October 11, 1959

Oct. 11, 1959. We went to see my father at the Vácz penitentiary. The last time I saw him was on October 31, 1956. He wore a striped uniform that reminded me of the pyjamas he used to wear at home.
A “life sentence” also meant a fifteen minute visit at the prison twice a year.
The first time I had a chance to see my father was on October 11, 1959, almost three years to the day after he came home in a jeep to inform me that the Revolution was a success. I remember my excitement and the careful preparation for this visit. The fifteen minutes that I had to share with my mother were neither enough nor appropriate to recall any of the unpleasant incidents that had happened to me since we last saw each other. So to make my father smile, I recounted mostly innocent and charming incidents. After much brain wracking, I decided to include how our cat kept waiting for mother at the bus stop and followed her home every evening like a dog. I’d considered mentioning the neighbour’s little white terrier that constantly kept getting into our garden, killing most of our chickens, but I crossed that out, because I thought it would worry him that on account of that dog we didn’t have enough chickens left. I also decided against mentioning how the German shepherd, owned by the couple two houses away from us, had killed a doe that was captured by hunters and kept in a pen by some other neighbours. But I did include how tall the pine trees had grown since we had planted them.
I also wanted to bring up the zebras, because the only creatures that looked good in stripes and seemed to benefit from it were these animals in the Budapest Zoo. By this time, after a long search, my mother had finally found a job selling pretzels and wafer biscuits in the zoo and her stand was situated in front of the zebras, across the elephant pens. As there were approximately 20,000 political prisoners in Hungary, it was no surprise that visitors to the zoo were highly sympathetic towards the zebras' stripes. My mother became the best selling agent at the zoo. Most adults bought pretzels by the dozens to compensate the “mates,” while the children bought wafers for the elephants and for themselves.
On the day of the visit, we had to take an hour long train ride to the town of Vácz, where my father had been transferred from the Central Prison soon after his sentencing. I found myself face to face with the two hundred year old formidable building. My father was kept in the “House of Lords”, a prison within the prison, behind very thick stone walls constructed especially for “dangerous political offenders.” Our steps echoed on the cold stones as we passed through the long, dark, and wide corridors that led to the visitor’s area. The prisoners, dressed in striped uniforms were lined up behind the long rows of cages. A guard stood beside each prisoner, listening to every word and watching every move through the chicken wires that separated them from the visitors. The conversation started rather slowly. My parents looked at each other mutely, while I observed how pale and skinny my father looked in his uniform. Strangely, it wasn’t as frightening as I had imagined that it would be; it simply reminded me of the striped pyjamas he used to lounge in on those Sunday mornings at home not that long ago.
I came to my senses when I finally heard my father’s voice, “And how are you, little one?”
As I reached into my pocket, where I kept my list, I heard the guard behind him growling, “Keep your hands in front of you.” Scared, I slowly removed my hands from my pockets and reached out toward the screen, when the guard barked again, “No touching is allowed!”
Holding my list tightly between my fingers I was just standing there, sniffling.
“Do you have a cold? Surely you're not crying?” my father asked and automatically reached into his pocket to offer me a handkerchief. However, his gesture stopped in mid air when he realized that there were no pockets on his uniform and therefore he wouldn't be able to reach into one. And even if he had a pocket and a kerchief in it, he still wouldn't be allowed to pass it over to me.
“No, I'm not crying,” I said haughtily, tilting my head towards the guard behind him, then stating, "especially not in front of THEM.”