“Katie? Where have you been?” It was definitely Lajos’s voice, unusually anxious, and when I peered in the direction of the blue, I could even make out his face.
“Just out,” I said vaguely. “Taking the air...”
There was a slight pause, as if he was examining me. Then: “Are you well, Katie?”
“Quite well,” I said politely.
“I was worried. I thought you had tried to do something silly, like going to Szelényi on your own.”
The idea of going anywhere on my own in this condition was so exquisitely humorous that I laughed.
“Why should I do that?” I asked, surreptitiously feeling my way along the wall to where I remembered the other chair to be. I didn’t look at the wall as I went, for it would not stay still.
“You didn’t seem to like the idea of Debrecen.” His voice was unnaturally loud in my head, yet interestingly enough, it didn’t hurt me any further.
“Debrecen,” I repeated. It was very hard to follow conversations now.
“Katie, what is the matter?”
“Nothing,” I said mechanically. I reached out to where the chair should have been — it wasn’t. I dropped my hands to my sides, sent a quick prayer to the Almighty, and launched myself away from the heaving wall into the room.
But I had only taken three uncertain steps before I was caught and steadied. Lajos’s arms were around me, his hand in my hair.
“Stop,” he said, urgently yet with wonderful gentleness. “Stop. You can’t see.”
“I can. I can see.”
“Katie.” His hand lifted my chin, but though I peered, I could no longer make out the features of his swimming face. “You don’t need to hide this from me. It doesn’t matter. I’ll help you.”
I wanted to cry, but not with the pain. There was the old, childhood shame, mixed up with unspeakable relief. I closed my eyes. His chest was invitingly available, so I let my head rest there.
“Is it a migraine?” he said, and since he seemed, incredibly, to understand, I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I just allowed myself to stay where I was. His presence, his strength were indescribably comforting. I felt myself lifted in his arms like a baby, and for a moment, my stomach heaved. I clung to him as he carried me to the bed. A moment longer I tried to wrestle with the pain and concepts of dignity, and then I gave in, letting the pain crash round me and through me.
Somewhere, I realized he was loosening my dress, covering me, and then his hands left me. My aching eyes flew open; I reached out to him wildly.
“Don’t leave me, Lajos,” I whispered foolishly. “Please don’t leave me.”
My hands were taken in his. I felt him sink down on the bed beside me.
“I won’t leave you,” he said distinctly. “I’ll just draw the curtains, and then I’ll be back.”
Satisfied, I let him go. Some of the piercing light disappeared, and then he was beside me again. In the haze of agony, I felt him take my hand.
“Is there anything I should get for you?” he asked.
“No...” The word was less painful than shaking my head. I turned carefully on to my side, ignoring the nausea, and tucked his hand under my cheek to help me weather the storm.
It went on for the rest of the day and all of that night. It didn’t enter my shrieking head that he might have duties to attend to, and he never tried to go. He just sat there beside the bed, letting me hold his hand like a talisman against the pain. Around dawn, I felt it begin to recede, and gradually I slipped towards the sleep of exhaustion.
Vaguely, I heard a knock on the door. My hand was freed. I opened my eyes and watched him cross the floor. The room was blessedly still again. I heard his voice, and another in the hall outside, and then he came back.
“Are you awake?” he asked softly.
“Yes... It’s better now.”
“Will you sleep now if I go out for a while?”
“Of course. Yes. I’m sorry...”
“Hush. Would you like anything before I go?”
Humbly, I asked for some water, and he lifted the glass I had not seen beside the bed. His arm passed around my shoulders, lifting me, holding the glass to my lips. I gazed up at him wonderingly as I drank. It was so intensely soothing to be helped like this, to be treated as something fragile and precious instead of as a silly girl with a sore head.
I smiled, and saw him smile back. Then he lowered me on to the pillows, lightly brushing my forehead with his lips. And then he rose to his feet and was gone.
* * * *
I think I was asleep before he left the house. And I suppose it was the most valuable sleep I have ever taken, for I woke from it with my mind quite marvellously clear.
Naturally, the first person I thought of was Lajos. He was not in the room, so I spoke his name aloud, hearing the wonder in my own voice. I said it again, and this time there was joy. The woolliness, the confusion, the contradictory arguments of the last year, all had fallen away, lost somewhere in the haze of pain which Lajos had shared with me through the long night. What was left was blindingly simple.
I loved Lajos. And he loved me. Whether or not his love was greater or lesser than I wished it to be was suddenly irrelevant. It is in the nature of women, I thought, to be more obsessive, more exclusive in their love. I would always have to share Lajos with his cause, but that did not matter, because the exquisite tenderness he had shown me in my weakness proved his feeling for me, forced me to recognize it.
Marriage or non-marriage; these were irrelevant too. It was he and I who mattered; and our being together, whether for a month or for the rest of our lives, was surely vastly, immeasurably more important than the petty reasons which had been keeping me from him. Suddenly, I knew that an instant of this love was worth every risk, every heartbreak I could incur.
I had been wasting time, I thought in panic. The opinions of the world were insignificant beside this one huge, incontrovertible fact: I loved him. And he could be taken from me, violently, at any time.
Slowly, I got out of bed and took off my dress and underclothes. I bathed myself all over, shivering as I rubbed myself dry with the Saxon lady’s towel. I put on Lajos’s shirt, and then sat down before the glass to comb out my dishevelled hair. By the poor, fading light, my bruises hardly showed. My face looked soft and contented from sleep, my hair tumbling loose around my shoulders.
“It’s your decision, Katie.” It was; and I had made it.
Even so, I jumped when I heard the door slam below. I stayed stock still until I was sure it was his footsteps running up the stairs. Too soon, I thought in panic. I threw down the comb, ready to bolt back into bed and assume the alluring pose I had been dreamily planning. But I had only stood up and taken one hasty step before the door opened and he came quietly in.
“Katie?” he said softly, his eyes going immediately to the bed. Then they moved and found me. If I was mesmerized, I had the comfort of knowing that his breath was caught too; nor could he look away from me. After a moment, his lip quirked.
“Is it time for bed again?” he asked lightly.
“Yes,” I said, and smiled back, trying to hide my nervousness. My heart was hammering as I moved towards him. I saw many expressions flit across his unguarded face in that instant: hope, desire, suspicion, desperation, concern...
“Is the pain quite gone?” he asked with rare difficulty.
“Yes,” I said again. “All the pain.” I had come to a halt before him, afraid to touch him and yet longing for him to touch me. It’s your decision, Katie...
His eyes had dropped to my mouth, to my breasts rising and falling too quickly beneath the stiff cotton of his shirt, then down to my legs and at last, determinedly, back to my face. He tried to smile, and when he spoke it was meant to be humorous as well as a warning.
“Katie, if you don’t wish to be ravished, for God’s sake cover yourself.”
And suddenly the words came easily. “But Lajos,” I said softly, “that is exactly what I wish.”
And at last I could lift my arms and grip his shoulders. I stood on tiptoe, raising my head to his, and daringly, achingly, kissed him on the mouth.
At once, his arms came up, holding me, but lightly, loosely, although I felt them tremble. His voice too was unsteady.
“Katie, what is this all about? Do you know what you are doing?”
“I love you,” I whispered. “I have always loved you, only too many things kept getting in the way... When I woke up just now and the pain was gone, I suddenly realized the truth. I knew what was important and what was not. I love you.”
His arms tightened convulsively. One brown, rough hand covered with tiny, healing cuts, touched my face caressingly.
“There can be no going back for us this time, Katie; do you understand? Is this really what you want, what you are asking?”
Slowly, I took his hand, cradling it against my cheek, softly kissing it; and then I carried it to my breast and held it there.
“I want you,” I said simply, and then at last he bent his head and his mouth found and devoured mine. For a long, wild moment, I was swept hard against him, as closely as in the village dance. And then, once more, he lifted me in his arms and took me to bed.
* * * *
In my innocence, I had thought that life could hold no greater physical pleasure than that which Lajos had given me on Erzsébet Island. All through that long, January night, he showed me how wrong I was. And when I awoke at dawn after a short sleep of pure exhaustion, there was a happiness inside me so intense that it was almost pain. I was afraid to open my eyes in case my memories were only a dream. But no, I could still feel his arms around me, his naked thigh heavy against mine, and my body still ached pleasurably with the night’s love. Smiling, I opened my eyes and gazed directly into his. He kissed me.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
I touched his cheek caressingly. “You look as if you haven’t moved. Didn’t you sleep at all?”
“No. I’ve been watching you sleep, which is much more enjoyable.” His finger traced a line around my fading bruise to my lips. “This time, Katie — no regrets?”
“None,” I whispered. “I have been the biggest fool, Lajos...”
“Oh I think we both share that honour. In some perverse way, I believe I have enjoyed the game — in parts at least — but I’m not sorry it’s over.”
“Over?” I repeated, suddenly stricken with alarm, and he laughed softly.
“The game is over. A new life is beginning.”
I buried my face in his neck. I couldn’t quite believe that one person could be this happy. Surely, it wasn’t allowed.
Part Five: Toward Peace: January — July 1849
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The question of my going to Debrecen or to Szelényi was never raised between us again. Instead, I followed the army as far as I was allowed, and shared Lajos’s lodgings whenever I could, whether they were in a stately home, a barn or a tent. We were in the middle of a war; fighting, blood and death were all around us. I suppose in such circumstances those months cannot have been unadulterated bliss. And yet I remember only the vital, intense joy, the rare moments of peace and contentment that we both jealously protected from the ills of war.
And if the war had added to Lajos a new, commanding character, I soon discovered it had not altered what lay underneath. This was brought home to me forcibly after the Battle of Gualfálva, only days after my migraine had cleared my head of all its foolish inhibitions.
It was the first of many occasions when I sat alone in some inhospitable habitation with the boom of gunfire ringing in my ears and my imagination busy with visions that could not have been more horrendous or more gory than the actual battle. I tried to face the prospect of life without Lajos, told myself how unfair it would be if he were taken from me now when we had only just discovered happiness. And yet at the back of my mind was always the nagging doubt that I did not deserve such happiness, and that sooner or later it would be taken from me. I could only pray for later, and live through the agonies of apprehension, waiting with dread and with fierce impatience for the battle to end.
And then it was even worse, for wounded men trickled back into the camp with tales that set my teeth on edge. Those left behind in camp — the doctors, the camp followers and servants as well as the wounded, took what comfort they could from each other.
That first time, I heard their voices, but I could not join them. I couldn’t even look out of the window of the hut I had shared with Lajos the previous night. I heard men riding in, heard the clank of steel and weary, marching feet, but still I could not watch. A simple monotonous prayer was repeating itself over and over inside my head until my lips moved with the words, “Let him live, let him live.”
And when his shadow eventually darkened the hut, I was afraid to look at him. But I did. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion; there was blood on his uniform, and a strange, weary desperation behind the smile in his eyes. At first I could not move. I could only speak his name as a question, and it was he who came in all his dirt and other men’s blood, and put his arms around me, holding his cold, rough cheek against mine in proof that he was still alive.
“We won,” he reported mechanically. “I’m unhurt. Bem is alive by the skin of his teeth after some Austrian hero attacked him. All is well.”
Despite the unbearable relief, I knew that all was not well. When Lajos went away from me again, about his duties, I found I was afraid of what the battle had done to him. I also felt ashamed now of my selfish inertness, and impulsively I went to the surgeon to offer my help.
The doctor and his assistants seemed to be working in a noisy hell: I thought I had somehow stumbled into a mediaeval evocation of the underworld. The makeshift hospital was full of pitiful groans and screams of agony. The stench was sickening. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Men sat or lay where they fell, with shattered limbs and terrifying head wounds. I saw soldiers with such dreadful injuries that I didn’t understand how it was that they were still alive. Some of them were not, of course, for very much longer.
Dazed by the sheer scale of this suffering, I picked my way through the carnage till I finally came upon the harassed surgeon — a hard-eyed, middle-aged man called Tedényi — examining what was left of an unconscious soldier’s chest.
“Sir,” I began, and he cast me such a fierce glance of astonishment that I was silent. A particularly vile oath escaped his lips, but then he paused and I saw recognition in his tired eyes.
“You’re Lázár’s wife, aren’t you? Go away, for God’s sake, this is no place for you. Your husband isn’t here.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I came to offer what help I can — I know nothing, but I can obey instruction.”
He stared at me. The he wiped his hands on his bloody apron and turned back to his patient, saying shortly, “I’d laugh, except I need any help I can get. You can start by washing that fellow’s head so that I can see where his wound is — but be warned, Madame, if you faint, I shall simply step over you.”
Humbly, I moved to obey him. One of the assistants gave me an apron. I needed it. I didn’t faint in the end; nor was I sick, though more than once I felt both dizzy and nauseous. I had never thought of myself as particularly squeamish, but then battle-wounds, the sawing of limbs, such sheer human agony had never come my way before.
Doctor Tedényi treated me as he did all his assistants, who included two of the camp followers I had encountered on my first day with Colonel Drényi’s detachment. We exchanged only curt nods, though I was pleased enough to see them — it was impossible to smile in such a place.
By the time the doctor sent me away — which he did with rough words and a surprisingly gentle push — there was a real haze before my eyes. When I closed them, I could see only gory wounds, but in a vague, undisturbing sort of a way, for I was just a little proud of myself and tiredness had, in any case, overcome the horror by the time I left.
* * * *
It had, o
f course, been a great victory for Bem. With a force of only seven thousand men he had beaten an Austrian army of twice that number — or so they said. Puchner was in flight, and the Hungarian camp was celebrating.
It was late at night when Lajos came to me at last, bone-weary, almost asleep on his feet. I didn’t speak, just helped him out of his clothes, pushed him gently into the make-shift bed, and pulled the blanket over him, while he watched me with a tender, half-amused smile. His eyes were already closed when I lay down beside him. We slept.
But not for long. The sudden jerking of his body brought me startlingly awake. He was still asleep, but I could see at once that he was dreaming, and not pleasantly. Though I tried to soothe him, the restless, violent movements got worse, and though he didn’t actually shout, he kept muttering incoherently and making strange, heart-rending sounds of anger and distress. His face became contorted with anguish until I could not bear it, and even as I determined to wake him, I saw the wetness on his cheeks.
“Lajos,” I said loudly. “Lajos, wake up!”
At once, his eyes flew open. His body was still. Half-frightened, I smoothed his forehead caressingly, until he said, “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“You were dreaming. I think it was a nightmare.” With pity, I brushed the tears off his face with my fingers. There was another pause.
Then he said, “I’m sorry. I’ve had nightmares since Schwechat. A new fight always seems to bring it back.”
“Are they very dreadful?” I asked softly.
“Not as dreadful as the battles. They don’t hurt anyone.”
“Oh Lajos...”
But he was speaking again, as if he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t distress me with horrific descriptions of the battles themselves, but quietly, intensely, he told me of his physical fear, of the depths of his hatred for the violence and the killing, of his utter compassion for everyone involved, enemies as well as friends, of the awfulness of attacking men who had been or should be friends, countrymen.
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