Beware of Pity (17 page)

“‘The keys?’ she repeats blankly.

“‘Yes, the keys, for God’s sake!’ (Why is she havering like this, he wonders. Probably been told by Petrovic not to let anyone in. Well—all I have to do is give this frightened woman a tip.) And Kanitz immediately adopts a jovial tone, speaking with a Viennese accent.

“‘There now, not so scared, miss! I ain’t about to rob you. I just fancy a little look around. So how about it … you got them keys or not?’

“‘The keys … well, of course I have the keys,’ she stammers. ‘But … I don’t know when Herr Petrovic the manager …’

“‘Like I said, your friend Petrovic don’t need to be with me. So no more fooling about, miss. Know your way around the house, do you?’

“The woman’s awkwardness becomes even more obvious. ‘I think … yes, I think I can say I know my way around it.’

“An idiot, thinks Kanitz. What useless domestic servants Petrovic’s been hiring! He orders, in a loud voice, ‘Let’s get a move on, then. You think I got all day?’

“He goes ahead, and she actually follows him, meek and uneasy. At the front door she hesitates again.

“‘For God’s sweet sake, open that door!’ Why does the woman act so stupid, he wonders, so awkward? As she takes the keys out of the thin, shabby leather bag she is carrying, he asks, to be on the safe side, ‘What’s your position in this house, eh?’

“Intimidated, the woman stops, and blood rises to her cheeks. ‘I’m … ’ she begins, and then corrects herself at once. ‘I mean I used to be … I was the Princess’s companion.’

“It is our friend Kanitz’s turn to catch his breath (and I assure you it was hard to throw a man of his stamp off balance). He involuntarily takes a step back.

“‘You’re … you’re never Fräulein Dietzenhof, are you?’

“‘Yes,’ she replies in alarm, as if she had been accused of some misdemeanour.

“If there was one thing to which Kanitz had been a stranger all his life, it was embarrassment. But in that one second he was horribly embarrassed, as he realised that he had run
headlong into the legendary Fräulein Dietzenhof, the heiress of Kekesfalva. He immediately changed his tune.

“‘I’m so sorry,’ he stammers, dismayed, and he is quick to take his hat off. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear young lady … But no one told me you had arrived already … I had no idea … do please excuse me … I … I came only …’

“He stops short, because now he has to think up something plausible.

“‘It was only about the insurance … you see, I was here several times years ago, when the late Princess was still alive. Unfortunately I never had a chance of meeting you then, dear lady … Yes, it was only about the insurance … just to see whether the house contents are still intact … It’s our duty to check up on such things. But there’s no great hurry.’

“‘Oh, please, please … ’ she says in alarm. ‘I don’t know anything about such matters. Perhaps you’d better discuss it with Herr Petrovic.’

“‘Of course, of course,’ says our friend Kanitz, who still hasn’t quite recovered his presence of mind. ‘Of course I’ll wait to see Herr Petrovic.’ (Why explain any more, he asks himself.) ‘But maybe, if it’s not too much trouble for you, dear lady, I could just take a quick look around the castle, and then it would all be dealt with in no time. I don’t suppose anything much has changed in the furnishings and other contents.’

“‘No, no,’ she says hastily, ‘nothing at all has changed. If you’d like to make sure of that for yourself …’

“‘You’re too kind, dear lady,’ says Kanitz, bowing, and they both go into the house.

“His first glance in the salon is for the four Guardis, the Venetian scenes that you know yourself, and next door, in what is now Edith’s boudoir, he checks the glass-fronted cupboard of
Chinese porcelain, the tapestries and the little jade figurines. What a relief! It’s all still there. Petrovic hasn’t stolen anything from indoors, the stupid fellow has confined himself to oats, clover and potatoes, and to seeing that his own domain is kept in repair. Meanwhile Fräulein Dietzenhof, obviously fearing to disturb the strange gentleman as he looks nervously around, throws open the closed shutters. Light floods in, and there is a view through the tall French windows far out in the park. I must get into conversation, thinks Kanitz, mustn’t neglect her. Make friends with her, he tells himself.

“‘A lovely view of the park,’ he begins, taking a deep breath. ‘What a wonderful place to live!’

“‘Yes, lovely,’ she obediently agrees, but something about the way she echoes him doesn’t sound whole-hearted. Kanitz senses at once that, intimidated as she has been, she has forgotten how to disagree with anyone frankly, and only after a while does she add, by way of explanation, ‘Of course the Princess never felt quite at her ease here. She was always saying the flat countryside made her melancholy. She really liked only the sea, and the mountains. It was too isolated for her here, and the people …’

“Here she catches herself up again. Go on, Kanitz reminds himself, talk to her, keep the conversation going.

“‘But I hope you’re going to stay with us now, dear lady?’

“‘I—stay here?’ She instinctively raises her hands as if to fend off something undesirable. ‘Here? Oh no, no! What would I do in this big house all by myself? No, I’ll be leaving just as soon as everything’s been settled.’

“Kanitz gives her a cautious sidelong glance. How small and thin she looks standing in this large room, the unhappy owner of the whole place! She is rather too pale and too unsure of herself, or she could almost be described as pretty. That long,
delicate face with its downcast eyelids is like a landscape seen in rain. Her eyes themselves are a soft cornflower blue, warm and gentle, but she dares not turn their radiance on anyone—instead they keep retreating behind their lids again. Kanitz, a good observer, immediately sees that here is someone whose will has been broken. She has no backbone any more, he can twist her around his little finger. So he must make conversation, talk to her! And with a frown of sympathy on his brow, he makes further enquiries.

“‘But what will become of this handsome property? A place like this needs management, firm management!’

“‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’ She speaks very nervously. Her whole frail body expresses uneasiness, and in that one moment Kanitz realises that this woman, used to dependency for years, will never have the courage to make an independent decision, and is more alarmed by her inheritance than glad of it. She feels the anxiety of it lying like a heavy burden on her slender shoulders. He thinks at lightning speed. Not for
nothing
has he learnt all about buying and selling in the last twenty years, urging a sale or alternatively showing reluctance. You have to encourage the buyer and discourage the seller, that’s the way for an agent to proceed, and he immediately strikes the requisite note of discouragement. Make it seem onerous to her, he thinks, and in the end I’ll be able to lease the estate from her in one swift operation and get in ahead of Petrovic. Perhaps it’s lucky after all that the manager is in Vienna today. He immediately assumes a regretfully sympathetic manner.

“‘Yes, you’re quite right! A large property always means
trouble.
You never get any rest, you have to deal with the
management
and domestic staff on a daily basis, and then there are running battles with the neighbours, not to speak of taxes and
the expense of lawyers! Whenever people feel there’s a bit of property and money about, they’ll try to cash in. You find you’re surrounded by enemies, however little ill will you bear them. It just can’t be helped, there’s nothing for it—wherever there’s a smell of money about then, sad to say, very sad to say, everyone proves to be a thief. You’re quite right; a property like this has to be ruled with a rod of iron, or you’ll never succeed. You have to be born to that kind of thing, and even so it’s a ceaseless battle!’

“‘Oh yes!’ She sighs deeply, and he can see that she is
remembering
something that makes her shudder. ‘People are dreadful, dreadful when it comes to money. I already knew that!’

“People? What does Kanitz care about people? Why should he care whether they act well or badly? He just wants to lease this estate as quickly as possible and on the most favourable possible terms. He listens to her, nods politely, and as he listens and nods he is working out, in another corner of his brain, how to fix it as fast as he can. I could found a consortium to take on the lease of Kekesfalva, the whole of it—the arable land, the sugar factory, the stud farm. Then it can be sublet to Petrovic for all I care, he thinks, so long as I can keep my hands on the house contents. First and foremost I must see about leasing the place at once—put the fear of God into her and she’ll accept whatever she’s offered. She’s never earned money, she doesn’t deserve to get much of it. While every nerve and fibre of his brain is working at top speed, his lips go on uttering apparently sympathetic commonplaces.

“‘And the legal quarrels are the worst of it—however much you may like a quiet life, you find you can’t avoid those eternal quarrels. That’s what has always put me off buying any kind of property. Legal proceedings the whole time, lawyers, negotiations, court cases and scandals … no, better to live quietly with
a sense of security and none of all that trouble. You might think yourself well off with an estate like this, but really you’re just plagued by other people the whole time, never a moment’s real peace and quiet. In itself, of course, this castle is a wonderful place … such a fine old property, wonderful … but you’d need the strongest nerves and an iron fist to run it, or it will never be anything but a constant burden.’

“She is listening to him with her head bowed. Suddenly she looks up with a heavy, heartfelt sigh. ‘Yes, a terrible burden … if only I could sell it!’”

At this point Dr Condor stopped suddenly. “Here I have to
interrupt
myself, Lieutenant, to explain what that brief sentence meant to our friend. I’ve already said that Kekesfalva told me this story on the worst night of his life, the night of his wife’s death, and thus at one of those moments that come only two or three times in anyone’s life—one of those moments when even the most cunning deceiver feels a need to reveal himself to another human being as he truly is, as he might before God. I can still see him as we sat downstairs in the sanatorium waiting room. He had moved close to me, and was talking quietly, intently, as a great flow of words poured out. I felt that he was telling this whole long tale to make himself forget that his wife was dying upstairs, he was numbing himself by talking on and on. But at this point in his narrative, when Fräulein Dietzenhof said, ‘If only I could sell it!’ he suddenly stopped. Think of it, Lieutenant—fifteen or sixteen years later, the memory of that moment when the unsuspecting young woman, almost an old maid already, confessed so impulsively that she just wanted to sell Kekesfalva
quickly, as quickly as possible, moved him so strangely that he turned quite pale. He repeated it two or three times, probably with exactly her own intonation: ‘If only I could sell it!’ For the Leopold Kanitz of that time had seen at once, with his quick perception, that the deal of his life was falling into his hands, and he had only to hold on to it. He could buy this fine estate himself, not just lease it. And as he hid his inner turmoil under a show of unruffled conversation, ideas were chasing each other headlong through his mind. I must buy it, of course, he thought, before Petrovic intervenes, or the chairman of the sugar factory board from Budapest. I mustn’t let go of her, I must make sure she can’t go back on her word. I’m not leaving here until I am master of Kekesfalva. And at the same time, with that mysterious ability to pursue two trains of thought at once that is often given to us at moments of great tension, he was thinking one thing to himself and purely
for
himself, while at the same time telling her the opposite in tones of calculated, slow deliberation.

“‘Sell it … yes, of course, dear lady, one can always sell
anything
, everything. Selling is easy, but the trick of the thing is to sell
well
. It all depends on selling on good terms. You’d need to find an honest purchaser, someone who knows this countryside, knows the land and the people … someone with connections, certainly not one of those lawyers who’d want to drag you unnecessarily into court cases … and then, an important consideration in this particular case, you should sell for cash down. You’d need to find someone who wouldn’t tie up the purchase price in bonds and promissory notes, because then you’d be at odds with your buyer for years to come … no, you want to sell on secure terms and at the right price.’ At the same time he was doing calculations in his head—I can go up to four hundred thousand crowns, or four hundred and fifty thousand
at the most. After all, there are those pictures, they’ll be worth fifty thousand, maybe even a hundred thousand in themselves. There’s the house, the stud farm … I’d have to see if they’re encumbered in any way, and find out whether anyone else has already made her an offer … Suddenly he pulled himself together and forged ahead.

“‘Do you, dear lady—forgive me for asking an indiscreet question—do you have a rough idea of the price you should ask? I mean, are you thinking of a certain sum?’

“‘No,’ she replied, at a loss, looking at him with dismay in her eyes.

“Damn! Not good, thought Kanitz, not good at all! Negotiating with sellers who don’t name a price is always more difficult. They go hither and thither asking for advice, and everyone they ask makes an assessment and gets his word in. If I give her time to ask other people’s opinions I’m lost. But even as this inner turmoil shook him, his lips talked tirelessly on.

“‘However, you must surely have come to
some
conclusion of what you would ask, dear lady … after all, buyers would also want to know whether the property is encumbered, and if so to what amount. Encumbered by any mortgages, I mean.’

“‘Mort … mortgages?’ she repeated. Kanitz realised at once that this was the first time in her life she had heard the word.

“‘I mean, some rough assessment of the estate’s value must have been made … if only for the purposes of inheritance tax. Didn’t your lawyer—forgive me if I seem to be intruding, but I really would like to be able to advise you honestly—didn’t your lawyer mention any figure?’