‘Indeed there is! And more’s the pity!’ said the carpenter. ‘They tell me it used to run freely in the old days, but it got blocked up years ago. That’s why the place is so wet in some places and dried up in others!’
‘Why don’t you put it in order?’ asked Balint. Turning to his companions, he explained how the spring could be made to irrigate the model garden. They would only have to dig out a winding trench with catchments at each corner and the whole area would be properly watered, just as they did in Bulgaria. It was a blessing that there should be a natural water supply at this height above the town.
Balint’s companions all agreed, with unqualified enthusiasm, to everything the count suggested. The proposals were magnificent, everything should be carried out just as the count suggested. Of course, they said, there was the question of cost. Repairs would be needed as the property could not be used in its present state. Finance would have to be found.
‘If the Co-operative and the Farmers’ Club paid a rent then of course my mother would be responsible for the repairs. However, I hope that she will make the property available free of charge as it’s for the public good. If that were the case then naturally the society and the club would be expected to pay the repairs … but very little is involved, just a few hours’ work by the mason and some attention to the drainage. All that would be well and truly covered by the profits made on the garden’s products, as long as it is properly handled, of course.’
‘Of course! Naturally!’ echoed his audience. ‘It’s nothing at all! Hardly worth mentioning! We’ll get it done, never fear!’
They walked back to the main square where everyone took their leave and went home to lunch. Balint went alone to the Grand Restaurant Gsillag, which he now realized was no more than the dining-room of the inn where he was staying. He was pleased to be on his own after the morning’s work, however successful it appeared to have been. When the innkeeper brought his coffee he brought up a chair, sat down and started to talk.
At first he confined himself to flattering comments, saying how magnificent were his Lordship’s plans for their little community, how lucky they were to have a Parliamentary representative who took an interest in them, who was so generous as to offer his property as a gift for the benefit of all. Several times he said how grateful they all were. Afterwards he began, carefully, to ask more detailed questions, into which were woven a few remarks intended to give rather than obtain information. As regards the Farmers’ Club, which he supposed would really just be for peasants rather than country gentlefolk; it would not have a licence to sell liquor, would it? His Lordship would realize, of course, that it would not be at all for the public good if the people started doing their drinking anywhere than the inn in the town where he could keep an eye on them. Here he could not only see that no one got too drunk – which was bad for them – but also, by listening to what they said among themselves, he was able to make the inn an unrivalled centre for local ‘intelligence’!
The innkeeper looked enquiringly at Abady. He was immediately reassured and looked greatly relieved when Abady said there would be no question of either liquor or cards at the Farmers’ Club. The plan was to provide a place for study and serious conversation, not for debauchery and carousing. There would be lectures on agricultural subjects, or modern farming methods and ways of making marketing more profitable. Books and newspapers would be available and, if these did not prove enough, then perhaps they could build a bowling alley where the people could go on Sundays.
‘Bowling?’ asked the innkeeper, now thoroughly alarmed again. ‘Bowling? Oh, no! That wouldn’t be a good idea at all! I wouldn’t do that!’
‘Why ever not?’
The innkeeper stammered a little, looking for arguments that would convince the count without having to reveal what was uppermost in his mind.
‘Well … because, you see, there’s always fighting where there’s bowling, lots of trouble, arguments, blows! People get hurt. I know, because we’ve got one here, partly on the chemist’s land, partly on mine. Oh, how I wish we hadn’t done it! Always trouble, nothing but trouble! But I can’t stop it now. It’s there. It cost a lot of money … so you see I have to go on with it. But, of course, they respect me. I’ve got a certain authority and I can keep them in order. If they went bowling somewhere else, well, you see, your Lordship, that’d lead to trouble!’
Balint saw. The innkeeper’s worry was indeed perfectly clear, and Balint, who had no desire to harm anyone’s private interests, quickly set his mind at rest.
‘I never thought of it like that! Most interesting! Well, we’ll have to think it all out most carefully. I’m not even sure there’s enough level ground anyway!’
The innkeeper cheered up at this and, growing more voluble than ever, he offered himself to go and measure up the available space, check over the grounds, and send an immediate report as soon as he had discovered whether the idea of a bowling alley was feasible. That it was unlikely to be found to be feasible, though Balint was not to know this, was proved by the fact that as soon as Abady had left, the inn-keeper hurried over to see his friend, the chemist, to whom he expressed his deep distrust of Balint’s good faith.
‘That Farmers’ Club idea, we must do everything to stop it,’ he started, and the two of them sat down and began to think hard about the many dangers that menaced their mutually profitable association. It was perhaps appropriate that the room that they chose for this essentially private conversation was the little dispensary where the chemist kept his poison cupboard and the stock of illicit tobacco which had to be hidden from the Customs inspectors.
Balint then went to see the notary. They had agreed that morning to discuss technical and legal aspects of Balint’s projects that afternoon before he took the evening train back to Kolozsvar. The notary, Daniel Kovacs, had proposed this himself, saying that he would take care of everything.
The office was on the ground floor of the Town Hall and the notary’s wide desk was placed facing the wall. Daniel Kovacs sat at the centre with a pile of documents on each side of him and a pen in his right hand, taking each document in turn from the pile at his right, noting what action was required on the document, entering its number and date in the registers he kept open propped against the wall in front of him, and then placing it face downwards on the pile at his left.
When Abady entered the office Daniel was busy writing ‘… Peter Nagy, Andras and Ilona Nagy, wife of Salaman Szasz, and Vasili Niag, the son of Petre, petitioning about the division of property are advised that a decree of judgment, No.16–273 1904, has been given under which …’ and he was so engrossed in his work that it was a moment or two before he noticed that Abady was in the room. Then he jumped up, pushed his reading glasses on to his forehead, took off his elbow-guards and pulled up a chair for his visitor.
They started talking about what had happened that morning at the meeting and afterwards at the Abady house.
‘Naturally I am entirely at your Lordship’s service,’ said the notary. ‘I think the plans for a co-operative at Lelbanya most practical and helpful. I have some experience of such things,’ he went on, smiling, ‘as I used to be assistant notary in the Szekler part of the province and we had a co-operative there. I was its secretary, so you see, my Lord, I really do appreciate what your Lordship is doing in trying to help the people here.’
Balint was becoming used to meeting nothing but agreement and obsequious praise, and though as yet he was by no means suspicious of the good faith of those with whom he talked, he was nevertheless unconsciously becoming somewhat cautious. He answered the notary non-committally, while studying his appearance, which he found unusual and interesting. Kovacs was a man of medium height, but he looked taller than he really was as a result of being exceptionally thin. He must have been about forty and had a bald head above a high forehead. Dark bushy eyebrows shaded a pair of brown eyes in which intelligence and goodwill held a fair balance. Indeed it was the notary’s eyes that made his face particul
arly interesting for in them was an unmistakable expression of benevolence which illumined and irradiated a face which would otherwise have seemed tired, disillusioned and careworn. Two deep furrows were etched from each side of his nose until concealed by his moustaches, and the lines on his forehead suggested many years of toil and worry. Above all Daniel Kovacs gave an instant impression of being alert and helpful.
‘The peasants, of course, don’t understand the idea, not yet,’ he said. ‘Neither do most of the others, for that matter, but the peasants least of all. Anything new takes them by surprise and they’re always suspicious of anything that comes from townsfolk. No matter what is suggested they’ll always think people are out to swindle them! Set a trap for them!’
‘But what trap could be in this? They’re getting the house, garden and library for nothing. They can elect who they like to the co-operative committee. What more do they want?’
‘They don’t know what they want. They’re just naturally suspicious because they don’t understand, poor souls. Your Lordship shouldn’t forget that they’ve every reason to distrust people. No matter with whom they have to deal, bailiffs, salesmen, everyone is always out for their own advantage whatever they may say, and a peasant has to be pretty spry not to be cheated. It’s true! One day they’ll begin to realize that it really is for their own good, but it’ll take time. Has your Lordship thought who should be the co-operative’s first president?’
‘I was going to ask you, Mr Notary. Would you accept?’
‘I am afraid that it’s not in my power as I have an official position. The best choice, if I may say so, would be the Protestant pastor. He is a good man, and I could do any official business that was needed until he gets to know the ropes.’
Kovacs then pulled down the register of town voters to check what other names he could put forward for the different posts to be filled. ‘I’ll tackle them one by one, if your Lordship agrees, and explain to them what is involved. Of course, the first priority is to form the co-operative itself. When we’ve got all the committee members appointed and everything’s running smoothly, then perhaps it should be the turn of the Farmers’ Club. As for the house, well, perhaps we had better leave that for the moment! When they see how much they need the premises they’ll come asking for it themselves.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Balint, ‘I thought the offer of the house would be the first thing to attract them!’
Kovacs gave a slight smile as he replied: ‘Better this way round. Go slowly, your Lordship, these folk have a lot to learn!’ The notary was thinking of what he had heard when they walked round the property that morning. The farmers who had hung back from the main party had been muttering rebelliously among themselves, saying that the only reason the Count offered them this rotten property was that he didn’t want to have to pay for the repairs himself. And they asked themselves why they should be expected to fork out money on someone else’s decaying old house. As for the proposed model market-garden, all that would do would be to make it impossible for their wives to earn some extra money by selling the produce of their own little plots. If some fancy gardener was raising finer vegetables in the model garden, who would buy the little strings of onions, the few beans and peppers that the farmers’ wives used to take to market? And why should they pay good money for a gardener’s wages when all he’d do would be to take the bread out of their own mouths? The notary was thinking of all this when he advised Abady to go slowly as regards the house. He recalled, too, the count’s disastrous last words at the morning meeting – ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ Whatever Abady may have intended, the very vagueness of this phrase had made a bad impression on those used to the nonsense spouted by demagogues at election times. They did not have to go to special meetings to hear such phrases as ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ What they wanted was something real, something tangible.
Bearing all this in mind the notary said: ‘They’ve got to learn how to serve the community themselves, and not to expect that everything is handed to them on a plate! They’re all far too used to having things given to them. Of course they were spoiled by getting money at the time of the elections! That’s why they’ve no interest in matters of public welfare, as there is in other small towns.’
Balint thought about the odd circumstances when he had been elected himself. ‘Honestly now, tell me, did they get money at the last election? I’d very much like to know!’
Kovacs smiled. ‘At the last election, no! I can guarantee that at neither of your Lordship’s elections did money pass. You can rest assured of that!’
For the first time in their talk the notary had found himself obliged to go further than merely suppressing part of the truth. These last words were a lie. He knew perfectly well all the details of how Azbej and Cherrytree had rigged the elections between them and how they had been cursed for it by the electorate. However, he felt that the moment had come for discretion and when motives of self-protection must outweigh other considerations. The count must be told what he clearly wanted to hear, whether true or not; because if he were told what everyone had conspired to keep from him, it was certain that sooner or later Azbej would revenge himself on whoever had revealed the truth.
Abady was most relieved. He had been worried about the election and now knew he would have to find some explanation other than that he had feared. Filled with goodwill to the notary, he started to thank him for all his help and co-operation.
‘I really am most grateful to you, Mr Notary,’ he said. ‘I can see how busy you are,’ he continued, pointing to the piles of official documents on the desk, ‘and I do appreciate all that you have agreed to do!’
Kovacs waved at the evidence of his work in a gesture of dismissal: ‘I’m quite used to it! After sixteen years I can carry the burden. That’s what the town notary’s for! Not many people appreciate just what it involves. Why, there isn’t a new law made by a minister, country sheriff, or instruction concerning taxes or building standards, or whatever, that doesn’t come through this office and fall on my shoulders. People at the top don’t realize, when they make even a quite simple order, that all the burden falls on those on the lowest rung of the ladder. No matter how hard a notary works he’s always in arrears … and not only that, if he makes a mistake, there’s the disciplinary commission hanging over his head! But, never fear, what your Lordship has in mind won’t add too much to the load. I’ll do it gladly!
‘I really am deeply grateful,’ said Balint, shaking his hand warmly. ‘If I can be of any service, I’d be very happy.’
‘Your Lordship is most kind,’ said the notary, ‘but for the moment I cannot think of anything. Perhaps one day in the future. In the meantime I serve my country!’
Abady then took his leave of the notary and made his way to the pastor’s house. As he went he reflected that nothing he had learned during his law studies at the university had given him the smallest insight into the tremendous work-load that a country notary had to shoulder.
Daniel Kovacs stood for a moment on the threshold of his office following Balint with his eyes until he arrived at the front door of the priest’s house. Then he returned to his desk and, as it was starting to get dark, lit the paper-shaded paraffin lamp that stood on his desk.
This count isn’t a bad fellow, he thought to himself, not a bad fellow at all, but, oh dear, how little he knows about life! He’s like a child in some matters, but I won’t let them take advantage of him! And he sat pensively for a little while before putting on his glasses, picking up the next document from the pile on his right, and starting to read:
‘I have been informed that Domonkos Kacsa alias Kukui or Bubura, former delinquent and now vagrant, has been seen in Lelbanya. You are therefore ordered to check upon the situation and report to me within forty-eight hours, failing which …’
Chapter Eleven
IN THE NEXT FEW WEEKS Balint went back to Lelbanya twice, on the first occasion to bring with him the General Secretary of the Hu
ngarian Co-operative Movement’s central office, and on the second to attend a meeting of the preparatory committee. This last went far better than he had expected and Balint was surprised by the degree of serious attention that the townsfolk of Lelbanya devoted to the project, which, of course, was principally due to the notary’s discreet and well-thought-out preparations.
Even at this meeting some of those present themselves raised the question of the property, proposing that the tailor’s lodging should be immediately taken over so as to allow the co-operative to move its office there. As it happened the majority were opposed to this, which suited Balint as his mother had unexpectedly opposed cancelling the tenants’ leases.
‘I am very, very surprised’, said Countess Roza one night as she drank her after-dinner coffee, ‘that you should have seen fit to make plans for the house at Lelbanya without first mentioning the matter to me!’ Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo had already left the room on a gesture from the countess, who went on, ‘You can imagine what I felt when the first I hear about it all is when those poor people feel impelled to write to me themselves from Lelbanya … not from you, but from our poor tenants!
Balint apologized to his mother. He explained that he had not wanted to bother her until he had first seen the property and checked that the project was feasible and the house convenient for the purpose he had in mind and, when he had seen it, there had not appeared to be any reason to raise the matter as nothing had yet been proposed officially.
Countess Roza was not to be mollified. ‘That is not the point! I am saying that you did this behind my back and that I am extremely hurt and upset! The first thing I hear about it is – well, read it for yourself! It’s from the tailor and the joiner …’ and she fished a letter out of the Chinese lacquer bowl that stood on the table in front of her.
‘Have mercy on us, most Noble and Gracious Countess! On bended knees we beg …’ and so on, one obsequious phrase leading to the next and all of them describing their terrible plight in terms of humble flattery. They related how they and their families had ever been devoted servants to the Noble and Gracious Countess’s family, how they were now menaced with losing their livelihood and being thrown out on the streets with their helpless children, how they kept the property in good order, as far as they were able, and paid their rents regularly, when they could, how they were beggared by the expense of maintenance and were already in a state of dire misery and if, now they were to have to take to the roads like vagrant beggars … And so it went on, with many repetitions but only one theme.
They Were Counted (The Writing on the Wall: the Transylvanian Trilogy) Page 37
