“You looked like an anarchist! I had no idea who you were, underneath that beard.”
Zoltán ran a hand over his smoothly shaven cheek. “You’re one to talk. What happened to the dapper fellow who used to visit the barber in Andrássy út every single day? I’m surprised Magda lets you go about dressed as you are.”
“She knows better than to argue with an old man.”
We were, by this time, well into the second bottle of wine and I was growing drowsy. “Excuse me.” I stifled a yawn.
“We should get some sleep, children,” said György. “You’ll be wanting to make an early start tomorrow.”
“You seem to be under the impression that I’m leaving,” said Zoltán.
“Of course you’re leaving, Zoli. The fight is over.”
“You’re wrong. The struggle will continue even after the Russians come back. It continued u
