Fateless (Sorstalanság) (Sorstalanság)

l didn't go to school today.

Well, if only to ask my teacher

to let me go home

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

He asked what the reason was.

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

He left it at that. l 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. l 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!

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

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

- Goods? - Of course, the goods!

l should give you a receipt.

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

l know you trust me, Mr Koves,

but there's a proper way to do things.

lsn'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 l can say is, Mr Koves...

l'll see you very soon.

l 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?

l know what's in that box.

lt's secret, understand?

Hello, yes, it's me.

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

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

You're 14 and a half now.

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

Your mother's on the line.

No, l can't. lt's his last day. You heard.

Of course, Monday. Right.

l won't be needing these any more.

- Are you hungry? - Terribly.

You've hardly taken any.

l can't eat a thing.

You mustn't despair.

l'll miss you.

You'll be on your own.

But l won't.

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

- Won't we, Gyurka? - Yes.

Just go on eat.

l'm not hungry.

- Hello. - Hello.

Don't! Stupid!

What about last night, during the air-raid?

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

l was just scared. And you took advantage.

Are you angry?

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

Yeah. Oh, no l 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? - l'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.

l can't tell you more than that.

This is completely reliable information.

Just as reliable as your racing tips

which l 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 l shouldn't even bother to report to the labour camp?

Perhaps it's a bluff too.

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

But l'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.

lf l were as sure of my tips as l am of that,

l wouldn't be the pauper l am!

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

l'd like a little talk with you.

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

l'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.

lt worried me that l didn't understand what we were saying to God.

l think l mixed up the words a bit.

But by the end of the prayer, l 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 l'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 l 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!

lt's late, Gyurka.

l don't want to wake you at dawn.

l may come back one day.

Till then... look after each other.

Your mother may try to take advantage that l'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.

l'll write to you,

and you write too, Gyurka.

Son!

His hug came unexpectedly.

l 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,

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

l'm glad it happened the way it did,

and l felt father was pleased too.

After that he sent me to bed.

l was pretty tired by then,

but l thought that at least

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

There's a war on...

l'm alone...

l miss you.

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

But it is about you now.

Do you love me?

Of course l do.

Then why do you insist on staying with that woman?

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

One can't prove love by words.

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

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

And l can't go against father now,

when he's in a labour camp.

Go now.

The curfew'll be in force soon.

lt doesn't apply to me. l've got a pass.

So, you're starting tomorrow.

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

You're right, dear.

l hear of nothing but raids, people disappearing.

Stop being a prophet of doom!

lt'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, l 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.

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

- Train! - Bus!