Original subtitles

< Fateless >

I didn't go to school today.

Well, if only to ask my teacher

to let me go home

I gave him father's letter in which he asked for it referred to family reasons.

He asked what the reason was.

I told him father had been called up for forced labour.

He left it at that. I went straight to our shop.

Father said he'd be waiting there.

Hello, my friend. That's a fine decoration you've got there.

You won't have to wear it for long,

this outrage will be over soon.

Did your teacher let you go?

Yes. I said you'd been called up for forced labour.

- And? - He let me go.

So, that's the warehouse settled, Mr Suto.

Things go smoothly between old acquaintances, Mr Koves.

Maybe we should get rid of everything

before the authorities lay their hands on the whole outfit.

Prices have never been this high!

I'll leave it to you. I know I can trust you.

Well then. . . it'd be best to hand over the goods right away.

- Goods? - Of course, the goods!

I should give you a receipt.

Oh, come on, Mr Suto... We don't need anything like that.

I know you trust me, Mr Koves,

but there's a proper way to do things.

Isn't that right, Mrs Koves?

Anyway we'll be in constant touch.

To do the accounts if nothing else.

We are counting on your help and experience.

Just as we have these past years.

Goodbye and good luck.

All I can say is, Mr Koves...

I'll see you very soon.

I hope so too.

One thing less to worry about.

Shouldn't we have taken the receipt?

There's no point when even the lawful authorities rob us.

Did you call the jewellery "goods" for my sake?

I know what's in that box.

It's secret, understand?

Hello, yes, it's me.

I'm sorry, I can't let you see him today.

I'd like him to be with me on this last day. . . before I leave home.

You're 14 and a half now.

I know your father can count on you to behave properly on this sad day.

Your mother's on the line.

No, I can't. It's his last day. You heard.

Of course, Monday. Right.

I won't be needing these any more.

- Are you hungry? - Terribly.

You've hardly taken any.

I can't eat a thing.

You mustn't despair.

I'll miss you.

You'll be on your own.

But I won't.

We'll take care of each other till you come home.

- Won't we, Gyurka? - Yes.

Just go on eat.

I'm not hungry.

- Hello. - Hello.

Don't! Stupid!

What about last night, during the air-raid?

When we went back in the attic? And I heard the bombs.

I was just scared. And you took advantage.

Are you angry?

Can you come this afternoon? For a game of cards.

Yeah. Oh, no I can't.

My father's been called up for forced labour.

Aha. And tomorrow?

Let's make it the day after. Maybe.

Oh, how dreadful it all is.

What has the world come to?

- My son. - Oh, mother, do sit down.

- Are you going away? - That's quite crowded.

- What's happening? - I'll tell you.

- Yes. . . - That's right. There.

Yes. . . but over there. . .

Nothing's happening. We're not eating yet.

Secret negotiations are under way.

I can't tell you more than that.

This is completely reliable information.

Just as reliable as your racing tips

which I regularly lose on.

Before Vili opened his betting shop,

he was one of the best stock exchange correspondents.

The Germans realize their situation at the front is hopeless.

They're using us Budapest Jews

to squeeze concessions out of the Allies.

And the mass executions in Poland?

That's different! Poland isn't Hungary.

And the ghettos in the countryside?

A sensational bluff! To raise the stakes.

So I shouldn't even bother to report to the labour camp?

Perhaps it's a bluff too.

Well, no. . . I wouldn't advise that

But I'm sure you'll be home soon.

We're being used as part of a huge blackmail at the moment.

The negotiations will soon bear fruit.

If I were as sure of my tips as I am of that,

I wouldn't be the pauper I am!

- I'd like to talk to you. - Of course. A bit later.

I'd like a little talk with you.

- Your father's leaving tomorrow. - I know.

I'm sure you also know

that your carefree childhood days are over.

You too are part of the common Jewish fate now.

You know what that Jewish fate means?

Well, the yellow star, for instance.

And much else besides.

Thousands of years of relentless persecution,

which we must bear with patience and resignation.

Why?

Because God inflicted it on us for our sins,

and only from Him can we expect mercy.

- Have you prayed for your Father? - No.

It worried me that I didn't understand what we were saying to God.

I think I mixed up the words a bit.

But by the end of the prayer, I felt. . .

we had managed to do something for father.

My name's Steiner.

Good evening, gentlemen.

Mr Steiner and Mr Fleischmann, our neighbours.

Please don't get up, we've come to say goodbye.

Every evening we review the war,

of which I'll be a part from tomorrow.

Just keep your chin down, old boy, and never lose your despair!

Don't worry, we'll take care of your wife and Gyurka.

Carry on with your meal.

No, it's pork!

That's all I could get on the black market.

Believe me...

Things will change radically soon.

May the Almighty help us

to be able to sit round the family table again soon

in love, peace and health!

It's late, Gyurka.

I don't want to wake you at dawn.

I may come back one day.

Till then... look after each other.

Your mother may try to take advantage that I'm not with you.

She may try to lure you away.

But you know where you belong.

Your stepmother made a home for you,

whereas your mother left us.

You must stand by her.

I'll write to you,

and you write too, Gyurka.

Son!

His hug came unexpectedly.

I don't know whether that was what made me cry,

or simply exhaustion,

or maybe it was because ever since my stepmother hinted at it,

I had been preparing myself that at a certain moment you were expected to cry.

I'm glad it happened the way it did,

and I felt father was pleased too.

After that he sent me to bed.

I was pretty tired by then,

but I thought that at least

we were sending him off to labour camp with the memory of a fine day.

There's a war on...

I'm alone...

I miss you.

You know it was father's decision, not mine.

But it is about you now.

Do you love me?

Of course I do.

Then why do you insist on staying with that woman?

I don't insist on it, but. . .

One can't prove love by words.

- I don't think you really love me. - That's not true.

It's your argument - your's and father's.

And I can't go against father now,

when he's in a labour camp.

Go now.

The curfew'll be in force soon.

It doesn't apply to me. I've got a pass.

So, you're starting tomorrow.

I'm so glad he's got a pass.

You're right, dear.

I hear of nothing but raids, people disappearing.

Stop being a prophet of doom!

It's no good sticking your head in the sand either.

And what does our friend write about?

What they allow him.

That he's healthy, he can cope with the work,

the treatment is humane.

But what's he saying between the lines?

As long as the letters come regularly there's no problem.

At least he writes.

And how are you going to get to work?

With the local train, I suppose?

You'll mislead the boy.

He must take the bus.

So, train or bus?

- Train. - Bus.

The bus stops right by the entrance to the oil plant.

If you listen to him you'll have a long walk.

- Train! - Bus!

God knows everything, but Steiner knows better.

- Train! - Bus!

We were just talking about you. What exactly do you do there?

I mix mortar and pass bricks.

Oh, bricklaying.

Well, who would have thought it?

- Are you hungry? - Fairly.

I'll be going then.

How can I thank you, Mr Suto.

Don't mention it, Mrs Koves.

A promise is a promise.

And do tell your husband he can always count on me.

Oh, yes.

I've read about the new laws. Disgraceful.

What's this?

A small gift.

I can't accept it, Mr Suto.

Don't treat me like a stranger, Mrs Koves.

D'you think I should have refused it?

I'm going to Annamaria's to play cards.

- You haven't eaten yet. - When I get back.

Anything wrong? No cards?

I've got a headache.

The yellow star made it ache.

She's been on about it all afternoon.

- What? - That people hate her.

I said I wouldn't care if they hated me if I could see the sense in it!

I don't understand a thing.

- So people don't hate you? - Who would hate me?

- Everyone. - But why?

Because of this!

Oh, that? Well, they may hate me...

But I don't think it's me they hate.

Not me personally, just in general.

They hate in general?

In general, yes.

Not you, not me, but. . . the idea of a Jew.

Great. Because I for one don't really know what that is.

- What what is? - Being a Jew.

- Everyone knows that! - It's a religion.

But I'm interested in what it means.

All I know is, It's a difference, separating us from other people.

As if you were the one to decide on the difference

and not the thing you're wearing.

I don't wear the difference here,

it's inside me.

But I don't know whether to be proud it or ashamed.

You shouIdn't be either.

Then what's the point of wearing this rotten yellow star?

She's right

There's no point, no point. . . No point...

Attention! Those with yellow stars get off!

Anyone with a yellow star?

- Anyone with a yellow star? - Yes.

Get off then.

- I'm war labour. - Right. Get off.

You can come!

- Didn't he accept it? - No.

What happened to you lot?

He didn't accept ours either.

Back behind the embankment. Off you go! Hurry! One-two!

That's it.

Anyone with a yellow star get off. Come here!

- Hey, kids, Rozi's here! - Where? Really?

Did you show your passes?

We have to be at the Shell Refinery by seven.

- Well, you'll be late today. - Why?

Because I'm going to arrest you.

Back behind the embankment!

Get down! At the double! One-two! Get down!

There, there! That's it! Lie down! Lie down!

Why's he arresting us?

I reckon he's just fooling around.

So what if we're late? We get off work.

What the devil am I going to do with you lot?

Sorry, but I can't help you there.

Ask him!

But when are you going to let us go?

Wish I knew myself.

Wait a minute, I'll be back soon.

Yes, Yes! But what shall we do? What shall I say?

He's phoning.

- Can you hear? - Not if you jabber.

The foreman must be wondering.

It's not our fault. The cop will explain it all.

We've got to wait for further orders.

You look like educated boys.

For instance. . . d'you know the game Blind Man's Bum?

- Who was it? - Moskovich.

No.

Good morning, Foreman.

So it's true. I hear you took them off the bus.

These boys have been assigned to work for me.

- I know, I've seen their passes. - Then let them go immediately!

You think I'm keeping them here for fun? I've got orders.

These boys are in my care.

What shall I tell their mothers

if they don't go home?

This is an ID check. Their papers are in order.

They'll be going home. Understand?

Can't you see they're just kids?

Have you no sense of responsibility as a policeman?

Another word, and I'll lock you up with them.

Show me your papers!

Stuff the papers...!

Well now. . . Carry on.

Good old foreman. He showed him!

- Who wants to play jacks? - How d'you play?

You grab a handful of stones, throw them up

and the one who catches the most wins.

Look!

I'm expected at a board meeting today.

I'm essential to aircraft production.

You'll carry on tomorrow.

I heard you phoning. Could I possibly make a call?

I'm sorry, it's for official use only.

Incredible.

You're somebody, aren't you?

What'll happen to us?

Don't worry. Things'll be cleared up sooner or later.

He's just an ordinary policeman.

I wanted to visit my sick mother. . .

It took me three days to get the permission.

But today I had to go to the office first. . .

I wanted to visit my sick mother.

It took three days to get the pass.

Here it is. Expires at two o'clock this afternoon.

But I had to go somewhere on business first and there was a queue.

By the time I was through I only had two and a half hours left. . .

To leave or not to leave. . .

I left! Because mummy was expecting me.

But if I'd just missed the midday bus...

Five minutes, and I wouldn't be here.

Five minutes.

- Still not interested? - No. Here.

Thanks.

Well, my orders have come.

Just a simple ID check. Line up outside!

Come on! Get a move on! In line!

Come on! Get moving!

No stargazing. Move!

Faster!

Jews!

There'll be an investigation into your affairs tomorrow!

Don't have any hopes that you can hide your ill-gotten gains

or your black market goods!

Now herd this whole Jewish mob where they belong - into the stables!

Get a move on! Move along! Faster!

Stinking Jews!

We saw you signalling to the British planes with candles.

We'll blast you all to bits!

Will it drop or won't it?

That was the question.

I just had to recognize the pittance of the stake

so that I too could enjoy the game.

I was beginning to grasp the simple secret of my universe,

I could be killed anywhere, any time.

Next.

Got your papers?

Empty your pockets!

The watch too.

Go on.

That's my penknife.

You haven't looked at my pass.

- Your what? - My pass.

One way or another sooner or later

everyone from this brick works will be relocated to Germany.

Those who volunteer now will travel 60 to a carriage.

Later there'll be 80, and later still even more.

So, volunteer now, right?

I'm afraid we're short of trains.

- Will families stay together? - Yes, families stay together.

- The luggage? - Yes, luggage too, everything.

We have to get tomorrow's transport ready.

It's best if we sort it out among ourselves...

Shall we go?

. . .rather than have gendarmes shove you into the wagons.

Anything's better than these rotten gendarmes!

I'm joining you young ones to cheer myself up a bit.

Are you volunteering?

- We're not sure yet. - Nor am I.

Will it be better there?

What d'you suggest?

Get healed yourself first. You've still got a black eye.

They accused me of profiteering.

Yet I told them

I wanted to take medicines to my sick mother.

Five minutes changed everything.

The Germans are a cultured race.

The camps in Poland are culture itself. . .

Don't spread rumours, please.

You know as much as I do - nothing

Rumours!

I've heard nothing but rumours about the Germans so far,

- and they were all true. - So you're not going?

Could you tell me exactly why not?

What is it you know? What are the rumours?

Could you put me on the list.

- Name, please. - Istvan Goz.

D'you hear that? He's signed up, and he's. . . some big shot.

He was talking to a German officer. I saw him with my own eyes.

A real German officer?

He's got pluck.

I went up to him.

I wanted to talk to someone in authority.

And did he speak to you?

Why ask, you saw him!

I'm an engineer. I speak perfect German.

I told him my work had been made morally and physically impossible.

I'm not seeking advantages or privileges,

but I'm an expert in my field and I'd like to work...

And? What did he say?

He didn't make any big promises.

But he said Germany was in need of experts like myself.

And what's the guarantee?

The difference between the objective words of a high-ranking German officer

and this mob who can't even grasp what's in their own interest.

And my judgement of character.

Without hope you are lost.

And you can draw hope only from faith.

The time of His victory shall come,

and all those who have forgotten His power will be one in repentance

and call out to him from the dust...

One can survive three to four days.

But you mustn't eat.

Especially not meat and spicy things.

What if you're hungry?

You can choose - hunger or thirst.

It depends how long the journey is.

Water!

People! You've reached the Hungarian border.

The last time you'll hear Hungarian,

and I'm speaking to you man to man.

If anyone has any money, valuables or anything else,

hand it over to me now.

You won't need any valuables where you're going.

The Germans'll take it from you anything you've hidden.

Surely you'd rather leave things in Hungarian hands?

You're Hungarians too after all.

Son of a bitch!

Water. We should get him to give us water...

All right.

Give us water in exchange.

Water?

It's forbidden officially. But I'll steal some from the well. . .

How much?

Depends what you give.

You'll soon see what you get, you won't be disappointed.

Why make an effort for you when it may not even be worth it?

Give me something first.

Give us two buckets of water first.

Do I get something or not? Stinking Jews!

Still want to turn the most sacred things into business!

You're even taking your last pennies to the Germans.

Well die of thirst then!

Die of thirst! Die of thirst!

I keep thinking of what that gendarme said four days ago.

What did he say?

That we won't need anything where we're going...

Where are we going?

- Can you see anything? - A station building. I think.

- Any name on it? - Yes. A-usch-witz-Bir-ke-nau...

Does anyone know where...

- What did you say? - Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Auschwitz-Birkenau.

I've never heard of the place.

And you're a geography teacher!

I could follow the route through Slovakia,

we were going in a north easterly direction.

I'd say we're in Poland now.

But the Germans have renamed all the places here.

Clever dicks, they've been trying to work it out for four days now.

Wake up! We may have arrived.

Sixteen! Sixteen!

- We're sixteen. - I know.

You're sixteen too, Moskovich.

How old are you?

- Sixteen. - Sixteen. . . work. . .

Sixteen.

How old are you?

Sixteen.

Hello, Koves. We made it! Great!

I'm not surprised. There were gas chambers back home too.

Rubbish!

I didn't know there were gas chambers,

but I always had a feeling. I knew they were hiding the truth.

We're all gonna die.

We're not.

This is Auschwitz. Extermination camp.

But they said we'd be taken to an Arbeitslager, a labour camp.

That's different.

Poor Moskovich...

He may have been small... he wore glasses... he was Jewish...

but I liked him. . .

We should have studied nothing but Auschwitz.

They taught us: "Dear boy,

when you grow up you'll go to Auschwitz,

they'll stuff you in a gas chamber and burn you nicely."

I've heard they're very kind to them to the end,

surrounding them with care and affection.

And the place where they suffocate them is in a pretty garden

with grass, trees and flowers...

Buchenwald lies on the top of a hilly region.

The air's clean. You can see forests all around

and the red rooftops of the village houses.

The baths are to the left.

They write your name in a big book

and you get a yellow triangle and a wide strip of canvass.

There's a "U" in the triangle to show you're Hungarian

and a number on the canvas strip.

Mine is 64921 .

I was told to learn to say it quickly and clearly in German:

Vier-und-sechzig, neun, ein-und-zwanzig

because that's my answer if anyone asks who I am.

Attention! Herr Kapo asks if there are any performers,

cultural groups or the like who could entertain while they organize the transport?

- The Kolmanns. - The Kolmanns? The Kolmanns!

A piano!

Eisemann, Zagon: "On a Moonlit Night"

"What does a girl dream"

"on a moonlit night,"

"That her prince will come"

"on a steed of pure white."

"It's a dream so sweet,"

"but soon she must wake,"

"And princes are scarce,"

"so it's all a mistake."

"And yet such little clouds are floating in the sky,"

"While we can see them our hopes won't pass us by,"

"What does a girl dream"

"on a moonlit night,"

"That her prince will come"

"on a steed of pure white."

There's nothing more exhausting than the tiresome process

we have to go through every time we get to a new camp.

After Auschwitz and Buchenwald it was the same at Zeitz too.

I realized right away that this was a small, poor,

you could say provincial concentration camp.

Showers and crematoriums were only in more important camps.

The sole point of the endless counting and shoving

was to get everyone out in front of their block.

I looked around for the other boys,

but I was surrounded by strangers.

Where're you from?

From Budapest.

Are you from Budapest?

Is the Grand Boulevard still there? What about the Number 6 tram?

- And Nefelejcs Street? - I haven't been there for ages.

Nor me. Not for four years. It's my home.

One day I'll walk those streets again!

How did you end up here?

I was taken off the bus.

- How d'you mean? - I had to get off. The cops.

Cops?

- They sent you here? - Course.

Don't you know what's up at home?

My name's Bandi. Bandi Citrom.

I told you I spent four years doing forced labour in the Ukraine.

- You didn't tell me. - Well I am now.

What wre you doing there?

Digging up land mines like the other kikes.

How?

If we have time I'll show you.

You need a spade and a bit of wire. And luck. Plenty of it.

And?

Fucking bastard!

- Did it hurt? - Not a bit.

Wipe your nose. Tip your head back.

Why you not quiet? Bring us trouble...

- Don't answer him. - Who's he?

- Not one of us. - But he speaks Hungarian.

He's from Latvia. Orthodox.

- That other dude has to be a faggot. - What d'you mean?

Never mind. Like a circus trainer.

And that cheap scent... Where the hell does he get it?

Isn't he a prisoner?

No. He's one of the camp bosses.

- Did you see his green triangle? - I did.

That means he's a criminal.

Isn't he a Jew?

Some faggot murderer represents the law round here.

This is a concentration camp, not a sanatorium.

Come on, come on! Quickly! Line up!

Buck up, or we'll miss coffee.

Line up outside!

Next! Higher!

Put it near the cauldron. Can't you see?

Higher! Come on!

How many times have I told you to hold your tin nearer.

Next!

Here you are. Next! Quckly!

I see, we've gotta unload it. Into four piles.

As they wish.

Ask Herr what's-his-name if we can take off our coats and shirts.

Seems like a decent prick.

Want a caftan and fur hat?

Let's show 'em what the lads from Budapest are made of!

- We're from the country. - Same thing.

A good wash is vital. In snow, ice, always.

Then you won't get scabby.

Always have a mouthful of bread in your pocket.

Where from? The previous day's ration.

Course it's not enough, so ration it.

At breakfast, and don't watch the others eating at lunch.

A mouthful, no more, but it's a must.

For your self esteem, get it?

Know what self-esteem is?

It's as important as bread and soup.

Want to go home?

Want to walk the streets of Budapest again?

Without self-esteem it won't work.

Look!

Look... The Smoker!

Where?

Still smoking.

No good, keen Hungarian.

Why not save strength?

Shovelling for these?

You're Jews too after all.

Wash your dick too, that's where the lice live.

Come on and get dry!

That certain hour between returning from the factory and the night-time call.

A particular hour, bustling and liberated,

which I waited for and loved the most in the camp.

Incidentally, it was also supper time.

Hello, is that you?

Who else's here from the brick works?

- Which block are you in? - Here, in five.

Pity. I'm in six.

We got scattered. We're all scattered.

Know what this "U" stands for?

Course. Ungar. Hungarian.

You're wrong. Unschuldig.

Innocent. Innocent.

No, pal, we'll divide it up after the soup.

I won't let you gobble tomorrow's ration.

"But we'll never be cowards. . ."

You always sing that.

That was our song in the Ukraine.

"And if a comrade falls,

"We'll send a message home"

"That come what may, We'll always be loyal"

"To our dear homeland."

- What's wrong with that? - Nothing.

It always reminds me of that gendarme I told you about.

Who said we too were Hungarians after all.

And so we are.

I'll soon walk down Nefelejcs Street again.

I won't start till you get in line. Come on, line up! Rabble!

He was the most sought-after lawyer at home. It's beyond me...

Carrot soup.

I like it best too.

Quite thick.

Look! A whole chunk of meat!

This is when the street-lights of Budapest come on.

Remember the Schmoll shoe-polish ad?

Schmoll... what?

A lit-up plane circled over the Oktogon every evening.

It's gone long ago, cos of the black-out.

You always say silly things.

The black-out will end soon.

This is when girls set out on their dates.

High-heels tapping.

I'll walk down Nefelejcs Street again...

Nefelejcs Street. . . Not a great goal, but who cares? It's a goal.

A street, or a woman,

a library. . . long winter afternoons...

before we light the lamps.

Things I can't imagine any more...

- It's Friday. - Which Friday? What's the date?

They bear the eternal Jewish fate.

Nothing makes any difference to them:

they're here on Earth temporarily.

But they persevere because they've got an aim.

Everyone needs some life-giving obsession.

Something to keep their hope alive.

But I've got nothing. No goals.

Oh yes I have...

Yes, I have. I've got to take my sons home.

Soup for sale.

How much?

Whole tin carrot soup.

Why wait so long?

I bet someone's in hiding again. Or dead.

Or they're asleep somewhere, and we've been here since dawn.

What's the price?

Just hold out a bit longer, son.

It'll soon be over.

- Half ration bread And the margarine. - What's that?

Soup for sale.

We go to the latrines enough without your soup!

Did you buy some?

It'll get soaked and be worse than nothing - like a wet sponge.

It keeps me warm.

We should get our bread before parade.

One third ration today.

Get it for the three of us.

Pretty Boy.

For sale.

Potatoes from last night. I give salt.

- How much? - Evening soup.

You don't eat soup.

Today matzo soup. We can eat that.

- No one knows what we get. - I know.

Half portion soup. And the margarine.

You jerk! I'm a Jew just like you.

Di bist ka jid, di bist a shegets. You no Jew.

- Then why am I here? - How I know that?

Give it here!

- Bloody Jew! - Makes it no cheaper.

Give it to me!

- What d'you want? Piss off! - It's my price.

Did you buy from him? Did you buy something?

You know how much it costs? Lick it up.

You are not going to let another one drop!

Come on, get in line!

We'll be here till dawn.

Three Riga Jews.

Should be success. Perfect speak German. Map, everything.

The Almighty not want it.

At least someone tried.

Have you lost your mind?

Any idea what's happening around you?

Yes. No supper tonight.

Where're you going? How long since you washed?

You've let yourself go completely. You've got lice, you're scabby,

Who asked you to boss me around? Fuck off, you git!

D'you want to die here? Don't you want to go home?

- I'm cold. - I asked something!

I'm cold.

Listen to me. I asked whether you want to go home.

- Home, understand? Home! - I'm cold.

You crazy? They'll beat your brains in.

- Don't be daft. - You bring trouble!

Disperse!

Get up! Supper soon. We can't leave him here.

- Why don't you get up? - I can't.

- Of course you can! - It hurts!

- What hurts? - My knee.

Come. Let's fold our hand.

Put him down there.

Supper! Supper!

Next.

- Come on, come on! - Let it go!

Let it go, understand?

Come on. You'll get it back.

I have to open it up and clean it.

It'll hurt. But I promise to be quick.

Are you hungry?

Terribly.

I protest! I've a right to a separate bed.

Ask the doctor!

We're full of patients.

- Move over! - I protest! I protest!

Can't you give us another rug?

I protest! It's my right!

Lie on your side, it gives us more room. Don't you understand?

Got any water?

Water? I could do with some too.

- Cigarettes? - None.

Coffee! Coffee!

Coffee. . .

Can't you see he's asleep? Give me his tin.

Soup!

He have slept for two days!

He is dead.

I'll go and get someone.

Thank you.

I protest! I protest! I pro-test!

Carrot soup.

I'll help you. Have you diarrhoea?

Do you speak Polish or Russian?

What is your name?

Not your number. Your name.

Gyorgy Koves.

What? What?

Gyorgy Koves.

Look at it. Did I spell it right?

Now, what's your number?

Nationality?

Hungarian.

Good.

Do you speak Hungarian?

Yes, I do.

Where're you from?

Budapest.

When did you arrive?

In November.

Do we get food here?

You'll get stronger here and you can go home.

- Room No. 6! Food. - I have to go now, take care.

Thank you.

Come on, come on! Buck up! Come on!

Stop!

Fresh air will make you feel better.

Back home we'll build a new country.

Come on, line up in threes.

Start marching! One, two, three four. . .

"Standing on guard on the walls of Madrid"

"Facing the gunshots come what may."

"Standing on guard for the dreams of its people"

"Ready to withstand the wildest siege."

Once more. One, two, three, four. . .

"Standing on guard on the walls of Madrid..."

Come on! Hold out a bit longer!

From tomorrow we've been promised some sort of transport.

This school has been assigned to us for the night.

Tomorrow we'll reach Dresden.

From there we can get a train to Bratislava.

We'll see how we go from there to Budapest. Come on! Inside!

Your shirt, you wretch! Why don't you take off your shirt?

He never takes off his shirt!

Take off your shirt, you jerk!

I didn't do anything!

He's got the SS mark.

D'you hear? Here's the mark!

What's going on? What's all this shouting?

I noticed he never took off his shirt.

Here's the SS tattoo under his arm.

It was guard duty. . .

That's enough, stop!

I didn't do anything, I just want to go home.

You wormed your way among us

to avoid being taken prisoner?

I didn't hurt anyone.

Did you join the SS in Hungary?

I only did guard duty.

I swear I didn't hurt anyone!

- Anyone know him? - No one.

He could've been in one of the smaller camp like Ohrdruf.

Hardly anyone was left alive in there.

I saw my brother shot dead by a shit like this!

Enough! No lynching here.

Four of you will take him to the Soviet command.

They'll get the truth out of him.

Tie him up, so he doesn't get away! You, you, you and you!

My leg hurts.

Yes, of course. . . Then you.

No, not that...

Dresden. I came here once.

You can't imagine what a town this was.

One of Germany's finest and richest cities.

They asked for it, the Herrenvolk.

Now they're grovelling.

That's what they wanted. That's what they got. They deserve it.

I feel now for the first time the meaning of the word victory.

Are you sorry for them?

They weren't sorry for you when they shoved you in the camp.

- Am I right? - Yes.

There you are. You're free. You're alive.

Try to be happy with life - and victory.

Have you seen him?

Have you seen my husband? Sure?

Sorry, no.

A 43-year-old man. With black curly hair.

Always smiling.

Sorry, I haven't seen him.

- And you? - Sorry.

I'd like to ask you something else if I may.

Yes?

Did you see the gas chambers?

We wouldn't be speaking now if I had.

Did they really exist?

It depends. They definitely did in Auschwitz.

But I've come from Buchenwald.

- From where? - Buchenwald.

- From Buchenwald. - Yes.

So you heard about the gas chambers,

but you didn't see them with your own eyes, right?

Right.

Thank you, that's all I wanted to know.

Come on! Come closer! Quickly!

We'll gather here! Get off the train, come on! Gather round me!

- Looking for someone? - Yes.

- Who? - Bandi Citrom.

He's not at home.

Not home at the moment or...

Not at all.

- Who's that? - Where are you. . .?

I was looking for Bandi Citrom.

He's not at home.

Come back later.

In a few days. Maybe.

Wait! Wait!

Tickets, please!

- Ticket! - I haven't got one.

- Then get one. - I haven't any money.

- You can't travel without a ticket! - My leg hurts.

- I'm sorry, I didn't make the law. - Enough of that, give me a ticket!

- Thank you. - Don't thank me!

Some people should be ashamed of themselves!

- Come from Germany, my boy? - Yes.

- Concentration camp? - Naturally.

- Which one? - Buchenwald.

I've heard of it. Another one of hell's circles. . .

- Where did they drag you off from? - Budapest.

You must have suffered many dreadful things.

Depends what you call dreadful.

I'm sure you were starved and maybe beaten too...

- Naturally. -Why do you keep saying "naturally",

when it's not the slightest bit natural?

It is in concentration camp.

That's true, but. . . a concentration camp itself is not natural.

The main thing is it's over, you survived!

What do you feel now

you're home again. . . in the town that you left behind?

Hatred.

We've got nothing.

What d'you want?

- Excuse me, but I live here. - You?

You must have mistaken the number! This is our flat!

Gyurka! Gyurka!

- Come in, my boy! - Look at that!

I rang the bell, but someone else came to the door.

What's happened?

Come on in! Come in.

- He's back! - When? Tell us about it!

Come in quickly, son!

- When did you arrive? - Let's see you!

I rang and someone else came to the door.

Aren't you hungry?

You used to love bread and dripping with onion rings. . .

Sit down, over there. That's it.

My father?

Is he dead?

He didn't suffer long. . .

His friends brought the news from a German camp...

But it's in Austrian territory.

- What was it called? - Damn. . .

- Mauthausen. - Mauthausen! That's it!

Mauthausen.

D'you know anything about my mother?

Of course. She's well.

She survived. She's fine.

She came by a week looking for you.

And my stepmother?

Well, she got married... But who to?

- Somebody Kovacs I think. - Not Kovacs, more like Futo...

Come off it!

- Suto. - Suto! That's it. Of course!

She's got a lot to thank him for.

He saved the family assets.

He even hid her in the hard times.

- Maybe it was a bit hurried. - Maybe. . .

Understandable, though.

Eat up, my boy.

Do you remember when I sat here last?

You debated whether I should take the bus or train to Auschwitz.

How could we know that your road would lead to the hell of the camps.

The camps aren't hell.

What are they then? I can only imagine them as hell.

- I can't imagine hell. - I can't see what's the difference?

Hell doesn't exist, but the camps do.

Luckily it's all over. You're home again.

You should be thinking about your future.

- My future? - First and foremost.

Why?

So that we can live.

Live in freedom.

We can't start a new life with that burden.

What about my old life?

That's mine too.

It's over.

We were assigned a different fate then.

But I accepted that fate.

- We all accepted it. - We had no choice.

- But now we're free. - We always were!

There was always enough time.

We waited a whole day in the customs house.

In Auschwitz we waited at least half an hour.

Things could always have turned out differently from what they did -

in Auschwitz just as at home when we bid my father farewell.

But what else could we have done?

I think you're tired. You've had a long journey.

a very long one.

Your mother's waiting. How happy she'll be!

Hurry home! Make her happy!

- Come, Gyurka. - Off you go!

Gyurka! What do you look like?

Was it very dreadful?

Did you learn what it means to be 'a Jew'?

It doesn't matter any more. It's over.

- Remember how you cried? - Did I?

I tried to comfort you, but I had no right

because I was a Jew too.

Why, what are you now?

I don't know. Maybe I don't even exist.

You're so strange. You've changed.

- I died once. - What do you mean?

I can't be angry any more.

To gather strength I stopped for a minute in the square.

It was that certain hour - even now, even here I recognized it -

my favourite hour in the camp.

And I was filled with a sharp, painful and helpless feeling:

I felt homesick...

Yes, in a certain sense life there was cleaner and simpler.

Those who had saved me came back to me.

For the first time I thought of them with mild resentment,

a kind of affectionate grudge.

But let's not exaggerate.

I accept every argument for the price of being able to live.

I looked around in that gentle, dusky square,

at that storm-tossed street which nonetheless held so much promise,

I felt the readiness gather within me:

I would continue this uncontinuable life of mine.

I remembered my mother had plans for me

to become an engineer, or a doctor.

And that's what'll happen:

there's nothing too unimaginable to endure.

And in my own way I already know that,

lying in wait for me like some unavoidable trap,

is happiness.

Even beside the chimneys in the pause between torments

there was something similar to happiness.

People only ask about the horrors,

whereas I should talk about

the happiness of the camps next time, if they ask.

If they ask at all.

And if I don't forget myself.