Parallel Stories: A Novel (97 page)

Stop thy trembling, his father snarled as he rose from his enormous carved desk, I will not lay a finger on thee, but be sure I shall have thee flogged.

He wanted to know exactly what had happened; he asked hard questions in the interrogation, set traps, his eyes penetrating more and more deeply, lighting up every dangerous corner, and all along maintained the formal address.

Then he had his son taken to the empty city detention cell, and the gendarmes beat him with a flagpole because they couldn’t find a stick, but it was a largely symbolic beating.

He was locked up for three days and given only bread and water.

The family’s extravagant lifestyle and chaotic finances allowed for nothing else but that the son too would become a municipal or district civil servant like his father, who had been for many years magistrate of the Mohács district and very popular, given his dispassionate fairness. The son’s other choices were the armed forces or the church. Since he took God no more seriously than anything else, the young Bellardi opted for the navy, where his career ended before it began: shortly after he received his commission, he had to leave because of some matter of honor of whose details no one seemed to know anything.

He was alleged to have stolen money from a fellow officer, but this was impossible to imagine about him.

Madzar kept shaking his head at this news as if he had water in his ears, gesticulating to his mother and warning her not to dare repeat it.

In the end, Bellardi fetched up on the only luxury liner owned by the First Steamship Company of the Danube, which was struggling with serious financial difficulties. Part of the reason for this move was that his future father-in-law had a major interest in the company. In fact, Baron Koháry liked the good-looking young man more than he loved his own beautiful daughter, whom he later sent on her way with a single suitcase.

The baron was a man unhappy to the very depth of his soul who had never shown any of his unhappiness to another human being. He viewed the penniless young man with a certain pity for letting himself be ensnared so haplessly by his daughter’s beauty and dowry. Bellardi would raise his only male grandchild, which Koháry approved of with all his heart. Nor did he fail to notice that Bellardi preferred to follow his example of stern paternal advice rather than that of his own father, his flesh and blood.

The steamship company, for undisclosed personal reasons as well as others, did not easily give up the old ship. At sessions of the board of directors they gave as reason for their expensive persistence the hope that when Hungary regained the territories that so unjustly had been taken from her, she would again have an outlet to the sea and, as a result, Danube shipping would flourish anew. After Viscount Rothermere made his unsettling declarations favoring a revision of the borders of Hungary,
*
no one had any doubt about the matter. The situation of the merchant fleet would change, shipping would become profitable again, and therefore in the interest of the future the beautiful old liner should not be sold.

You probably wouldn’t want to dine with these people, said Madzar, fighting his blushes, and with an awkward movement of his hands tried to return the captain’s sentimental hugs.

Ever since Serbia’s bloody rule after the Great War, the people of Mohács had feared Serbs.

That leaves Chief Counselor Elemér Vay as a possible table companion, you can see him right behind my back, said Bellardi, laughing, but I have a feeling you won’t mind very much if we skip him too.

On the contrary, replied Madzar, but the gesture of dismissal did not succeed, their hands slipped together, their fingers locked involuntarily.

Anyway, I have an important assignment to carry out, Bellardi continued, and because of it, I’ll have a table set for us upstairs. I must talk to you about something in absolute confidence. Josef, he called to the old waiter who had been standing close to them all along,
wir essen oben, trinken zumal ein Burgogne Chardonnay
.

Madzar, plausibly, was incredulous.

An assignment, from whom, about what.

More confidential than usual, said the captain, and laughed encouragingly.

And Madzar instantly felt that he had to defend himself and apologize; he said he really did not know anyone here, he had not been born into a good enough family to have any serious connections anywhere, and while he spoke he realized how revealing and ridiculous his fear must sound to Bellardi.

Across the bridge, they reached the captain’s salon, where Bellardi usually invited valued passengers for tea or coffee, or for the sheer enjoyment of watching the landscape swim by. The compact wainscoted room was at the highest point of the ship, its windows set in a semicircle. As soon as they came inside, the landscape offered itself to them. Water and air, nearness and distance; in the gentle rhythmic rocking, all outlines dissolved, everything blended together.

The captain reached for the light switch, but the architect put a hand on his arm.

With your permission, one more moment, please.

Of course, of course, laughed Bellardi, as if he realized he had forgotten something important, his friend’s aesthetic thirst, which he, Bellardi, considered feminine whimsy; please, sit down, right there. He pointed to the cream-colored, silk-upholstered cherrywood armchair. From here, you can see all this darkness more comfortably.

Madzar did not sit down.

Along the shores of the huge river, the infinite flatland dissolved in the cool mist of evening.

The darkness endures, giggled Bellardi behind his back.

They moved forward in the darkness, but that made no change in it.

What do you mean by that, asked the architect cautiously. The captain did not reply right away.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the western horizon, leaving wild lights in the air, mad colors piled on top of long, layered strips of clouds. Incandescent oranges, yellows, melting reds, hard purples, nacreous grays radiating from inside out, every shade of gray from white to black, while a thin slice of the moon was already shining on the steel-gray crystal surface of the eastern sky.

Which they kept approaching, the ship puffing and trembling, stuttering as it were, but which they neither reached nor came closer to.

It was my dear old father’s habit to huff and puff about how the universe is mutable and only its darkness is enduring, said Bellardi in an unusually quiet tone. It wasn’t his own wisdom, he added, laughing, he was only summarizing the contents of an old letter. There is an ancient letter, you know, in the possession of Mother’s family, the wisdom comes from that letter.

Madzar wanted to ask what sort of letter and what was in it, but the waiter and the cabin boy appeared, bearing everything needed for the dinner table.

They clattered with the dishes and utensils, exchanging short instructions as they worked.

An ivory tablecloth flew up, opened, flared out, and landed flat in the semi-darkness brightened with improbable lights and colors; the Mayer boy smoothed it out over the table.

The two men kept silent and immobile in their places.

When the old waiter and the cabin boy had disappeared into the steep stairwell, the captain, with two slender wineglasses in his hand, stepped closer to Madzar.

Tell me, Madzar asked in a serious tone, in the deepening twilight that promised to be overemotional, which frightened him, do you remember the name of the Jew who had the lumberyard below the pier.

Gottlieb, you dummy, Bellardi replied, and his voice grew hesitant, quickly taking him in another direction; he concealed his surprise by pretending that the recalled memory put him under the spell of a cheerful absentmindedness. Why on earth are you asking.

Funny, but I couldn’t remember it, Madzar replied, as if he had to apologize for his question. How laughable one can become with memory lapses.

Because of his carelessness, they each knew whom the other was thinking about.

About whom they would never speak again or, more precisely, about whom they had stopped talking even back then.

I never found out, the captain continued in his more cheerful tone, did finally anything happen between you and Marika Gottlieb.

I’m serious, he said, and held out his glass with the quavering gold-blond wine.

I liked her, no doubt about it, the architect replied and gazed pensively at the wine, but we were little children. I haven’t seen her since.

I don’t understand what you mean by that.

Even though he understood very well.

Because Marika Gottlieb’s thin face did appear to both of them, though neither of them was thinking of her. Madzar wanted to keep feelings at a distance, yet he was glad he had managed with his unguarded remark to remind Bellardi of something they wouldn’t speak of.

In fact, I liked her a lot, he added so that they would go on to talk about what they had been keeping to themselves.

Well then, here’s to it, God bless you, said Bellardi, raising his glass. No doubt about it, with Marika Gottlieb our manly life is complete.

They both laughed.

Madzar was embarrassed by their shamelessly shared laughter. This too he could not take back. It was too much for him that with the laughter, instigated by Bellardi, they were sealing their past complicity; with it, they were canceling their love.

Whatever happened, whatever is happening now, the captain continued, growing serious as he made his own reference to the dark story, which Madzar had just succeeded in suppressing with his reminder—and unexpectedly he cried out dramatically, you made me very happy, my dear friend, one might say you gilded my childhood. And I am very happy now that I can have you here for a little tête-à-tête, he added quietly. I must manfully confess that to you.

To keep the emotions generated by the confession from overwhelming him, he grimaced amiably.

Madzar looked at him as at a complete stranger whom he was seeing for the first time.

Why say things like that aloud.

Let’s drink to that, let’s, exclaimed Bellardi as if he understood Madzar.

You won’t believe this from such an arch pagan as me, but I am grateful for this gift even to the Lord, the one and only Creator.

They might have laughed at this remark, but there was only silence between them.

I’d like to know what you were thinking about, said Madzar after a pause, in a more severe tone, as if these frivolous words had briefly anesthetized him.

What does it matter what I was thinking about, replied the captain, pretending to be annoyed, his tone sober. What I think, you know, is that there will be a war and we, dictated by our interests, will join it. The Germans will devour everybody, that’s what I’ve been thinking. And I’m thinking about my scandalous life, about which I’m not going to give a report. All you civilians, pardon my language, haven’t the vaguest notion of what’s going on in the depths.

Madzar did not like this turn in the conversation. What is going on in the depths, he asked amiably.

We’ll only harm ourselves if we do something openly against it, but it would be very irresponsible to jump in blindly.

Water flows in the depths, my dear Laci, nothing else.

You’re putting it mildly, Bellardi said, laughing.

As one who knew more and was ready to divulge anything.

You want to put one over on me, my good man. Maybe we should talk of the blood that will also flow.

Which, of course, to spare the other man, he’d never say out loud.

Despite his resistance, Madzar had to admit to himself that Bellardi was steering their conversation in the right direction. Perhaps it was right to talk about politics and nothing else. It is better for the captain not to share his secrets. He nodded his heavy head with the hair like armor.

That’s the reason I want to go away, you see, and the sooner the better, far away from Europe, he answered heavily and then stopped abruptly.

Somewhere it’s still possible to work, he added by way of explanation.

The project you have agreed to do here, though, you will finish, won’t you.

Yes, I shall.

It’ll probably take you into the fall, said Bellardi in a tone implying that in the most sensitive depths of his soul he wanted to understand something of the other man, or that he was weighing something.

It will probably be winter by the time I finish it.

They clinked their stemmed glasses lightly; this too was part of their declared happiness.

Madzar was now belatedly overcome by panic. He couldn’t imagine a life in which every emotion was openly named.

As if the desire for transparency were dragging him toward bottomless depths. His psychological preparedness and architectural concepts made contact at this point but remained irreconcilable. He also didn’t understand how he could have gotten so far with Mrs. Szemz
ő
. Who should stop, and where, with this compulsion for transparency. Two mature men, ridiculous, he kept reassuring himself.

I’ll never take this ship again, not me.

I can put an end to this story, very simply.

Would it have any significance if he placed emptiness behind a glass wall.

They were looking into each other’s transparent eyes.

They sipped and inhaled the fine aroma of the wine, filled with the rich, mature, sweet autumnal fragrances of a distant land. Happiness was its aroma, a fulfillment, but its flavor was tart.

Again, he wanted to change the subject quickly.

You know, I’m making some of the furniture myself, he began to explain. That’s also part of the reason why I asked about old Gottlieb. If I found the right material at his place, I could stay home for a while. But in any case I’ll probably need a few weeks in summer just for the furniture.

A few weeks in summer, Bellardi repeated pensively, his voice trailing off into an intimate distance while he absentmindedly twirled the stemmed glass between his fingers.

I’d say about two months.

God, if I could have a few weeks of summer in Mohács.

You know, I’m very excited about being able to work in my father’s workshop, which was also my grandfather’s.