by Peter Nadas
They attached neither doubts nor hopes to the outcome of this ritual battle; since André was maintained in his autocratic role by the most secret fighting signal, he had no reason to fear he would lose his paternal authority. That, however, did not keep the other two, aside from short periods of cease-fire, from continuously trying to topple him, if necessary by underhanded means. Kronos must be blinded.
They appreciated one another strictly from the viewpoint of this struggle of mythic proportions. André was considered clever, though in dangerous situations a bit hesitant, Hans decidedly irresponsible, cynical, and dull, though in delicate situations inventive and reliable. With their basic constitutional traits these two confirmed their own casting but also placed Ágost in the role of the child to be taken care of, who meant more to Hans than his own children, for example, from whom he lived very far geographically and with whom he was not allowed to maintain contact. Ágost needed care, guidance, at times protection as well, and he was phlegmatic enough to endure this. In public he did what Hans considered proper, and to keep things simple he matched his opinions to André’s way of thinking. He wound himself around them, a tactic that matched the one he had followed as a child when from one day to the next he found himself at the Villeneuve boarding school, where they beat him on the very first night. He already spoke French quite fluently when his father took him to Switzerland, but the other children could not forgive his not having it as his mother tongue. He infuriated them with his mistakes. They wanted to expel the intruder. They counted his mistakes and then he had to endure silently the same number of slaps on his face in the bluish glitter of the night-light. Try as he might to be heroic, after the third or fourth slap he could not take it anymore—broke down. Then they gagged him, wrestled him to the ground, and wrapped him in a blanket; that’s what they’d been waiting for. All day long they waited for him to yell in Hungarian, cry and call out for his mother in Hungarian so they wouldn’t understand. For which he would earn extra punishment.
Every night they beat him, kicked him, tortured him, and stepped on him, until after a few weeks he found the solution.
He put himself under the guardianship of older boys. This meant humiliating slavery, he had to fawn and flatter, but in fact, he was using them as he would use objects needed for good camouflage. This turned into eternal servitude, yet in this way he could better conceal his shattered self-assurance, and that was more important for his survival.
Perhaps, unlike the two other men, he constitutionally did not have the urge to show his real self directly or show off before others. Occasionally, though, he would rebel against them, just as once he had done against his slave drivers, or he would pout and sulk ridiculously, behavior that also belongs to the ambiguous childhood repertory of extortion and resistance. On such occasions, André, looking daggers, would order Ágost back to his place, and/or Hans would enfold him in his huge body, warm him as a stove would, and in no time the two men would defuse the rebellion. This was precisely what Ágost wanted to achieve, this is how he rewarded them. In their game, this became the source of mutual enjoyment, because at one point the bigger boys had to bend down to their protégé, exclude their effusive tenderness from sexual proscriptions, and he could legally break free of them. They no longer had to play the roles of Zeus and Hera, at last they could behave as those lost distant parents, on whom they had given up completely, should have behaved with them.
Between women and girls, the differences in mental constitution, the fine mechanism of emotions, is probably even more important.
Between men and boys, it is the physical traits, the coarser or at least more visible signs, that dictate this secret casting of roles.
Size, muscle power, adroitness, or, more mysteriously, energy is linked to traits that are not completely physical. Of course, the possession of certain mental abilities can be advantageous, especially if the fine mechanism of emotions is also first rate. Not because they would be put to use—among boys this use is forbidden—but because it can serve their cunning and wickedness. André Rott was of smaller stature and more fragile than Kovách, who struggled with a number of illnesses usually attributed to women, such as migraine headaches, and who was always on guard against chest colds of a mysterious origin that were hard to cure. He gave the impression of a soft canine; not harmless, it could probably tear you apart but, if left in peace, it would loll around or curl up and snooze on the warm oven. Looking at André, however, one would have the impression of a looming clash; there are faces and physiques that emanate some unnamable restlessness.
Something radiates from them that demands a response, but not everyone is ready with one. His skull was unusually narrow and elongated. In relation to his body it was not out of proportion, but it resembled nothing so much as a spool. His forehead was bony, lumpy, and convex, his nose thin, hooked, with a very prominent ridge. He exuded rigor, authority, and strength; his dark hair and the bluish stubble bristling under his skin deepened this impression. Two of his facial features not only softened and greatly reduced the grievous sternness of his appearance, but were also enchanting, alluring, enthralling. One was the deep dimple on his forceful chin, which was difficult to shave, and the other, his dark eyes, accentuated by very long lashes; his soulful glances.
Looking into his eyes was like entering a labyrinth; if one didn’t stand on guard, one might not find the way out.
Added to this were the almost repulsively thick, purplish red lips, the lower one jutting out a bit.
The same shade, hinting at hyperemia, was noticeable on his nipples with their swollen areolae when he took off his shirt. Or when he withdrew the abundantly creased foreskin from the blunt-ended, strongly rimmed, shiny bulb of his penis. This bashfully rapid yet demonstratively exhibitionist movement was also part of their sign language. This was the most secret signal that made his fatherly authority incontestable: his prick. Showing it meant a prolonged warning. And its effect lay not necessarily in its size. Not showing it, avoiding the opportunities to show it, meant withdrawing himself, as though withholding love, the denial of the greatest trust, a deliberate punishment.
What once has been seared into one’s brain will be missed, or at least will need occasional reinforcement, because its mere sight is evanescent. It is in this sense that size and strength are meaningful—but in proportions, relative positions, shapes and characteristics, everything that speaks of activity, of glowing energy, everything that can be intuited but not shared, in a word, everything that had to do with aesthetics in the category of the taboo. And of course all this belonged to the language, placed under the obligation of silence, that every male understands well no matter how vague or distorted but does not speak because of the constant threat of death, and very often will refrain from even touching in his thoughts. Boys can learn to understand this language fully and speak it flawlessly, without distortions, only in the corridors, sleeping halls, and baths of boarding schools, where, left to their own devices, they must fight for their existence and position. Not by chance was the new cabin attendant so upset when he ran off. He understood, and had good reason not to acknowledge, what he saw and comprehended. Most men who grow up in the bosom of their families behave stupidly and obtusely. Before he reached the end of the corridor and must have disappeared into the dark passage leading to the women’s dressing rooms, the ticket-taker woman enthroned behind her table called after him.
Where in the hell are you running like that, my dear Jani. I envy you your legs.
The new attendant stopped. Confused and surprised, curious to know what the woman might want from him, he took a step back.
I just want to tell Uncle Józsi right away, he offered quickly, but did not explain what he wanted to tell his boss; instead, he approached the ticket-taker’s table with such cautious steps it was as if with his locomotion he was already revealing to her something very meaningful and particularly confidential.
He was afraid of this female. In the circumstances, of course, he pret
ended to seek her graces.
The luminous ticket taker, who each morning applied thick layers of baby cream to her face, did not even bother to look up from her crocheting. She could not be easily swept off her feet with this transparently mysterious behavior. The crochet pattern book lay on the table before her; she was counting the number of stitches on the appropriate diagram. Her fingers kept working fast, and the counting made her lips move too. Crocheting was not some thoughtless entertainment. She worked for marketers who took the merchandise to the countryside. When she reached a round number that was easy to remember, she quickly looked up.
Didn’t you see him go over to the steam, my dear Jani. He walked right in front of you. And you’re not allowed in there.
Is that right, the boy asked dumbly. I didn’t notice him going to the steam.
You probably fell asleep again, Jani. What are you doing again at night.
From the moment he laid eyes on her, the young man had hated this woman the way he hated his own mother. But now he couldn’t protest, he couldn’t say he hadn’t fallen asleep and did see the chief attendant go to the steam section. No matter how he hoped, how he tried to be smart, his lies never managed to cover over his other lies or never fitted together properly. A small error always managed to slip in, or something got stuck out of place and made him vulnerable. And this female seemed to get her kicks by constantly observing him. She was keeping an eye on everybody. To divert her irritating attention, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a whisper.
Will you look at what those three are doing there.
But the fat woman did not look where the new attendant wished her to look, and instead shot a sharp glance directly at him. As if to say slightingly, well, look at him, what drivel he’s unloading again.
And don’t bother me just now, Janika, she said aloud, you can see I’m counting.
She was indeed counting, her small narrow lips, painted bright red, were moving, though it would have taken no effort to leave off counting.
The truth was, she could see right through this young man and felt that if she did not set him straight, he might get her and the others into a lot of trouble. They had a hunch why he had been transferred here in such haste. Nobody had asked the management for a new attendant, and it didn’t help that the chief was dead set against hiring one. No parting excuse occurred now to the new attendant that would let him quietly retreat; he kept standing helplessly in front of the woman whose goal was exactly to have him stand like that. Let him stay here, with her. He shouldn’t be allowed to go to the cloakroom. Occasionally he still managed to go over there and help the two younger women; they too couldn’t stand the ticket taker, this Rózsika, for trying to lord it over them.
He did not understand this system at all. It seemed to him that in this establishment, this woman had more authority than the chief cabin attendant. And once he realized this, it was as though he were carried along by a warmer feeling for her, in addition to his hatred; maybe he should be closer to her. Sometimes one is ashamed of such strong feelings. Because he’d like to rub elbows with the powerful ones but without drawing attention to it, so people wouldn’t envy him for this little advantage. He wanted to make this woman understand his unusual position, which, come to think of it, meant an equality in their ranks. After all, he too had special assignments, giving him a more important role than his official position indicated.
If he were hindered, however, he wouldn’t be able to carry out his important task properly.
You people out there in Kispest, Janika, probably keep pigs too, said the woman unexpectedly when she stopped her counting. Make those tasty garlic sausages, don’t you.
Please, just take a look, Aunt Rózsika, over there, look what they’re doing, the young man insisted, and because of his impatience, he no longer whispered. Leaning all the way across the table, he spoke directly into the shiny face of the woman, who relentlessly went on crocheting.
And this was indeed one of those not too frequent moments when the three men unceremoniously abandoned themselves to the tenderness they felt for one another.
They knew exactly what they were doing. They were also aware of the limits in their mutual contact. For the outside observer, of course, all this had a disquieting effect.
André was still crouching in his barely gathered bathrobe, his hands holding Ágost’s knees, but he did not wish to inflict more pain. On the contrary, he was about to do something very pleasant. His eyes had welled up in his helpless anger, he wanted to stifle his sadistic emotions, beat back his fury. He had come up with the silly prank to get Ágost to be here with them instead of going to the Sports Baths with Gyöngyvér. Of course Viola hadn’t sent a message or arranged anything with them. She hadn’t because, though she came for a swim every morning with her husband, there was never more time than to say a quick good-morning and, on rare occasions, to exchange a few innocent, cheerful words. André was left with nothing but total humility. With the bowing of his head before the other man’s pain of unknown origin, which could be an illness, weakness of soul, blissful torment of a new love, or an unhappy old love, or something entirely different. And to bow his head even if he understood nothing and had to fathom, terrified, his own treacherous intentions.
André had a penchant for biting sarcasm that he found difficult to restrain when it came to Ágost, because he himself did not understand the whole business. He had no sense of humor, without which sadism really cannot be understood, neither one’s own nor anybody else’s. How was he to understand, on a more profound level, this peculiar torment, this depression; how to submerge in it, how to talk about it with the other, if he could not ward it off himself no matter what method he used. At the same time, he saw that the process was unstoppable; no personal sacrifice would bring it to a halt. Ágost was sinking, falling, and it would take long weeks before they could pull him back again from the depths.
At such times a crude stubbornness settled in his sensitive face; utter rejection. Maybe that was his true countenance. As if he regarded everything around him, people and objects, as worthless, disgusting and contemptible. His deep-set eyes narrowed completely. André looked at him with aversion; though Ágost was no longer fleeing from him, he knew he should surrender himself to this unknown and awful danger. No, maybe he should tear it apart, bite it off. Except there was no place to begin at, because the danger had no substance. He only knew what to do with things he could consider objects. And this was the characteristic he least liked in himself. This constant desire to act. For which the other two men often laughed at him, because all three of them had to remain at a reasonable distance from their own actions. But still. With his palms, he squeezed Ágost’s knees together again. He was struggling not to do anything violent, bad, or painful, and to allow no sarcasm to creep into what he was doing. Luckily, he couldn’t say a word. And like a supplicant who not only demonstrates humility but begs for mercy, he suddenly placed his forehead on the closed knees. He was not completely alone with this movement of his; Hans was also doing his job. With his large hand, he ruffled Ágost’s hair again, grabbed it and pulled it down until it reached the bowed head of André crouching before them. Ágost did not resist, he gave in, as if to say, go ahead, do it, it makes no difference to me one way or the other what you do. And when his forehead touched the top of André’s head, Hans added his own white-haired head to the other two.
His slightly wet, gray stubble had a light scent, while André’s thick dark hair had a powerful one. They remained like this for quite some time, with involuntarily closed eyes. They were enjoying, each in his own way, their warm breathing. In this too André was the strongest, he was practically panting. His breath was permeated with the raw scent of his gums, tongue, and palate. Hans instantly joined in the panting, taking over André’s rhythm, he played with it, enlarged it, clowned with it. As if to say to Ágost, you see, this one is really like an animal, but he still loves you. And with that, putting his other arm across André’
s neck, he clasped and held the three of them together.
Hans’s breath had a sweet fragrance.
They were sitting at the end of the corridor in the darkness of their closed eyes, each in his own darkness.
In the illuminated hothouse silence, nothing could be heard for a long time save the wind and the splashing rain.
The only problem with these delicacies, Janika, piped up the fat woman near the entrance, slowly and softly, as if telling herself a story while crocheting, is that they have a strong smell. That’s the problem. And you can brush your teeth all you want. Of course, I also like it, there’s no better breakfast than head cheese; you can season it with a little vinegar, still it comes back from your stomach. The doctor says that one’s mouth stinks only because of bad teeth, but I say it stinks from the stomach too. And in places with high humidity, like here for instance, you can sense everything more strongly in the air.
She looked up for a second. She saw that the young man had misunderstood her, turned away, and was already becoming red from the neck up. She didn’t wait for the blush to overtake the young man completely because she wanted to spare him her own lustfully gloating look.
I don’t know how you people over in the Gellért did things, she continued, looking at her crocheting, but here we know what to do and we stick to the rules. Our guests are pretty keen on it too, you’ll see. They notice everything, and I mean everything, and they also have something to say about everything. If they’re convinced that the water in the men’s pool is at least two degrees warmer than it should be, then it’s two degrees warmer. Another might tell you that today it was colder. Warmer or colder, I let them say whatever they want. It’s all the same to me. If they want me to, I can take the water’s temperature ten times a day. You do it for them, show it to them, because you never know who is who. Later you’ll find out, believe me; you’ll know exactly who is who. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is, Janika. I’m only telling you; don’t argue with them. Well, will you look at this, you’ll say, it’s really colder, you’re right, and that makes them happy. Or they’re happy because it’s warmer. Just make sure you do things that keep them happy. You don’t have to let them do everything they want, but most things they want to do, you can let them. You, of course, don’t know it yet, you can’t have that much experience, on account of your age, but believe me, people are similar, very similar, but they’re also very different. Sometimes we play on how similar they are, sometimes on how different, you can’t learn more than this, Janika, not even from Uncle Józsi, believe me. She stopped for a moment, and since there was no response, neither questions nor objections, not a peep, she added almost apologetically, that’s right, Janika, there are many kinds of people, no end to the variety.