They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy)

by Bánffy, Miklós

  All this flashed through her mind a brief instant, but she said nothing of it to Balint, only just murmuring to him, ‘And the child? What would become of her?’

  Balint was taken completely by surprise. Up until now the interests of Adrienne’s daughter had never come between them and indeed had almost never been mentioned by her mother except when she had once told him how the child had been taken away; but then Adrienne had always spoken of her as someone who had not been hers for a long time. It had never occurred to Balint that he also had to think about the child’s future.

  ‘Why,’ he said lightly. ‘You will take her with you, of course!’ As he spoke it flashed through his mind that this little stranger might now for the first time come between them and help to strengthen her mother’s resistance to his pleading.

  ‘I couldn’t leave without my child, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t’, and for the first time she did not look into his eyes as she spoke but gazed past him into the darkness. Balint could not bear to think that now she had gone away from him and that all her thoughts were miles away. His embrace became ever tighter, his mouth wandered all over her face, her neck, her shoulders and his kisses now had an extra purpose – to bring her back to him so dazed by his love that the fire in their souls would be rekindled and that its thousand different forces would all combine to wipe from their minds any thoughts or worries, anxieties, arguments or interests other than the joy of the moment.

  What Adrienne had just said started a stream of thought which for some time lay dormant in his subconscious mind, emerging briefly and unformed only from time to time as he lay suddenly aware of his eternal solitude. Now he was lying on his back with his face almost covered by the waves of her long thick hair. From behind the wild thicket of her black curls and without Balint’s consciously forming the words, he heard his voice saying, ‘From me you will have a son, a beautiful son who will be the fruit of our love. He will inherit your ivory skin and my forehead, your golden eyes and my hair and, and … he will carry with him always what has been started between us, our thoughts and our beliefs.’

  He said it very softly. And each time that his voice faltered, at each break in the phrases, he felt her hands squeeze his shoulders, and every soft nuance of pressure was an acquiescence in what he was saying. It was an answer clearer than any word, an answer of deeply felt agreement. And when he no longer spoke her arms slipped down until she held his body tightly to her and her mouth found his among the tangled locks of hair. A long burning kiss followed that was the seal of an unspoken promise, a vow, a solemn treaty of eternal intent …

  Just as dawn was breaking Balint stepped out of the French window of Adrienne’s sitting-room into the narrow strip of garden between the house and the little wooden gate which opened onto the bridge across the narrow branch of the Szamos river. Here he had to be careful to leave no traces but luckily the snow was so hard in the shadow of the northern side of the house that it was only just when he reached the gate itself that he had to take an extra long stride so as not to sink into the mud beneath the snow. He looked back to make sure that he had left no tracks. There were none.

  Once across the rickety little bridge Balint had the choice of walking along the path, now muddy with the first signs of the end of winter, or taking a detour through the park itself. As he was wearing galoshes he decided to brave the park. A light rain was falling but he did not care. It was so beautiful to walk in the growing light of dawn, for his heart was filled with hope – and this hope seemed to be echoed by the sleeping landscape beneath which he could sense the coming of spring.

  Even the air seemed laden with promise, as was his own heart.

  When they had said goodbye in Adrienne’s scented bedroom all she had said was, ‘I’ll try!’ and this was how they had parted. She would try to find an opportunity of raising the question of divorce, and, thought Balint, of course she will succeed, she must succeed. After all Adrienne and her husband hardly lived a real married life and so why should Uzdy want so hard to keep her, as Adrienne seemed to think? Surely it was only Adrienne’s absurd fancy that he would not agree to set her free? And anyhow there were laws which covered cases like hers,

  Balint strode through the park filling his lungs with the fresh air of the early morning and his heart with renewed hope for the fulfilment of his love for Adrienne. The giant trees around him were like motionless giants of lilac-coloured shadow and at their feet was here and there a patch of still unmelted snow. Little streams were flowing in all directions over the turf, softening the earth and preparing the way for the upsurge of new blades of grass, of flowers and weeds, now lying dormant underfoot. Nature was preparing to renew itself, to rise once again to confront the future, with her eternal strength. In the air of the coming day there floated imperceptibly the scent of renewing life, of fecund spring itself. As Balint strode so confidently towards home his whole being was celebrating not only the coming undisputed possession of the woman he loved but also that thought which had sprung unbidden to his lips only an hour or so ago: Adrienne would bear him a son.

  When finally Balint emerged from the avenue of trees he decided to make a further detour before approaching his home. He would take, he thought, a path through the little winding streets of the medieval part of the town, thus avoiding the main square and any possibility of meeting any acquaintance on their way home from a night of carousing with the gypsies.

  Just as he was about to turn the corner into the old Bridge Street a carriage drawn by four horses tore at great speed down the main road. The horses were flecked with sweat and the roof of the carriage had been raised against the cold wind. If there were anyone inside they could not be seen, and anyway Balint was too far away to distinguish anything clearly. As he emerged from the gloom of the narrow little street the carriage was already disappearing round the corner of the market. It had all happened in a flash, and Balint did not pay much attention to the incident, though his mind registered it, just as a fleeting impression, because such a thing was so unusual. No one normally arranged to arrive from the country at such an unholy hour.

  Adrienne was sleeping deeply when somewhere a door opened and light streamed into the room. She woke instantly and without moving her head from the pillows opened her eyes. The light was coming from the door to her bathroom which was just opposite the foot of her bed, and in the doorway stood Uzdy in fur coat and hat.

  At first Adrienne thought she must be dreaming, so improbable did it seem that Uzdy who had left for the country only a few hours before, should now actually be there, in her room.

  But in a moment his arm shot out, as if he were pointing at her. Something flashed in his hands and there were three sudden explosions that cracked as sharply as a whiplash. Three bullets crashed into the wall above her head and Adrienne realized instantly that her husband was shooting at her. As if jerked by an invisible spring Adrienne sat up and faced her husband totally disregarding that there must be two more bullets in the little Browning. If those two shots were fired she would now be a direct target.

  Adrienne cared nothing for that. She merely stared at her husband, her chin held high and her wide-open eyes filled with scorn. She said nothing; she merely looked at him. Between her full lips her teeth shone white, and the wild black curls of her hair twisted round her head like the snakes of Medusa. Adrienne waited; there had to be two more bullets for her. For a few moments they stared at each other in silence.

  Then Uzdy lowered her arm.

  ‘Alle Ehre! – congratulations – I call that real courage! Really! Alle Achtung – all my respects – really!’ He pocketed his weapon and in an instant was back in the doorway, bowing from the waist with a curious ironic stiffness, his beanpole figure bending so deeply that he almost gave the impression of being snapped in two at the waist. Laughing uncontrollably he repeated over and over, ‘That’s something! That really is something!’

  And Adrienne realized that this demonic laughter resembled nothing more than that of a naughty
child after a successful practical joke.

  ‘Are you mad?’ asked Adrienne coldly.

  Uzdy did not reply, but merely turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him. His laughter could still be heard coming from the room beyond.

  Then there was a moment’s silence before, from the courtyard, came the jingle of harness and the clatter of horses’ hoofs. Uzdy’s four-horse carriage must be turning towards the gates. For a little while could be heard the rattle of the wheels on the cobble-stones, then it grew fainter and finally died away altogether. Count Uzdy had left as abruptly as he had arrived.

  Adrienne remained sitting up in bed for a long time. Only now, when all danger had passed, did her heartbeats begin to pound in her throat and the terrible thought came to her that perhaps Uzdy had now had himself driven to the Abady house and that there were still two more bullets in his gun.

  She jumped quickly out of bed, ran into the freezing drawing-room next door and hastily scribbled a few lines:

  U was here this morning! He is quite mad. He’s gone now, but I don’t know where! Be very careful! I’ll go for a walk this afternoon. If nothing has happened before then you’ll find me in the main square.

  Then she rang the bell. It was some time before her maid, Jolan, appeared. The old woman’s room was far away in the main house and, as it was still very early, she was not yet properly awake. By the time she reached Adrienne’s apartments her mistress was once more in her bed.

  ‘Please take this at once to the Abady house in Farkas Street. Tell them to hand it immediately to Count Balint. If he is sleeping then they must wake him. I need an answer.’

  Three quarters of an hour went by and each minute of waiting was a torture to the woman lying there in her bed. The church clock had already struck eight by the time that Jolan returned, but as, when she entered the room, her expression was unclouded by worry, Adrienne stopped worrying. Clearly nothing untoward had happened and so AB’s visiting card, on which he had scribbled ‘All right!’ in English, was hardly necessary.

  Necessary or not Adrienne felt comforted. She barely glanced at the card and in a few moments was asleep.

  There was no opportunity for her to tell him anything as they walked together in the town, for young Margit was with them. Later, back at the Uzdy villa, it was the same because several people, including the Laczok girls, Adam Alvinczy and Pityu Kendy, dropped in for tea.

  All Adrienne could do, when chatting about the bazaar, was to give special meaning to the phrase ‘just like yesterday’ by glancing at Balint as she spoke and looking straight into his eyes. In return, to show that he had understood she had some special message for him, he dropped his eyelids for a brief moment and turned his head away. This had become a long-established technique between them when other people were present and there was no chance of talking privately.

  Uzdy did not return from the country that day and so Balint was able to come to her room at night. Adrienne showed him the three round bullet-holes in the cream-coloured wallpaper above the bed. Lying there upon the bed they calculated that had Balint been there the previous night the bullets would have passed straight through his chest; and leaning backwards on her elbows Adrienne lay back pretending to lie just where Uzdy would have shot Balint through the heart.

  Though today they laughed and joked and made light of it all, for Adrienne their mirth had a darker side to it. Now she could no longer bring herself to believe that Uzdy would ever agree to a divorce. Previously she had only half believed it, but last night’s experience had proved to her that, far from being complacent or indifferent, Uzdy had now become even more dangerous. That such a renowned shot had aimed above her – just in fact where he would have hit Balint had he been there an hour before – and that he had stopped shooting the moment she sat up, proved to her that it was not she but her lover who was in danger. Therefore if she were to raise the question of divorce it would be Balint rather than herself who would be in peril. Indifferent as she was to any danger to herself, she dared not do anything that put at risk the life of the man she loved. Though nothing in her manner revealed it Adrienne had spent all day in thinking this out and she had come to the conclusion that she must wait until Balint was not there – perhaps away in Budapest, or better still abroad – before trying to bring up the subject. Even then it would have to be in some devious, roundabout way and until then she must not, under any circumstances, give the smallest indication of what she intended. She would find a way, she had to; but in the meantime she would not even mention to Balint that there was any change in her plans. Accordingly she continued to talk as if she were preparing to discuss the matter with her husband because she knew that if she showed the slightest reluctance then Balint would take matters into his own hands.

  And so they continued to talk as if their plans were certain. Though Adrienne was all too aware that she would do anything to avoid immediate action, she found it surprisingly easy to float along on the stream of the previous day’s dreams, talking of what would be, and how it would be, and of the child that would be born to them, of how he would look and what he would inherit from each of them.

  And so she whispered these things in his ears and interspersed her words with kisses and created in the darkness of her room a fairy-tale world whose shining centre was that real yet unreal being, the unborn son, first as a baby, then as a growing boy and finally as the fully grown heir to Denestornya … and then again to the fantasy that was once more a tiny infant enchanting them with the wonders of its little pink body.

  The child already had a name: it was to be called Adam as if to underline that with him their world was to be reborn and that humanity would take on a new and perfect form, as Goethe had imagined Euphorion in his Faust.

  Again and again they returned to this theme so that all their nights together would be partly devoted to discussing their as yet unborn son as if he were already the living expression and fulfilment of their love.

  Chapter Four

  ‘COUNT BALINT is getting up now. He’s dressing and will soon be down,’ said Mrs Tothy as she entered Countess Roza’s big drawing-room where Mrs Baczo, knitting in hand, was sitting alone waiting for her return. It was half-past one, time for luncheon, and this information was meant as much for their mistress, who was at her desk just through the open door sorting out her letters in the little boudoir, as it was for the other housekeeper.

  The two women in the big room remained silent for a moment or two before once more beginning to gossip together. They spoke softly, almost in a whisper, and yet loudly enough for everything to be overhead by the countess, should she so wish. And they knew well enough that their mistress would listen avidly to every word they said.

  ‘Well, all I can say is the young master deserves a good lie-in!’ said Mrs Tothy. ‘He came home very late this morning.’

  ‘Indeed he did!’ agreed Mrs Baczo. ‘And even then he wasn’t left in peace for long. Someone brought him a letter before eight had struck!’

  ‘So they told me,’ went on the other. ‘From the Monostor road! Cook was just returning from the market and saw the maid who brought it.’

  At this point both women sighed deeply as if their hearts would break. Then Mrs Baczo started again, ‘And they even insisted on waking poor Count Balint! The woman insisted that it was urgent and she had to carry back a reply.’

  ‘Do you think the young master had been out drinking with the gypsies?’ suggested Mrs Tothy cunningly.

  ‘Hardly that!’ the other laughed scornfully. ‘He hasn’t been out doing that for many a year. Oh, no! He went somewhere quite different, I’ll be bound … and not where he was expected either or they wouldn’t have sent a messenger after him so early.’

  ‘Well, at least that’s something to be thankful for, if he’s going somewhere else for a change!’

  The two women laughed together maliciously, but they did not pursue the subject for at this moment Balint came in fresh from his bath. It did not matter
for they had already said quite enough.

  Roza received her son’s morning hand-kiss more warmly than she had for some time. During lunch she listened to all that Balint had to tell her about the bazaar in high good humour, for she had been delighted to have, as she believed, overheard quite by chance that her son had returned home very late that morning and that apparently he had not, for once, been with that accursed woman! Maybe he had even broken with her, for why else would they have sent looking for him from the Uzdy villa if he had been there only an hour before? Countess Roza gloated over the thought of how humiliating it must have been for that Adrienne if she had expected Balint and then he had not come but gone to some other woman. The old lady did not care who that other woman might be for she had always been rather pleased by the idea of her son’s success with women, whether at home in Hungary or abroad. It had first come to her notice when Balint had been abroad as a diplomat. Then, when he had been home on leave, and for some time afterwards, letters would arrive from abroad in obviously feminine writing; but Roza would never ask any questions, she would just ponder and smile. It was the same when he used to ride over at night to visit Dinora Malhuysen at neighbouring Maros-Szilvas – which she always heard about from the servants – though again she never asked questions. Countess Roza did not judge such women for she only thought of them as being different, of another race, and would put them all in the same category whether they were professional cocottes or women of her own world who took lovers, or even a single lover, believing such beings to be merely playthings that the good Lord provided for men and who, in any case, would never arouse in them any truly deep feelings.