They Were Found Wanting (14 page)

‘Upstairs in his room, my Lady, that’s where! You go up there!’ said the man roughly, pointing to a stairway at the end of the hall.

Dodo hesitated for a moment not knowing if she should go up or tell the man to ask Laszlo to come down. But the man shuffled off and disappeared and so Dodo started upstairs herself.

The stairway had no banisters or rails, for the ornate wrought-iron work still lay rusting in heaps beneath the curve of the stair. It had never been installed.

Upstairs there was a long corridor and Dodo would not have known where to go if she had not seen a pair of shabby riding boots near a doorway in front of her. Quickly making up her mind Dodo knocked and went in.

Her guess had been right. Laszlo was indeed there, sitting in an armchair near one of the windows, dressed in a soft open shirt and trousers: he was busy filing his nails. When he saw her he jumped up, saying, ‘You! You here! What’s happened?’

‘Nothing much‚’ said Dodo. ‘I was passing on my way to the Kamuthys near Des and there seemed to be something wrong with the car. So I thought I’d drop in on you while they fix it.’

She blushed a little at her lie but went on lightly, ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, bursting in like this?’ and then laughed to cover her confusion.

‘Not a bit! It was very nice of you. But this room is awful! I’m ashamed you should find me in such disorder,’ said Laszlo,
looking
around him in distress. Then, suddenly noticing how casually he was dressed, he slipped on a jacket that had been thrown on the floor.

It was true that the room was in a mess. Laszlo’s bed, which was in one corner, was unmade, the covers in a heap on the floor and the pillows none too clean. Next to it on a bedside table was a half-empty bottle of brandy and a dirty glass. Quantities of cigarette ends littered the floor and there were innumerable burn marks on the parquet. The remains of the previous day’s evening meal had been left on a commode which stood between two of the windows, the dishes stacked one on the other and coated with congealed grease.

‘Oh dear‚’ said Dodo laughing. ‘I suppose this is how bachelors always live!’ and she looked round the room indulgently.

It was a large room with three windows on one side. Laszlo’s parents had used it as a sitting room while they were waiting for the main rooms below to be finished and some of their best
furniture
had been put there. Since Laszlo had moved in the carefully contrived harmony of the room had been spoilt. His father’s ormolu-mounted desk had been pushed aside to make room for the piano that Laszlo had brought from Budapest, and an Empire sofa had been shifted so that a bed could be brought in. An
elegant
vitrine that had held a valuable collection of porcelain now half covered one window and its place had been taken by a plain white-painted wardrobe. Only the family portraits remained in their places. Alas, not all of them, thought Dodo as she looked round because, right in the middle of the room there was a space where one was missing, a slight rectangular mark on the wall showing where it must have hung. The long shape of the frame was indicated by a cobweb or two which had presumably once attached themselves to the picture and had not been brushed off the tattered wall-paper behind. Everything looked old and dusty. Below where the missing portrait had hung Laszlo had placed the coloured photograph of his father in Hungarian court dress, which he had brought with him from Budapest and now returned to its original place.

For something to say‚ Dodo‚ somewhat rashly‚ asked‚ ‘What used to hang there‚ in the middle?’

Laszlo frowned.

‘They tell me it was the portrait of my mother, allegedly by Cabanel who was well-known in Paris in the eighties. I don’t remember, of course, for I believe my father threw it out of the
window
when, when my mother left … when …’ and he broke off.

‘Poor Laszlo! Do forgive me for evoking such a sad memory!’ and she put her hand comfortingly on the young man’s arm.

‘I don’t mind, really I don’t! When I was still a child, perhaps, but it doesn’t mean anything to me now.’

‘I know what you mean. You see I understand it very well. My father died when I was very young, so I’m half an orphan too. It’s horrid when you’re young, but when you grow up it’s still sad but it doesn’t hurt any more. We’ve got our lives before us … and life is beautiful!’

‘Not for everybody‚’ said Gyeroffy with a bitter smile.

‘Oh, yes! For everybody! It’s only a matter of will power. You have to want it,’ said Dodo and sat down on the window sill. ‘Look how beautiful the view is from here! Isn’t it a joy to see something so lovely?’ and she pointed to the gently sloping
garden
down below.

Laszlo sat down next to her, and Dodo went on chattering away, asking questions, listening to the young man’s answers; asking more questions, interested, charming. ‘It was gardeners from Schloss Laxenburg who planned the park! How cunning they were, it seems twice as big as it really is! You’d never know we’ve only got twenty acres!’ he said, and Dodo replied, ‘I’d never have believed it! And what sort of tree is that? I’ve never seen one like it before. And that one over there? What is that? It’s very exotic.’ She went on to ask how far they were from the Szamos river and commented on the hills in front of them and the three peaks of the Cibles shining in the distance. As they talked they were sitting very close to each other and her soft arm brushed Laszlo’s face each time she leaned forward to gaze from the
window
, and her chubby little hand grasped his shoulder for support.

When Dodo tossed off her motoring cap, her dark hair hung free giving forth a subtle sweet female scent and her neck rose smoothly from the open blouse like the throat of a dove. As they chatted easily together Laszlo felt himself gradually being
overcome
by some magic spell. The girl’s wide-open eyes were filled with tenderness.

Outside it started to rain, a few drops spattering the window sill.

Dodo jumped down and went over to the Bösendorfer.

‘Are you still working at the piano?’ and when Laszlo shook his head, she went on, ‘No? What a pity!’ For a while they turned over the musical scores that were lying in untidy heaps on the piano top and then Laszlo started to look for some of his own manuscript works and showed them to her and Dodo leant against him, so interested was she, it was like some comradely game of love where words and actions have no real meaning but serve only to tie the two of them together, close to each other, their shoulders and hips touching, and their young blood racing beneath the skin.

Outside the rain was now falling hard, drumming on the
window
sill like a prelude of Chopin and forming a curtain of
close-knit
threads separating them from the world outside. Once again it was Dodo who broke away. Still not quite sure of herself she went first towards the sofa, but it was covered with books and clothes carelessly thrown down and that, perhaps, was why she moved over to the bed, pulled straight the eiderdown and sat down on the edge. Laszlo followed her almost unconscious of his movements and sat beside her.

Dodo leaned towards him, slipped her arms round his shoulders and without a word offered him her mouth. At once they were welded together in a long kiss until the sound of the raindrops seemed to echo the throbbing of their desire for each other.

After a while Laszlo pushed her gently away, shook himself, got up and went to sit down on a chair a little way away. It was as if he were fleeing from the passion within him. Then, very softly, he said‚ ‘We shouldn’t … we shouldn’t!’

Dodo looked at him, smiling. ‘Why not? You know I love you. I’ve loved you for ages, for ever. I’ve always loved you. I’m yours if you’ll have me. Why don’t you marry me? I’d be happy to be your wife! You’ll see how happy we’d both be!’

‘But that’s impossible!’ said Gyeroffy‚ though there was no
conviction
in his voice, only slight protest against the unexpected.

‘Why impossible? There’s nothing to stop us. We’re both free. We can do as we please. Isn’t it enough that I ask you?’ and she repeated softly‚ sweetly‚ ‘Well, isn’t it?’

As Dodo said this she presented a charming picture sitting on the edge of the bed leaning forwards towards him her light
raw-silk
dress emphasizing the contours of her body, her round breasts, her smooth round neck. Her lips were reddened from their kiss and her eyes were beseeching. Laszlo’s first impulse was to jump up and take her in his arms; but the impulse lasted only a fraction of a second before something stopped him, though not before he had started to move towards her.

In the last few weeks more and more writs had been served on him, writs for the payment of long-standing debts. The bailiffs had been twice to the house and maybe they had even now fixed a date for selling all his belongings. Laszlo never understood these things. Azbej arranged everything for him, postponements, arrangements for amortizations – how and with what Laszlo had no idea. All he knew was that he was submerged in debt and that any day might find him thrown out onto the street.

It was the sudden memory of this, the consciousness of his bankruptcy‚ which had stopped him. He looked at Dodo from where he sat and in his distress answered her‚ ‘I, I have nothing, only debts. Even now this place may not be mine. I’m a beggar.’

If at this moment Dodo had taken him in his arms, pressed her young body to his and had said she didn’t care, or that it didn’t matter, or even if she had said nothing but just pressed her mouth to his without another word, then perhaps all would have been well and their fate would have taken a different turn. It was one of those moments in life when destiny is determined by a single word and what happens thereafter can never be reversed. But Dodo, alas, did not choose either of the ways that would have ensured her happiness. Quite unconsciously it was she
herself
who undid everything that up until now she had planned with such care and success. She said‚ ‘What does that matter? I know all that already. Everything can be arranged. I’m quite rich enough to take care of all that!’

From where she sat, facing the window, Dodo could not see how Laszlo’s face crumbled as she spoke.

At those few short words all Laszlo’s recent past surged back into his mind. At that moment he was faced with everything that had happened to him. It was all there in front of him. There stood his former mistress, the lovely Fanny Beredy, who had loved him and without his knowledge pawned her famous rope of pearls to settle his gambling debts. He could think of nothing but his shame when he had found this out, a shame that had been with him for months until he had freed himself by redeeming the pearls, leaving his new debts unpaid, an action which he had known would lead to his being thrown out of the Casino Club. There too stood the phantom of Lieutenant Wickwitz, his
handsome
face contorted with mocking laughter, whom Laszlo when drunk had insulted by accusing him of living off rich women, when all the time he had known that he himself was guilty of the same sin. The Austrian officer had been disgraced and had fled abroad but he, Laszlo, he had sat in judgement over this
scoundrel
and over himself, over all men who lived off women. Never! Never! Never again would anyone be able to accuse him of that! Never! Never! Never!

Laszlo jumped up and backed behind his chair using it as a
barricade
between them. He flung out an arm, pointing to the door, ‘Go away! Never! Never that!’ and his voice was filled with menace as he shouted; ‘Go! Go! Go!’

Pale as death Dodo got up. Then the blood rushed to her face. Picking up the motoring cap that had fallen to the floor, she ran out of the room.

Once outside she flung herself into her car. ‘Drive!’ she
muttered
to her driver. ‘Drive!’ and when they reached the main road and he asked where she could only just whisper, ‘Home … home … home …’

Dodo pulled the thick motoring cap tightly down over her hair and put on the heavy thick driving goggles. The rain ran down her face and clouded the lenses – but it was not only this that misted her vision. Inside the goggles tears poured from her eyes until they too seeped down onto her cheeks.

It was as if her eyes and nature both competed to weep over her sorrow.

A
T THE BEGINNING
of October there was a large family
gathering
at the manor-house of Mezo-Varjas. Since Countess Miloth had only died six months before‚ in February, this was somewhat unconventional; but it was what Count Akos (known to all as ‘Rattle’) wanted. He had told his youngest daughter, Margit, to summon Adrienne and their cousins, the Laczok girls; and his son Zoltan, who was now at college, to round up some young men because his god-daughter, the child of the Miloth estate overseer, was getting married and it was only right,
however
he might mourn his wife, that Count Miloth should see that the marriage was properly celebrated by the family.

‘I know the man’s a fool’, shouted old Rattle to his children, ‘and probably a thief as well, but since he’s served us for so long, and the girl is goose enough to take that good-for-nothing son of the Lelbanya chemist, I don’t see what else we can do!’

Margit said nothing. Her brother was not so sensible.

‘Who do you want me to write to, Papa? Who do you want?’ he said.

‘How do I know, you dolt?’ shouted Count Akos. ‘It’s all the same to me. Do you think I care, after losing your mother? Anyone you like! Now get out of here or I’ll hand you one you won’t
forget
!’ and he aimed a kick at the boy who jumped nimbly out of the way, quite unperturbed by his father’s apparent anger. At the door he turned, smiling, and said, ‘I’ll talk it over with Margit!’

‘Do that, you dimwit!’ growled his father and then stumped off to the stables whistling quietly through his teeth. In a few moments he could be heard shouting again, this time abusing the stable lads. It was what he called ‘keeping order’.

Margit arranged everything just as it should be. Forty-eight hours before the marriage Adrienne arrived with one of the Laczok cousins and the next day they were joined by two of the Alvinczy boys – Adam and Akos, the second son and the youngest – together with Abady and Gazsi Kadacsay.

Abady arrived in his own carriage, as did the Alvinczys who came over from their nearby estate at Magyar-Tohat. Gazsi, as might have been expected, rode over from Kolozsvar. Slung across the pommel of his saddle was a large dead fox, because Gazsi’s latest pastime was to chase after any wild animal he saw on the road, and try to shoot it with a huge double-barrelled
shotgun
he had had made just for that purpose. Usually he was
unsuccessful
but, occasionally, as today, he would make a kill.

‘It’s a great sport, my fr-r-riends!’ he cried out on arrival, ‘because you can’t look where the horse is taking you. You’ve got to keep your eyes on the hare or the fox, and follow wherever he goes, no matter where! I’ve had some staggering falls, I can tell you. Once I nearly br-r-roke my neck!’

As he was explaining this to the girls who were standing on the veranda that ran the length of the house, Gazsi held his head sideways tilting his raven’s beak of a nose in a most comical
fashion
. The girls’ admiration only lasted the fraction of a minute. As Gazsi held up the fox they all let out a scream for a myriad swarm of red fleas were seen jumping about in the fur and falling in a rust-covered heap on the ground below.

Kadacsay was chased away from the house and Count Akos shouted for the servants to bring a broom and sweep away the nuisance. The girls fled indoors.

Away from the house, and holding his unwelcome booty in his hand, Gazsi stood forlorn not knowing what to do. From the
windows
the girls scolded him for being so thoughtless, but they hardly knew how to do so they were laughing so much and, after all, it was not very serious.

Only one of the Laczok girls had come with Adrienne. This was Ida. If anyone had asked Margit why she had arranged it that way, she would have given no reason. Perhaps she could have, but that was not her way. Why give reasons? Why explain? Margit always knew exactly what she was doing, but telling was another matter.

There was a reason, all the same. One Laczok girl would be quite enough, for it never did to have too many girls. Ida had been chosen because, when Gazsi had had enough to drink, he was always convinced he was in love with her. There was nothing wrong with that and, given the opportunity, he might propose to her. Margit would make sure that there was plenty to drink. Then, of course, this meant that Kadacsay had to be invited too. Of the four Alvinczys two would be enough. Farkas, the eldest, had been ruled out as, since he had elected to Parliament, he had become far too serious; and the third son would only be an
embarrassment
because, copying Uncle Ambrus, he always got drunk very quickly and then used the most obscene language – and it only needed a glass or two to set him off. The youngest boy, Akos, was necessary as someone was needed who would listen to old Rattle’s oft repeated reminiscences of the past; but Adam’s
presence
was absolutely vital. Adam had to be there because, as he had for a long time fancied himself in love with Adrienne, who would have nothing to do with him, he used to confide his sorrows to Margit and that, Margit thought, was a step in the right
direction
. Of course AB would have to be there too. And if one asked why she chose Balint Abady she might have explained it was only correct, as he was the member for Lelbanya, that he should attend the wedding of the Lelbanya chemist’s son. When Margit thought about Balint a tiny secret smile might have been detected on her face; but if anyone had looked at her at such a moment that smile would have vanished, for Margit was nothing if not discreet.

The day of the marriage came and all the guests gathered in the afternoon in the estate overseer’s office where the ceremony was going to be conducted. It had to be there because the little Protestant church in the village had disappeared many years before. The pastor from Lelbanya came over to bless the young couple.

Also from Lelbanya, to act as best man, came the squire
himself
, the ruined old knight Balazs Borcsey of Lesser- and
Greater-Borcse
.

This had been brought about after much diplomatic
manoeuvring
. The original suggestion had been made by the village doctor, the inn-keeper had been in favour and the mayor had managed to organize it. The gift of a cow in calf had clinched the matter and the animal’s upkeep had also been provided for since Borcsey was so poor that otherwise the cow would have died of hunger. Even this would not have sufficed to conquer the pride of the old squire who was puffed up with a sense of his own
importance
. The decisive point had been the fact that Count Akos Miloth had consented to give the bride away. Though old Borcsey considered that the Miloths were greatly inferior in birth and breeding to the Borcseys of Lesser-and Greater-Borcse, the old man, himself a hero of the 1848 uprising, was told that Rattle had fought by the side of Garibaldi and so could almost be thought of as a comrade-in-arms.

The overseer’s office was small. At one side was a sofa covered with oil-cloth and, between that and the simple painted
pine-wood
table, the space was entirely taken up by the priest, the young couple, the parents and the two important witnesses, old Borcsey and Count Akos. The other guests remained outside beneath the tile-roofed portico whence, through the open door, the ladies could admire the bride’s white gauze dress, the groom’s new if somewhat oddly cut black coat, and the imposing presence of two such grand witnesses as the local landowner and the old knight. Of the two it was perhaps the latter who made the
greatest
impression, despite the fact that not one of the chemical
formulae
invented by the chemist could remove the ancient stains from his coat. Nevertheless he cut an elegant figure in his
tight-fitting
breeches; and with his long grey hair and waxed
moustaches
he looked like an engraving of the sixties.

By the time the pastor had finished his address, which was extremely long, it was almost dark. Although it was late in the year the weather was still so mild that all the guests were quite happy to stay out of doors in the grassy courtyard where some light wine was served and the gypsy band from Ludas was
playing
. Stable lamps were brought out, and a supper was to be served later in the evening.

Sitting round a long table were Borcsey, Count Akos‚ Abady‚ the chemist and his bridegroom son, and the father of the bride, the Miloths’ overseer‚ who sat a little back from the others as a mark of respect in the presence of his employer.

Borcsey had seated himself in the place of honour at the head of the table, and so forceful was the old man’s sense of his own importance that no one thought to dispute his right to do so. Wine was brought to them as soon as they sat down and, as the wine flowed so did the talk. Their subject, naturally, was politics.

Just as if he were chairing a meeting the old revolutionary lost no time in asking Abady to take the floor‚ questioning him about the latest problem facing the government.

‘Tell us, honourable member for Lelbanya, what is the news about the Quota?’ This was the annual contribution made by Hungary to the Austro-Hungarian army budget. ‘Is it true that our government has come to an agreement with Vienna?’ And he pointed a long finger at Abady and then, folding his hands over the knob of the long stick he always carried, he leant back in his chair as if waiting for a young subordinate’s report.

Balint at once felt that he was being called upon to account for himself and the actions of the government. He explained that there had been lengthy discussions in Vienna and that, as Budapest had thrown over the existing agreement, all the
negotiations
about the Quota and the formation of a national bank had to start again from scratch. It was rumoured, however, that agreement had been reached though‚ as far as the bank question was concerned, there was only‚ for the present, to be some form of ‘declaration of intent’ which would leave the details to be settled later. As to the Quota, the government had agreed to increase Hungary’s contribution by two per cent over the next ten years. This was the price they had had to pay to obtain recognition for their independent customs proposals and for the future
acceptance
of the bank reforms.

‘Do you mean to say that the Independence Party will accept this?’ asked Borcsey in surprise.

‘In all probability, yes. Though it is possible that we shall see a few resignations – Barra, perhaps, and Apponyi. But the
majority
will certainly vote with Ferenc Kossuth who has already given his ministerial approval.’

‘To think that Lajos Kossuth’s son should sink so low! So this is all we’ve got after two years of nothing but talk, talk!’ cried the old firebrand and he turned to Rattle and said, ‘It’s just as I’ve always said: cut the cackle and march on Vienna. That’s what we did in my day!’

Count Akos, himself the most peaceable of men, made suitably belligerent noises and, out of sheer politeness, the others
murmured
their agreement.

Abady went on to tell how Andrassy had presented new
proposals
to strengthen the independence of county districts, and this at once led to a discussion of what they were pleased to call ‘
cleaning
up the civil service’ – by which was meant getting rid of
anyone
who had too faithfully served under Tisza or‚ more recently‚ given their allegiance to the government of General Fejervary. Already there had been witch-hunts in the counties of Fejer and Maros-Torda – as a result of which many former government
officials
had been dismissed – and everywhere people were dividing into opposing party groups. The tranquillity of country life had been shattered, duels were being fought, women joined in the fight with their own weapons of evil gossip and slander, and in some country towns things had gone so far that members of one party would use one side of the street so as not to encounter their political opponents who used the other.

Then they began to discuss what would happen to Peter Beno Balogh‚ the official notary of Maros-Torda‚ whose behaviour at the inauguration of the Prefect appointed by the Bodyguard
government
had been, to say the least, equivocal.

‘Oh‚ they’ll kick him out, for sure. At least that’s what I’ve heard‚’ said the chemist. No more could be said for at this point the overseer’s wife called from the house that supper was on the table.

So the stormy waves of politics were stilled and forgotten as everyone went indoors for the feast.