They Were Counted (81 page)

‘I’m sorry I got so cross,’ said Balint to Laszlo when he said
goodnight
at the door of his room.

‘And I am sorry I was so churlish!’ said Laszlo. ‘I am afraid that I offended you.’ Then, as he slipped into his room, he added softly: ‘But you see I am really very unhappy.’

A few moments later, as he was undressing, Laszlo heard someone tap at his door. He called out for whoever it was to come in. The door was opened by the hairy little lawyer, Azbej. Bowing very low and excusing him himself, Azbej immediately started off in his usual obsequious manner. ‘It’s just that I heard that your Lordship … that Count Stanislo Gyeroffy … that your Lordship was unable to convince the noble Count Stanislo … well, if your Lordship would honour me with his confidence,
perhaps
I
could do something to make his Lordship see reason. If I were to explain what is involved …’ and he quoted from the law books and from judgments in similar cases, going on, ‘then
naturally
his Lordship would have to withdraw his objections. I must explain to your Lordship that though I am a lawyer I do not practise generally. I merely look after the interests of the noble Countess. I do not work for anyone else. My life is dedicated to her Ladyship’s interests. But I thought that as your Lordship is a relation of her Ladyship … perhaps I could be of assistance … as a favour naturally … nothing else.’

Gyeroffy was thrilled and delighted by the little lawyer, despite his plethora of lordships and ladyships, and readily signed the
paper
that Azbej put in front of him authorizing the lawyer to take complete charge of Laszlo’s affairs. The authority had no limits and gave Azbej full power of attorney, but this signified nothing to Laszlo.

T
HE WORDS
‘secretly’ and ‘surprise’ were underlined twice. This note arrived at the end of August.

Balint sat at the window of his room reading Addy’s letter and thinking that it was a strange request. It was odd that she would want to buy a present for her husband and even odder that she should want him to do it for her; and he found himself feeling somewhat resentful. He wondered about the matter. What could have happened between husband and wife that she suddenly wanted to surprise him with a present? It had always been his
impression
that neither of them was much concerned to give the other pleasure by such little attentions as surprise gifts. What could have happened between them? Was it possible that something had changed in their relationship, that things were different and that at last they had become friends as well as man and wife? After five years, had they just discovered each other so that now Adrienne no longer dreaded the physical realities of married life?

Balint’s heart missed a beat at this last thought and he jumped up from his seat. Of course it was possible! It always had been possible. If it were so then it would be best for all of them, and for him it would mean freedom at last from that ever-present longing for her that he had found so destructive to his peace of mind. If she were reconciled to her husband it would be easy for him to break the invisible chains that bound him to this senseless,
profitless
adventure. He decided that he would comply with her strange demand and buy the Browning. Then he would take it himself to Almasko so as to make sure that Adrienne knew that he had understood what the purchase of this gift symbolized. As long as he did that she would not dare to mock his love for her, even if she had become a real wife to her husband, and he searched in his mind for the right ambiguous phrases with which to address her when they next met. Try as he would, however, instead of the lofty, disinterested, ironic words for which he sought, all that he could think of sounded bitter and vengeful, as if nothing could suppress the hurt in his soul. Later on he could think of nothing at all to say, even when one Sunday morning in early September he was already seated in the train with the little automatic in his bag and, later, when the Uzdy carriage brought him from Banffy-Hunyad to Almasko his mind was as blank as ever.

When they reached Nagy-Almas the coachman turned to Balint and asked if his Lordship would mind if they stopped to pick up the priest?

An elderly white-haired monk in a Franciscan habit was
waiting
for them in the town square. He got into the carriage and sat next to Balint. From their conversation Balint learned that every Sunday his companion went to say mass in the castle chapel.

‘But I thought the Uzdys were Protestant?’ remarked Balint.

‘Count Pali is, and the young Countess too, but Countess Clémence is a Catholic and so are some of the servants,’ said the monk, but he did not pursue the subject and soon fell silent.

Balint had hardly descended from the carriage when Adrienne walked out across the forecourt to meet him. The old butler Maier at once led the priest away and Adrienne and Balint were alone.

‘Did you bring it?’ Adrienne asked softly and then, rather more loudly than usual, she said: ‘Let’s go into the garden! I hate it
indoors
at this time of year!’

They sat down on the same bench where they had talked on the first day of Balint’s last visit, and once again he was impressed by how gloomy the landscape seemed. Some of the beeches were already turning gold but the great oaks were still as dark as
before
, some of them almost black. Only in the distance the divided walls of the ruined fortress shone white in the noonday sun.
Somehow
conversation did not come easily to either of them; for both of them were thinking of other things. From behind one of the ground-floor windows there was the sound of a bell, and the voice of the priest could be heard intoning: ‘
Dominus
vobiscum
…’

Below where Adrienne and Balint sat Pali Uzdy’s tall figure appeared from the right walking along one of the lower paths in the garden. His mother was on his arm, and they walked slowly towards the beech copse and the orchard beyond.

‘Doesn’t the old Countess go to mass?’ asked Balint, turning
towards
Adrienne. The sight of her face surprised him, for it seemed as if she were irradiated by some inner glow that shone through her delicate skin. Her head was held high and her big,
amber-coloured
eyes were wide open. It was the face of Medusa, thought Balint, beautiful and at the same time frightening. A malicious smile hovered on her full lips as she watched the pair below her, and she did not speak until they had disappeared among the trees.

‘What did you ask? Ah, yes, my mother-in-law!’ Adrienne laughed so mockingly that it might have been a pæan of triumph. ‘You know, AB, she too is quite, quite mad! She has decided to be
en froid
with God – not on speaking terms. I promise you it’s true! She’s not an atheist, not in the least! On the contrary, she’s a firm believer. But she became angry with God when her husband went insane and died despite all her prayers that he should be saved. She implored God, even made him some kind of vow; but God decided to take her husband all the same and she’s never
forgiven
him! Since those days she has never been to church and she never prays. In her bedroom the image of Christ is turned face to the wall. She has the priest brought here, as always; but it is only for Maier and some of the other servants. As for her, she wishes to show God that He is not welcome in her house because He was not obedient to her wishes.’

‘It’s very sad if what you say is true.’

Adrienne laughed cruelly. ‘She can’t bear it if anyone does
anything
that she herself has not decided and ordered. She didn’t succeed with Almighty God, and now she’s punishing Him for it!’

 

There were five at lunch, the three Uzdys, Balint and the priest. Before they sat down grace was said and Balint, remembering what Adrienne had told him, watched the old countess carefully. Indeed the dowager Countess Uzdy did not pray, nor join her hands, nor cross herself as the others did. She simply stood erect, her arms at her side, and stared at nothing. Her head, with its crown of thick white hair, was, if anything, held even higher than at other times.

The butler served the meal, as always in total silence.

The conversation was desultory. All Balint’s attention was
concentrated
on watching how the Uzdys behaved towards each other.

The atmosphere was strained, and there was an uneasy sense of pain in the room that was quite different from the last time Balint had been there. Most of the conversation was being carried by Adrienne, who talked more loudly than she usually did,
apparently
confident that thereby she could somehow defy her mother-in-law and dominate her husband. Uzdy was different too, more subdued and more attentive to his wife, as if he were now in some way subordinate to her, and was using his position to mediate between Adrienne and his mother. All this was barely perceptible but, to Balint’s heightened sensibility, it seemed
painfully
obvious that the relationship between husband and wife was no longer the same. It must be true then, what he had
suspected
and feared! This could be the only explanation. The
woman
in Addy had been set free at last. It must be that. It could only be that … and yet he could still hardly believe it. When he looked into Addy’s face, studied her laugh and the relaxed way she sat in her chair, he sensed that there was something else in her, something reckless and secret and determined, which called for some explanation that was not at all as simple as that he had worked out for himself. He noticed that from time to time Pali would look at him with an expression that seemed to combine mockery, condescension and – and this was the most offensive of all – something of pity.

When lunch was over Balint walked out on to the terrace with Adrienne.

‘I will take you to the ruins,’ said Addy. ‘Then you’ll see what a wonderful view there is from there.’

Uzdy started off with them, but left them as soon as they reached the lower door of the Swiss wing. ‘I’m sorry not to be able to go farther with you,’ he said, ‘but I have to copy out the daily estate reports.’ Balint looked at him enquiringly. ‘You see, every day each of the estate’s managers and agents brings me his report – about weather, fodder for the animals, the work done by the men we take on by the day, the milking, ploughing, maintenance, stock-breeding programme, everything that we do here. Each afternoon I collate it all into corresponding columns in a master register, and from these I work out the statistics. Of course it all makes a lot of paper-work for me, but it does mean that I know everything that is going on, even when I’m not here. This keeps everyone on their toes and afraid, and
that
is not only desirable but absolutely necessary!’

He laughed and said goodbye: ‘I leave Adrienne in your charge. I know that with you she’s in good hands, the best, the most expert of hands! So I know you’ll take good care of her, naturally, of course!’

He started to mount the creaking stairs with slow ponderous steps. Then, from above he called out to them once more: ‘Go ahead! Walk! Walk! It’s very good for you, the more the better! Of course, naturally! Go on! Walk!’ and his figure disappeared into the darkness of the stairway.

 

It took Balint and Adrienne just over half an hour to reach the ruins. They first arrived at a giant doorway hewn from the
natural
rock by masters of a long vanished era. A grassy road now passed that way between perpendicular stone walls over three metres high. This road led to Nagy-Almas and to get to the
ancient
fortress itself one had to follow a narrow path which wound its way diagonally up the steep cliffs that dominated the valley and on top of which the castle had been built. At the top was a grassy meadow which surrounded the ruins.

On their walk neither Balint nor Adrienne had felt like talking. Addy had asked him if he had brought the pistol with him and after he had confirmed that it was in his pocket they had not
spoken
again until they were almost in the shadow of the castle’s crumbling walls. Then, when they sat down together on a
fragment
of old dressed stone Adrienne asked him to give it to her. Balint took from his pocket a small tooled leather case and opened it. Inside lay the little Browning and fitted beside it were two loaded cylinders and slots for reserve bullets.

‘Oh, how pretty it is!’ cried Adrienne, like a small child seeing a new toy for the first time. She took the weapon from its case with practised hands, for she had often shot with Uzdy’s revolvers, and inspected it with a most professional air. Then she slid one of the cylinders into place and clicked back the safety-catch. ‘I’ll try it at once,’ she said. ‘I want to see what it can do!’ She took aim at the trunk of a nearby oak tree, which stood some ten paces away, and fired. The bullet tore a narrow yellow wound in the tree’s bark. ‘It’s good. Thank you so much, it was sweet of you to get it for me.’