IN THE FALL of 1988, I received a phone call from Budapest, from a man named George Marx, who introduced himself as the president of the Eótvós Society, Hungary's equivalent of the American Physical Society. He invited me to visit Hungary. 1 Like every other exile, I had dreamed of seeing my home again. Unlike many other exiles—my friend Eugene Wigner, for example, who visited after the liberalization of the Hungarian communist government—I had stayed in place on the other side of the Iron Curtain.
That was not simply by choice, as the following incident indicates. In 1975, the Minta Gymnasium in Hungary organized a reunion party of my graduating class. My childhood friend Nándi Keszthelyi and another acquaintance from my graduating class telephoned from Budapest to invite me to come, adding in jest, "If you don't accept our invitation, we shall tell Gröger and Martos how you are behaving." 2 We exchanged a few pleasantries, but I declined the invitation. A few days later, two security officers arrived at____________________