Eva, at that moment, was sitting drumming her fingers against the window, consumed with indecision. She was staring out through the rain, waiting for Adam to come back for the evening so that she could tell him the news. When she finally saw him trudging towards the house her patience broke and she hurried to open the door.
“Adam, Malie telephoned me! What do you think has happened? Kati has come back to live in the town, and she’s brought the boy with her!”
Adam stared, then began to peel his wet raincoat from his shoulders. The maid came forward to take it but he waved her away.
“What are we going to do, Adam? How could she do this to us? She knows my position! How could she embarrass us like this?”
“I would like to enter the drawing-room and dry myself, Eva.”
She hustled to one side and followed him in. His hair was very wet and rain trickled down his face. He held his hands out towards the fire and a few droplets fell into the flames and sizzled. For years his silence had irritated her and on some occasions it drove her to a frenzy of rage. She could feel herself growing angry with him now.
“Don’t you hear what I say, Adam? Kati’s come back with her bastard! What are we going to do?”
“Do? Why, she is your cousin. You must go and see her.”
“Oh, Adam!” She was so cross she stamped her foot. “How can I? With your mama being so gracious to us now, and George to inherit the estate! How can I upset your mama—and Felix—by being friendly with Kati? How can I condone what she has done?”
“How can you not?” asked Adam quietly.
A chill moved over her. Once every five years or so Adam said something like that, something that shook the roots of her security. She was never sure if he knew. When she saw him with Terez she was convinced he could not possibly know because he obviously loved the child with a deep, abiding devotion. But occasionally he stared at her or said something that made her afraid and unsure of herself.
“Well, of course I’m not going to sit in judgment on my cousin,” she went on quickly. “But obviously your mother and Felix are going to be very distressed about it. We cannot aggravate their embarrassing situation by being friends with Kati.”
“There is no need to invite her here,” he answered. “I think she would not wish to come in any case. She has her own house by the river if she wants to come up here. But I think you should go to town and see her.”
“Oh, Adam! Don’t be so dull and stupid! What happens to us if your mama is angry? What happens to George, to me and Terez?”
“Nothing can happen to any of us. My mother knows very well who manages the estate. Sometimes she behaves like a madwoman, but when it comes to the running of the farms she is practical and astute. In this house rests everything my mother needs for the future. Here is her grandson, and here the best bailiff she has ever had.”
“But what of the future?” she screeched. “Supposing she dies tonight. What will happen to us then?”
“We shall remain here.”
“Ha! With Felix in charge, hating both of us because I have taken the part of his unfaithful wife!”
Adam’s slow green eyes considered her. Once those eyes had cried because she had left him, but nowadays they only considered her, as though she were an interesting phenomenon growing on his land.
“We shall stay here,” he repeated. “Felix can do nothing to us. When Mama dies everything is left to George, but Felix has the use of the house and an income until his death.”
“Oh,” she said, nonplussed.
“I arranged it that way when George was born.’’
“You arranged it?”
“I told Mama I would leave unless provision was made.”
“I see.” The uneasiness returned. Adam frequently did things, important things, without telling her or, indeed, anybody. One jogged along for years, growing accustomed to his dullness and lack of ambition, and suddenly a veil was pulled away and a rather frightening, powerful Adam was glimpsed.
“I think you should go to see your cousin,” he said quietly. “And if the farm can be left, I shall come with you.”
She was jealous. For some stupid reason she felt a twist of envy in her breast. Jealous of poor old Kati with her illegitimate child? How foolish! But the jealousy persisted. “You always did like Kati,” she said sourly.
“Mmm.”
“I suppose you think it’s all very admirable, what she’s done—living like a Bohemian and then coming back to flaunt herself.”
“I think she has been brave... and honest.”
What did he mean? The uneasiness stirred again and she forced herself to relax. She crossed over to the fire and slid her hand through his arm.
“All right, Adam,” she said softly. “If you think it’s right for us to go and see Kati, then we shall.”
They welcomed her in different ways. Mama burst into tears and clasped Kati to her breast in an orgy of emotion. Jozsef looked embarrassed and asked her if she had made her bank transfers yet. David Klein just smiled at her and then—with an expression of shocked dismay on his face—produced a peach from his jacket pocket. The peach had a face and a little hat on it. Nicholas stared in disbelief, then grinned widely and reached up his hand.
Papa, frail and unhappy, stood apart from the others. He was uncertain, at sixty-eight too old to accept such things. He wanted to help his dead sister’s child, but his every instinct told him that her behaviour had been immoral and that he was condoning things his sister would have hated. He closed his eyes and thought of Gizi, remembered her when they were young and poor, remembered the old man dying, ashamed of both his children, remembered Gizi lying stretched and yellow on her bed, her hand in his. He crossed the room and kissed Gizi’s child on the cheek.
“You should have come home to us much sooner, Kati,” he said sternly. “Indeed, you should never have left us.”
“Thank you, Uncle Zsigmond,” Kati said, but she wasn’t meek or frightened, just quiet.
The young ones all stared at each other, like animals staking a claim. Jacob, Karoly, and Terez saw one of the most beautiful boys they had ever known, soft gentle brown eyes, a smiling mouth, and tight black curls just like Uncle Leo’s. Nicky saw two solemn nearly grown-up boys who looked exactly like the nice man who had given him the peach, and a leggy girl who looked familiar.
“You look like me,” the girl said, and then he realized what she reminded him of—his own face in the mirror.
“I’m Terez. And this is Karoly, and Jacob. They’re Aunt Malie’s sons.”
“Yes,” he answered.
“I’m twelve. How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“My brother George is ten. He’s up in the country with the Fräulein.” She smiled at him, and he offered her the peach. Later the big boys took him out into the cobbled yard and showed him the German car that belonged to their papa. They were very serious boys, but he liked them, and gradually the wariness left the four children and they sat in the car, pretending to drive, already relaxing into casual friendship. Inside the house it took longer. Kati had done something dreadful: she had betrayed not only her moral standards but also the honour and reputation of the family. They were saddened or embarrassed or confused, according to their varying ages and temperaments. They welcomed her because she was a member of the family, but there was a reservation, a tiny barrier that separated her and her child from the rest of them.
Later she began to talk of the Anschluss, of the Germans marching into Vienna, of Jews being terrorized in the Graben. “I had to come back,” she explained, a hint of apology in her voice. “I had to bring Nicky home because it is unsafe in Austria for anyone who is even half a Jew.”
A sliver of fear insinuated itself between them, reached out, touched, moved on. What if—? Supposing—?
“I would not have come home if I had not been afraid,” she whispered.
They drew together, bonds of blood and family tightening against the alien threat. The barri
er of respectability that separated them from Kati dissolved, swept away by a greater and more urgent emotion.
Two weeks after their return, Eva came up from the country. She remained for only a couple of hours and her greeting to Kati was restrained. Kati didn’t seem to notice. She was as admiring, as pleased with Eva’s vague courtesies as she had been when a girl.
“You haven’t changed, Eva,” she said warmly. “You’re still so slim and lively, just the way you were when we were girls.”
Eva was gratified and tried to make up for her cold greeting. She had been nervous, and she had also been a little confused by the changes in Kati’s appearance. Kati was more... alive than she used to be. She looked around for something nice to say to atone for her lack of graciousness, but when the saw the little boy she didn’t have to search for compliments. She was incredulous. “He’s beautiful, Kati! What an extraordinary thing! He really isn’t one little bit like you, is he?”
“No.” Kati looked proud and pleased. In the old days she had never expected compliments for herself. She had always been pleased to bask in the glamour of her two beautiful cousins. Now she was content to have her son admired.
Eva fidgeted with her gloves and made a few inconsequential remarks and then she blurted out, “Have you seen or heard from Felix?”
“No.”
“You know that he has an apartment here, in the town?”
“No.”
“It’s possible you’ll meet him. What will you do if you meet him?”
“I—I don’t know. I don’t want to meet him.”
“But if you do?”
Kati looked distressed. “I shall do nothing. Look away... just nod... then look away.”
Eva fidgeted with her handbag, then took out her compact and studied herself in the mirror.
“Kati, I don’t—I would love to see much of you, but you understand—for me, it is difficult. Felix and Madame Kaldy, living so close, and little George to inherit the estate...”
“Oh, yes,” Kati replied slowly. “I see. Yes, of course it would be difficult.”
“I shan’t tell them I’ve seen you. I think it better that I don’t.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“But you know I’m thinking of you all the time. And if there is anything you want... You won’t be opening the country house, will you?”
“No.”
“That’s all right then. I expect it will soon settle down and everyone will be happy.”
Kati didn’t answer, and Eva found she was unable to look at her cousin’s face. She was disconcerted because suddenly, in the midst of talking to Kati, she felt ashamed. She didn’t like the feeling and she pushed the shame away, concealed it in a warm embrace that, in the old days, would have brought a happy flush to Kati’s face.
“Good-bye, dear Kati,” she said, but Kati turned away.
“Thank you for coming, Eva.”
On the train going back she was irritated, restless. Everything that was happening these days seemed wrong. The world wasn’t a wonderful place to live in any more.
29
To Leo, the Munich pact was yet another disturbing element in his growing confusion. Part of dismembered Hungary was restored. No Hungarian could fail to delight in the return of a portion of the land that the West had wrenched from her after the war. But Hitler had done it. Hitler had given them back their lands and had, at the same time, taken a large piece for himself. Uneasily he waited to see what would happen next, positive that the German juggernaut would not stop at the provisional borders she had newly carved out of Eastern Europe.
In the spring the emasculated remnant of Czechoslovakia succumbed, as Austria had the year before. And in the spring he received notification that he was likely to be called for national service at any time. It surprised him, although it shouldn’t have. He had been available for call-up ever since his return from Berlin. He had ceased to think about it and now, even with war imminent all over Eastern Europe, he still felt faintly indignant.
He reported his news to the editor of the newspaper and was disconcerted yet again when the editor told him he could leave straight away.
“I haven’t been given my dates yet, Mr. Kertesz,” he protested. “I can stay until I have my posting.”
Kertesz for some reason refused to look at him. “No, no, Ferenc, go now. Who knows how long you have? Why not take a little holiday before your military service. Go home and see your family.”
“That’s kind of you, but truly, sir, I would prefer to stay until the last possible moment. I’m sure with all that is happening now I can be useful.”
The editor made some abstract outlines on his blotter with a pencil. He still refused to look directly at Leo. “We can manage, Ferenc. You have done well with us and I’m certainly not sorry I gave you the job in the beginning. But we can manage enough to let you have a little vacation before your military service.”
“I’m very happy to stay, sir.”
Mr. Kertesz looked a little harassed. He still kept his eyes averted, and now he began to flick the end of the pencil back and forth with his other hand. “I’m sorry, Ferenc, but frankly it would be better if you left.”
Leo was angry. He had worked hard, accepting low rates because he was thankful to get a job at all. He worked evenings and on Sundays, giving more time to the paper than anyone else on the staff, partly because he liked his work and partly because he was still hoping to be transferred to one of the group’s bigger newspapers. He knew that unemployment always hovered in the background, but he also knew that at the present time there wasn’t a necessity to cut the staff. And Kertesz was telling him he didn’t need him any more.
“Are you trying to tell me I’m dismissed?” he said angrily. “Are you trying to tell me my work is unsatisfactory? Or that there isn’t enough news to keep an extra translator-reporter occupied?”
“No, it isn’t that,” the editor answered, looking unhappy.
“Is my work not speedy enough for you?”
“No, it’s—it is disagreeable to have to speak of but—it has been... indicated to me that it would be advisable if you didn’t work for this group any more. I didn’t know how to tell you, and your call-up seemed a perfect answer for both of us. I wish you hadn’t pressed me into this ridiculous situation.”
His anger evaporated and he felt defenceless, insecure, and uncertain of himself. Who had thought it advisable that he didn’t work for them any more? And why?
“Some of your... connections,” continued Mr. Kertesz, reading his unspoken thoughts. “They are not popular with the owners. You haven’t concealed some of your views too well. And of course you’ve mixed quite openly with those who frequent the Balasz. This and one or two other things have placed me in a very difficult position, my dear Leo.”
His voice grew more bland, more fatherly, as the content of what he was saying grew more disturbing. Leo didn’t ask what the “other things” were that made him undesirable on the staff. He was afraid to know.
“I can’t think why you have never tried to conceal your opinions, Leo. You know how dangerous they are.”
“If less people had concealed their opinions in the last few years, we shouldn’t be where we are now,” he retorted. “Waiting like prisoners in the condemned cell to see if we are next on Hitler’s list!”
“Ssh.” Mr. Kertesz, afraid, stared in the direction of the partially open door. “Quiet, Leo,” he whispered. “Someone may hear—and you know as well as I that it is dangerous to talk of the Nazis like that. We don’t know what may happen in the future, and someone may remember words spoken carelessly in anger.”
Leo closed his eyes for a brief moment, disgust racing through him. Kertesz had given him his first full-time job. He had helped him, guided him in the principles of journalism, taught him how to be a professional. And now Kertesz, like everyone else, had succumbed to the spectral fear of Adolf Hitler. He turned, went back to his desk, and began to pack up the flotsam he had collected
in five years.
At the Balasz he said a gloomy good-bye to old friends. This very ordinary restaurant had been his spiritual home ever since he had arrived in Budapest. Here, for the first time he had met gifted and talented men who expressed concern over the condition of their country, not Bolsheviks and bloody revolutionaries, as his father described them, but highly respected artists, playwrights, musicians, even a Member of Parliament, men who had wanted to introduce by legitimate means the simplest aspects of democracy, men who had spoken of freedom of the press, secret ballots, and the right to hold varying political views as the sum of their ideals. The Balasz had kept him sane, had given him the companionship and trust that Hanna’s betrayal had destroyed. He felt that once he had left the café for the last time and returned home, he would walk out of the light into a dark and stifling paper bag.
When he announced that he must return home, he was greeted with regrets and repeated glasses of wine. And almost immediately he was given information and names and addresses of people he must contact in his own town, people he had never realized existed, who believed, like himself, that the world’s salvation and freedom lay in brotherly love and the teachings of Karl Marx.
“Some bright men there!” Roth had shouted jovially at him. “The top man—very young, but gifted—contact him and offer your help. Hitler is only weeks or months away from us. We must fight him, not with guns, for we have none, but with our minds, Leo, with our minds!”
The barack had flowed and the evening that was to have been so desolate turned into a triumphant farewell. Drunkenly his friends accompanied him home, and drunkenly he promised he would lead the intellectual revolution in his home town. Hot, boastful words were spoken; enthusiasm for the cause grew strong with the increasing level of alcohol in their blood. They were nearly all young men and they had spent the idealistic period of their lives in controlled frustration. Now, for a few hours of drunkenness, they indulged in the fantasy that their visionary dreams might one day come true.
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