Seeing Lilike’s reaction, Anna rounds on her abruptly. ‘So?’ she challenges. ‘Has anything else happened?’
‘Yesterday,’ Lilike continues, regaining her composure, ‘He was out walking with some of the others. He saw me washing clothes in the river and …’ She flushes and looks down. ‘He kissed me,’ she mumbles.
‘And what was it like?’ Anna asks breathlessly. None of them are making any pretence at washing any more, and the sheets lie discarded, half in and half out of the river, flapping like ghosts.
Lilike pauses, considering. ‘It was nice,’ she says at last. ‘He was – I think he is well practiced at kissing.’
Lujza gives a short bark of laughter. ‘So?’ she asks. ‘What next?’
‘We’re meeting tomorrow. Same time, same place.’ That was about as much as they’d been able to communicate without a common language.
‘Will you fuck him? You know that’s what he wants, don’t you?’
Lujza’s voice is slightly harsh, but Lilike doesn’t flinch. ‘Of course I will,’ she says to Lujza, her voice cool. ‘What’s the point, otherwise?’
II
II Every night, Anna dreams, and she dreams that Károly is dead. Every morning she wakes up and her stomach swoops in disappointment, and as she dresses she prays for forgiveness, prays for God to make her a more dutiful and grateful wife.
She’s been failing dismally on that score lately.
She never wanted to marry him. She’d barely given marriage any thought at all, and on the occasions when she had, the hulking, loutish son of her neighbours had never crossed her mind – she would have laughed if anyone had suggested it. But when he raped her, she was sixteen – she had been walking in the woods; he had been following her for days, waiting for his chance – and all choice was taken away from her, for she’d conceived a child, and no other man would want her after that. She wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if she’d taken Judit up on her offer to get rid of the child, but although she felt nothing but indifference for the small life curled inside her, she couldn’t bear to even consider Judit’s vague suggestion, which was certainly some sort of wickedness. By the time she miscarried, the wedding was two weeks in the past, and her destiny seemed to have been decided.
The funny thing, she thinks, is that she’s not like Lujza, and she’s not like Sari – both of whom she loves, both of whom scare her sometimes. Anna doesn’t wish for a life outside the village, and had Károly not taken matters into his own hands, she would have been perfectly happy to marry and bear children and live in Falucska forever, living the life of her mother and grandmothers. She knows that she’s not brilliant, and she’s not beautiful, and she’s not talented, but she’s kind, and nice enough looking, and has enough common sense to be a good wife and mother. Since her miscarriage she’s never conceived again, and she’s never been sure whether she’s unable to, or if she just doesn’t want to. Although she has no plans to leave Károly – how could she? – she knows that a child would bind her irrevocably to him, and that’s a thought too horrible to entertain.
Anna’s a good, religious woman and so she’s racked with guilt. Although her prayers are respectful, and standard, asking God to look after her husband and end the war, her heart is rebellious, and along with dreams of Károly’s death comes a defiant sense of gratitude for the war, for taking him away and putting him in danger, and for giving her her life back – or lending her her life; she’s not stupid enough to think that this will be permanent. And now there’s something else that she stubbornly refuses to mention in her prayers, but which she rejoices in all day, and that’s the arrival of the prisoners.
She watched Lilike eyeing them all up, choosing which one she wanted, but it was never like that with her; from the start, she’d always watched Jan – Giovanni – the closest. It’s his smile that she likes – it’s not cheeky, like Umberto’s, or insinuating, or condescending, like so many of the others’ – it’s just open, and friendly, and warm. That smile tells Anna all she needs to know about Jan: that he’s a good, honest, kind man. She’s not looking for excitement, or a bit of fun; she’d never admit it if anyone asked her, but she’s looking for someone to take her away. If Károly comes back from the war, she wants more than anything not to be waiting for him.
Anna’s not like Lilike; she’s in no rush, and feels no need to take charge, because she feels certain that it’s going to happen. While Lilike has been choosing and planning and making gifts of fruit to her intended, Anna and Jan have been communicating with each other through nothing but smiles; huge, dazzling beams whenever they catch sight of one another, and those smiles seem to heat her from the inside. While Lilike is making assignations, Anna is content to wait. It’ll happen.
In the meantime, she decides to speak to Sari in private, and see if she can get something that will make sure she doesn’t get pregnant. After all, there’s no harm in being prepared.
CHAPTER SEVEN
By July, Falucska is suffocating under a blanket of heat and hormones, and Sari feels like she can never quite clear her head. This has always been her favourite time of the year – the village, which can look stark and desolate in winter, is at its best when the crude wooden buildings are smothered in greenery; everything always runs far more slowly at this time of year, and this year is worse than normal.
‘Well, of course it is,’ Judit says, when Sari mentions it. ‘It’s bound to be, with all the distractions around.’
Sari had laid a bet with herself that it would be Lilike, and so was surprised when the first person to approach her, blushing with every inch of her exposed skin, with the whispered request for something to stop her from falling pregnant, was Anna. Lilike was not far behind her, however, followed closely by Fransziska Imanci, much to Sari’s amazement: Franzsiska is half a generation older, married for as long as Sari can remember; she never would have imagined that she’d be the sort of woman to take a lover.
Since then, there has been a steady stream, maybe one or two each week, wanting to make sure that the new freedoms of the prisoners weren’t going to leave any lasting reminders in the village. Every woman who comes to see Sari and Judit holds her head slightly higher than the last; spirits in the village seems to be bubbling irrepressibly upwards, and despite the cynical pose Sari’s come to adopt, she admits that she likes the changes that have been wrought on the village. She likes the pervasive sense of rather frantic excitement; she likes the way that tongues have got looser, and jokes cruder; most of all, she likes the jocular, collusive looks that the women have started to throw each other, as if they’re all part of a secret club. Most of the other women seem to feel the same way, happy to seize an excuse to push the war to the back of their minds. Sari finds that where she used to be asked every couple of days whether there was news of Ferenc, enquiries have slowed almost to a complete stop, and when Lazslo Mecs is sent back from the front, missing half his right arm, jumping and jerking as if he’s still being shot at, he’s met with more embarrassment than admiration.
By midday, Sari has to get out of the house. Judit is unbearably bad tempered due to the heat (she sometimes claims that she’s only happy for about a week in spring and a week in autumn, and Sari’s not convinced that it’s a joke), so Sari invents some flimsy pretext, and five minutes later she’s sliding down the river bank, dipping her feet in the water, and scanning the plain for activity. It’s a slow day, though, too hot for many people to be about, and she’s considering giving up and going for a walk in the woods instead, when there’s a noise behind her, a pounding, like running feet.
Sari gathers up her skirt and tenses, prepared to make a dash for it if necessary, but when she turns she sees that it’s only Lilike, and relaxes again. Only Lilike’s not looking as calm and smug as she normally does these days: her hair is crazily untidy, she’s soaked in sweat, and her eyes are wild.
‘Sari!’
Sari thinks that no one has ever looked so glad to see her. She scrambles up th
e bank to meet Lilike.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Lilike is panting. ‘I’ve been looking for you – went to Judit’s house, but she – said you might be—’ ‘
What’s wrong?’ Sari asks again, surreptitiously looking Lilike over for signs of illness or injury. It must be something medical, as she knows that Lilike wouldn’t come to her in emotional distress.
‘It’s Umberto. He’s ill.’
Sari feels herself going very still; she’s suddenly extremely conscious of Lilike’s darting eyes and laboured breathing beside her.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘It’s his stomach. He has terrible pains, and he’s vomiting.’
‘But they’ve got a doctor down at the camp, haven’t they?’
Lilike shakes her head impatiently. ‘Doctor, yes, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong, he’s tried different things, but nothing works and this afternoon he’s busy at the other camp near Város, anyway. I think – I think it might be something he ate, something poisonous, and so you might know something that can help.’
Sari notices that Lilike’s crying now, though she’s not sure that Lilike’s aware of it herself; the tears are leaking from the corners of her eyes and she’s not bothering to brush them away. Sari is horribly excited, thrillingly frightened.
‘What about Judit? Can’t she go?’
‘She said that you’re better and she’s right. She’s great with anything to do with pregnancy and birth and babies, but when it comes to everything else – you really know what you’re doing, Sari. Everyone knows that.’
Sari knows Lilike’s right – it’s the legacy of growing up with her father – but is honestly surprised that anyone else has noticed. Of course, every now and again people express a preference to see her rather than Judit, but she never thought that was anything more than reluctance to have Judit’s wizened face staring down at them when they were already sick or in pain. It’s that – the feeling of being trusted and respected – that decides her, more even than the thought of an iron-clad excuse to go down to the camp.
‘Wait here,’ she says to Lilike abruptly. ‘I just need to get a few things. I’ll be back in a second.’
Ten minutes later, she’s being ushered by a shaking Lilike through the gates to the camp. Gunther comes out to meet them – Sari hasn’t seen him up close since that morning in spring, and she’s shocked at the change the past few months have brought about in him. He’s like an old man gone to seed, spreading around the midriff, his eyes pouchy. Lujza has muttered darkly about how much Gunther and the other guards have started to drink – her own father has been selling them his szilva – and it shows, both in his physical appearance and his lazily swaggering manner.
‘This is Sari,’ Lilike says eagerly. Sari wonders whether Gunther can understand Magyar spoken so fast, but his eyebrows raise.
‘She’s a child,’ he says flatly. Defiant, Sari lifts her eyes to meet his, and he recoils ever so slightly from her direct gaze.
‘I’m sixteen,’ she says in slow, clear German, ‘I’ve been dealing with the sick people in this village for two years, and I helped my father for years before that. But if you don’t think I am suitable to treat your prisoners, well …’ she turns, but Lilike catches her arm and grips it tightly. Her back to Lilike and Gunther, she hears Lilike say in a low, fervent voice: ‘Please … please …’ Lilike has always been persuasive, and Gunther sighs, as Sari knew he would, and says ‘Very well.’
The prisoners are housed in what used to be outbuildings and servants quarters. Sari has never been to this part of the Gazdag house before, and from the looks of it, neither has Lilike. No matter how lax discipline has become here over the last few months, Gunther has evidently not relaxed so much as to allow women into the men’s living quarters. It’s not as unpleasant as she would have thought, the beds in neat rows like a ploughed field, and despite the unorthodox surroundings, it’s clean and tidy and reasonably comfortable looking.
Gunther gestures towards the end of the long room, where a group of men are clustered around one of the beds. Sari gathers together as much dignity and gravitas as she can muster, and, with Lilike gripping her hand, approaches.
Umberto doesn’t look at all well. His face is unnaturally pale, which makes his olive expression look drawn and sallow. His skin has a sheen of sweat, and his eyes are unnaturally bright and feverish. Sari’s never seen him up close before, but certainly, in his present condition, he fails to live up to Lilike’s exalted descriptions of him. She pushes through the crowd and drops down next to the bed. Ignoring the murmuring behind her, she attempts a nervous smile to put Umberto at ease, but when it ends up looking more like a grimace she’s glad that he’s too distracted by pain to notice.
She touches his stomach and he moans slightly: it is hot and rigid. ‘You said you thought he’d eaten something?’ Sari calls over her shoulder to Lilike.
‘I – I don’t know. He still – we can’t talk much to each other, but I know that before, when we’ve been out walking, he’s picked berries and eaten them – always things I knew were safe,’ she adds, hurriedly, at Sari’s thunderous expression. ‘But he was out alone this morning, while I was at the market, and so I think that maybe—’ she stutters to a close.
Sari looks back at Umberto, eyes slightly wild. ‘Lilike – how’s your Italian? I need to ask him some questions.’
Lilike reddens. ‘I know a few words, but I don’t think they’ll be of any use to you …’
‘What about Gunther, or one of the others?’
Lilike shakes their head. ‘None of them speak more than a few phrases.’
‘Right,’ Sari says to herself, ‘Right,’ and, raising her voice, she addresses herself to the surrounding throng: ‘Do any of you speak Magyar?’
There’s a subdued muttering but all the eyes staring at her are uncomprehending.
‘All right,’ she says, switching languages. ‘Does anyone speak German, then?’
For a moment she thinks she’s out of luck, that she’ll just have to try a variety of potions on Umberto and hope for the best that she doesn’t poison him. But then there’s movement to the left of her and a man steps out of the crowd. He looks familiar, and Sari realises that he is the man who was leaning against the wall in the courtyard that day back in spring.
‘I speak a little,’ he says, and despite his slightly haughty appearance his voice is diffident and stumbling.
‘Fine,’ she says briskly, and turns back to Umberto. ‘You’ll do.’
Looking down at Umberto sweating and shaking on the bed, all her nervousness and insecurity starts to ebb away. ‘Right, then,’ she says, decisive. She knows this, this is her area; this is what she does. Her mind stills and her hands become steady, and when she speaks, she is surprised at how firm and confident her voice sounds.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks the man who’s now squatting down beside her.
‘Marco.’
‘Right, Marco. Can you get everyone else out of here, please?’ Marco turns and speaks to the other men, who start to move away from the bed slowly, obviously reluctant – Sari’s not sure about whether it’s out of concern for Umberto, or a scavenger-like appreciation for any bit of drama in their dull and sedentary lives.
Marco squats beside her again and gazes at her with intense curiosity. ‘Who are you?’ he enquires in slow, halting German.
‘My name’s Sari.’
‘No, I mean—’ He waves his hand eloquently, encompassing Umberto on the bed, and the small pile of bottles and bags that Sari has brought with her. ‘What do you do?’
She doesn’t know the German word for midwife, so she tells him that she’s a nurse; it’s close enough. ‘Marco, I need you to ask him some questions. I think he’s eaten something that he shouldn’t have, but I need to find out exactly what it is before I can treat him. Do you understand?’
His eyes narrow with concentration as she’s talking, then he nods with
comprehension.
‘Ask him if he ate anything in the forest.’
Marco turns back to Umberto and starts to speak. After a pause, Umberto responds, clearly in the affirmative.
‘He says that he did, but nothing he hasn’t eaten before, when the girl – Lilia? – was with him.’
Sari sighs. ‘Some of the plants are easy to confuse. Can you ask him what he ate? Was it berries? Or mushrooms?’
Over the next few minutes they manage to establish that he ate some berries, and that they were small, and round, and red, and came from a bush with dark green glossy leaves. Sari is relieved.
‘It’s not serious,’ she says to Marco, who looks relieved in his turn and translates the news to Umberto, who looks in far too much discomfort to be relieved about anything. ‘I’ll go down to the kitchens and prepare some medicine for him to take now. Lilike can help me prepare what he’ll need. Tell Umberto I’ll be back in half an hour or so.’
Umberto’s still looking distinctly miserable and slightly frantic by the time they reappear with a collection of vials and bottles. He says something in agitated tones to Marco, who smiles slightly and asks, ‘He wants to know what took you so long.’
Ignoring Marco’s comment Sari explains how to take the medicines, which are in three bottles.
‘It’s important that you get this right,’ she says to Marco, ‘so you should write the directions down.’
She hands Umberto the bottles and waits while Marco translates, scrawling cryptic notes on a piece of paper as he does so. Clearly sceptical, Umberto sniffs at the murky liquid before taking a tentative gulp, and then grimaces, letting fly a torrent of rather harsh sounding words in Marco’s direction. Marco suppresses a laugh, looking a little embarrassed.
‘He says—’
‘I don’t care what he says,’ Sari replies coolly. ‘It’s his taste for sweet things that got him in this mess in the first place.’
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