them go to Hungary and they will not let them go to Vojvodina either.”
They were approaching the crest of a hill.
“How are conditions?”
“See for yourself” she replied as they topped the hill and Scott saw what was once a Serbian Army camp turned into a refugee facility. Single story concrete prefab buildings stretched from the top of the hill down to the edge of the forest which was certainly two kilometers away and the width of the camp was nearly as wide. Scott stopped the car and took it all in.
“There are twenty-three buildings with as many as twenty-five people in each building.“
Scott just sat there for a moment taking it all in. The sun was setting at their back and the lights of the camp were becoming more prominent in the encroaching dusk.
“Let’s take these supplies to the clinic, we’ve been expecting you all day.”
“Yeah, it’s been a long one, busy too.”
“Will you stay here tonight?” She asked, “There are spare beds and a shower in the male guard dorm near the clinic.”
“That would be great. I’ve not slept in a couple of days and could use a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s settled then, I’ll ask that you get the duty officer’s room so that you will not be awakened.”
“Thank You”
They arrived at the clinic and as soon as they pulled up there were four teenagers waiting to unload the trunk. Scott opened the trunk; the boys unloaded, Sara had his bag and indicated for him to follow her. Someone would take care of the car. She took him to the officer of the day, another Brit named Clive. Clive got him set up for the night. Scott showered and shaved, when he finished someone had left a plate of food that he couldn’t exactly identify and a warm beer, he thanked God nonetheless, ate, said prayers and within fifteen minutes was sound asleep, it was just after seven pm.
Sometime during the night, unknown to Scott, there was a visitor who looked through his bag and examined his papers. Scott slept soundly and never knew of this visitation.

the next episode

the story continues

Day Two
(didn't read the first installment? click here )

After driving what seemed hours and hours, at six-thirty five, Scott exited from the highway and pulled around behind a boarded up store. He pointed the car in what he thought was east and parked. It had taken him much longer to cover the ground because of the line in Novi-Sad, they were still short on bridges across the Danube from the ‘99 war. He checked to make sure there were no others signs of life nearby, leaned the seat back, covered up with a blanket that was in the back seat, turned off the engine and immediately went to sleep.
The sun was shining in his eyes and woke him up. He looked at his watch: 8:45. He checked the phone for an SMS. He reached in his bag and pulled out the auto adapter, plugging it into the cigarette lighter. Chilled, he started the car. The phone came to life as soon as it was plugged in, there were two SMS messages, one from the phone company welcoming him to their territory and telling him how to make a roaming call. The other was from ‘withheld’ again. It was sent at eight o’clock.
‘Go to Beograd, find rd to Pancevo, in P. turn rt, go to Kovin. If stopped, tell them you delvr. med supply to refuges, in boot. In Kvn, ask for ref camp. GBU, - Marton’
It always took him a couple of minutes to figure out the SMS shorthand. He got out, stretched, and wished for coffee. Got in the car and drove toward city. Hunger reminded him that he had eaten early the day before and he looked for a café bar in the city. Just after turning on the road to Pancevo he found what he was looking for. He parked the car up the street from a café-bar and went to get coffee and, he hoped, some food. But before he went in he realized he had no Dinars. He looked around and wondered if any ATMs still worked here since the uproar. He saw a sign two blocks down that had BANC in roman letters. He walked toward it hoping to either use a machine or make an exchange. The streets were busy. Many women wore scarves, especially the older ones, as one would expect in an orthodox community. Some of the men wore hats like he had seen in Ukraine in winter. Seeing the hats made him think of his friends in Kyiv, he said a prayer for them. Suddenly he realized he should get out his prayer book and read today’s scriptures. At the bank, there was no ATM he went inside. He asked the woman inside if there was a cash machine nearby. She replied “In Beograd today it is impossible, three months ago, okay, now it is impossible, I change money if you want.”
“Can you change Forints?” he asked
“No Forints, only Dollar or Euro, you have dollars?”
He didn’t want to part with his dollars so soon but decided his hunger was at work on him so he changed $100 into Dinars and headed back to the car. At the car, he grabbed his prayer book and headed for the café. It was very cold but he remembered what Marton had told him about the stocking cap and left it in his pocket. There was a steady breeze that made it feel even colder. Inside the café he was pleased to find not only coffee but cappuccino and there were even pastries, which surprised him since it was now ten-thirty. Because it was fairly dark he chose a table near the window, sat down, thanked God and began to read and enjoy his breakfast. He was the only person in the café and was glad of it. He purposely meditated on Psalm 46 from the old King James: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah.”
About twenty minutes passed and he noticed a commotion outside, a military convoy was passing through and it seemed everyone within walking distance was on the street some watching, a few clapping as the military vehicles passed through into the main part of the capital. He paid and stepped outside. Looking up the street toward the car, he noticed that there were four police peering into the windows. One was talking into a radio; it looked like he was reading the license tag. Another was on a cell phone talking to a boy who was pointing down the street at Scott.
Scott froze, he didn’t know quite what to do, of course doing nothing is doing something and in this case standing dumbfounded was better that taking off. One of the police began walking at a rapid pace toward him so Scott just stood there. When he was closer the policeman said something to him in slightly raised voice but not quite a yell. Of course Scott had no idea what he was being asked so he just walked toward him. When he saw this, the policeman slowed down and said something else to him. Scott walked up to him and said, “Serb nyet, A-meri-kan, do you speak English?”
“I speak only small, why you here?” was the abrupt reply which was followed with a question, “you car?” pointing to the Kia.
“Yes, er… da”
“You come,” motioning for Scott to walk to the car “why you here, Beograd?”
“I am taking medicine to refugees in, er…” He had forgotten the name of the next town. “I have paper in the car.” He drew a paper in the air and made a writing motion on it with his finger.” The police didn’t stop him but didn’t quite seem to understand either. Scott sat down in the passenger seat and got his passport, international driver’s license and registration and handed them to the officer. He looked at the passport, then to Scott, then back to the passport, back to Scott and then began looking through the passport at the different stamps and visas. The other three just looked on; one of them was still holding his mobile phone to his ear. Across the street a crowd was gathering. The boy that pointed to Scott and the bank teller were in the front of the crowd. One of the police walked over to her and began to talk. She pointed up the street to the bank and then to the car and to the café. He left her and walked to the café. They took his papers and walked to one of the two police cars and began to radio the information in. Scott took out his mobile to check the SMS for the name of the town he was supposed to deliver the medicines to. Suddenly, he realized, he didn’t know for sure what was in the trunk. The cop who went to the café came back and said something to the one standing there, Scott thought he shrugged and shook his head. When the policeman saw him with the mobile, he yelled something in Serb and grabbed the phone. They grabbed the keys and opened the trunk. Scott began to pray.

part three

a story

a couple of years ago I started writing a story... it has been sitting in my extenal hard drive untouched for a year and a half... the other morning I heard about a book being published in series on a website... and I said why not?

so if you're interested read on

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