They Were Divided

by Miklos Banffy

  Balint had been waiting since dawn at Piatra Talharilor – the Thieves’ Stone – just where the Abady forests met the common-lands of Valko and the district of Ambak. The four towers of rock dominating the steep hilltop meadow gave the place its name.

  He stood there watching the little road which started far away down by the bed of the Aranyos, wound its way along the ridge which marked the watershed between the valleys and, about two kilometres from where he stood, dipped suddenly down beside the edge of the sheep pastures and disappeared towards the upper stream of the Beles. With his binoculars he could see a long way.

  Finally, at about ten o’clock, what he was waiting for appeared: there, in the far distance, was Adrienne riding the pony, and the lad from Gyurkuca was leading the way.

  He left the rock and met them on the saddle of the ridge. After a brief greeting, Adrienne dismounted and Balint led the boy and the pony to the shepherds’ hut at the bottom of the meadow and told him to wait there until they came to fetch him in the morning. Then he came back to Adrienne and at once they started upwards on the mountain path which wound its way ever higher, round a dense stand of pines which covered the upper slopes, through labyrinths of huge rocks and scattered junipers, until they arrived at the summit of the Ursoia.

  As they mounted ever higher so the landscape widened until they could see ridge after ridge of tree-covered hilltops. The bald slopes on the Albak side had long disappeared from view on the other side of the ridge and, from where they now stood, nothing could be seen but seemingly endless forest. Deep shadows marked the valleys between the peaks and everywhere else it was as if the mountains were covered by a dense coat of dark-green fur. There was little to be seen except the centuries-old primeval forest, the sharp tips of the treetops pushing ever upwards, jostling each other in their efforts to reach the sky. Upwards, always upwards. The steep slopes might have been etched with blue-green arrowheads so regular, so uniform that they were as unreal as a geometrical drawing or an embroidery pattern. In contrast, just below them, a green meadow could be seen beyond the sheep-pens until it too was bounded by the dark of the forests.

  This meadow was a bright angry green on which the sun shone so brightly that silvery reflections danced over the virgin blades of grass, for here the shepherds had cleared the meadow, burning away any small trees, juniper bushes or shrubs leaving only the precious grazing for their animals. The meadow was like a carpet without a fault.

  High above, where Balint and Adrienne had stopped, the ground was littered with stones and between them were dwarf pines, silky tassels of broom, and grey and lilac thistles in profusion.

  It was hot, and as they went slowly onwards by the edge of a steep cliff Balint, carrying Adrienne’s bag, went ahead to lead the way. Here the going was not easy for the path was often barely more than a foot wide and creased with the deep furrows made by the winter storms. Sometimes they displaced stones which rolled swiftly down the rocky slopes below, and sometimes they had to pick their way through steep twisted steps of granite. It took some time to reach the forest and, when they did so, entering the trees from the blinding light of the open mountain top, it was like stepping suddenly into night. After the shimmering heat of the Ursoia’s stony summit, the cool heart of the forest was a welcome relief.

  Covered in perspiration they sank down on a bed of moss.

  ‘Oh, how hot I feel!’ said Adrienne. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could bathe!’

  ‘There’s a rubber tub in my tent; but I’ve not much water.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter as long as it’s icy cold.’

  After a few moments Balint, hesitatingly and slowly, as though for some reason he felt impelled to hide the desire he felt rising within him, said, ‘If … if you don’t mind the cold … and it really would be icy … there’s something else we could do. There’s a mountain pool not far from here, just fifteen or twenty minutes’ walk, where one of our fast mountain streams is partially blocked. It has a sandy bottom.’

  Adrienne opened her golden eyes wide.

  ‘Here? In the forest … in daylight…?’

  ‘There’ll be no one about.’

  ‘No one?’

  ‘No one! Just us … alone in the forest.’

  They gazed deeply into each others’ eyes. Adrienne’s full lips slowly curved back and she lifted her chin and spread out her fingers as if she were counting with them. Then, very softly, she uttered just one word – ‘Good’ – very slowly; and her warm deep voice prolonged the word with sensuous languor.

  The path they took was a mere deer track through the trees. Underfoot was deep moss as resilient as a sponge and their legs were brushed by the cranberry leaves that grew everywhere around them. They descended a steep slope beneath trees like giants, and here and there a ray of sunshine penetrated the thick foliage overhead, irradiating a tree trunk until it glowed like the embers of a fire, or struck vivid green or red reflections from the leaves of burdock and the shy flowers of the forest. Otherwise all around them was in deep black shadow.

  The air grew markedly moist, for though they could not yet glimpse the stream they were now very close and the sound of rushing water grew ever louder.

  And then there it was before them.

  They emerged out of the thick trees onto the bank of a sizeable basin of water, almost circular, with steep banks dipping down to it that were so regular that they might have been carved by the hand of man himself. Here the cranberries tumbled in tropical profusion; and here and there could be glimpsed bluebells, buttercups and pale green ethereal ferns. In the middle of the basin some rocks rose above the surface of the water, heavy black rocks, glistening with the water that flowed around and over their smooth polished surface. Around them were little flecks of foam left by the swift-flowing stream.

  The basin had been formed by a natural obstruction in the stream’s path and into this little pool the water cascaded over some other rocks some two and a half metres above its surface. Unusually the water fell not vertically but diagonally, hitting the side of other rocks that projected from the mountain side until it divided into countless little rivulets all casting upwards a spray as fine as powder.

  The patches of foam glinted snow-white in the sun, but almost everything else was in deep shadow. The steamy vapour was steel-grey, the pond black as the rocks and, on the bank opposite, the sand was so covered in thick moss that it too seemed as black as the dense vault of the foliage of the maples overhead, which, with the faint blue tinge of the pines that surrounded them, closed off the sky like the roof of a tent.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ commanded Adrienne as she started to climb down.

  Balint stretched himself out on the top of the bank some way above the surface of the water, and fell at once into a profound daydream, in which it seemed that around him was neither forest nor rocks, no rushing stream, no space and no distance. Everything was two-dimensional, with narrow rays of sunlight like ephemeral shafts of transparent gold-dust that glimmered faintly here and there, the only light in a world of shadow where thin clouds of greyish vapour floated weightless like a veil designed to disguise and soften the almost theatrical regularity of some lilac-coloured columns which were, in reality, the tree-trunks around him. Everything seemed unreal and insubstantial.

  Now, at the base of this magic picture, there appeared concentric rings moving ever outwards on the smoked glass surface of the water and, in their centre, the vapour clouds swirled round the naked ivory-white limbs of the woman who was making her way to the centre of the pool, shoulders thrown back and alternately swinging her stretched-out arms behind her. Her hair seemed even darker than the surrounding rocks, or the moss and lichen and tree-trunks, and it too seemed to float like a cloud above her pale body. Where she walked the shallow pool grew gradually deeper so that, as she approached the waterfall, the foam which had at first just gathered only round her ankles, started to cling first to her thighs and then, as she was descending ever deeper into the water, mount
ing higher and higher over her body, to swirl in mounting confusion as if crazed by desire for what it touched and by what it was parted and embraced.

  She stood there like a vision of some figure of legend, of a wood nymph bathing herself in the wild deserted forest, perhaps even of the goddess of all forests, Artemis herself. She stretched her arms far above the black crown of her hair and, very slowly, started to turn towards him, the lacy foam sometimes reaching even to her chin as the rushing water swirled round the nipples of her breasts and concealing, but not entirely, the dark triangle of her womanhood. It was as if she were standing in a translucent case of shimmering glass.

  One of the sun’s rays fell just where she stood, and where the jet of water splashed fiercely over her shoulders it put up a spray that might have been composed of innumerable tiny diamonds. At that moment a small almost circular rainbow appeared in the air above her head and, as Balint watched entranced, it seemed to be being held high above her head in her own upstretched

  The way to Balint’s tent was along a wide but abandoned forest road that wound its way through thickets of young trees. For most of the way they walked hand in hand, only separating for a moment from time to time where the young saplings had invaded the path and blocked their way or when they had to climb over a fallen tree.

  They walked without speaking, instinctively feeling that it would have been a sacrilege to break the primeval silence which remained with them until they reached the tent. And even there, in the peace of their refuge, they barely said a word.

  They ate a simple meal in the open space in front of the tent, sitting on the edge of the little meadow that lay between the trees and the edge of the cliffs from which the view seemed so immense.

  It was like being high above the open sea; for the horizon, now itself only a vague outline in the haze of the afternoon’s heat, seemed unattainably far away. Then for a long time they lay there in each other’s arms, gazing at the sky above.

  Huge tumbling clouds sailed lazily above them, sometimes seeming hardly to move at all.

  Around them nothing moved, not even the air.

  At the same time Margit and Pityu were also having their midday meal some miles away. The child had been fed earlier and was asleep in his pram not far from where they sat under the lodge’s wooden portico.

  Pityu was nervous and worried because Margit had been even cooler than usual towards him all morning. At first he had thought that she had been angry only because he had offered to accompany her sister, forgetting everything that he was supposed to do about the house. Accordingly he tried to make amends by taking his axe, going to the woods and felling three young beech-trees, carrying them back to the house and cutting them up into firewood. It had been heavy work that had made him sweat and blistered his hands; and he had hoped that, seeing this, Margit would have uttered some consolatory words of appreciation. She had done nothing of the sort. Instead she had looked icily at what he was doing and then, announcing that she had some letters to write, disappeared into the house and only emerged at midday. It had been a bad omen and Pityu knew instinctively that there was going to be trouble.

  He was not mistaken. Trouble indeed there was. When he had been chopping the wood with such zeal Margit had gone into the barn and found the hidden brandy-flask. She said nothing until they had finished their meal. Then she spoke her mind.

  ‘You have broken your word to me. You promised you would not drink anything here; it was the only condition I made when you asked if you could come. This was vile of you and particularly base to me. Not only did you break your promise, but you also sneaked the brandy up here yourself. I would have been angry enough if you’d gone down to the village and got drunk there. Maybe I’d have forgiven you if you’d done it openly … but, oh no! You tried to trick me in my own house. It was vile of you, and so you can pack up and be off … this instant!’

  Pityu tried his best to interrupt her, to no avail; and when she had finished he still tried to justify himself, to excuse himself and to make promises never to do it again. Young Margit remained unmoved and inflexible, and after Pityu had tried to stammer out his regret she interrupted him and called to Gligor the forester:

  ‘This gentleman is going down to Albak. Saddle one of the ponies and put his bags on it!’ And without another word she turned and went back into the house.

  And so Pityu had to leave: he could do nothing else. At least she had not humiliated him by entrusting her letters to Gligor, and it was some consolation, indeed the only consolation, that when he was about to go she handed them to him, explaining which was to her father, which to her husband and which to the estate manager at Varjas, saying as she did so that she could rely on him to put them safely in the post at Torda and that they would thus arrive all the sooner. It wasn’t much, but it was something!

  So down the mountain road he plodded with a heavy heart, that rocky, steep path that only eight days before he had mounted in such happiness. Now he stumbled and tripped and was miserable, for clambering about in the mountains was not something he enjoyed at the best of times, and on this day it was worse than ever. Somehow he had never mastered walking with a heavy iron stick and now, with his hands raw from all that axe-work, the more he grasped it the more it felt as if he were picking burning coals from the fire. He had not minded the blisters when he thought he was being useful to her by cutting the wood, but now it was different. He had been turned out of Paradise, however modest it had been, and now every painful step took him further and further into the wilderness.

  A strip of light appeared under the canvas door of the tent. It was dawn. Balint woke first and then Adrienne. One of them murmured, ‘It’s the dawn,’ and then the other repeated, ‘the dawn’, and together, as if by a mutual impulse, they started to get up.

  The pale light called them outside and there the air was cold, with the steely cold of the high mountains that stimulated and invigorated like a draft of cool champagne. They stood together, arms entwined, breathing in deeply.

  Just above the far horizon a narrow strip of yellow light outlined long lilac-coloured clouds. The sky was violet and hanging in it was the sickle moon. As they watched the sky lightened to mauve and then to grey, and from grey to palest green, except high above them where it seemed to have no colour at all. The outlines of the mountains were etched strongly against the light sky but seemed paper-thin, those closest to them, those which were covered by the pine forest, jagged like the teeth of a saw, but the furthest away rounded, as if cut from metal discs. These were the great curves of the Magura of Gyalu, or the pyramids of the Triple Mountains and the flattened summit of the Dobrin. But no matter how different these ranges were in reality they now all seemed the same, ridge after ridge of them, as harmonious as the rhythms of a great symphony, cutting into the sky like giant knife-blades projecting from earth.

  Nearby, in the slight dawn breeze, the ink-black branches of young pines moved slightly to and fro; but everything was still in shadow, showing no sign of colour except in the sky, shadows, darker or paler, but still shadows as in a faded drawing in pen and wash.

  The light increased, not steadily but seemingly in rhythmic steps that could almost be counted. A siskin started calling from a thicket of dwarf pines. Then from far away another responded, to be followed by the morning song of the blackbirds. A tiny titmouse was to be seen flitting from branch to branch, and then another, and another …

  Silently watching, Balint and Adrienne stood at the edge of the cliffs waiting for the sun to rise. It was like being in a new world of which they were the first inhabitants, watching for the first dawn of Creation.

  The long horizon blazed into red and gold, and long shafts of sunlight rose from the hilltops, racing across the sky until vapoury shreds of cloud, hitherto unseen, shone blood-red. Higher still other clouds appeared, in long strips like celestial ribbons, the highest and nearest edged with silver and those furthest away glowing orange, saffron and an incandescent green. It was as if behind the ho
rizon some giant furnace was being stoked into flame and was pouring out streams of liquid metal.

  Now the light seemed to rush upon them for, as if touched by a magic wand, the shadowy outlines of the mountains took on the colours of day, light blue in the far distance and nearer at hand a rich spectrum of different greens. A rosy enamel illumined the bluffs of rock, but still there were no shadows, only nature’s own colours, and it seemed to the watchers that the whole world was waiting with a throbbing heart for the eternal mystery of sunrise.

  Then the veil of clouds was shattered, torn apart and annihilated, and in its place the sun rose, triumphant, so bright that it could not be looked at. As they turned away the couple saw that at long last the growing sunlight cast its shadows on the earth, shadows that lay prostrate on the ground, at the foot of cliffs, trees and shrubs, as if in homage and gratitude for the renewal of life.

  Homage and gratitude were what Balint and Adrienne felt too as they stood, arms enlaced, at the edge of the cliffs. Almost as soon as the first ray of sun had touched the crown of the trees above them, they felt its warmth first on their heads, then downwards across their bodies to their feet until it was also there on the meadow-grass and the wild flowers and in the branches of the dwarf pines that surrounded them.

  The birds now came to life, swarms of them, crested hoopoes on the tree-branches, blackbirds pecking on the floor of the meadow, and woodpeckers running up and down the tree-trunks. Below them a kingfisher darted from the depths of the valley and settled in a tree nearby. Somewhere a squirrel started its morning chatter.

  For a long time they stood there, still motionless, alone as if they had been Adam and Eve, the first couple on earth, surrounded by the joyful chorus of the birds’ morning song.

  Entranced they stood there, gazing into the radiance that surrounded them and engulfed their world with transcendental beauty, a beauty so strong and intoxicating that they felt that at any moment it would, like a magnet, draw them ever upwards, soaring into the infinite.