They Were Counted (The Writing on the Wall: the Transylvanian Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  ‘Firstly, according to the accepted Code, I invite the parties concerned to make peace!’

  Nobody answered; Balint and Pityu had both been warned that any reply at this stage was strictly forbidden. Bogacsy waited for a few moments, then spoke again.

  ‘For the second time, I invite the parties to make peace!

  This is ridiculous! thought Balint. They bring me here, stand me half-naked in a freezing room with a sword in my hand, and then they start playing charades! And if I said now that I’d make peace, I’d be disqualified!

  Both antagonists were shivering with cold, but Bogacsy was not to be hurried. His self-importance demanded that he perform his role to the full, leaving nothing undone that the Code demanded should be done. It was clear that the retired major enjoyed these affairs as he enjoyed nothing else in his otherwise humdrum life.

  ‘For the third time I invite the parties …’

  Naturally there was no reply. Balint felt his nose beginning to twitch and was sure he’d catch cold if he stood there any longer.

  Bogacsy began again: ‘My bounden duty being fulfilled and both parties having refused to be reconciled … Gentlemen!’ he cried at the top of his voice, his chest thrust out and his huge moustaches bristling‚ ‘En garde!’

  Balint and Pityu took up their positions, but they still had to wait for a few moments until Bogacsy ordered: ‘Go!’

  Four feet stamped the floor, two swords clashed. When Balint touched his opponent it was as if his sword rebounded like a ball on rubber. That he had been touched himself he did not notice.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Bogacsy at once. Not to be outdone, Tihamer cried ‘Stop!’ too and, grabbing a sword stepped up to the other side of the duellists from where Bogacsy stood. Balint and Pityu both stopped in their tracks and the physicians hurried over to them with wads of cotton wool in their hands. They dabbed officiously at Pityu’s shoulder and Balint’s elbow, though, as the swords had clashed and lost most of their striking power before touching human flesh, the wounds were barely skin deep and only a drop or so of blood was to be seen.

  ‘Disabled?’ asked Bogacsy severely.

  ‘Absolutely!’ cried one of the physicians.

  ‘Indubitably!’ said the other almost simultaneously. And they continued speaking alternately like priests in church.

  ‘Gash near the artery …’

  ‘Deltoid … very nasty!’

  ‘Danger of haemorrhage!’

  ‘… paralysis, cramp …’

  ‘… any sudden movement …’

  ‘… could be fatal!’

  ‘Fatal, certainly …’

  The retired major clicked his heels: ‘I declare that both parties are disabled!’ With his sword he saluted the whole company present. ‘Gentlemen! Honour is satisfied!’

  While one of the doctors stuck an unnecessarily large plaster on Balint’s elbow, Tihamer came up and said in a low voice: ‘Excuse me! Do you want to be reconciled?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Balint good-humouredly, and walking over to his recent opponent, he shook him by the hand, saying: ‘Hello, Pityu!’ and adding, ‘I really don’t know why we had to fight in the first place!’

  This should not have been said, and the seconds pulled long faces and pretended not to have heard. As the remark made light of the importance of their functions they should now, according to the Code of Honour, have demanded satisfaction themselves. Among them only the irrepressible Gazsi turned away unable entirely to suppress his amusement.

  This awkward moment having passed, everyone shook hands and, after Balint and Pityu had got back into their own clothes, walked back to the town centre.

  ‘Let’s go and have some food,’ suggested Bogacsy, who wanted to prolong the occasion as long as he could. Balint did not want to do this as he resented being forced to remain in the company of Wickwitz after what Dinora had told him. The man was clearly a ‘bounder’ and he wanted to have as little do to with him as possible. However, to refuse would have been churlish, so they went towards a coffee-house on the main square. On their way Wickwitz excused himself, saying in German that there were important matters to which he must attend. He saluted and turned away before anyone could ask him to explain.

  The reason he had left them was that as they were on their way to the coffee-house they had been passed by Judith Miloth’s young brother, Zoltan, who had surreptitiously touched Egon’s sleeve. Wickwitz used young Zoltan as a combination of spy and message-carrier. In return for the occasional gift of otherwise forbidden cigarettes Judith’s brother would tell the Austrian where his sisters were going that afternoon, with whom they were taking tea or dinner and what their plans were for the following day. Zoltan felt himself very important and did what Wickwitz asked both well and cheerfully. The job made him feel grown-up, especially as he hero-worshipped the handsome athletic young officer.

  While Balint and his companions sat round a marble-topped table and ordered beer, sausages and hot pies, Wickwitz was hurrying with his schoolboy companion toward the Miloth town house.

  The Miloths lived in a house in the heart of the medieval part of the town. It was built on a narrow plot that had its front on the Unio street while the back could be reached through one of the narrow little alleys that abounded in the old town. It was to this back entrance that Zoltan led Wickwitz. Leaving the officer outside the boy went in to make sure that the coast was clear. While still on their way he had told Wickwitz that Judith wanted to see him. If she wants to see me, thought Wickwitz, then all is well … and still a secret! That’s a good sign. Wickwitz repeated these words to himself several times: with his limited vocabulary he thought only in short sentences. Despite the success of his plans he was not over excited. The boy had told him to wait, so he waited. He was used to it, for life in the army often entailed waiting for long periods without any apparent reason. In the meantime he walked up and down, slowly and deliberately, and when he saw a pretty maid come out of one of the neighbouring houses and cast admiring glances at the handsome young officer in the street, he automatically took note of the number of the house from which she had emerged.

  Zoltan soon returned and beckoned urgently to Wickwitz, who moved quickly inside the house and followed the boy up a dim service stairway leading to the upper floors. Zoltan took the stairs three or four steps at a time. Arriving at the top floor Zoltan showed the officer into what seemed to have been a schoolroom and himself disappeared down a corridor. As he waited, Egon looked for a place to put his cap. The furniture was grubby and obviously rarely used. First he thought of putting it on a bed that stood against the wall, but thought better of it, reflecting that one never knew when a bed might not be useful. Finally he hung it on the corner of a washstand.

  He heard light steps in the passage outside. The door opened and Judith entered quickly, holding out her hand with a nervous gesture.

  ‘I sent for you to come because they’re sending me away, to Vienna … perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow!’ Judith was excited and out of breath, and sank down into one of the Thonet chairs beside the dusty work table. The young man sat beside her, gazing at her with his great soulful spaniel’s eyes. ‘It’s because I told them,’ she went on breathlessly. ‘I told them yesterday that we loved each other and that you wanted to marry me!’

  Wickwitz shook his head gravely and waited until she spoke again.

  ‘I know that it was only your noble nature that prevented you … I know that but I love you! I don’t care about anything. I love you and I want to save you!’

  Wickwitz stretched out his hand and held hers tightly as a sign of gratitude and encouragement. At his touch her face began to soften its expression and tension, and he could see the tears that stained her lashes.

  ‘You can’t imagine how awful it was! Papa shouted, of course, as he always does; but Mama, Mama said the most dreadful things …’ and she broke off, too ashamed to admit that her mother had slapped her face as if she had been a small girl caught out in some naughtiness.
‘It was terrible, terrible! But I didn’t give in and I’ll hold out whatever they do to me. That’s what I had to tell you!’ and she put her free hand over the one of his that already held her in a gesture of one who makes a solemn vow.

  Wickwitz felt that his turn had come to speak, but he could not think of anything better than ‘How good you are, Judith!’

  Even he realized that something more was called for and so not knowing what to say, he stood up, pulled the girl towards him and kissed her on the mouth. This, he thought to himself, was better and simpler way than words. When, after a long kiss, he released her, she continued to speak, softly but with great determination.

  ‘I belong to you! I am yours for ever! I don’t mind how long we have to wait, even if it’s the two whole years before I’m of age. I’ll hold out if you do.’ She paused, and then, as if sensing his thoughts, she said, ‘Could you … because of …?’

  The devil waits for no one, thought Wickwitz. If the matter of Dinora’s drafts became known, ‘Dishonourably Discharged’ was all he could expect. The words burned into him like a flame. Still he could not break the thread that he had spun so successfully. He could not ruin everything by merely saying, ‘No! I won’t wait!’ So, somewhat hesitantly, but still with enough emphasis to keep the girl reassured, he said: ‘I’ll wait as long as I can! And if, after all, everything comes out and I’m exposed … well, then, Schluss – it’s the end, as I told you yesterday. But, as long as it’s possible Treu bis an der Tod! – True unto death!’ and he laughed sadly.

  The choice of the little German phrase was a happy one and had an immediate effect on the girl. She shook herself and clutched convulsively at his arm.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Don’t even say it! Never that! But how much time do we have? How long can you hold out? I can’t do anything now … but if I have time I’ll do it. I promise!’

  ‘Two months, three at the most. In the meantime I’ll do what I can. I’ll try to stall it until you come back … if then …’ he left the phrase unfinished knowing he could hardly say ‘If you’re my wife then your family will pay my debts!’ So he kissed her again, and while doing so he thought that maybe he could get an extension on Dinora’s drafts by somehow arranging to pay the interest.

  ‘I’m sure we won’t stay in Vienna more than four weeks – six at the most!’ She pressed herself to him: ‘Until then! Can I be sure that until then … you won’t …?’

  ‘I swear it!’ said Wickwitz in a voice as brave and manly as he could make it. ‘But where will you be in Vienna?’

  Before Judith could answer Zoltan had put his head round the door and whispered urgently: ‘Come quickly, Judith! Margit’s just called to ask if you were with me. Mama’s looking for you. You’d better go down quickly!’

  As Egon and Judith exchanged another quick embrace, Margit’s voice could be heard in the distance calling out: ‘Yes, Mama, of course I’ve called her! She’s coming at once!’ and her voice faded away at the last words, showing that she had already started to descend the main stairway.

  Judith quickly glided along the corridor to the head of the stairs where she looked back, just for an instant, as Zoltan was hurrying Egon back the way he had come.

  ‘Quickly now!’ hissed the boy, and Egon, tucking his sword under his arm, ran down the stairs and into the street. Once outside he straightened up, let his sword hang free, and with an unmistakable swagger walked back towards the centre of the town. Catching a glimpse of himself reflected in a shop window, he stopped for a moment to twirl his moustaches and admire the splendour of his own image.

  Balint got home just as midday was striking. As he entered the main hall of the house he met one of his mother’s housekeepers coming out of the kitchen passage. This time it was not Mrs Baczo but Mrs Tothy, though as they were so alike it made no difference. Balint at once gave orders that no word should ever be uttered about the duel in his mother’s presence, even now that it was all over. He explained that everyone should know this lest the Countess should catch an unguarded word and be angry that no one, neither her son nor her servants, had told her what had happened.

  ‘Indeed! Of course!’ agreed Mrs Tothy, her chins wobbling. ‘God forbid that our Gracious Countess should hear a word of it! We’ve told the porter to warn all visitors to keep their mouths shut! Not a word, your Lordship, not a word!’

  Balint started to go up to his room when the old woman came after him and said, ‘Your Lordship’s pardon, but is your Lordship wounded? We heard that there was a great gash in your Lordship’s arm! Four inches, they say!’

  He laughed. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s nothing. I don’t even need a sling!’ and he waved his arm about in proof of what he was saying. Nodding to the old woman, he went on upstairs, feeling rather annoyed that the whole town should know and gossip about this ridiculous affair. How they all loved to blow everything up way beyond its real importance. All he could feel was a slight prickling on his elbow, no more than a nettle sting; and they thought that worth talking about! Still, as he got nearer to his room he reflected that perhaps, after all, it did not really matter if the rumours about his being wounded were exaggerated, for they would be sure to reach Adrienne who would all the more appreciate his coming to her later that day.

  There was a slight thaw in the air as Balint walked along the Monostor road that afternoon. Little rivulets of melting ice ran along the edge of the compacted snow on the road and down into the gutters that bordered the highway. The trees and rooftops were dripping and vapour seemed to hang in the mild air so that the snow-capped peaks of the Gyalu mountains that shone so brilliantly in the winter sunshine could no longer be seen in the milder weather that heralded the arrival of spring.

  Balint turned into the villa’s entrance gates and went round the court towards the side door in the covered veranda. At the corner of the main house he met Pali Uzdy.

  ‘Well, well! Who do I see?’ said Uzdy in his usual dry mocking voice.

  ‘From a distance I thought it was Pityu Kendy! How are you? I hear you got somewhat cut up!’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing, nothing at all!’

  ‘Indeed? And Pityu? Did you leave him churning in blood?’

  ‘No more than me! Nothing to write home about!’ said Balint calmly. Uzdy laughed derisively.

  ‘These duels are absurd,’ he said. ‘All duels are absurd! What would happen if someone really got angry? All that ceremonial! Such rubbish! Nothing more than games for children! If I wanted to kill someone, I’d shoot him without a word! Bah! All that marching up and down, and taking aim, or choosing swords. Old fashioned nonsense!’ He pulled mockingly on his long moustache with his left hand while with his right he patted Balint on the shoulder. ‘You’d better go in,’ he said. ‘My wife’s at home, but I’m going to the Casino. You’ll forgive me? Au revoir!’ Chuckling to himself he strode off, his head tilted back at its usual angle.

  Adrienne’s maid was waiting near the door as if she knew that Count Abady was expected. When she saw him she came forward, took his hat and fur coat and galoshes and led him to the drawing-room. Adrienne looked up as he entered the room. This time she was half lying, half sitting on the pile of cushions in front of the blazing fire. As she looked up, only her head and the upper part of her body turned towards him. Her lips were parted and her golden eyes were alive with welcome. Balint stepped quickly across to her, knelt down on the thick rug and drew her to him, his mouth searching for hers. For a moment it seemed as if she might resist; but then she relented and gave him her mouth, though, as on the previous evening, she kept her lips tightly closed.

  This time Balint was not prepared to accept so limited a response so with his mouth caressing her cheeks he whispered, ‘Not like that. Let me show you,’ and with his lips he gently and slowly parted hers until their two mouths clung together in a full embrace. At first he felt like a teacher, coaxing a willing but ignorant pupil, but soon desire so flooded him that all thought was wiped from his mind by the overpowering
urge to possess her. The kiss did not last long for Adrienne soon opened her eyes, drew back her face from his and gave him an imploring look. Then she buried her face in his shoulder, as if hiding herself from him. When he started to kiss her neck, his lips moving over the skin below the hairline, she moved again, saying, ‘No, no! You mustn’t! No! Don’t do that!’ Then she put up her slim hand between his lips and her neck, as a barrier between them. For a moment she did not move, then she slowly pulled herself away from him. She said again: ‘No! Don’t! Don’t do that!’ Balint sat down near her on one of the other cushions trying to regain his calm, but the blood was pulsating so hard in his head that it was a long time before he could clear his thoughts. Finally it was Adrienne who spoke.

  ‘Tell me what happened this morning? I heard you were wounded on the arm! But where, and why don’t you have it in a sling?’

  ‘It was nothing! I didn’t even need a stitch, only a plaster.’

  ‘Tell me, all the same!’ she asked, drawing back timidly when he tried to kiss her again. Balint did not insist, for in her eyes he saw such an imploring look that he knew he must do nothing to break the spell that was being woven between them. It was as if they were just emerging from childhood and discovering for the first time that a game called love was played by grown-ups, a game that was enchanting but which could also be frightening in the revelation of the forces it released. Balint, sensing something of this in Adrienne, forced himself to be playful and lighthearted. In no time at all he had Adrienne laughing delightedly, sharing his fun with comradely amusement, which, if not exactly the effect he was after, at least proved that he had driven the tension from her.