Satantango

by László Krasznahorkai

  The SECOND PART

  VI.

  Irimiás Makes a Speech

  My friends! I confess, I come to you at a difficult time. If my eyes do not deceive me I see that no-one has missed the chance to be present at this fateful meeting. . . . And many of you, trusting, no doubt, that I will be ready to supply you with an explanation for recent events , events that no sane person could describe as anything but an incomprehensible tragedy, seem to have arrived even before the time we arranged only yesterday . . . But what can I say to you, ladies and gentlemen? What else can I say but that . . . I am shaken, in other words, I am cast down. . . . Believe me, I too am utterly confused, so you must forgive me if, for now, I cannot find quite the right words, and that, instead of addressing you as I should, my throat, like yours, is still tight with the shock we all feel, so please don’t be surprised if, on this devastating morning for us all, I am, like you, left helpless and without words, because, I must admit, it does not help me speak when I recall how last night, as we were standing in horror by the lately discovered body of this child, and I suggested that we should try to grab some sleep, we are once again gathered together in the hope that, perhaps now, on the morrow of the event, we might be able to face life with a clearer head, though, believe me, I am as utterly at a loss as you are, and my confusion has only increased with the morning . . . I know I should pull myself together, but am sure you will understand if just at this moment I am incapable of saying or doing anything except share, deeply share, the agony of an unfortunate mother, a mother’s constant, never-to-be-alleviated grief . . . because I don’t think I need tell you twice that the grief of losing — just like that, from one minute to the next — those dearest to our hearts is, my friends, quite beyond measure. I doubt if anyone now gathered here could fail to understand any part of this. The tragedy involves each and every one of us, because, as we know full well, we are all responsible for what has happened. The hardest thing we must face in this situation, is the obligation, through clenched teeth, with lumps in our throats, to examine the case . . . Because — and I really must emphasize this most intensely — there is nothing more important, before the officials arrive, before the police begin their own inquiries, than that we the witnesses, we in our positions of responsibility, should accurately reconstruct events and discover what brought about this horrifying tragedy resulting in the terrible death of an innocent child. It’s best we prepare ourselves, for we are the people the official local agencies will regard as primarily responsible for the catastrophe. Yes, my friends. Us! But surely we should not be surprised at this. Because, if we are honest with ourselves, we must admit that, with a little care, a touch more foresight and some proper circumspection, we could have prevented the tragedy, couldn’t we? Consider that this defenceless creature, she who we might rightly regard now as God’s little outcast, this little lamb, was liable to all kinds of danger, prey to any tramp or passerby — to anything and everything my friends, being out all night, soaked through to the bone in that heavy rain, out in the wild wind, easy prey to all the elements . . . and, through our blind thoughtlessness, our unforgivable wicked thoughtlessness, she was left wandering about like a stray dog, here in our vicinity, practically in our midst, driven here and there by all kinds of forces while never straying too far from us. She might possibly have been looking through that very window, watching you, ladies and gentlemen, as you danced drunkenly through the night, and as, I cannot deny it, we ourselves passed, passed while she watched us from behind a tree or from the depths of a haystack, while we were stumbling, rain-beaten and exhausted past the well-known milestones, our destination Almássy Manor — indeed, her path lay near to us, so close to us we might have reached out and touched her and no one, you understand, no one hurried to help her or strained to catch her voice, because it’s certain that at the moment of death she must have cried out to us — to someone! — but the wind blew away the sound, and she was lost in the tumult you yourself were making, you, ladies and gentlemen! What brought about this terrible combination of chance factors, you will ask, what pitiless whim of fate?.. Don’t misunderstand me, I am not accusing any particular person here . . . I am not accusing the mother who might never again enjoy a night of peaceful slumber because she cannot forgive herself for the fact that, on this one fateful day, she woke too late. Nor do I — like you, my friends — accuse the victim’s brother, this fine upstanding young man with a bright future, who was the last to see her alive, just two hundred yards from here, barely two hundred yards from you, ladies and gentlemen, you, who, suspecting nothing, were patiently waiting for us to appear, only to fall into a dull drunken sleep . . . I am not accusing any particular person of anything and yet . . . let me put this question to you: are we not all to blame? Would it not be more befitting if, instead of offering cheap excuses, we confessed that, yes, we are indeed guilty? Because — and in this respect Mrs. Halics is undoubtedly right — we should not kid ourselves, hoping to put our consciences at rest by pretending that all that has happened was merely a peculiar accident, a coming together of chance events we could do nothing about . . . It wouldn’t take me a minute to prove you wrong about that! Let us take stock, piece by piece, each one of us in turn . . . let us analyse the dreadful moment and examine its several parts, because the big question — and we should not forget this, ladies and gentlemen! — is what actually happened here yesterday morning. I went through the particulars of the night over and over again before I stumbled on the truth! Please don’t think it is just a matter of not knowing how the tragedy came about, since the fact is we don’t even know what it isthat has happened . . . The details we are aware of, the various confessions we have heard, are so contradictory that it would take a genius, a man with sprouts for brains, as you put it round here, to see through the rather convenient fog and make out the truth . . . All we know is that the child is dead. That’s not a lot, you must admit! That is why, I thought later, once I could lie down on the bed in the storeroom that this kind gentleman, the landlord, had selflessly offered up to me, that’s why there is no other way than to go through the events step by step — and I remain convinced that that is the only correct procedure open to us . . . We must collate all the most seemingly insignificant details, so please don’t hesitate to recall what might appear to you to be unimportant. Think hard about what you might have missed telling me yesterday, because this is the only way we will find both an explanation and some kind of defense in the most demanding moments of the public examination to come . . . Let us use the brief time available to us, since who can we trust but ourselves — no one else can lay bare the story of this momentous night and morning. . . .