by Magda Szabo
Kalmár nodded in acknowledgement. He did not look at Gina.
“Now take yourself off. I can’t stand the sight of people like you.” He swept up her treasures and threw them and the towel into the waste paper basket. “It’s a pity we don’t have an open fire in here. I would have stood over you while you burned them yourself. But they will still end up in the boiler, you can be sure. Mr. Kalmár, kindly stay behind for a moment. Now who is that on the line?”
The telephone was ringing again. Kalmár lifted the receiver and the strident tones of the porter could be heard as clearly as if he were in the room.
“Director, sir, that lieutenant asked me where His Excellency the Bishop lives, and to tell him the shortest way to get there.”
“I hope you told him,” Gedeon Torma growled.
As she left, Gina heard him telling Kalmár that the Bishop was away on a tour of the rural parishes in the neighboring county and would not be back for another two days; but they would be able to follow him from one village to the next as he had left his itinerary. She went on back to class without waiting to hear the reply.
In the classroom she found a paradisal calm. She had interrupted the lesson, and Miss Gigus gave her a look of reproach. She asked her why she was late. “I was with the director,” Gina said. “He has banned me from all afternoon walks and from going to the white church.”
“How stupid,” Mari Kis whispered to Bánki. “This obsession with punishing people has affected his brain. Nothing would please her more than to have the old black tomcat play another trick like that on her.”
ST. GEDEON’S DAY
She had intended to be especially attentive during lessons, but she found it impossible. She kept wondering whether she should write to Abigail, and whether she could even assume that it was Abigail who had saved her from the lieutenant. She had more or less decided what to put in the note she would slip into the stone pitcher when it occurred to her that writing would be pointless. During lunch Kalmár had obviously made every adult in the school aware of who had come for her and why, because all through the meal the teachers at the top table had kept giving her anxious looks of concern, as had the deaconesses sitting with their pupils. It was now the afternoon when she was due to stand in front of the whole school with the other delinquents. The director announced that Georgina Vitay had committed a very serious offence, that of hiding forbidden objects in the school. She listened in silence. It meant little to her now. It was as if the accusations referred to someone else. It was only after supper that she had a chance to tell the rest of the class what had happened in the infirmary the night before, that she had been caught giving her personal possessions to Torma. Half of the class felt desperately sorry for her, and were full of condolences for the beautiful things she had lost; the other half condemned her even more roundly than the director had. She had gambled with the secret pleasure they themselves might have had in them, to give everything to Torma was just stupid. And to take them into such a risky place as the infirmary!
The others went off on their afternoon walk and Gina was left alone in the day room, with a lesson to prepare. Silence reigned in the Matula, a peaceful, blessed silence. She read through the set text but took very little in. She kept thinking of her father and trying to decide what he would want from her, far away as he was now: she was every bit as conscious of him as she was of the heat from the radiator. Be strong, she seemed to hear a voice telling her from that unknown place—possibly from outside the country. Be strong, my dearest love in all the world. Be strong, so that I too will have the strength for what I must do. Show your strength not by being stubborn and recalcitrant, by protesting and complaining, or making unrealistic plans, my child, but by mastering yourself and listening to wise counsels, so that those I have entrusted you to will be able to help you. If you simply dissolve in tears or break down under pressure like a crushed pearl, then we shall have loved one another in vain. And don’t be sad. Don’t let it spoil your appetite. Be brave and be happy! Perhaps we shall see one another again, so please do nothing to tarnish the joy of that meeting, and give me strength by allowing me to know that I can trust you!
When they got back from their walk Mari Kis and the others told her that in the boutique next to the Hajda patisserie there had been the most amazing scarves for sale, so amazing in fact that it was hard to believe there was a war going on. She listened in silence, nodding her head from time to time, which they decided was simply the result of having suffered all that bad luck. That afternoon there had been constant comings and goings. The teachers and the prefects had been disappearing by turns into the residential quarters. Szabó explained that this was because it was the director’s name day. On March 29 everyone went to congratulate the ogre in black. If he were in a good mood he would be with them longer after supper, and prayers would happen later than usual; if he were especially moved he might even read them some of the more successful pious effusions from the older pupils’ creative writing group, but of course it was impossible to say beforehand what he would decide to do, because all through supper he had worn a face of darkest gloom, and the sight of Gina’s oriental bazaar hadn’t exactly brightened his mood: on these name days their principal amusement was trying to work out how to avoid doing anything that would destroy his goodwill, and the revelations in the infirmary would not have made his mood any the merrier. The mere fact that he had set eyes on a stick of rouge would be enough to depress him for several days.
The meal progressed in an atmosphere of orderly calm. There was no sign that the evening would soon take on a more festive character. The director said barely a word other than to issue an irritated rebuke to the seventh-year girl who was doing the reading, very badly, in a dull monotone. That was about all the conversation that took place.
There was a sudden flurry of activity and the refectory door burst open. Like the scent of a spring breeze wafting into the room, laughter rang out and everything sprang to life. The girls jumped to their feet and stood to attention, their eyes shining. The custom was that if the reading was interrupted by an unexpected visitor only the reader herself should welcome him, and now, speaking for everyone, she squawked out, her voice suddenly alive and expressive: “Good evening, and God bless you.”
In the doorway stood Mitsi Horn, clutching an armful of branches. Behind her was the old lady Gina had met once before. She was holding some large boxes and a huge demijohn. “Sit down, Matula!” Gedeon Torma barked, then suddenly relaxed and rose to his feet with the male teachers to greet her.
“May God preserve you,” the guest called out, and pushed the huge bunch of branches into his arms. “May you live till the seas run dry. I’ve come here to enjoy myself! I’m in a merry mood tonight.”
“I’m afraid I am not,” the director replied. “I do not celebrate my name day, Mitsi.”
“But of course you are.” She laughed. “I’ve used up the last of my flour to bake for the girls. It’s all going to be happening tonight, Gedeon. The whole school will dance and eat fine pastries and enjoy themselves. I’m inviting myself to supper.”
Before he could utter a word of protest she had run the length of the refectory like an unruly first year and rapped for attention on the wooden panel closing off the kitchen. The cook opened it, peered out in alarm, and Mitsi Horn declared, “I haven’t had my supper. Can you give me something to eat?”
Hordes of people dashed around looking for a knife and fork for her, and the prefects had their work cut out to keep the girls in their seats. It was Susanna who went off, at the dignified, decorous pace of a deaconess, to fetch a tablecloth. Chairs were moved around the director’s table to make room for the guest; Hajdú moved from his seat beside Gedeon Torma and went to sit at the far end, leaving a space free between him and Kőnig. Susanna returned with the place settings; she kept her eyes not on Mitsi Horn but on Kőnig, though he did not seem to notice. There was something quite extraordinary, as even Gina, in her own rather unusual state of mind, obser
ved, in the way he kept watching Mitsi Horn . . . and now he was whispering something in her ear. By the time Susanna got back to her seat her face was as scarlet as if she had been slapped. She really does not like this woman, Gina thought. She’s jealous of her, and obviously ashamed of that. She’s trying to get the better of it, but she can’t.
The next moment all semblance of order collapsed. Mitsi Horn called out to the reader: “You must join in too. Put that sanctimonious book down and go and help in the kitchen; they’re about to share out the pastries. But not the cake I cooked specially for the director. Bring that here first.” The girl dashed off happily, and the director turned to stare at the guest in astonishment. He was like a lion bewildered by a humming bird hovering at its face and singing that the beast held no terrors for it; life, for all its horrors, was wonderful, and of all those wonders the most precious was youth. And then a miracle happened. Gedeon Torma twice opened his mouth to tell her to call the girl back to continue with the improving tale, and twice instantly shut it again. He had succumbed to the blessed joy filling the room with its warmth; he had seen in the rows of shining eyes how happy everyone around him was feeling. Even the rouge smuggler Vitay had lost the look of someone bowed down by her cares. This Mitsi Horn was a magician. Now she had risen to her feet to make a speech, like a man. And the old lady who had come with her was going round behind the tables with the demijohn filling glasses with wine. Even the pupils were given a finger.
“May God bless you, Director, sir, and send you a long and happy life. May you preside over this school to the end of your allotted span, this school that gives so much to everyone raised in it. They will surely treasure the memory of their time here to the end of their days.”
She must indeed be a magician, Gedeon Torma told himself, if even I can feel like this! But “to the end of my allotted span”? That’s going a bit far. How long will I be in charge here if I don’t let them have Georgina Vitay? He raised his glass, thanked Mitsi Horn, nodded towards the form tutors and even the pupils, and the whole school emptied their glasses as one, then stood in silence. Not even the youngest girls were smiling. The flood of emotion lasted until Mitsi Horn called out again to tell them to hurry up with their meal because she had prepared all sorts of entertainments for the evening, and the girls started to wolf down the pastries at such speed that the prefects had no hope of stopping them. She egged them on, like a sports commentator: “Faster, faster!” By now even the doctor was almost choking—she who always talked about the importance of eating slowly and giving your stomach food that had been thoroughly chewed. It was an astonishing sight: the guest beating the time with her hand, and the teachers all tucking frantically into their supper.
Kőnig was making no attempt to conceal his feelings, murmuring non-stop into his beloved’s ear. Susanna could not bear to watch; she kept her eyes lowered to avoid catching sight of the teachers’ table. Gina, who was being a little more sensitive than usual that evening, longed to stroke her arm and tell her that her own heart was also sad and that she felt truly sorry for her. But a pupil should never touch a teacher, and besides, what would the prefect think of being consoled by the reprobate Vitay? Mitsi Horn listened to something Kőnig was whispering, then turned to the director and the whole table exploded into laughter. She must have said something truly hilarious—she was such good fun, and so very amusing. Naturally she got what she wanted; when did she not? Susanna, still keeping her eyes averted, helped pull the tables to the side as requested; Hajdú, clearly in thrall to the same ungodly spell, went and fetched the gramophone, and Miss Gigus lent him her records of dance music, leaving the director staring at her speechless—he had no idea she had been harboring anything like that in her room. Mitsi Horn called out again: “There is a war on. Who knows what future lies in store for the poor things!” To which there was nothing to be said, and in no time at all the sound of profane music filled the room, very different strains from the classical and religious tunes they were accustomed to. The deaconesses and teachers were astonished by the proficiency the older girls now displayed. It was a different matter with the little ones. They were all at sea. They stumbled around, blushing furiously, until Gertrúd Truth took them off to their day room to play while the older girls danced. Reaching the door, she turned and told the dancers to find the girl they were usually paired with in the gym, or there would be chaos. Gina’s partner there was Torma; she had recently replaced Bánki, who had grown too tall for her. But Torma was not there, which pleased Gina, who was in no mood for dancing and had retreated into a corner to watch the others. She did not feel envious of them and she did not want to join in anything. So there were now two of them standing apart from the others; they had moved away from the tables and were standing next to the chairs, like two waifs shut out from life without any hope of getting back in.
“That girl over there isn’t dancing,” Mitsi said. “The little one from Budapest. Where is her partner?”
“Her partner’s ill,” replied Gedeon Torma, suddenly grave again. “But even if she were well she would not be dancing. She is being punished.”
“You can punish her tomorrow,” Mitsi cried. “Today is a holiday! Shut your eyes if you don’t want to watch—I’ll dance with her myself if she can’t find a partner.”
I don’t want to dance this evening, thought Gina. She too could feel the powerful attraction of the woman, but she refused to surrender to it. I don’t want her to touch me, or try to cheer me up.
Gedeon Torma said something in reply, but no one heard him. Mitsi darted down from the teachers’ table, made an elaborate comical bow before Gina and asked her to dance.
“She is not allowed to dance,” Susanna said quietly. “You heard that, Mitsi dear.”
“Oh, my word. Why do you have to be so much stricter than Jesus himself?” Mitsi replied. “I only want one dance, for just a few minutes. Come, little girl from Budapest.”
And she led Gina away. She was strong, and an accomplished dancer, and the two of them drifted slowly away from the inner circle. Gina did not once look at her. Let the woman amuse herself, she thought. She was playing with everyone and everything, as if they were dolls.
“Tonight you are going to make your escape,” Mitsi whispered. The smile never left her face. With her left hand she made a gesture towards the teachers’ table. “Tonight, while the rest of us are partying here. At nine o’clock, just before the start of prayers, go to Susanna’s room and put on her going-out clothes. Don’t leave the school through the main gate; you must use the one in the garden where you waited for the lieutenant the day before yesterday. The gate will be open. Once you are out in the street, walk slowly and keep away from the light. Now don’t just stand there, dance! And don’t look at me like that. Smile!”
Gina was incapable of smiling. She just stood there with her mouth open.
“These wonderful people will be able to protect you from Lieutenant Kuncz for only a few more days. After that the local Commander will force the Bishop to open the school gates. There is a war on. They will insist that handing you over is in both the military and the national interest. The Germans who took your father away will not take no for an answer. If you do fall into their hands, and the school has tried to obstruct them, it will be the end of the Matula. They will arrest Gedeon Torma and send the teachers elsewhere. Now smile!”
But all Gina could do was stare at her in shock. Hajdú was busy changing a record on the gramophone, and soon a husky female voice started to croon, “Goodbye, Lieutenant, goodbye. Think of me sometimes, when you get to the front.”
“We cannot let you fall into the lieutenant’s hands. That would only add to your father’s troubles. You must disappear immediately, and not put Gedeon Torma’s life in danger. If you escape and they never find you, no one can be held responsible—you always were a notorious misfit and rebel. Go to my house. You will find it empty. I live there on my own with the old lady, and I’ll cover your escape. You will have to unlock the do
or yourself. This is the key. I’ve just slipped it into your hand. Can you feel it?”
Gina nodded her reply.
“Be very careful. It’s not just your safety that depends on it, it’s other people’s as well. A few minutes before nine you must slip out of the room. I’ll make sure no one notices. Susanna’s door is never locked. Do everything I tell you. Tuck your clothes under the bed so that she doesn’t realize that you’ve taken hers. And don’t keep staring at me!”
“Are you Abigail?” the girl whispered.
Mitsi Horn laughed so loud that everyone turned to look at her. Gedeon Torma swallowed his shame. This was a woman they had raised themselves, on exactly the same principles as the current intake, and look how she was behaving! She was forty-eight years old and she still wore lipstick. Mitsi ignored Gina’s question. She said they had danced enough and led her back to the line of chairs. Barely able to stand, the girl had to lean on one for support. The guest returned to the teachers’ table and tried to persuade someone else to dance with her, but the director put a firm stop to that. She laughed the matter off, had a brief conversation with the teachers, then clapped her hands loudly and brought the dancing to a halt. She had a fresh announcement to make: that was enough exercise; now it was time for games.
“Arrange the chairs into two large circles. One of you go to the duty room and ask for writing materials, enough for half those present, and some slips of paper for the other half to write on. But be quick, it’s getting late.” Murai dashed out. The director was about to call out to her that they didn’t need any paper, the party was over, but the girl was gone before he could open his mouth, naturally leaving the door wide open behind her.
Gedeon Torma rose to his feet and bellowed for silence. The familiar terrifying voice worked its effect, but the laughter instantly gave way to a rather different sound. To relieve her boredom the sister on night duty must have been listening to the news, and the fact that the ever-impatient Murai had left the door open meant that the words carried into the refectory. “Our troops have regrouped and reorganized the line at the front.” Gedeon Torma inspected his fingernails to avoid looking at the teachers. He knew as well as every other adult in the room what that meant: the army was in retreat; the line was coming ever closer. “Time for some games!” he called out, almost despite himself. The faces around him brightened again and he lowered himself slowly back into his seat. Mitsi Horn gazed at him with a new light in her eyes, not of laughter or of gentle mockery but of heartfelt compassion. He was no longer simply someone to be opposed. She knew that when the front reached Árkod no wall in the Matula would be thick enough, no cellar sufficiently secure. Good old Gedeon, that was very well done, she thought. But she said nothing.