by Magda Szabo
“I don’t need them anymore,” she said at last. “I don’t need any of them. I’m giving them to you.”
If Torma, usually so timid and circumspect, had not been swayed beyond reason by the comb with the silver handle, the lipstick, the four-colored pencil and all the other treasures, indeed almost intoxicated by the sight of them, she would never have agreed that they should wrap them in a large handkerchief and that Gina should hide them with the nightie in the wooden cube in the drawing supplies cupboard. Gina had brought them to show Torma what she was leaving her, to see the delighted look on her face and then hide them promptly again, but all Torma wanted to do was to revel in her wonderful new possessions, and they were so engrossed in their discussion that they failed to notice as soon as they should have done that the door behind them was now wide open. It was only when he cleared his throat that they realized that Kőnig and the nurse were standing behind Gina. Torma looked up and Gina turned round. Kőnig was holding a plate in his hands, with an apple on it. The nurse had a face of thunder.
“I’ve brought you a nice red apple,” he said. “Very good for an upset stomach, they say. How are you feeling, Piroska?”
Torma was speechless. Utterly bereft, she put her hands over the contents of the oriental bazaar that lay glittering on the quilt. The myopic Kőnig came closer to the bed, picked up the bright red stick of rouge, sniffed it, reached for the comb and ran his nail along its white teeth in admiration. Once again Gina had the feeling that this man had been put on earth only to make the lives of other people hell. The nurse stood there, breathing heavily.
“Please don’t take them from me,” Torma pleaded. The sound of that tearful little voice would often echo in Gina’s mind as an adult, when her own daughter pushed away some really valuable object that did not especially appeal to her because she had always been allowed to have whatever she liked. “Please don’t take them away, sir, I beg you! Please don’t take them away, Sister!”
His hand shaking, Kőnig put the comb down, and the rouge after it. With her lips clamped tight to stop her uttering words that might displease the Lord, the nurse picked up a towel from the side of the bed and, disregarding Torma’s protests, wrapped everything in the towel and left the room.
She’s taking them to Susanna, Gina realized. Now they are neither mine nor Torma’s, and once again I am in deep trouble. If they are going to punish anyone it must be me. There’s nothing they won’t be able to stop me doing now.
Torma pulled the quilt over her head and buried herself inside it to weep. Kőnig stood with his eyes fixed on Gina. She waited for what would happen next; she was almost exultant, but she felt desperately sorry for Torma. The poor thing had had such a brief glimpse of what might have been hers and then lost it before it had been of any benefit to her.
Susanna did not take long to arrive. She had brought the offending objects back, now wrapped in the towel. She glanced at Kőnig, as if to tell him to leave, but he failed to take the hint, and stayed where he was, loitering about, most unsuitably in terms of the Matula ethos: a man, even if a member of the teaching staff, did not moon around in a sick room occupied by one of the girls.
Susanna began by trying to question Torma, but the girl refused to answer her and simply huddled deeper under the quilt. Gina replied for her. She told Susanna that the things belonged to her, and she had brought them for Torma to enjoy; Torma was completely innocent. Susanna was shocked. She demanded to know why she had never seen these baubles, this ungodly merchandise, before, and Gina explained that she had been keeping them in a special hiding place. Kőnig was visibly struck by the calm and supercilious way she had spoken to the prefect. Knowing that she had been deceived always made Susanna angry, and now she was furious. She told Gina she had no idea what sort of punishment she would give her, but she would make sure it was something that she would remember for a very long time. Gina nodded serenely, as if this were a compliment. Kőnig’s eyes never once left her face.
Susanna was about to leave when Torma, outraged by the idea that her friend should be punished for her act of superhuman kindness—the friend who had given her first a wonderful nightdress and now, however briefly, her entire collection of treasures—mastered her natural timidity for the first time in her life. She pulled her head out of the quilt and declared, between gasps for breath, that Vitay had taken the blame but it wasn’t right. She was the kindest and most unselfish girl in the whole school, she had just given her everything that she had, these treasures were now her property and she was the one who should be punished, not Vitay who had given them to her.
The Deaconess was now so angry with the two of them she could barely contain herself. She told Torma that she too would be included in the punishment, she could be quite sure of that, and she gave Kőnig another of those looks, so that he finally took the hint and turned to leave. Susanna signaled to Gina that she should go too, but she just stood there gazing at Torma. Realizing that she might never see her again in her life, she leaned over her, put her arms around her neck, covered her in kisses—something that would have been scandalous in the day room let alone in the infirmary—and said, “God bless you, my love.” Susanna was beyond speech. She pointed sternly to the door, and Gina sailed out as calmly as you might wish, not forgetting to take her leave of everyone in turn and executing the most graceful and Matula-worthy bow she had made in her life.
She went back to the day room and began to go over the day’s lessons, though she knew she would not be there to be tested on them in the morning. She kept glancing at her watch and noting with surprise how quickly the time seemed to be passing. She would have no chance to tell her classmates about the saga of the sickroom, but, in any case, she had no desire to explain what had happened. Susanna was going to announce her punishment in the morning, but by then she would be over the hills and far away, so what was the point of upsetting her friends by revealing that she had given everything to Torma alone? They would simply wonder what had brought on this sudden fit of generosity that left her with nothing.
In their free time Mari Kis and Bánki nagged her yet again for the story of the night’s doings. She had grown tired of endlessly repeating the same lies, and it was a relief when suppertime came. Again she felt Kőnig’s eyes on her throughout the meal, and she returned a look that verged on the flirtatious. Of course, you’re now wondering why I’m not more worried or upset than I am about the fact that I’m going to be punished, she thought. Well, tomorrow you’ll find out what gave me strength and put me in such good spirits.
During prayers, however, the realization that this was the last time she would be taking part moved her in a way that surprised her. Her visceral hatred of the black-and-white world and all its constraints had begun to melt away. Susanna was looking her loveliest that evening, both beautiful and sad, and it made her think of the months that had passed since the autumn—and what months they had turned out to be! Far from unrelieved bitterness, they had brought her light and joy and love and laughter. It was only years later, when Árkod and the massive bulk of Matula loomed up in her memory like rocks surfacing from under the retreating tide, that she came to understand exactly what she had felt that evening.
Once they were in bed she did not have to talk for long. The whole class were heavy-eyed, Bánki and Mari Kis especially so. By ten everyone was sound asleep, and she was able to begin getting ready. She was not in the least bit nervous. She trusted Feri so much that she had not a moment’s doubt that their plan would succeed. While the other girls were finishing off in the washroom she had hidden her school uniform and her coat under the mattress: this time she would have to wear proper clothes—she could hardly travel to Budapest with Feri in her dressing gown. At a quarter to twelve she put her uniform on. Lacing up her hideous long black boots she smiled to think what Feri would say when he saw her in her everyday school uniform.
Before she stepped out into the corridor she took a long look around the room in the dim glow of the nightlight at the
faces of her sleeping companions. She longed to say goodbye to them, to kiss them all for the last time, because she loved them so very much. But she could not put her chance of escape in jeopardy.
She peered down the corridor leading to Susanna’s room, and then along the one to the teachers’ quarters. Nothing moved. Sometimes we just know when an enterprise is going to succeed. Gina was quite sure that nothing would stop her getting out into the garden. She opened the window, climbed out and pushed the shutters back as best she could: that way less light would fall into the garden, and they would not betray to a casual glance that something was amiss. When the staff realized that she was not in her bed they would look for her in the building first, and it would not occur to them that she might have gone out into the garden. Why would anyone want to be out there in the freezing cold, with the church bells tolling midnight?
And toll they did, with a deep, ceremonial boom, as she ran across the moonlit garden and reached the statue of Abigail. She was not in the least afraid. Her feelings were very different from those of the night before. Then, she had had no idea what was waiting for her. This time she was going back to her old existence—her home, Auntie Mimó, Feri and her father. She was going back to life itself.
She reached the iron gate and waited for it to open. All was silent on the other side, but she had a strong sense that she was not alone. The last notes of the bell were now fading away. She glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping building, and at the garden filled with the chilly scents of March—the smell of raw earth and the cold breath of violets. As she stood waiting at the gate the moon lit up her face and figure.
Someone knocked on the other side. She replied with a gentle tap, tap, tap.
“Gini,” Feri whispered. “We’ll have to wait a moment. Someone’s coming down the street. Can you hear me?”
“I can hear you,” she breathed back.
“There are two men standing talking on the other side of the road, opposite the school entrance. Thank God there are no lights on.”
She made no reply. She was now anxious and tense. Her brain was telling her to wait and not to move, but instinct made her desperate to get out through that door and away.
“The car’s waiting in a side street. I didn’t want to park it here, where people would notice. Cars aren’t usually parked here. I’ve done pretty well, as you’ll see. What a place this Árkod is! I’ve never seen the like. How on earth have you put up with it for so long, you poor thing?”
“With difficulty,” she whispered back. “Can we go yet?”
“Soon. Now they’re saying goodbye, I can hear their voices clearly. I would never have thought anyone would be out at this time of night in a provincial town. Right, they seem to be on their way. Mind out, Gini, I’m going to open the gate!”
She had flattened herself against it. Now every breath was painful and made her feel ill. She heard the key moving in the lock, and then back again. The mechanism seemed unwilling to budge. She pressed with her whole body against the gate. Still nothing. It must be double-locked. The key was tried again, this time with greater force, but the final turn that should have freed it stuck solid. She pressed herself against the gate even harder. There came the sound of footsteps in the street, of people running from opposite directions, and a light flashed.
“Hey, you!” someone shouted. “What’s all this? Stay where you are! What are you up to with that key? Why are you trying to open that gate?”
“Get that light out of my eyes, you fool. You’ll have the Civil Defense people here. Put that torch away!” Feri hissed. “What are you doing here?”
“What are we doing here?” the unknown voice said indignantly. “The question is what are you doing here? Who sent you? Who are you? Are you one of the Cock-a-doodle-doos? Or a burglar? Just you wait. We’ve sent for the director. So you want a fight? Right, chum: you stay right where you are while I call the Matula!”
The alarm bell, the bell no one ever used, the bell that had hung for centuries next to the iron gate that had no key, started to clang. Gina stood there petrified while it sounded, then someone swore. There were more running footsteps, followed by some new ones, obviously in pursuit, and all was silent again, an unnatural, deathly silence. For a moment her brain was numb with fear, then her survival instinct kicked in and she ran—back past the smiling statue of Abigail, back to the window, where she had to climb in without the help of Mari Kis, and found herself standing in the corridor once again, totally out of breath. Susanna’s door stood wide open, her light was on: she must have dashed off somewhere, perhaps to the main entrance, or the teachers’ quarters. What if she were in the dormitory? And if the other girls were awake?
They were all asleep. She tore off her clothes, pulled on her nightdress and threw her uniform and her coat under the bed. As she huddled down under the quilt she found herself trembling all over. Something seemed to be rubbing against her back, but she took no notice amid her floods of tears. Feri had been caught red-handed and chased away; now she did not know if she would ever escape. Because he had tried to get into the garden that gate would probably be kept under watch from the morning onwards, or they would put a steel bar across it with a padlock—anything was possible in this place. She wept bitterly, and her sobs grew louder. Sounds of movement came from Mari Kis’s bed, but she was so deeply asleep she just coughed and mumbled a bit and turned onto her other side. But someone had heard Gina’s sobbing from even further away and she soon appeared. It was Susanna.
She was fully dressed: you would have thought it was broad daylight. She straightened the chair beside the bed, sat down, and put a hand on the weeping girl’s brow. Her fingers smelled of soap. They were cool and comforting.
“I’ll find a way to make your life easier here,” she said softly. “I’m afraid I often lose patience with you, because you are so different from anyone I have met here—so headstrong and rebellious. And today that collection of forbidden objects! You really must try to be more sensible. I was very, very angry with you, but I’m not any longer, and even if the director also punishes you it won’t be so very bad that you should lose sleep over it, or be so afraid that you need cry.”
You still imagine I’m afraid of that man, Gina thought, as her eyes ran with tears. But what has happened to Feri? And what will become of me?
As if she had heard what the girl was thinking, Susanna spoke again.
“Did you hear the alarm bell ringing? Mr. Mráz sounded it because someone tried to break in through the garden gate, a burglar no doubt, but he was seen off by the glazier’s assistant and his friend. He left his key in the lock and ran. You mustn’t tell the younger girls, because they are little and they will be afraid, but nothing can happen to us here. The men are very good, and they take good care of us.”
She paused briefly, thinking that Gina might want to say something, perhaps to thank her for forgiving her, or for coming to be with her. But Gina remained silent. She was weary to death and filled with despair. Susanna stood up, told her to say her prayers, and left the room.
Eventually the flow of tears stopped and her strength began to return. She got out of bed and went to put her coat and uniform in the wardrobe outside, not wanting to find them creased when the bell rang in the morning. She hung them up on the hooks and made her way wearily, with bitterness in her heart, back down the corridor. She picked up the quilt to straighten it before she lay down, and began to tidy the bed. Earlier something had been pushing into her back. Now, by the dim glow of the nightlight, she saw what it was. She stared at it for what seemed hours, in total disbelief. What she found was no less astonishing than if a star had fallen onto her bed. There, glittering faintly, was a silver ashtray. It was the one she had bought for her father on their way to Árkod. Beneath it was a note, printed in the now familiar capitals. She read it, then stood staring dumbly ahead of her. What she felt was beyond anything that could be expressed by tears or the wildest howls of grief.
THIS ASHTRAY, WHICH
YOU BOUGHT FOR YOUR FATHER IN A JEWELER’S SHOP IN SZOLNOK IN RETURN FOR A MOON PENDANT, WAS GIVEN TO ME BY HIM. IT IS SOMETHING FOR YOU TO REMEMBER HIM BY, AND TO LET YOU KNOW THAT HE SPOKE WITH ME AND ENTRUSTED YOUR LIFE TO ME. WHEN THE GERMANS INVADED ON THE NINETEENTH HE WAS AMONG THE FIRST TO BE ARRESTED. LIEUTENANT KUNCZ CAME TO ÁRKOD THE FOLLOWING DAY TO LURE YOU OUT OF THE SCHOOL AND USE YOU TO FORCE YOUR FATHER TO BETRAY HIS COLLEAGUES. IF I HAD NOT BEEN KEEPING A CLOSE WATCH OVER YOU YOU WOULD NOW BE A HOSTAGE TO BLACKMAIL HIM WITH. WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU FROM NOW ON IS FOR ME TO DECIDE, AND ANY MESSAGE I SEND YOU IS TO BE TREATED AS AN ORDER FROM HIM. STAY WHERE YOU ARE AND TRY NOT TO WORRY. I SHALL TAKE CARE OF YOU. KEEP CALM UNTIL YOU HEAR FROM ME AGAIN.
ABIGAIL
FERI KUNCZ IN THE MATULA
The day began much like any other. They rushed about getting themselves ready, queued up for the showers and chivvied one another along, and no one had time to notice the expression on Vitay’s face. What with everything they had to do and their worries about work, probably no one would have done so before lunch; they only did so after the doctor had spotted her in the corridor on her way to prayers, stopped, taken her pulse, examined her throat, asked her if she were ill and told her to come to the infirmary at break for a proper examination. Gina simply shook her head and said no, she didn’t feel unwell, and it was then that Mari Kis and the others realized how pale she was. When they pressed her, she just shook her head, gave them the same answers as she had the doctor and repeated that she was fine. The doctor began a separate conversation with Susanna, during which Gina was dismayed to hear that Torma had become ill again during the night: it was difficult to say what the problem was, because she had had nothing all day but tea and had been feeling extremely well, and then this second, even more acute, attack of stomach pains had occurred. There was no chance of her being allowed to attend lessons.