They Were Found Wanting (37 page)

As Crookface spoke, faltering as he did so, a remarkable change came over Laszlo’s face. First his mouth opened and his chin dropped and then his eyes opened wide in wonder before filling with tears. All the rigidity of his body, so recently tense with anger, melted away until he was like a puppet whose strings are broken. He fell into a chair and started to weep, with deep
racking
sobs.

Old Kendy remained standing where he was.

‘Well! Well! Come on, now! Mustn’t do that, you know!’ he said in a deep, rumbling voice and then, most unexpectedly and with clumsy awkwardness, he started to stroke the young man’s hair just as if he had been his own son. ‘Don’t … don’t do that!’ he repeated, his gruff voice deeper than ever.

Laszlo cried for a long time as he crouched ever deeper in the large armchair. At last something had been set free inside him, something hitherto imprisoned had been liberated. Soon he was crying quietly, crying for himself and his wasted life, for the hurt he carried within himself for so many years, and for the talent that he had abandoned so frivolously, for his dissipated life and for the chances he had missed. Now all was clear to him. It was a long time before he looked up at the old man who had waited so patiently, wiped his eyes and his face and said, ‘Forgive me, sir! I am deeply ashamed. I don’t usually … Please, forgive me!’

The old man looked down, and then, his old self again, merely grunted some brief four-letter obscenity and said, ‘Nothing to be ashamed about! It happens, you know. Does you good, like enough!’

‘But what can I do?’ asked Gyeroffy humbly.

Crookface pulled up a chair and sat down. Briefly he drew up a plan. Laszlo should go home at once and make a list of all his debts – and if necessary get someone to help him. Also he should list all his possessions, forestlands, houses and farms, even if he had disposed of them in some way. When this was done he should bring them to him and together they would discuss what should be done. Matters could not be completely hopeless and anyhow one had to make a start somewhere.

Laszlo agreed to do what Crookface had suggested and the two men shook hands. As they did so Kendy just added, ‘And try not to drink so damn much!’

It was many years since Laszlo had felt so at peace with himself and so light-hearted. When he left Crookface’s house he saw a café-bar across the street. For a moment he hesitated. Then he went in and the need that habit had instilled in him triumphed over his will. In a few moments he had downed three large
measures
of brandy.

That evening he left for the country. 

The day of the bazaar led also to an important event which
astonished
everybody: young Margit’s betrothal to Adam Alvinczy. How very unexpected, they all said, for everyone had known for ages that Adam was desperately in love with Adrienne. And now he’s marrying her sister!

In fact no one was more surprised than Adam himself, who hardly knew what had happened nor how it was that he found himself betrothed, and betrothed to Margit of all people. And the strangest thing of all was that it didn’t feel strange at all: on the contrary it all seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Since the bazaar, when as usual he went to the Uzdy villa at tea-time with the rest of their little band of friends, he no longer tried to sit near to Adrienne or even find a place where he could gaze longingly at her, but started to seek out Margit who – quite by chance of course – always seemed to be found alone in the
corner
of the drawing-room farthest away from the others. He would join her at once, justifying this move by saying to himself that there was no point in approaching Adrienne who disdained his great love. The other guests, Kadacsay, Pityu Kendy, the other three Alvinczy brothers and the Laczok girls, soon began to take it for granted that Adam and Margit would only whisper things to each other so, as soon as the two of them sat down some way apart, they would be left strictly alone. As a result they could discuss their favourite subject to their hearts’ content.

And that subject, now, was the amazing difference between Adrienne’s heartlessness and Margit’s understanding.

They milled over this fact and examined it in every detail every time they met. And so it came to pass that one afternoon they were to be found together in their favourite place in the
corner
. Baron Gazsi, far away in the centre of all the others, was
telling
some extremely droll tale of an adventure he had had with a horse and a wild boar sow – in which he had, as always, come off the worst – for Gazsi, unlike most people who tell stories about themselves, told only those stories in which he could represent himself as an unwitting clown. This manner was well suited to his woodpecker nose and plaintive eyes, while his way of rolling his ‘r’s so heavily made his sad self-deprecating stories all the more hilarious. Where Gazsi was, near the fireplace, everyone was in a constant roar of laughter.

‘How merry they all are over there!’ said Adam sadly to little Margit. ‘What fun they are all having! But you’re so good to me, sitting always with me and listening when you could be happy and laughing with the others. Dear Margit, aren’t you bored by all my complaints?’

‘Oh, no! I’d rather be here,’ she answered. ‘I’m like a nurse, you know. I like being of use. It’s a great joy to me if I can help to ease pain, especially yours – though I know it’s hopeless. I could listen to you for ever.’

‘I’ve never known anyone as good as you are, Margit! Do you know, I’m almost happy when I’m with you! If only you could stay with me always. You’re such a comfort, a real kindred spirit!’

Adam spoke very softly, which was only natural as they were sitting so close together on the sofa where, as it happened, there was plenty of space so to sit quite so close was not really necessary. Nevertheless they did sit so closely as to be almost touching and this, no doubt, was because in this way they could talk quietly without being disturbed by the loud chatter of the others. Their heartfelt words seemed all the more intimate when they were whispered into each other’s ears, and it was also easier to explain their inner feelings in this way and Margit, for once, could never have uttered her next words if they had had to be said out loud.

‘Of course! That would be the best! You marry me and I’ll always be with you. I’ll be your best friend and I’ll take care of you and we’ll talk about Adrienne all the time, just as we do now.’

‘My darling!’ he whispered, enchanted. ‘You would accept that? Knowing that my heart …?’

‘This one?’ she said quickly, touching his chest with her little hand and leaving it there for a moment. ‘This one’s broken, I know. And you’re not in love with me, I know that too … and never could be.’

‘That’s true, of course,’ said the young man sadly, still
believing
this to be the truth, ‘though I’m sure that if I had never met Adrienne I could have fallen in love with you!’

So they went on talking of what could never be and appearing to share their sad yet honey-sweet thoughts until they noticed that everyone was preparing to leave. When all the others had said goodbye and had already left the room, Margit put her hand on Adam’s sleeve. ‘Wait a moment!’ she said, and her words were no less than a command. ‘We’ll tell Addy now!’

This was an awkward moment for Adam, for how, after singing so many hymns of love to Adrienne, could he possibly tell her that he intended to marry her sister? However he need not have worried; young Margit handled it all with the greatest tact. She took his big hand in her small one, led him over to Adrienne, and said, ‘See, Addy, poor Adam is so unhappy that we have decided he will marry me! Don’t you see, this will be the best!’

Adrienne did not laugh, nor was she angry or even seem
surprised
. She looked at them both with total seriousness and
understanding
and then she put up both her hands and pulled down Adam’s head and kissed him on the forehead as a sign that he had her blessing. He had never achieved anything like that during his long courtship of her.

Adam blushed deeply and tried to think of some beautiful and romantic words with which to thank her; but nothing came because just then little Margit squeezed his hand with more force than he could ever have imagined she possessed.

This strong grip, though Adam never knew it either then or afterwards, was to be symbolic of their future together.

The next day the news was all over town. Old Rattle was
summoned
by telegram. He was delighted by his new role as Father of the Bride, embracing everyone he met, even total strangers, and shouting, every five minutes, despite floods of tears, ‘Oh, my poor wife Judith! Why couldn’t she have lived to know such joy?’ while the tears flowed down his cheeks even when his sorrow had turned to guffaws of delighted laughter.

Count Akos at once started a round of visits, mainly to the houses of old ladies of his acquaintance where such scenes were repeated several times a day, and to the Casino. He would even stop people in the street to laugh and cry and tell them of his great happiness and, of course, of his great sorrow.

T
HE COUNCIL OF WAR
was held in front of Balint’s tent. Balint himself sat on his shooting stick, ‘Honey’ Andras Zutor, the head forest guard, sat on the ground in front of him while Geza Winckler, the young and fully qualified forest
superintendent
who had been engaged by Balint to replace Nyiresy, sat close by on a tree trunk.

Below them the meadow on the Prislop sloped gently down towards Feherviz – the White Water. With small groups of trees the meadow almost looked like a park consciously laid out by
garden
experts. To the right of the little group of men were the steep slopes of the Munchel Mare, planted with a mixture of beech and pine trees, while to the left and behind them the forest was formed solely by dense plantations of pine trees. In front the view was closed by the peaks of the Humpleu range, which at this time in the late afternoon, with the sun behind it, was in deep
shadow
. High above was the crater-shaped rocky summit of the Vurtop whose chalky whiteness gleamed softly behind the inky shadows of the tree-capped mountains in front.

Balint loved this place and had always camped here since he had started coming to the mountains. Recently he had had a
shelter
for the horses built in the corner of the meadow, together with a long log cabin for the men who came with him. Nearby was a spring of fresh water; Balint’s own tent was always pitched some sixty yards away, a little higher up, partly because he liked to be alone and partly because he felt in some way mentally refreshed by contemplating that wild stretch of mountain and
forest
. From where he would sit, in front of his tent, Balint was
conscious
that the stream from the spring in the meadow below ran its course, unseen, through the great valley that was concealed from him by the trees until eventually it flowed into the main stream of the Szamos. Here all was peace and quiet, and the silence, in that landscape of sombre trees and jutting rocks, was that silence only to be found in the mountain forests.

Now it was the end of July, when the grass and the leaves on the trees were at their most lush and at their greenest.

At this moment the three men were listening to a report by a fourth, the forest guard Juanye Vomului, who stood before them at a respectful distance.

The
gornyik
Juanye was a stocky man, powerfully built and broad in the shoulder. He held his eagle’s beak of a nose high and he stood there proudly as befitted a man who was no tied peasant bound to his master but a freeholder, well-to-do and
independent
, who served the Abady family of his own free will. Everything in his demeanour and dress drew attention to his pride and importance, and even the broad belt studded with
copper
nails was as imposing as any on the mountain. His cotton shirt and trousers were clean and new and his huge fur hat was large enough to make a waistcoat. This last he had politely placed on the ground beside him and he stood there bareheaded, his shoulder-length black hair so heavily greased that it was barely ruffled by the strong wind. During the previous year Vomului had taken over responsibility for guarding the parcel of land on the Intreapa where control of the felling needed a man with
courage
and authority.

The
gornyik
explained his problem. Two hundred acres had been felled and by the end of spring all the wood had been carted away. In May the land had been replanted, at considerable cost and trouble. By the middle of June the grass had grown but as soon as it had been high enough the men of the nearby village had driven their cattle there to graze, eating the young trees along with the grass. He, Vomului, was powerless to stop the
villagers
not only because the 200-acre plot marched with the
village
common lands but also because each time he tried to confront them he was menaced by axes and, when he protested, threatened with being beaten to death. Not only that but alone he could hardly drive off so many animals and hold them hostage. Now the villagers brought in their cattle when they wished and the whole 200-acre parcel was likely to be destroyed.

Vomului spoke well and in a well-mannered fashion. He stood erect, his weight on one leg, the other stretched out in front of him. When he was asked a question he would first change legs to show that he never spoke without prior thought and reflection. And when he wanted to emphasize a point he would spit sideways as if a gob of spittle would be the seal of his honesty.

The council lasted for some considerable time until they
unanimously
decided what to do. Firstly all sixteen of the Abady forest guards would be mustered and together they would be strong enough to drive away the invading cattle. To achieve this the new superintendent would go down to the little town of Beles, round up the men and, making a wide detour, come through the Gyero-Monostor forests by night and be on the Intreapa by dawn. Balint himself, with four men and Honey Zutor, would start off early, and at daybreak rendezvous with the others on the boundaries of the village lands. In this way the villagers would not be forewarned of their arrival and would have no time to drive their cattle away from its illegal grazing.

By five o’clock the sun, though still high in the sky, had begun to disappear behind the high mountains to the west. The valley in front was in deep shadow, while, to the north, the bare peaks of the Munchel Mare shone golden with the late afternoon light. A light breeze rose from the valley as invigorating as sparkling wine.

Balint took his sporting rifle, though he had no intention of shooting anything, slung his bag over one shoulder and started off into the forest, intent only on watching whatever wild life he might encounter. At first he followed an old cart-track, now carefully seeded with grass since some order had been restored to the Abady forestlands. He did not have far to go before
arriving
at the hide he had had constructed high in the trunk of a giant fir. The tree stood at the edge of a precipitous drop, below which there was an immense clearing in the form of a semi-
circular
sea-shell, which reached as far as the slope up to the ridge opposite. Through the clearing ran countless little rivulets of water that united only by some rocks where they combined to form the start of a stream that would eventually find its way into the White Water far below. From Balint’s hide could just be heard the splash of the water as it fell into a cleft beyond the rocks.

Balint climbed the rough ladder and sat down on the floor of the hide. Taking out his binoculars he carefully inspected the landscape in front of him, pausing at every clump of trees or shrubs for the tell-tale signs of the presence of deer, usually only just the tops of their heads for that was all that there was to be seen when they were resting in the tall grass. They were always hard to see, however carefully one looked. Balint could see no sign at present and realized that he had arrived in time.

In the crystal-clear air a solitary eagle floated high above his head, describing wide circles with outspread wings seemingly motionless. Nothing else moved. It was a moment of Nature’s infinite calm. Alone in his eyrie Balint felt happy and for once at ease with the world.

The last few months had been quiet and devoid of incident. When Margit had announced her engagement Adrienne had decided that she must wait until after her sister’s marriage in the autumn before mentioning the subject of divorce to her husband. She felt that for the moment she must do all she could to replace their dead mother, supervising the preparation of Margit’s
trousseau
and her bridal chest of linen and doing all the work that
normally
fell to the bride’s mother. She felt, too, that she would never be able to do this properly if she was harassed by thoughts of the confusion in her own life, and indeed confusion amounting to havoc was sure to be the result of the awful disputes that would inevitably follow her telling Pal Uzdy that she wanted a divorce. As it was these summer months passed tranquilly enough. Adrienne and Margit went together to Budapest to go shopping and order everything that was necessary – and there it was easy for Balint and Adrienne to meet, and to make love, just as it was at Kolozsvar and when Balint went to stay at
Mezo-Varjas
. During those months life for them seemed perfect. They could meet often and be together with no fear of disturbance and, while they went about their daily lives, each occupied with their own duties and responsibilities, they would both weave dreams of their future life together when their union would be perfect and indissoluble. And during this time they managed somehow to put on one side all thoughts of the problems and resistance they would be bound to meet later.

Political life in the capital was also going through an unusually calm period. The agricultural minister, almost unnoticed, put through some essential reforms concerning the husbandry of
livestock
; Parliament passed the budget, held long debates on
modernizing
the House Rules; and the government, though not aided by a revolt of their own party members, succeeded in raising army officers’ pay. There was still unrest in Croatia where
insurgents
had insulted the Ban – the appointed Governor – but
everywhere
it was common knowledge that talks had begun between the Croatians and the Hungarian government which seemed likely to end in agreement.

The ‘little war’ that Slawata had hinted at the previous autumn never materialized and relations with Italy remained as amicable as ever. All the same, King Edward of England went ahead with his plans to visit the Tsar at Reval and did so in such a flamboyant manner that no one could have mistaken the visit for anything but a public flaunting of the Anglo-Russian alliance. The only real cloud on the political horizon had been the
revolutionary
movements in Turkey, which had begun with army revolts in Monastir and Salonika and ended with the Sultan Abdul Hamid granting a constitution, lifting the censorship and declaring a general amnesty. It was obvious to everyone that he had not done this of his own free will and so people began to speak of a new historical movement in Istanbul that could well come to preoccupy both Russian and England, whose interests in the Bosphorus were diametrically opposed. All sorts of
modifications
might be made here and there to the map of Europe without much disturbing the balance of power, but he who could wield the most influence over the dying Ottoman Empire held a trump card in the councils of the great powers of the West. Maybe, thought Balint, it will all be to our advantage. Perhaps, as it was in England’s prime interest to keep the Russian fleet bottled up in the Black Sea, King Edward might look with a more kindly eye upon Austria-Hungary?

It was thoughts of this kind which preoccupied Balint as he sat in his hide half-way up the great tree and scanned the scene in front of him for any signs of life. Now the late afternoon shade
softened
all the outlines so that changes of scale or vegetation were marked only by their colours, the bright shining green of the young beech shoots, the blue of the pines, the angry green of the grass on the edge of the little streams and its fading yellow by the clay banks. Two fallen tree-trunks gleamed white against the soft grass, cutting a hard line as if etched with a sharp knife, and everywhere there was slight movement as a soft almost
imperceptible
breeze kept the grass in shimmering motion which concealed the solid earth beneath.

From somewhere near the river could be heard the cry of a kingfisher. No other sound was to be heard until suddenly there was a very soft crackling, so soft that it would never have been noticed if everywhere around there had not been such total silence. It came from the edge of the forest to the right, and Balint swiftly looked in that direction.

A doe raced out of the undergrowth, ran in a wide curve to the bottom of the valley and then turned and ran back to a little hillock where she stood waiting. In an instant she was followed by a buck. The chase must already have lasted some time since the buck showed flecks of foam round his mouth. The buck stopped almost as soon as he saw the doe some fifty feet away on her little hillock. As if totally unconcerned she made as if to graze for a moment. Then she raised her head, looked straight at the buck and gave the mating call, a low whistle. At once he ran towards her. She, ever coquettish, waited motionless until he was less than two paces away and then made a great jump and ran off.

The two deer ran almost together towards the foot of the cliff below Balint’s hide. Here the buck nearly caught up with his quarry but she found a new way to tease him, racing round and round a little grove of hazel bushes with him in hot pursuit until the buck abruptly stopped, so out of breath that Balint could hear him panting. For a few instants they remained still and if Balint had dropped something it would have fallen between them. Suddenly the doe whistled again and was off, the buck close behind her, zigzagging across the valley, leaping over the fallen trees and bushes, stopping and starting as the doe seemed to order, and then finally disappearing over the ridge and out of sight. Balint wondered how many more clearings they would find for the chase before the female finally decided to end the game. He had been enthralled by this glimpse of love-making in the wild.