War & War

by Krasznahorkai, László

  23.

  That’s the kind of person I am, said Korin, and spread his arms wide, having arrived at a crowded place and spotted a young couple, yet immediately conscious of the impossibility of telling them who he was, and of the general lack of interest likely to be evinced by anyone else in the matter, simply adding: Yau wauldn’t happen ta knaw a place where … where I might spend the night?

  24.

  The music, the venue, the crowds, or rather, that mass of young faces; the dim light, the volume of noise, the wreaths of rolling smoke; the young couple he had addressed and the way they helped him when he, like them, was being frisked at the cash-desk, the way they led him in and explained where things were while constantly reassuring him that, of course, they could solve his problem, the best solution being to enter and remain in the Almássy, where there was likely to be a real hard-core gig, with Balaton as the main band featuring Mihály Víg, and he needn’t worry because it would be the kind of gig that would go on till dawn; and then it struck him, the extraordinarily dense crowd of people, the stench and, by the end, all those dazed, empty, sad eyes everywhere, in other words what with everything happening so suddenly and all at once, said Korin the next day at the MALÉV office, after those long days of solitude followed by the hour of terror when he was attacked on the railway bridge, he suddenly felt utterly exhausted and had barely spent a minute in there before his head ached and he felt dizzy, unable to adjust to anything, his eyes being accustomed to neither the dim light nor the smoke, his ears, after all the mad panic he had been through, unable to cope with the peculiar, quite unbearable racket, and, heaven knows, at first he was incapable even of movement—as he recounted next day—among this “crush of desperate pleasure seekers,” being hemmed in, rooted to the spot, then gradually swept one way then the other by close groups of perspiring dancers, eventually fighting his way through to the wall where he managed to insert himself between two silent huddles who happened to be hanging about there; and there, and only there at last could he try to come to terms with the noise level by adopting some kind of defensive posture against it and against all the misfortunes that had so unexpectedly befallen him, to begin to collect himself and assemble his thoughts, for, having reached this point of security, however infernally crowded and chaotic it was, his capacity for thinking had simply been shot to pieces, shot utterly to pieces, and the more he tried to concentrate the more his thoughts fell apart, so he would have far preferred to abandon the idea of thinking altogether and lie down in a corner, but that was out of the question, though that, on the whole, was his last coherent thought in a long time, the last decision he was capable of making while he continued standing there, gazing first at the band while one thought after another disintegrated before rising to the surface, then at the mass of people, then at the band again, attempting, without success, to catch something of the words of the rapid succession of songs, hearing only the odd phrase, such as “it’s all over” and “everything’s finished,” responding chiefly to the ice-cold melancholy of the music that immediately communicated itself to him despite the sheer volume of noise, and he gazed at the three performers, at the green-haired drummer who stood at the back thrashing his drums while solemnly staring straight ahead, at the blond bass-guitarist beside him lazily rocking his body to the rhythm of the music and the singer, a man of roughly the same age as Korin himself, with his microphone at the front whose severe expression suggested terminal exhaustion and the desire to talk of nothing but terminal exhaustion, who occasionally directed his severe expression at the seething mass below him, as if he would happily have climbed off the stage and disappeared forever but remained there and continued singing, and, to tell the truth, Korin explained, there was something in this ruthless melancholy that incapacitated him, drugged him, defeated him, that tightened his throat, so that frankly, those first two or three hours of the hard-core gig at the Central club in Almássy Square simply offered him no refuge at all.

  25.

  Teflon heart, they hummed along in chorus with the singer, but pretty soon the THC appeared and there was no problem, only a few jolly little tours of the place as usual, so that, as they said to a close friend on the telephone the next day, they lost sight of him, having come in with them and disappeared in the heaving throng, though he was a truly weird guy the way he came up to them in the square and told them he was such and such a kind of guy, asked them if they knew anywhere to stay; just imagine, they told the friend, that, literally, that was all he said, that he was such and such a kind of guy, without going into any detail as to just what kind of a guy he was, that was the line he took, no shit, eh? and the clothes he wore! that enormous, long dark-gray overcoat smelling of mothballs, his great lanky body and his comparatively tiny, round, bald head with these two big ears sticking out, so he looked fucking incredible, they repeated time and again, like some old bat on its hind legs, meaning Korin of course, for who would have failed to recognize himself from such a description, and even though he did not forget them, the young boy and the girl who had brought him in, he did not think there was even the glimmer of a chance of seeing them ever again, not, at least, in this crowd, for after two or three hours, having finally warmed himself through and begun to get used to the atmosphere of the place, he ventured away from the wall to seek some sort of bar, to find a drink, above all, not of course, he added to himself, anything alcoholic, for he had utterly forsworn alcohol a few months ago, and so he launched out into the seething mass to buy himself a Coke, a small one at first, then a larger one, then another large one, not the bottled kind but cans from the machine, which were just as satisfying and, after the third, his stomach being full, his hunger had quite vanished, and the evening having worn on into the small hours, he made it his top priority to explore the possibilities of the environment of the Central in Almássy Square, and soon located some of the possible nooks and crannies where he might see out the rest of the night, somewhere security wouldn’t find him even should the hard-core gig finish before dawn; and so he traipsed up and down, climbed stairs, tried a few door handles without anyone paying him the slightest attention for, by this time everyone, every boy and every girl, without exception, was wholly, but truly wholly, lost to the world, and he was confronted by an ever growing sea of glassy eyes, stumbling into ever more bodies on his way, some of them choosing to flop against him like sacks, impossible to stand them upright again, so that by the end there was an extraordinary scene wherein, eventually, the whole of Almássy Square was laid out on the floor or stretched over the stairs or collapsed on the stone floor of the toilets, like the remnants of some peculiar battlefield where defeat is an idea that slowly creeps over the combatants, as if radiating from within them, the singer continuing to sing until, finally, he stopped, not, as it struck Korin, at the end of a song, but somewhere in the middle, abrupt as death, removing his guitar and silently, with, if possible, a look more solemn and severe than before, leaving the stage somewhere at the back in the wings; and since Korin knew by now precisely where he would go to “spend the night” should it ever begin to wind down, as it did now, the singer having ended the evening in his own strange manner, Korin quickly left the hall, took a door to the left, climbed a few stairs to a room behind the stage where they stored scenery, full of junk, folding screens, miscellaneous items of furniture and sheets of plywood that afforded a good hiding place, and he was in the corridor on his way to precisely that point of refuge when suddenly the singer appeared opposite him, his face ravaged, and cast one sharp glance at him, at Korin that is, said Korin, and the thought occurred to him, he added next day, that this figure storming past him with long strides, his long hair flowing, was probably Mihály Víg, and was briefly flustered but quickly realized that the singer was not in the least interested in what a stranger was doing there, so Korin too walked on and slipped into the scenery storeroom, behind a wardrobe and a screen, found a warm piece of curtain material, lay down on it and wrapped the remainder around himself, made hims
elf at home in other words, and the moment he put his head down he not so much fell asleep as fainted from exhaustion.

  26.

  It was an inexpressibly beautiful, unbelievably tranquil scene he found himself in as he sensed in every cell of his body, sensed it, he explained the next day, rather than saw it, because his eyes were closed, his two arms spread and relaxed, his legs slightly open, comfortable, the lush lawn beneath him softer than any down, light breezes playing about him like delicate hands, and the gentle waves of sunlight as intimate and close as breathing … together with the luxuriant vegetation that enfolded him, the animals drowsing in the distant shade, the azure canvas of sky above him, the earth an aromatic mass below, and this thing and that, he said, infinite, endlessly flowing in an as-yet-incomplete harmony yet permanent, immobile, echoing his own permanence and immobility, lying there, stretching, fixed as if by nails in his horizontal, immersed, practically submerged position, as if peace were this dish of dizzying sweetness and he the table, as if such peace and such sweetness really existed, as if there were such a place and such tranquility, as if such a thing existed, said Korin, as if it were possible.

  27.

  He couldn’t really claim, he told the stewardess at the MALÉV office the next day, to be one of those to whom courage comes readily and without an effort of the will, someone capable of addressing strangers or using the fact that they were both waiting for something as an excuse, but having her, the stewardess, beside him like this, a stewardess who was so lovely with her smile and those two little dimples, he had found himself, having sat down a few minutes ago, tempted to dart brief glances in her direction, but recognizing that this was a shifty way of behaving, he had abstained and would prefer to come clean now and admit that he did in fact want to look at her, hoping that this disclosure might not prove too offensive or sly and that the young lady would not be angry, regarding it neither as a pass nor as a clumsy attempt to draw her into conversation, for nothing was further from his mind, but the stewardess being not only lovely but beautiful in a way that he couldn’t forbear to remark on, he hoped she might not regard it as a proposition, oh no, apologies in advance, certainly not a proposition because he was beyond propositioning anyone, he said, it was merely the beauty, the sheer extraordinary beauty he discerned in the young stewardess lady that so overwhelmed him, as she would understand, wouldn’t she? said Korin, for it wasn’t a case of him, Korin, wishing to be intrusive, but rather of her beauty inadvertently intruding on him, and while he was at it, he added, elaborating on his theme, let him at least in all humility properly introduce himself, György Korin, though he wouldn’t really want to delve into his occupation, for anything he might say on that subject would pertain only to his past, though he would have plenty to say, particularly today and particularly to her, about himself some time later and only then, though the prospect of doing so was pretty dim, and the most he could do for now was to let her know why he had eventually plucked up courage to speak to her, which was to tell her what a strange, in fact utterly extraordinary dream he had had last night, though he rarely dreamt, or rather hardly ever remembered his dreams, last night being a unique exception, for he not only dreamt but remembered precisely every last detail of the dream, and she should imagine a place of inexpressible beauty, of unbelievable tranquility that he could sense in every cell of his body, for though his eyes were closed he could feel his two arms spread out, relaxed, his legs slightly open, comfortable, and she should imagine, he said, a lush lawn, softer than any down, the light breezes playing about him like delicate hands, and, lastly, imagine the gentle waves of sunlight intimate and close as breathing, the density of the luxuriant vegetation that enfolded him, and the animals drowsing in the distant shade, with the azure canvas of the sky above and the aromatic mass of soil below, and so on, this thing and that thing, infinite, endlessly flowing in an as-yet-incomplete harmony yet permanent, immobile, echoing his own permanence and immobility, lying there, stretching, fixed as if by nails in his horizontal, immersed, practically submerged position, as if peace were a dish of dizzying sweetness and he the table, as if such peace and such sweetness really existed, as if there were such a place and such tranquility, as if such a thing existed, if you know what I mean, said Korin, as if it were possible, do you see, young lady? the whole experience being so, you know, convincing, though if there was anyone who might be skeptical of such a dream, it would be the dreamer himself, Korin, though there was nothing in his life that had not been unlikely, right from the start, just think of him, György Korin, living in a small provincial town some two hundred and twenty kilometers southeast of here, though how to begin, it is so damned difficult, really practically impossible to describe how it all began, but, if he didn’t bore her, for he had to wait here in any case, he would try to describe one or two minor incidents in his life if only that she might have some idea who he was, who it was talking to her and addressing her, in fact who was it she was having to put up with for having suddenly been addressed like this, without formalities or introductions.

  28.

  She had, she felt obliged to respond, been runner-up in a beauty contest, and though nothing could have been further from her mind than involving herself in a conversation with the man who had settled himself beside her, this being of all possible options open to her the last she would choose, as she had more than once tried to convey to him, she nevertheless drifted into communication somehow and found herself answering when she should have kept quiet and even responding, if only with a word or two, when she should have turned her head away, so that she was genuinely unaware that she had become involved with a complete stranger in exactly the conversation she had wished to avoid, explaining to him how dog-tired she was, because to take this moment as an example, she had no idea how long she would have to wait, and how utterly unaccustomed she was to waiting like this so that she might meet and have the responsibility of escorting a passenger in a wheelchair, an old Swiss lady, and to do something she had never done before, that is to transport her to the airport and assist her onto the night-flight to Rome; and so, in telling him this, she had entered into an informal conversation with this man despite her best intentions, and whether it happened this way or the other, who cares, she didn’t particularly mind in the end, she told the others once they were on board, it was only the beginning that was so weird, for she thought she was dealing with a lunatic or something, the kind who talks to himself, but he wasn’t that, he was different, perfectly harmless, with rather nice big ears, and she had always had a weakness for big ears because they made the face look sweet, and in any case she could have stood up and left him any time she wanted, but was happy enough for him to tell her practically his entire life story, because it was simply irresistible, she just had to listen, and cross her heart, she did listen, though, to tell the truth, it was hard to know whether he was telling the truth, for could it really be that someone of such advanced age as forty-something, who knows how old exactly, could sell up and go to New York, not because he wanted to make a new life for himself but because he wanted to end his life there, for nowhere else would do, as the man kept saying, but “the very center of the world,” which New York might be for all she knew, anyway he was pretty convincing, she continued in the cabin, it was impossible to think otherwise, though it is natural to be a little skeptical in view of everything one hears nowadays, none of it true, and though this man, of course, did not seem to be the sort of person whose word you’d doubt, far from it, in fact after a while she herself had seriously told him such things as she hadn’t told anyone else, for they did have to wait an awfully long time, and she had, in this way, so to speak, opened up to him for he himself was so earnest that she grew quite upset, and somehow she kept feeling that she might be the very last person ever to listen to him, it was really that sad, and he was so fulsome in praise of her beauty that he had asked why she did not enter a beauty contest since she would be sure, absolutely certain, to win it, in response to which she did
at last confess that once, in a moment of weakness, she did in fact enter one but had come away so terribly disillusioned with what she saw that she felt quite embittered by the experience of entering in the first place, and it was so nice when his answer to this was that she should not have been named runner-up, because that was clearly ridiculous and wholly unfair, but should have been awarded first prize.