They Were Found Wanting (32 page)

The bazaar was attended not only by the townspeople but many country folk too who had crowded into Kolozsvar for the great annual agricultural meeting. The ladies of the organizing committee planned this date on purpose because they knew that thereby they ensured the presence in town of all Transylvania’s leading citizens. It was considered an unwritten law that
everyone
must attend the bazaar, not only to make an appearance but also to buy; and this applied to young and old alike. Therefore at the Maria-Valeria Bazaar you would meet not only the young men but also the old ones such as Sandor Kendy, Stanislo Gyeroffy, and even Miklos Absolon and old Daniel Kendy. Young Farkas Alvinczy and Isti Kamuthy had come specially from Budapest and as both of them were now in Parliament they were treated as important personalities. Even Joska Kendy had put in an appearance, not because of anything to do with horses (which was all that really interested him) but because he too had become a prominent public figure since his appointment as a Prefect of his county. Only old Rattle Miloth had failed to appear. ‘It’s not for me, my dear,’ he had said to his youngest daughter Margit, ‘not for one whose heart is broken like mine! And don’t forget there’s the place to be run. Someone’s got to supervise the ploughing and sowing, and I can’t trust that idiotic farm manager of ours!’ Margit did not insist for she knew that he had recently made friends with their neighbour, the elder Dezso Kozma, one of those brothers who had been childhood playmates of Roza Abady at Denestornya. The previous Michaelmas he had bought some 2,000 acres of land not far from the Miloth estate and, if the road was not too muddy, old Rattle had taken to visiting his new friend almost daily. Kozma listened contentedly to Akos Miloth’s stories for, being a commoner and a newcomer while Count Akos came from a long line of
aristocratic
landowners, he was flattered by the old man’s attentions.

All the men visiting the bazaar were happy to let the bevies of pretty girls cajole them into parting with their money. They carelessly bought anything put before them, some of it useless junk of no value but offered for many times the price they would have paid at one of the town shops. And they bought with such recklessness because these inflated prices included the right to a little mild flirtation. The girls were not ungenerous with their favours for it was exciting to see how much more than its worth the lovesick male could be induced to pay for a one-crown pot of flour, a necktie which usually fetched three crowns or a
completely
useless paper doll. If she smiled a little more than he had expected, if she leaned towards him so that he could catch the scent of her perfumed shoulders, or if – just by chance of course – a lock of her hair brushed his cheek, if she sold just a little bit of herself, then the money came raining in and the sense of triumph made eyes shine brighter and added a touch of real sensuality to every laugh. Even the most upright and straitlaced of women can occasionally succumb to the lure of trying a little hint of seduction without ever realizing that it was perhaps tantamount to
prostitution
… but by this process the most natural of instincts was satisfied by knowing exactly how much money each girl’s charms were worth to their eager male customers.

Some of the stands were more popular than others and around one or two there was a positive crowd. Some of the customers were real buyers while others, after making some insignificant purchase, just stayed to chat. The bar this year was in the charge of Isti Kamuthy’s pretty older sister, Countess Szentpali, who had recruited the two elder Laczok girls to help her. They were busy encouraging everyone to sample their flasks of French
brandy
and Benedictine. The only one of their customers who needed no urging was old Daniel Kendy who made straight for the bar on arrival and settled down for the duration of the event, though he was absolutely penniless and did not have the means to buy himself anything let alone spirits at three times their normal price. It was a well thought-out move, for all his friends who passed by found themselves obliged to offer the old man a drink. Daniel had a wonderful time, which he remembered for a long time to come; and it was made even more memorable for him when Laszlo Gyeroffy turned up, sat down beside him and started ordering double-sized drinks for them both.

In the stand across the way Mrs Bogdan Lazar was selling honey, the product of her own bees, in attractive specially designed little jars. She was being helped by Dodo Gyalakuthy who had brought her own home-made honey-cakes to
complement
the pure honey. At this stand, too, there was someone who never moved away. He was a large, sturdy red-haired man with a long bony face covered in freckles; and he was a foreigner, Ugo von der Maultasch, who came from Pomerania on the Baltic coast of Prussia. What brought him to Transylvania no one knew, unless it was the mysterious scent of money which was apt to reach
penniless
Teutonic barons, no matter how far away they lived, and tell them where marriageable heiresses were to be found.

He had arrived some weeks before the bazaar and had been courting Dodo assiduously ever since. Now he was not buying up the whole stand, as an ambitious Hungarian might have done, but was making himself discreetly useful, always at hand to help, wrapping parcels and praising the merchandise seemingly
unconscious
of the fact that few people could understand his outlandish north German accent. He was presumably working hard to show what a helpful and useful fellow he could be.

Adrienne Miloth’s stand was not far away, a little nearer to the Patronesses’ platform where the dowagers sat enthroned.

With her was the attractive young wife of Dr Bela Korosi, the elderly university professor who was a prominent member of the Opposition in Transylvania and a power at the provincial
assembly
, where he led the Independence Party. Mrs Korosi was a
pretty
dark-haired woman with large eyes and a sweet slightly plaintive expression which seemed to say, ‘Oh dear! Politics and public affairs! There seems to be so much of it! My husband’s entirely wrapped up in such things, and in his teaching …why, he hardly has time to notice poor little me!’

Their stand had been made to look like a toy shop that
specialized
in dolls of every sort. There were giant ones from Italy, the size of a six-month-old child, and tiny ones made from a single
little
cotton tassel, many of them hanging in rows along the front and the sides of the stand, all sorts of Punchinello dolls, comic dolls and baby-dolls; and the largest sat on the counter staring up at the customers with their huge glass eyes.

From a distance it was hardly possible to see what Adrienne’s stall held for the crush of buyers crowding around. The pretty
little
Mrs Korosi was a general favourite and all the young men from the Miloths’ circle of friends, the Alvinczys, Pityu Kendy, Kadacsay and many others, kept on coming back even if from time to time they strayed briefly to other stalls or to the bar. Only Uncle Ambrus never moved. He brought up a chair, placed it beside Adrienne and never ceased, in his noisiest manner, to pay court to her across the bonnets and silken hair of the dolls and puppets. He was trying to show by this proprietorial manner that he had some sort of prior right to Adrienne’s attention and so he played the part of a sort of host. He interfered when customers were bargaining, shouting at the young men who clustered round, ‘Don’t be so stubborn, you ass, let’s see the colour of your money!’ or else, ‘Don’t fool around, young fella-me-lad, do as I do! For this lovely lady I’d let them skin me alive!’ And so he thundered on; and he was as good as his word, himself buying the largest doll on display for many times its proper price. He kept the thing on his lap, rocking it in his arms and crying, ‘What a lovely baby! But I could make a better one!’ leering at Adrienne as he spoke. For Ambrus the opportunity was worth every penny he had spent, especially as Adrienne was so busy that she could not answer back.

Business was good, but there was a problem. As soon as a sale had been made someone had to take the sold doll down and wrap it for the purchaser. This was the job of the two young girls on the stand, Liszka Laczok and Adrienne’s own youngest sister, Margit. Liszka was rushed off her feet, unable to cope with the rush as for most of the time Margit was nowhere to be seen. Each time she was wanted they had to call and call, often as many as eight or ten times, and a few moments after she had reappeared she was gone again.

In fact she was not very far away, only a few feet in fact, hiding in the little space between the stand and the wall.

In that little narrow space she was sitting, not alone but with Adam Alvinczy, and it was from there that she reappeared when the calls became too insistent. ‘Why! Here I am!’ she would say, wide-eyed and innocent; but she wasn’t there for long. Margit had something on hand that was for her far more important than merely wrapping parcels at a charity bazaar; she had to cheer up poor love-sick Adam.

Adam was more forlorn than ever, parading his sorrow at length and finding beautiful love-sick words with which to do so. It was, of course, the old story of his yearning for Adrienne who now would not even look at him let alone speak to him. Why, she even seemed to favour old Uncle Ambrus while hardly noticing Adam’s existence; it was truly depressing.

This was a familiar subject between Adam and young Margit, and, as far as Margit at least was concerned, it was well worth talking about, as would have been anything that kept them together. And together they certainly were, huddled closely on a narrow chest where there was hardly any room, the long-legged Adam and the little round Margit. In such a constricted space they were obliged to sit closely together, their arms linked, not, of course, in an embrace, but simply because otherwise one or other would have fallen to the floor. And if they were whispering into each other’s ears, so closely that the mouth of one might have been caressing the ear of the other – that, too, was not
kissing
, not at all, for it was merely by chance that their nearness entailed such intimacy. Merely one of life’s little hazards for which no one could be blamed.

The main subject between them, either in conversation or in their letters, was Adrienne’s heartlessness. But more and more there was another aspect of the matter which had come to the fore: this was Margit’s great capacity for understanding. And this was what they were discussing at the bazaar. Margit, they agreed between them, after she had first rather shyly made the
suggestion
, was quite different from her sister. She was warm-hearted, understanding, compassionate, even merciful, and she could so well understand what Adam was suffering. She was, unlike the other, sympathetic … so sympathetic indeed that it was
increasingly
in vain that Adrienne and Mrs Korosi called for her, for how could she leave poor Adam alone with his great heart and his great sorrow? And this, no doubt, is what she would have replied if anyone had taken her to task for neglecting her duties.

Roza Abady sat on the Patronesses’ platform among the other dowagers, not because she liked it or had wanted to be there, but because on this occasion she felt it was her duty. Countess Abady’s presence was important and conferred an honour upon the other ladies because it was well-known that she never went out and only saw her friends in her own home. As it happened Countess Roza was already beginning to regret that she had come because she had been forced to have Aunt Lizinka sitting next to her and Aunt Lizinka, as always, let out a stream of
poisonous
gossip without drawing breath for an instant. Today it was worse than ever, especially for Countess Roza, because Aunt Lizinka had chosen Adrienne for her special target, to which she added pretty little Mrs Korosi, simply because their stall seemed particularly popular with the men. This hurt all the more because it was only that morning that Balint had returned from Budapest, having only now, it appeared, finished his business there; and the old lady found it hard to believe that Adrienne’s move to Kolozsvar had nothing to do with it. Of course, she thought, he had come only because of that woman – and here she was, flirting with all the world in front of the man who thought only of her. If only Roza could believe that Adrienne really loved her son; but no, there she was, leading everyone on, even that
terrible
old peasant Ambrus Kendy just as if she were in love with him! Of course she must have had an affair with Ambrus – or rather shouldn’t she say ‘with him too!’ These were the thoughts which were upsetting Countess Roza so much that her tired old heart constricted with pain and hatred. Meanwhile Lizinka did not let up. Now she was whispering.