Page 75 of The Little Liar

She rubbed her forehead. “I’ll call.”

She hung up.

***

That afternoon, Fannie found herself walking the banks of the Danube. The summer breeze was strong and blew the dark curls off her shoulders. She had worried this visit mightbe too painful a memory, but in broad daylight, more than two decades later, there was nothing familiar about it. Just a mighty river slicing through the city, running across the continent and out to the Black Sea.

Fannie stared at Budapest’s massive parliament building, its Gothic facade and huge central dome. She took in the churches that sat along the banks. She wondered what all the people in these buildings had been doing two decades ago, when Jews were being shot at night and dumped into the river.

She had blocked so much of that event. It was just her way. While Sebastian fretted over every flashback, Fannie built a wall inside her brain to shield her from the dark memories. That afternoon, she might have stayed on the safe side of that wall, had she not taken a seat on a bench by the Danube as the sun was centered in the sky.

Moments later, an old man arrived, carrying a prayer book. He walked to the edge of the embankment and began to sway back and forth. Fannie recognized his prayers. They were in Hebrew.

When he finished, he wiped his face with a handkerchief and walked past her.

“Who are you mourning?” Fannie asked.

He stopped, surprised.

“You know the kaddish?”

She nodded.

“My daughter,” he said.

“When did she die?”

“Twenty-three years ago. They killed her here.” He looked out at the rushing river. “Not even a grave. Just water.”

“I’m very sorry.”

He studied her face.

“You are not from Hungary. Your accent.”

“Greece. But I’ve been here before. On this river. At night. With my hands tied.”

She looked off. “I was luckier than your daughter.”

The old man stared. Tears moistened his eyes. He sat down and gently touched Fannie’s shoulder. He saw that she was crying, too.

“Baruch hashem,” he whispered. “I’ve never met anyone who lived through it. Tell me. Who saved you?”

“I don’t know,” Fannie blurted out. “All these years, I still don’t know. I’d heard it was an actress, but I never saw her. It was dark. They took us to a basement. We lived there for weeks.”

The old man leaned back. He looked stunned.

“Katalin Karády,” he mumbled.

“Who?”

“The actress. I’d only heard rumors.”

“You knew her?”

“Every Hungarian knew her. She was very popular. Then she stood up against the government, and they destroyed her. Beat her. They pounded on her pretty face. They broke her jaw, I heard.

“There were stories, rumors, that she sold jewelry to the Arrow Cross in exchange for saving Jewish children. But you’re telling me it’s true? You were really one of them?”