The Exiled (9 page)

THE JOURNEY TO SZABADKA
to meet Réka’s boyfriend, József, took them past endless fields of crops. The scenery was the same no matter what direction you took from Kanizsa. Vojvodina, or Vajdaság as they called it in Hungarian, was the granary of Serbia. Fields as far as the eye could see, flat, fertile plains, almost monotonous expanses, the enormity of which made it breathtakingly beautiful. To Anna the landscape resembled the sea. Anna and Réka had chosen a slightly longer route, a narrow road, in places in extremely bad condition, winding its way through the small villages and between the enormous fields. The asphalt was pocked, ancient tractors puffed along the road and the tiny hamlets looked almost lifeless.

The fields were dotted with dilapidated farmhouses, abandoned years ago, places that had once been brimming with life. Réka kept her eyes on the houses as they drove, wondering whether she could buy one of them and renovate it, but Anna barely listened to what her friend was saying.

At one of the farmhouses, Réka asked that they stop the car, wanting to take a closer look at the buildings. A tall walnut tree cast long shadows across the overgrown garden around the sagging house. A stork had built a nest of twigs in the building’s broken chimney stack. From deep inside the chimney came the chirping of fledglings. The stork stood up and flapped its wings. It clearly didn’t want anyone to disturb the peace in its nest.

‘This place is wonderful,’ said Réka as they entered the main building, which looked like it might collapse at any moment. ‘Look, the walls are basically still in good condition. Imagine what this place would look like once it was tidied up a bit and the roof fixed. We’d probably have to replace the floors and windows. But these window frames are amazing. They’re original.’

Anna looked but couldn’t imagine anything but the chortling of an old tractor. This house was beyond the scope of even Réka’s
wonderful József, who was apparently a dab hand at DIY. He worked as an art teacher in a school in Szabadka. Réka had met him while she was writing a piece about art teaching in Hungarian schools for the
Magyar Szó
newspaper. The three of them were supposed to go for dinner today. Anna was nervous about meeting him, which made her feel silly.

‘This is exactly the kind of country house we’ve been looking for. It’s near Kanizsa and Szabadka. This would be the perfect location. József would have a short journey to work and the child would be between both sets of grandparents. Look at this, there’s an old stove too.’

Anna’s phone began to ring.

It was the chief of police. He informed her that the coroner’s report was due to arrive from the pathology department in Novi Sad within the hour and he could forward it to Anna’s email address.

Anna thanked him, cheerily gave him the address, hung up and followed Réka into the other room. The place smelt of mildew and the floorboards were rotten. A round, whitewashed stove dominated the room. It was certainly beautiful, or rather it would have been, without the black cracks in its walls.

‘Who was it?’ asked Réka.

‘The chief of police. I can read the autopsy report on the handbag thief.’

‘That’s great. Let’s hope it gives you peace of mind.’

‘I hope so,’ said Anna. ‘You’ll have to find out who owns this old farm,’ she continued, frustrated with herself for not having the courage to tell Réka what she really thought of this run-down shack.

Her friend’s eyes were alive and her cheeks red as she planned the kitchen cupboards and the children’s playroom.

‘We could build a garage out in the yard, and that could be József ’s studio. Large windows facing north and white walls.’

‘Sounds good. You’ll definitely need a studio.’

‘I’m so happy,’ Réka sighed. She dreamily stroked her stomach, even though she wasn’t yet showing. ‘Isn’t it time you settled down too, Anna?’

For Christ’s sake, thought Anna.

‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she said.

‘Béci! He’s coming to Kanizsa for the weekend – he’s been asking about you. Now there’s a good man for you. He really fell for you after your little fling at New Year.’

Fucking hell, Anna cursed to herself.

‘Why don’t we get going? I think we’ve seen enough of this dump,’ she said. ‘My clothes are going to smell of mould.’

‘Anna! You’re not angry, are you? Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.’ Réka seemed visibly distressed.

‘Look, this is a good location, but the building is in shit condition. Why don’t you just build a new house?’

‘We don’t want a new house!’

‘And I don’t want to settle down!’

‘But, Anna, that isn’t normal. You’ve become so terribly cynical. Surely you’d like to curl up in someone’s arms in the evenings? I’m getting worried about you.’

‘Exactly how normal is it to want to take on a run-down dump like this? Have you given a second thought to how much work doing up a place like this will be? You’ll spend all your money and free time on the renovations. And you won’t be curling up in anyone’s arms in the evening; you’ll be collapsing into bed half dead, grabbing a couple of hours’ sleep before you have to slog your way through another day. Besides, how long have you even known this József? You didn’t say a word about him when I was having my little New Years’ fling. Is it normal to get pregnant and buy a house with someone you’ve only known for a few months?’

‘Anna!’ Réka shouted as she burst into tears and ran out of the house.

Anna clenched her fists. Her heart was racing and her breath was shallow.

A fly was buzzing against the dirty windowpane through which Anna could just make out the walnut tree and Réka sitting by its trunk, her head buried in her arms, which she’d wrapped around her
knees, pulling them tight against her chest. The fly became tangled in a spider’s web fluttering in a light flow of air like a grey, tightly woven curtain.

What now? thought Anna. What should I do now? The situation had taken her by surprise, and her helplessness made her feel dizzy and weak, as though the power was draining from her limbs. Anna sat down by the stove, leant against its cracked plaster and watched the fly struggle in the spider’s web, trying to free itself. The web tore ominously. The spider was nowhere to be seen. It had probably already eaten and was so full that it was too tired to come out to paralyse and wrap up its prey, ready for a rainy day. The fly writhed in the trap, and the web eventually tore free of the window frame. The fly fell on to the windowsill. Its body was impressive, plump, and greenish-black, but its wings were helpless, tied up in the grey, silken web. That creature will never fly again, thought Anna. And there’s nothing I can do to help it.

Anna ran her hand along the surface of the stove. Its curves felt smooth and cool against the palm of her hand. In the winter months, when frozen winds blew in across the
puszta
, the flanks of this stove would radiate warmth throughout the small kitchen. Anna understood Réka’s dreams. She understood them perfectly well. Even she couldn’t deny that traditional farmhouses, with whitewashed walls and verandas running the length of the building, were cosy and beautiful. All too often they were razed to the ground and replaced with ugly, contemporary boxes. If Réka and József were to renovate one of the remaining farmhouses, they would be preserving their culture; so why shouldn’t they buy this one? I’m such a bitch, Anna thought, standing up.

She slowly walked out to the walnut tree and gently placed her hand on Réka’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry. I was mean to you. Come on, let’s get going and I can finally meet this wonderful József of yours.’

Réka wiped the tears from her eyes and said she forgave her, but for the rest of the journey into town she seemed quiet and uneasy.

Anna typed Sari a brief reply:
No need to worry. See you in July.

She noticed that the chief of police had sent his promised email, but she didn’t want to read it. Not yet. Maybe never. She switched off her iPad and listened to the silence of the house around her. Her mother had already gone to bed, Ákos had gone to Szeged. A truck thundered along the street. Another. Then everything was quiet again. Anna unlocked the desk drawer and fingered the plastic bags into which she had carefully placed the hairs and fibres she’d found that morning. What the hell was I thinking digging around in there? I’m not right in the head. Maybe tomorrow I should build a bonfire in the yard, cook some chicken
pörkölt
on the open fire and invite my friends for dinner. I could burn these bags in the fire, she thought, and slammed the drawer shut. She tried to concentrate on other, more pleasant things and move the unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind.

József was really nice. Of course. Smart, good-looking and funny. And he was clearly head-over-heels in love with Réka. They talked for a long time about the house that she and Réka had visited. Réka had glanced nervously at Anna but relaxed when she realised Anna wasn’t going to continue making snide comments. Who was Anna, anyway, to criticise anyone else’s hopes and dreams, things she had never had? Réka had remained in Szabadka and Anna had driven herself back through the darkened terrain to Kanizsa.

At Palics she’d come across the body of a dog in the road. As she drove past, the familiar smell of decomposition had come in through the window, the same smell as that given off by a body that had been dead for some time. It felt like an omen.

An indistinct sense of guilt and anxiety wrapped itself around her like a sweaty sheet as she tried to find a comfortable position and get some sleep. Insomnia scared her, it was something that usually struck when she most needed to sleep. She hadn’t packed her sleeping pills. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might become stressed on holiday. But she remembered that in the pharmacies here you could buy almost anything without a prescription. Tibor told her he
sometimes smuggled anabolic steroids to bodybuilders in Hungary. Testosterone supplements. He bought them by the kilo at local pharmacies, and not one of the Serbian pharmacists asked any questions. Anna decided to get some sleeping pills tomorrow, just in case. She switched on her iPad again and flicked through the news.

Eventually she gave up and signed into her email account, clicked open the attachment sent by the chief of police and read the report. It was written in such official Serbian and so full of medical terms that Anna had difficulty understanding it. But with the help of an online dictionary she managed to get the gist of what it was saying. The man who’d stolen her handbag had drowned. His lungs were full of water from the Tisza. This was a case of accidental death; certified by the pathologist’s scrawled signature, his name typed clearly and an official stamp.

Anna put her iPad on the floor. Perhaps she would be able to enjoy the rest of her holiday after all – clear her conscience and forget all about this. But the sense of relief never came. Something still didn’t seem right. She’d seen the evidence of a struggle on the riverbank with her own eyes, so why was there nothing to indicate that on the body? Who had been fighting on the riverbank if not the thief? And with whom?

‘
ISTEN HOZOTT!
’ Judit welcomed Anna in her low, soft voice. Anna stepped through the front door and straight into the dimly lit kitchen, which also served as the living room. There was a dining table, a sofa, and a shelving unit with a television that was on but with the sound off. Beside the unit was a door leading to the room behind the kitchen and facing on to the street. A colourful curtain was draped in the doorway and Anna couldn’t see whether Judit’s son or anyone else was in the other room. There were no sounds coming from behind the curtain.

‘Would you like something? Coffee? Beer?’

‘Coffee, please.’

Judit filled the
dzsezva
with water and put it on the stove to boil, lit a cigarette and offered one to Anna; long, thin, white cigarettes that were probably so mild you had to suck your cheeks in to taste the smoke. In Serbia many women smoked cigarettes like these. They thought they were healthier than normal cigarettes, that they were somehow more feminine.

‘Where’s your son?’ asked Anna.

‘At school.’

Of course. The summer holiday in Kanizsa only started after the Finnish midsummer and continued until the beginning of September.

‘How old is Benedek?’

‘Eight.’

‘He’s a sweet child. When will your husband be coming back?’

‘Not until the autumn. He’s working all summer. My mother lives here with us, but she’s not here at the moment.’

Anna wondered how they could all fit into such a tiny apartment. She also decided not to enquire further about what Judit’s husband was actually doing in Belgium. Probably begging, like almost all Eastern European Romanies in the West. What Anna was curious to know was what Judit wanted to talk to her about, but blurting it out would have sounded impolite. The situation began to feel awkward and Anna didn’t know what to say. They were complete strangers and they represented the polar opposites of society, a fact that had far greater significance here than Anna could have imagined. Silence descended between them.

And then, as though she had once again read Anna’s thoughts, Judit spoke.

‘When we were at the cemetery, I had a strong feeling that I wanted to read for you. Would you mind?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Read your cards. Actually, as soon as you came knocking at the door the other night I felt that the cards might have something to tell you.’

‘You want to tell my fortune?’

‘You could call it that.’

‘I don’t really believe in any of that,’ said Anna. Now would be a good moment to leave, she thought, to thank her host politely and close the door behind her for good. Anna was feeling that same unnerving hollowness she’d experienced at the cemetery.

‘You don’t have to believe in it. Besides, many things happen around us all the time that we can’t perceive or understand. I see things that many people don’t. Shall we have a look?’

Anna thought about it. She had no truck with premonitions, telepathy, energy fields or homeopathy, though she’d once tried homeopathic drops for her insomnia. She didn’t know whether they’d helped her or whether they had simply been followed by a period of better sleep. The placebo effect, that’s what it must have been. Perhaps she could try this too, out of sheer curiosity if nothing else. Perhaps fortune-tellers were like placebos: harmless – they might even help
gullible people – and with no side effects. People were free to believe in it all if they wished. But still the thought didn’t appeal to her. She felt reluctant, but wasn’t sure whether it was through instinct or fear.

‘I’m not sure … I don’t want to know anything I couldn’t find out in the real world.’

‘This is very real for lots of people – far more people than you might think. There’s no need to be afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid but I really don’t believe in fortune-telling.’

‘This isn’t really fortune-telling in the truest sense. The cards might wish to tell you something about the future, but generally they help you to see and understand things that might otherwise skip your attention. Things that already exist in your life, one way or the other, but that you just can’t see.’

What things might they be? thought Anna. If you can’t see them, they can’t be of very great significance. Still, perhaps she could think of this as adding to her list of interesting experiences. A gypsy fortune-teller. That would be a good story to tell people at work. Esko would be amused when he heard.

‘Okay then,’ Anna finally consented. ‘It can’t do any harm, I suppose.’

‘Definitely not. On the contrary, in fact.’

Judit pulled the curtain across the only window in the already dusky kitchen. Then she locked the door.

‘So that nobody can disturb us. Benedek will be back from school soon.’

‘Where will he go if the door is locked?’

Judit looked up at Anna, amused. ‘Next door, of course. Right, let’s start. Place some money on the table, any sum you wish.’

Aha, thought Anna. That’s what this was all about. The cards were the woman’s way of making a living. She took out a thousand-dinar note, about ten euros, and placed it on the table. Judit’s eyes opened almost imperceptibly. A thousand dinars was a lot of money here. With that she would be able to put many meals on the table and Anna would surely get an excellent reading.

‘I must ask you whether you want to hear everything the cards tell me. Whatever that may be.’

‘Of course,’ said Anna, though the thought was chilling and an unnerving fear pinched her stomach again. I don’t believe in this, she tried to convince herself. This is stupid, nothing but primitive mumbo jumbo.

Judit shuffled the pack of dirty, dog-eared cards. Then she asked Anna to select several at random. Judit closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and lay the top card on the table. Then the second, the third, the fourth.

‘This card signifies love,’ said Judit tapping one of the cards with a long nail decorated with glitter. ‘But, because it’s between these two cards, it means unhappiness in love. Do you have a boyfriend?’

Anna shook her head. Why don’t you ask me whether I have a girlfriend? she thought spitefully to herself.

‘A girlfriend?’

Anna could barely hide her surprise and shook her head.

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Judit. ‘You don’t seem like a lesbian. It may be that you’ll never have a boyfriend or a lasting relationship. I’m sorry.’ She looked up at Anna with pity in her eyes. ‘You said I was to tell you everything.’

For crying out loud, thought Anna. Does she really think I’m going to burst into tears at that particular piece of news?

‘But there’s someone here, a man,’ Judit continued. ‘Is there someone on your mind after all? Someone you’re attracted to?’

‘No,’ Anna replied.

‘Well, in that case, there’s someone who has been watching you and wants to get to know you better. Perhaps someone’s following you. That’s what this card means. He might be a policeman or something similar. And he’s interested in you.’

You know I’m a police officer, thought Anna. You’ve already been asking round the town, who I am, what I’m doing and who my family are, and you know I’m investigating the theft of my handbag.
It must make this line of work much easier when you keep up to date with the town’s gossip.

Judit placed more cards on the table and concentrated on them.

‘Your finances are in order,’ she mumbled.

What a piece of news that is. People round here probably think I’m a millionaire just because I live in Finland.

‘This man, this official, he’s following you. Look at this card. It means there’s a man keeping an eye on you. He must be in love,’ said Judit and gave Anna a teasing glance. ‘Are you sure you don’t know who it might be?’

‘I’m sure,’ she replied.

‘Well, it will doubtless become clear to you in the near future. But there’s something strange going on here too. This card represents love, but it’s next to this card,’ said Judit and once again tapped a card with her acrylic nail. This time the picture on the faded card showed a female figure in a white dress.

‘Someone close to you has died. Someone very close and important.’

You don’t need cards to tell me that, Anna felt like saying. You saw me at the cemetery. But Anna didn’t want to seem rude. She appreciated the fact that Judit hadn’t lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper when she mentioned death, and didn’t sound at all like a melodramatic diva, the way Anna thought of all fortune-tellers. Judit simply said what she saw or imagined she saw in the cards, to the point and without any histrionics.

‘The death of your loved one still plagues you. It’s beginning to haunt you.’

Anna wanted to tell her that she was haunted by the death of a complete stranger, the man who’d stolen her handbag, but she didn’t want to give Judit the slightest indication that any of her premonitions was even remotely close to the truth.

Another card.

‘Death again. I can see a child.’

‘What child?’ Anna flinched involuntarily. She touched her stomach, and Judit saw it. Calm down, Anna told herself. That woman can’t see anything.

‘I don’t know, perhaps you know better. There’s a child affecting your life in some way. Who might that be? Do you have children?’

Judit waited patiently for Anna’s response and looked at her with such intense scrutiny that Anna began to feel uncomfortable. Calm down, this is nonsense, Anna kept repeating to herself, trying to look nonchalant. She shook her head and remained silent.

Judit waited a moment longer and then laid another card on the table.

‘You’re not safe,’ Judit said as mundanely as if she’d said Anna would go to the shop that evening. Yet, despite the calm of Judit’s voice – or specifically because of it – Anna was beginning to feel anxious. If Judit were to behave like a drama queen, if she gasped in horror and rolled her eyes, it would be easier to dismiss her as a charlatan, to laugh at the whole spectacle. But Judit’s matter-of-fact, almost officious manner made the situation all the more believable. Almost believable, Anna corrected herself. Of course, that’s precisely the point, she thought, suddenly relieved. This is theatre, and this woman knows exactly how to perform her role. She has years of experience, and this is how she makes a living. That’s all there is to it. The knot of anxiety at the bottom of her stomach relaxed and Anna began to calm down.

Judit gathered up the cards and poured herself and Anna a glass of Voda-Voda mineral water. Then she turned to look at Anna.

‘Is there anything you’d like to ask?’

Anna hesitated. There were many things she would have liked to ask, yet at the same time she had no desire whatsoever to ask them. But she had to say something so as not to sound rude.

‘What do you mean, I’m not safe?’ she asked eventually.

‘I don’t know, I couldn’t see it clearly. But I had the same feeling when you visited the other night. It was a strange feeling. As if it had something to do with the blossoming of the Tisza.’

‘
Tiszavirág?
’

‘Yes. I don’t know what it means but it feels bad. Very bad indeed.’

‘I still don’t believe in any of this,’ said Anna.

Judit sighed and lit a cigarette. She looked suddenly tired. ‘You don’t have to believe. But if you’d like, you can give the cards something in return. Some money, for instance. We’ll place a card on top of the money, and it’ll be your lucky card.’

Anna placed two hundred dinars on the table. She didn’t want to pay anything more for this nonsense but felt she couldn’t refuse. Compared to this woman she was rich. Nonsense or not, Judit and her children needed food and clothes, just like anyone else. They had to pay the bills, go to the doctor and buy schoolbooks. Anna laid down another five hundred. Judit nodded in acceptance, shuffled the cards, plucked one out with her acrylic nail, turned it over and placed it on the table.

‘A friend. There’s a friend who you cannot trust.’

‘Who is it?’

‘The cards can’t tell me that, but your heart will tell you when the time comes.’

‘Thank you. This has been fascinating,’ Anna said politely.

‘You don’t believe in it, but it doesn’t matter. There exists another reality too. The kind of reality that normal people like you cannot appreciate. I’ve had a sensitivity to this since I was a child. My mother had it too. It runs in the family.’

Anna tried to think of something friendly to say, perhaps an interested question about Judit’s gift, but a knock at the door saved her. Judit pulled back the curtains and opened the door. The June light flooded into the room, so powerful that Anna had to squint her eyes. The sound of a dog barking came from the yard. A small, black-haired boy with a large rucksack on his back was standing at the door, but, seeing Anna, he didn’t step inside.

‘Szia, Benedek! Gyere, gyere,
come inside. Look who’s come to visit your mother? It’s Anna, the lady from Finland. We saw her at the cemetery, do you remember?’

The boy nodded, shrugged off his rucksack and left it by the door. Anna greeted him.

‘
Csókolom
,’ he said without looking her in the eyes.

‘Were you a good boy at school?’ asked Judit.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you have a lot of homework?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, have a sandwich and we’ll look at it together.’

The boy sat down at the table. Still he didn’t dare look at the guest in the room. Anna stood up and made to leave.

‘Stay a while,’ said Judit. ‘Would you like a sandwich too?’

‘No, thank you. I’m afraid I have to get going.’

‘I try to support Benedek’s education in any way I can,’ said Judit as she sliced a chunk from a white wheat loaf. ‘Education is the only way out of here,’ she said, waving her slender hand in a curve through the air. ‘But it’s hard. The books cost a fortune. Most of us can’t afford them – many of the parents can’t even read. How can you support your child if you can’t read?’

Anna had no answer to this.

‘I run a club once a week where the children get a good snack and we help them with their homework. Perhaps you’d like to come and visit us?’

‘That would be interesting,’ said Anna, and this time she meant it.