Satantango

by László Krasznahorkai

  The grave words rang mournfully through the bar: it was like the continuous tolling of furiously beaten bells, the sound of which served less to direct them to the source of their problems than simply to terrify them. The company — their faces reflecting the terrible dreams of the night before, choked up with memories of foreboding images between dreams and waking — surrounded Irimiás, anxious, silent, spellbound, as if they had only just woken, their clothes rumpled, their hair tangled, some with the pressure marks of pillows still on their faces, waiting benumbed for him to explain why the world had turned upside down while they were sleeping . . . it was all a terrible mess. Irimiás was sitting in their midst, his legs crossed, leaning back majestically in his chair, trying to avoid looking into all those bloodshot, dark-ringed eyes, his own eyes staring boldly ahead, his high cheekbones, his broken hawk-like nose and his jutting, freshly shaven chin tilted above everyone’s head, his hair, having grown right down his neck, curled up on both sides, and, every now and then, when he came to a more significant passage, he would raise his thick, close, wild eyebrows as well as his finger to direct his listeners’ eyes to wherever he chose.

  But before we set out on this dangerous road, I must tell you something. You, my friends, deluged us with questions when we arrived yesterday at dawn: you cut across each other, explaining, demanding, stating and withdrawing, begging and suggesting, enthusing and grumbling, and now, in response to this chaotic welcome, I want to address two issues, though I might already have broached them with you individually . . . Someone asked me to “reveal the “secret’, as some of you called it, of our “disappearance” about eighteen months ago . . . Well, ladies and gentlemen, there is no “secret’; let me nail this once and for all: there was no secret of any kind. Recently we have had to fulfill certain obligations — I might call these obligations a mission — of which it is enough, for now, to say, that it is deeply connected to our being here now. And having said that, I must rob you of another illusion because, to put it in your terms, our unexpected meeting is really pure chance. Our route — that is to say mine and that of my friend and highly valuable assistant — led us to Almásssy Manor, being obliged — for certain reasons — to make an emergency visit there in order to take what we might call a survey. When we set out, my friends, we did not expect to find you here: in fact we weren’t even sure whether this bar would still be open . . . so, as you see, it was indeed a surprise for us to see you all again, to come upon you as if nothing had happened. I can’t deny it felt good to see old familiar faces, but, at the same time — and I won’t hide this from you — I was at the same time concerned to see that you, my friends, were still stuck here — do protest if you find “stuck” too strong a word — stuck here, at the back of beyond years after having often enough decided to move on, to leave this dead end and to seek your fortunes elsewhere. When we last saw each other, some eighteen months ago, you were standing in front of the bar, waving goodbye to us as we disappeared around the bend, and I remember very clearly how many great plans, how many wonderful ideas were ready just waiting to be put into action and how excited you were about them. Now I find you all still here, in precisely the same condition as before, in fact more ragged and, forgive the expression, ladies and gentlemen, duller than before! So, what happened? What became of your great plans and brilliant ideas?!.. Ah, but I see I am digressing somewhat . . . To repeat, my friends, our appearance among you is a matter of pure chance. And while the extraordinarily pressing business that brooks no delay should have brought us here some time ago — we should have arrived in Almássy Manor by noon yesterday — in view of our long-standing friendship I have decided, ladies and gentlemen, not to leave you in the lurch, not just because this tragedy — though at some remove — touches me too since the fact is we ourselves were in the vicinity when it happened, not to mention that I do faintly remember the victim’s unforgettable presence among us and that my good relations with her family impose on me an unavoidable obligation, but also because I see this tragedy as a direct result of your condition here, and in the circumstances I simply can’t desert you. I have already answered your second question by telling you this, but let me repeat it, just so there should not be any later misunderstanding. Having heard that we were on our way you were too hasty in assuming that we were intending to see you because, as I have already mentioned, it hadn’t occurred to us that you would still be here. Nor can I deny that this delay is a little inconvenient, because we should have been in town by now, but if this is the way things have fallen out let’s get something over with as quickly as possible and draw a line under this tragedy. And if, perhaps, any time should remain after that I’ll try to do something for you, though, I must confess, at the moment I am utterly at a loss to think what that could be.

  . . . . .

  What has fate done to you, my unfortunate friends? I could be referring to our friend Futaki here, with his endless, depressing talk of flaking plaster, stripped roofs, crumbling walls and corroded bricks, the sour taste of defeat haunting everything he says. Why waste time on small material details? Why not talk, instead, of the failure of imagination, of the narrowing of perspective, of the ragged clothes you stand in? Should we not be discussing your utter inability to do anything at all? Please don’t be surprised if I use harsher terms than usual, but I am inclined to speak my mind now, to be honest with you. Because, believe me, pussy-footing and treading carefully around your sensitivities will only make things worse! And if you really think, as the headmaster told me yesterday, dropping his voice, that “the estate is cursed” then why don’t you gather your courage in both hands and do something about it?! This low, cowardly, shallow way of thinking can have serious consequences, friends, if you don’t mind me saying so! Your helplessness is culpable, your cowardice culpable, culpable, ladies and gentlemen! Because — and mark this well! — it is not only other people one can ruin, but oneself! . . . And that is a graver fault, my friends, and indeed, if you think about it carefully, you will see that every sin we commit against ourselves is an act of self-humiliation.

  The locals were huddled together in fear and now, after the last of these thundering sentences had died away, they had to close their eyes, not only because of his fiery words but because his very eyes seemed to be burning holes in them . . . Mrs. Halics’s expression was pure sackcloth-and-ashes as she absorbed the ringing denunciation, and she stooped before him in almost sexual ecstasy. Mrs. Kráner hugged her husband so close that he had, from time to time, to ask her to loosen her grip. Mrs. Schmidt sat pale at the “staff table” occasionally drawing her hands across her brow as if trying to wipe away the red blotches that kept appearing there in faint waves of ungovernable pride . . . Mrs. Horgos, unlike the men who — without precisely understanding these veiled indictments — were spellbound and feared the ever fiercer passion rising in them, observed events with a keen curiosity, occasionally peeking out from behind her crumpled handkerchief.

  I know, I know, of course . . . Nothing is so simple! But before you excuse yourselves — blaming the intolerable pressure of the situation or because you feel helpless when faced by the facts — consider little Esti for a moment, whose unexpected death caused you such consternation . . . You say you are innocent, friends, that’s what you say for now . . . But what would you say if I now asked you how we should refer to this unfortunate child? . . . Should we call her an innocent victim? A martyr to chance? The sacrifical lamb of those without sin?! . . . So, you see. Let’s just say that she herself was the innocent party? Right? But if she was the embodiment of innocence then you, ladies and gentlemen, are the embodiment of guilt, every one of you! Feel free to reject the charge if you think it is without foundation! . . . Ah, but you are silent! So you agree with me. And you do well to agree with me because, as you see, we are on the threshold of a liberating confession . . . Because by now you all know, know rather than just suspect, what has happened here. Am I right? I’d like to hear each and every one of you to say it now in cho
rus . . . No? Nothing to say, my friends? Well of course, of course, I understand how hard it is, even now when it’s all perfectly obvious. After all, we’re hardly in a position to resurrect this child! But believe me, that’s exactly what we have to do now! Because you will be stronger for the confrontation. A clean confession is, as you know, as good as absolution. The soul is freed, the will is released, and we are once again capable of holding our heads high! Think of that, my friends! The landlord will quickly convey the coffin to town while we remain here with the weight of the tragedy dragging at our souls, but not enfeebled, not uncleansed, not cringing in cowardice, because, our hearts broken, we have confessed our sin and can stand unabashed in the searching beam of judgment . . . Now let’s not waste any more time, since we understand that Esti’s death was a punishment and warning to us, and that her sacrifice serves, ladies and gentlemen, as a pointer to a better, fairer future.

  Their sleepless, troubled eyes were veiled over with tears and, hearing these words, an uncertain, wary, yet unstoppable wave of relief washed over their faces, while, here and there, a brief, almost impersonal sigh escaped from them. It was like fierce sunlight curing a cold. After all, this was precisely what they’d been waiting for all these hours — these liberating words pointing to the lasting prospect of “a better, fairer future” and their disappointed looks now radiated hope and trust, belief and enthusiasm, decision and the sense of an ever more steely will as they faced Irimiás . . .

  And you know, when I think back over what I saw when we first arrived and crossed the threshold, the way you, my friends, were strewn across the room, dribbling, unconscious, slumped in chairs or over tables, your clothes in rags, covered in sweat, I must confess my heart aches and I become incapable of judging you, because that was a sight I shall never forget. I will recall it whenever anything threatens to deflect me from the mission with which God has entrusted me. Because that prospect made me see the full misery of people cut off for ever, deprived of everything: I saw the unlucky, the outcasts, the indigent and defenseless masses, and your snuffling, snoring and grunting made me hear the imperative of their cry for help, a call I must obey as long as I live, until I too am dust and ashes . . . I see it as a sign, a special sign, for why else should I have set out once again but to take my place at the head of an ever more powerful, ever rising, fully justified fury, a fury that demands the heads of the truly guilty . . . We know each other well, my friends. I am an open book to you. You know how I have moved about the world for years, for decades, and have bitter experience of the fact that, despite every promise, despite all pretence, despite the thick veil of lying words, nothing has really changed . . . Poverty remains poverty and those two extra spoonfuls of food we receive are nothing but thin air. And in these last eighteen months I have discovered that all I have done so far also counts for nothing — I should not have been wasting my time on tiny details, I have to find a much more thoroughgoing solution if I am to help . . . And that’s why I have finally decided to seize the opportunity: I want now to gather together a few people in order to establish a model economy that offers a secure existence and binds together a small band of the dispossessed, that is to say . . . Do you begin to understand me? . . . What I want is to establish a small island for a few people with nothing left to lose, a small island free of exploitation, where people work for, not against each other, where everyone has plenty and peace and security and can go to sleep at night like a proper human being . . . Once news of such an island gets around I know the islands will multiply like mushrooms: there will be ever more of us and eventually everything that seemed merely an idle dream will suddenly become possible, possible for you, and you, and you, and you. I felt, in fact I knew, that now this plan had to be realized as soon as I got here. And since I myself have lived here and belong here, here must be the place to realize the plan. That, I now discover, is the real reason I set out for Almássy Manor with my friend and helper, and that, friends, is why we are meeting now. The main building is, as I recall, still in a reasonable state, and the other buildings can soon be put right. Getting the lease is child’s play. There remains only one problem, a big problem, but let’s not worry ourselves about that just now . . .

  An excited hubbub surrounded him: he lit a cigarette and stared straight ahead with a solemn expression, lost in thought, the furrows on his brow deepening as he bit his lips. Behind him by the stove Petrina was quite overcome with admiration and gazed at the back of “the genius”’s head. Then Futaki and Kráner spoke at once: “What’s the problem?”

  I don’t think I need burden you with that just yet. I know you are thinking: Why shouldn’t we be those people? . . . Indeed, my friends, it isn’t a wholly impossible idea. The kind of people I need are those with nothing to lose and — and this is the most important thing — they should not be afraid of taking a risk. Because my plan is undoubtedly risky. If anyone interested, you understand, anyone, gets cold feet then I’ll be gone — just like that! These are hard times. I can’t bring the plan to fruition straightaway . . . I have to be prepared — and am in fact prepared in case I meet with an obstacle that I can’t immediately overcome — to withdraw temporarily. Though that would be merely a strategic withdrawal, and I would simply be waiting for the next opportune moment.

  The same question was now being fired at him from every direction. “OK, tell us about the big problem? Couldn’t we. . . . Maybe despite that. . . . Somehow . . . “

  Look here, my friends . . . It’s not such a great secret really and there is nothing to stop me telling you. I just wonder what use the knowledge will be to you? . . . In any case, there’s nothing you can do to help me at the moment. For my part, I would be happy to help you once things here have improved, but for now this other business needs my entire attention. To tell you the truth, the estate looks a hopeless case to me right now . . . the best I could do, maybe, would be to find one or other of you honest work, a decent living somewhere, but your whole siltuation is new to me so you will understand that for now it’s impossible. I’d have to give the matter some proper thought . . . You’d like to remain together? I understand, of course I do, but what can I do in that case? . . . Pardon? What was that? You mean the problem. What’s the problem? Well look, I’ve already told you that it makes no sense keeping anything from you. The problem is money, ladies and gentlemen, money, because without a penny, of course, there’s nothing to be done, the deal is dead . . . the cost of the lease, the outlay on contracts, the rebuilding, the investment, the whole business of production, requires, as you know, a certain, what they call, capital investment . . . but that’s a complex matter, my friends, and why go into that now? What’s that? . . . Really? . . . You’ve got the money?. . . . But how? Oh, I see. You mean the value of the cattle, the herd. Well, that’s fair enough . . .

  There was real fever in the company now; Futaki had already sprung to his feet, grabbed a table, put it down in front of Irimiás and reached into his pocket. He displayed his contribution to the others and threw it on the table. Within minutes he was followed, first by Kráner, then, one after the other, by the rest, all pledging their cash on top of Futaki’s contribution. The grey-faced landlord ran back and forth behind his counter, stopping dead every so often, and standing on tiptoe so he could see better. Irimiás rubbed his eyes in exhaustion; the cigarette in his hand went out. He looked on without expression as Futaki, Kráner, Halics, Schmidt, the headmaster and Mrs. Kráner tried to outdo each other in their enthusiasm to demonstrate their readiness and commitment. So the pile of money on the table rose ever higher. Finally Irimiás rose, went over to Petrina, stood beside him and moved his hand for silence. The room fell quiet.

  My friends! I can’t deny your enthusiasm is deeply touching . . . But you haven’t thought it over properly. No, you haven’t! No protests, please. You can’t be serious about this! Surely you can’t be capable of committing your hard earned small savings, won with such superhuman effort, suddenly, just like that to an on-the-spur-of-t
he-moment idea, sacrificing everything, risking all, on a venture that’s full of risks? Oh, my friends! I am extremely grateful for this moving demonstration, but no! I can’t take it from you . . . not for, what seems likely to be, several months . . . Really? . . . the bitterly scrimped savings of a whole year? . . . What can you be thinking?! My scheme is, after all, fraught with as yet unpredictable risks of all sorts! The forces I am up against could delay realization of the plan for months, even years! And you wish to sacrifice your hard-earned cash for that? And should I accept it — after having just confessed to being unable to help you in the immediate future? No, ladies and gentlemen! I can’t do it. Please take your money back and put it away safely! I’ll get the necessary resources one way or the other. I’m not willing to let you risk so much. Landlord, if you could just stand still for a moment, would you please be kind enough to bring me a spritzer . . . Thank you. . . . Wait! Let no one refuse! I invite my dear friends to have a drink on me . . . Go on, landlord, don’t even think about it . . . Drink up, my friends . . . and think. Think well. Calm yourselves and think it over once more . . . Make no rash decisions. I have told you what this is about and what the risks are. You should only agree to it if you are utterly decided. Consider the possibility that you might lose this hard-earned sum and that then you might, just might, have to begin again from scratch . . . No, no, friend Futaki, I do believe that’s something of an exaggeration . . . That I am . . . that you talk about salvation . . . Please don’t embarrass me like that! Yes . . . that’s a little closer to the mark, friend Kráner . . . “Well-wisher” is a term I can more readily accept, “a well-wisher” is what I certainly am. . . . I see you are not to be convinced. OK, OK, fine . . . Ladies! Gentlemen! Can I have a little quiet please! Let’s not forget why we are gathered here this morning! All right! Thank you! . . . Please sit down in your places . . . Yes . . . Indeed . . . Thank you, my friends . . . Thank you!