They Were Found Wanting (40 page)

They spoke, of course, in Romanian, but Balint could now well understand everything that was said, and he was curious to know what all this was about. The voice came from young Kula, the boy from Pejkoja who had been enlisted to look after the horses on Balint’s trip to the mountain.

‘Of course he’s frightened!’ answered old Zsukuczo, who lived on the Gyalu Botin, near the road from Beles to Retyicel. ‘Didn’t they shoot at him not far from where I live? Of course he’s
frightened
, wouldn’t you be?’ he said, and laughed as he did so.

‘Is that really so?’ asked Vomului, as if he were astonished by the news which he knew perfectly well already.

‘Where did this happen?’ asked Zutor.

‘I told you. Close to where I live. It was there on the hillside where the road follows the boundary line above the Korbului creek.’

‘On our side?’

‘No! No! The shot came from the village common land. I was standing in front of my house and heard it all quite clearly. And I can tell you I didn’t move for a few minutes either!’

The old man laughed again, snapping a twig between his
fingers
before throwing it aside. Then he went on, ‘I don’t care what happens outside our land. Besides it’s better not to know too much. Still I looked into it a bit later, just to be sure.’ And he went on to give all the details, speaking slowly, as country folk do, especially in the mountains where people rarely finish a sentence.

It seems that he saw the hated notary ride by his house. Then there was the sound of a shot. Half an hour later he went to see what he could find. There was no one about and it was clear that whoever had fired had missed his target. As an ex-poacher who could read any sign or trace left it was easy for old Zsukuczo to reconstruct what had happened. There, in the mud of the path, he could see how Simo had suddenly and sharply reined back his horse – so sharply indeed that the animal had almost fallen backwards on its rump. ‘Next I looked to see if they wanted to give him a good scare, or whether …’ Soon he found what he was looking for, a rifle bullet, lodged in a tree-trunk just beside the skid-marks. The shot had come from somewhere on the steep
hillside
above the path, from the cover of a group of young beech trees. Whoever the marksman had been, he was good shot, that was clear enough even if he had not actually hit the target. The old man again laughed and then, as if to show his appreciation of a good joke, spat in a wide arc.

‘So ever since that day Mr Simo always makes a sort of detour so that no one can guess where he’s going, yes?’ said young Kula.

‘And ever since that day he also carries a revolver!’ said Krisan, and they all laughed in quiet mockery.

‘Hasn’t he made any official enquiry then?’ asked Honey.

Todor Paven, the tall man from the Humpleu, replied, ‘Heavens no! Even he knows such things can never be cleared up properly. People say he’s never even mentioned it.’

‘Wouldn’t have been no loss!’ muttered young Kula.

Then Honey, whose part in the conversation had until now been merely to ask questions while quietly sucking on his pipe, spoke up harshly. ‘No more of that in front of me, my lad! Time we moved on. Get up, all of you!’ and himself rose to his feet and started to walk away.

Meekly the other men gathered their things together, brought up the horses, and moved off in the wake of their leader.

Balint stayed where he was for quite some time as he would not have liked any of them to know that he had been listening to them. Only when they were already some distance away did he too start to follow. As it happened this precaution was quite
unnecessary
for his path turned sharply up the mountain-side and rejoined the other only at the ridge just before they all arrived back at the camp.

When Balint had finished his supper he called Andras Zutor into his tent, told him that by chance he had overheard the
conversation
in the meadow and asked him what it was all about and what had happened to lead up to such a situation. Zutor now knew his master better than he had two years before at the time the money-lender Rusz Pantyilimon had been murdered one dark snowbound night and when red-hot pincers would not have drawn any answers from him. Now he answered quite freely. It seemed that the extortionate money-lending had not been stopped by Rusz’s death. Now there was not one but two such loan-sharks operating in the mountain villages, one at Meregyo and another at Rogosel. Both worked in the same way as had Rusz. The Romanian
popa
Timbus, the priest from Gyurkuca, was still the local representative of the Union Bank, and it was still he who arranged the loans for those in need. The notary Simo continued to prepare the contracts and the written
contracts
continued to contain clauses which had not been explained to the borrowers, most of whom could neither read nor write. Everything Simo did was for the benefit only of the lenders.

Abady then interrupted, ‘Surely that’s impossible to prove. No one will bear witness against the village priest, we saw that two years ago. Has Simo himself done anything illegal, anything we can prove?’

‘Plenty! There’s not a contract written he doesn’t benefit from. That’s why he never asked for an enquiry into the shooting. He’d have had to tell the county sheriff, who’s a good friend of his, and he couldn’t do that and be sure the enquiry didn’t find out something of what was going on.’

Balint thought deeply, the instinct to help others, which was so strongly embedded in him, was aroused once again. He must do something to get that thieving notary off the people’s backs. However he realized that he would now have to work out some approach more shrewdly and subtly than he had at the time of the outcry against Rusz Pantyilimon and the
popa
Timbus when the men of Pejkoja had come to him for help but turned to secret violence when the priest had threatened them.

‘Listen, friend Zutor,’ said Balint quietly. ‘Could you find me some documents on these transactions, very discreetly, of course, so that no one notices?’

‘I could try, my Lord,’ said Zutor, somewhat on his dignity.

‘But don’t tell my manager Winckler, or anyone else!’

Zutor’s eyes sparkled, ‘You can be sure of that, my Lord. No one but your Lordship!’

‘Make some notes for me, and when I next come up we’ll go through them together and see what we can use.’

‘It shall be done, my Lord!’ said Zutor quietly.

Balint got up and the forester clicked his heels as if about to take his leave. Abady, however, gestured to him to stay for a moment. ‘One other thing! This afternoon Mr Simo suggested that when we decided to have another drive against the cattle he should provide some gendarmes who would go on ahead and confiscate the horns which warned the cattle. It seems a good idea and so I may tell Mr Winckler to co-operate with him. This does not affect what I’ve just asked you to do.’

‘I understand, my Lord!’

Zutor saluted his master and left the tent. Balint watched as his powerful stocky figure stumped off in the moonlight. Honey was barrel-chested and he walked proudly on his short legs, marching away as befitted a former non-commissioned officer who had reached the rank of Master-at-Arms during his service with the Hussars.

Two weeks later Winckler’s report reached Abady at Denestornya: