The first woman she had been afraid of had been Adrienne. She saw how much she meant to her son and she saw, too, how much he suffered when, a year and a half before, he had come back from Venice where they had been together. Recently Countess Roza had not failed to notice how her son seemed to arrange all his movements, and his work, according as to whether he would be able to see Adrienne; and she hated the younger woman for it.
Adrienne was the only person in the world that Countess Roza had ever hated, and her feelings were all the stronger, all the more unforgiving, all the fiercer and more unmerciful because she believed every word of the malicious gossip her housekeepers made sure she overheard. There was no one in the world that Countess Roza held in more contempt than that wicked heartless Adrienne; and it was for this reason that it was with a feeling of joy and triumph that she allowed herself to believe that Balint had now abandoned and so humiliated her.
It was as a result of the bazaar that something else came to pass.
Crookface Kendy had been there when old Daniel Kendy and Laszlo Gyeroffy had to be carried helplessly drunk from the hall. He had become quite used, from many years’ experience, to the fact that his second cousin, Daniel, got drunk whenever he could. He dismissed him with the two short words ‘old swine’. Daniel was past saving.
But the sight of Laszlo Gyeroffy bothered him. Whenever he turned round there was Laszlo, unsteady on his feet, wobbling uncertainly as he tried to move, being propped up beside the door because his legs would not carry him. All this happened quite close to where Crookface had been sitting. At the moment when they had propped him up Laszlo’s face was turned towards him, though because he was surrounded by other people only the upper part of it could be seen, his forehead and those eyebrows that met so strangely in the middle. It was almost as if the young man were looking at him and his angry, somewhat glassy stare, filled old Kendy with recollections of things past, so much so that it seemed to be the glance of someone else and as if that other person were looking at him mutely crying out for help. Of course such fantasies were nonsense; the boy was dead-drunk and well on the way to passing out completely. Besides he knew nothing of all that, he had had nothing to do with it! But that glance, that glance that was so much the same …
Two days later Crookface sent his man to Laszlo Gyeroffy with a message to come and see him at his house on Belszen Street, and to be there at twelve noon that same day.
When the two men sat down facing each other they both remained silent for some minutes. Then Crookface said, ‘You utter fool!’ and then stopped.
Although the insult was so unexpected the younger man did not take offence. He looked up wonderingly at the old man but said nothing. Then Crookface really started. He recounted everything he had heard about how Laszlo was living, about his fecklessness, reckless prodigality, about his debts and about his drinking. He spoke harshly and, as was his way, used coarse and vulgar epithets.
Still the young man listened without saying a word. There was so much force and deep feeling in everything this deep-chested, eagle-beaked, twisted-mouthed old man had to say – and, behind his words, such concern and goodwill – that Laszlo listened patiently, almost humbly. Everything that Crookface was now saying so harshly was exactly what Laszlo, if ever he happened to wake up sober, had become accustomed to thinking of himself. Crookface’s accusations were no different from the self-accusing thoughts with which Laszlo would torture himself and which would only make him despise himself all the more. And when he had said all that to himself he would once again take refuge from this self-inflicted judgement – and from further accusations of which Crookface knew nothing – by reaching for the brandy bottle. As the old man talked on so Laszlo came to feel that it was not another being who was adding up his faults and frivolity, his waywardness and total lack of any sense of responsibility, but that he was merely looking in a mirror and seeing his alter ego repeating what was always and forever in his own soul. No one would be as severe as he himself and it might have been to himself that he was listening.
Crookface went on for a long time until Laszlo found himself desperately looking round to see if there was any liquor to hand. There was none, but Laszlo was by now so used to nipping whenever he felt the need that the present deprivation made his whole body scream out for its regular dose of alcohol. He could not ask; it was against all etiquette!
Crookface now started to say what he thought should be done and, as was his manner, his advice took the form of an order. ‘You will file a petition in the Chancery court asking to be made a Ward of Court and asking for an official guardian to be appointed since you are incapable of managing your own affairs. I will accept the office of guardian; and I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow path no matter what! I won’t allow you to destroy yourself in this way!’
Laszlo’s face changed. Again those words ‘destroy yourself which Balint had used to him not long before. Now someone else was saying the same thing; another person was trying to save him, to order him around, maybe even offer to pay for him as once did Fanny Beredy and more recently Dodo. Laszlo felt himself swelling with anger and resentment and rebellion at this constant meddling in his own life by other people. It was the bitter rebellion of the weak against the strong.
‘If I want to destroy myself I will! It’s none of your business!’ he shouted angrily and stood up. Now the words poured from him. ‘All my life, ever since I was a child, I’ve had people telling me what to do, pulling me in this direction or in that, my guardian, my aunts, everybody. Everything’s always been arranged for me; everyone’s told me what to do. Well! Now’s the time to say No! No! No! I’ve had enough! Enough, I say! Now I’m going to do as I please and live as I want …’ and he went on saying the same thing, time and again, building up his courage by shouting and making as much noise as possible; and repeating over and over again, ‘It’s my life and nobody else’s!’ and ‘I’m not going to take anything from anyone else ever again, from nobody, nobody, I tell you!’ until, gesticulating wildly, he screamed out once more, ‘If I want to destroy myself I will! Everyone has the right to do as he wishes with his own life!’
Old Crookface sat quite still. He said nothing but just listened and as he did so he was watching Laszlo carefully. Those eyebrows that met in the middle, those unusual little movements of the arms as if he was first reaching back and then throwing his words forward … and even those last words ‘everyone has the right to do as he pleases with his own life!’, how they reminded him of the past! And what a throw-back Laszlo was! Julie Ladossa all over again! Memories of the past flooded back: Julie Ladossa had talked in just the same way and said just the same sort of thing. She too had rebelled against everything; and she too had destroyed herself, knowing what she did and doing it of her own free will. He had loved her since she had been a girl – and out of spite she had married someone else. Out of spite too she had bolted from her husband, not with Crookface but because of him. It had been a clash between two rigid, difficult characters and when she had said the things that her son had just unwittingly repeated so many years later, she had thrust her arms forward in the same way and looked at him with the same expression in her eyes, the very same eyes …
The old man stood up. Putting his hand on his young companion’s shoulder he said, ‘Don’t be angry with me, son. Don’t be angry! There’s no need, you know, and … and I ask your forgiveness.’ Crookface had never said this to anyone before, neither had he ever spoken so gently. He went on, quite softly, ‘There isn’t enough love in the world for anyone to throw it carelessly away. I know you feel you’ve had less than your share, and I understand how you feel. No doubt what I said sounded wrong and interfering, and perhaps I ought to have spoken differently. You’ve had no father and no mother, and many things … things that people have had … have been lacking in your life. This is what you resent so much and what is so hard to bear. But I would like, if it’s possible and if you feel you can do it in your own way, that you should … Wel
l, you should pull yourself together; and I … I’d try to help, if you would accept it?’
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 wo
rds 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.
They Were Found Wanting (Writing on the Wall: The Transylvania Trilogy) Page 29
