‘I – I don’t know. Budapest, maybe, or – or one of the towns.’ He deliberately doesn’t mention Város.
‘I thought about it, of course, when I was younger, before Rózsi was born. What was keeping me here? No family, no husband; most of my friends have left, either with their families or alone, and those who are still here …’
She doesn’t need to elaborate; she’s spoken to him of Lujza before, of the broken woman the war made of her. ‘And someone like me is always going to be on the outskirts of village life. What did I have to lose by leaving?’
She shrugs. ‘I would have needed money, more money than I’ve ever had access to. I have no family here, it’s true, but I have no family anywhere else, either, and no friends in towns or cities who could take me in while I tried to find a job. And what job could I get, anyway? I have no skills that would be useful in a town. I can’t sew with any degree of skill. I’m not a great cook. Perhaps I could be a maid, yes, but then would my life in the city, as a maid, be any better than my life here, as a midwife? I wouldn’t be able to afford to buy books, or go to the theatre, and I wouldn’t have the friends or the respect that I have here.’
She sighs suddenly, with such force that the flame of the lamp flickers. ‘When I was young, I didn’t care about that sort of thing so much. If I’d just had enough money to get me to the city in the first place, I would have been prepared to take a chance on the rest of it. Now, with Rózsi, it’s impossible. When you have a child, you can’t take risks any more.’
He licks his lips, trying to find the words. ‘Would it be different if you did have a friend in town, who would help you to find work, and to find somewhere decent to live?’
Sari looks at him sharply. ‘Mr Illyés?’ Under the intensity of her gaze, he stops caring about finding the right words; any words at all will do.
‘I don’t want to offend you, or to – to suggest anything improper at all, I can assure you of that. But over these past days that I’ve spent here, I – I can’t claim that I know you well, of course, I’ve known you for such a short time, but I think that perhaps I know you a little, maybe, and understand you a little, and it has occurred to me – forgive me, please – but it has occurred to me that you are out of place here, that you have a – an intelligence that is wasted here, and that would serve you well elsewhere. I earn good money, and I have more money that I inherited from my parents, and I have no family, and so I could quite well afford to – to give you the money to come to Város, and to find you a place for you and Rózsi to live, and to – to support you for as long as it took for you to find work.’
That’s it. His voice sputters into silence. She’s still looking at him, her expression utterly unreadable. He can’t look at her, his eyes sliding relentlessly from her face.
‘Mr Illyés – Béla,’ she says at last. ‘That – that’s a very, very kind offer. But …’
He holds up a hand. ‘Please. Don’t decide now. Take some time to think about it. I will give you my address in Város, and you can let me know of your decision. My offer will always be open.’
She smiles at him. ‘All right. I promise you that I will think about it. But you know, Judit is a concern. She’d never get on in the town, but I couldn’t just abandon her here, after everything that she’s done for me. And when she dies, what would the village do without a midwife?’ She checks herself. ‘I’m sorry. I really will think about it.’
‘For your sake, Miss Arany, yours and Rózsi’s. Perhaps you should stop thinking about the good of everyone else for a moment.’
They sit in silence for a while, lamps casting wavering shadows on the walls, until a gust of wind rattles the windows, and seems to rouse Sari.
‘I should be getting back,’ she says, and casts an eye around the disordered kitchen. ‘I can come back for the pots in the morning.’
He nods, and gets to his feet. ‘Can I walk you home?’
Sari shakes her head. ‘No need. Anyway, I’m going to drop in on Éva – the person who was ill this afternoon – see how she is.’
‘All right.’ She opens the door to leave, and then with a swift, fluid movement, she leans towards him and kisses him on the cheek. In an instant, Béla’s nerves are laid bare to her. He feels every atom of her smooth lips as they brush his cheek, and the smell of her hair – herbs and clear water – fills his nostrils, fills his whole head. He’s almost thankful when she pulls away. What should he make of that intensity of feeling? He can’t speak, but thankfully, she just says, ‘Goodnight, Béla,’ and is gone without expecting an answer. Sari crunches home through the first frost of the season, the stars fizzing and crackling above her. It occurs to her that ten years ago, the offer that Béla has just made would have filled her with clear, uncomplicated joy, rather than the muddied, calculated sense of relief that it brings her now – a relief that’s not tied to the offer itself, but to its motivation, what it says about his feelings for her, what it means for her safety and her escape. She feels a dislocated breath of sadness, but it leaves as quickly as it arrived. It’s going to be all right, she thinks, a bubble of certainty that breaks free of her and sails through the sharp night air.
In the dim, warm light of the kitchen, Béla leans with one hand on the closed door, and with the other, unbuttons his trousers, and takes himself in his hand. It only takes a few moments. Afterwards, he doesn’t even feel shame, like he normally does. Instead, he feels cleansed, as if his soul’s been wiped cleaner than it’s ever been in his entire life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Morning, and Béla can hardly force himself to listen to Francziska’s words. The same affirmations and denials that he’s heard so many times before wash over him, making about as much impression as the ripples of a puddle on a Budapest pavement. He can see the twitching end of Géza’s pencil out of the corner of his eye, and thinks sourly that he hardly needs to listen, in any case, as Géza’s doing all the listening for him. Asking the questions, too, something that Béla has presented as a special treat, but which is really a treat for Béla himself, allowing him to drift off and fantasise unmolested.
Their bags are packed and they plan to leave around midday. One of the taciturn old men of the village has, according to Sari, offered to give them a lift in his cart as far as a nearby village, from whence they will be able to pick up the train back to Város, and they should be there by nightfall. After an uneasy night, Sari’s smile when she knocked on the door first thing was like balm on a wound, and he realised after hours of troubling uncertainty that she will take him up on his offer. Perhaps not straight away, but he’s prepared to wait, especially now that he’s certain – because surely she couldn’t smile at him with such warmth if she were determined that they would never see each other again.
His head jerks slightly as Francziska says something particularly vehement, but it’s of no consequence, and he lets himself slip back into daydreams again, making a mental wager with himself that Sari and Rázsi will be in Város before the end of the year.
Béla’s roused by silence, and realises that Géza and Francziska are both looking at him expectantly. Clearly, the interview is over.
‘Well,’ he says jovially. ‘That concludes things, then.’
Francziska eyes him warily as they both get to their feet and move towards the door. Béla mumbles thanks and apologies, trying to make her see that it was nothing personal, they were just doing their job, and that she’s certainly managed to put their minds at rest. She nods and smiles and they move towards the door, collecting coats and bags on the way.
And then everything seems to happen at once. Géza picks up his case and as he turns towards the door, the case, gripped lightly in his hand, describes a shallow arc in the air, knocking against the side table that stands by Francziska’s door. Béla turns towards the sound of the disturbance, a reprimand for Géza on his lips, and they all watch as a narrow, inelegant vase on the table shudders, pirouettes slowly on its wide base, and falls on its side. From it
s gaping top something small appears, rolls inexorably across the top of the table, falls, hits the floor, and shatters, leaving glass fragments and white powder patterning the floorboards like an exploded star.
Sari had made her promise to get rid of it, of course, but Francziska hadn’t quite been able to make herself do it – you never knew when you might need it, she’d thought – and now she curses herself, silently, with every foul name that she can think of, as Géza kneels on the floor, collecting a few grains on the tip of his finger. They both turn towards her, questions rather than accusations on their faces, and Francziska realises that she could still have got away with it, at exactly the same time as she realises that she’s just given herself away by the expression of frozen, abject horror on her face.
‘It wasn’t just me,’ she says.
As soon as Jakova Gersek sees the two of them coming up the path to her house, she knows what they’re there for, and something curdles inside her. When they tell her that they’ve come from Francziska Imanci, she feels nothing but disgust and contempt for Francziska. Jakova has always known that Francziska is a coward, that if discovered, she would want to spread the blame as widely as possible, and she’s not surprised that Jakova’s name was the one Francziska chose to give up; the stupid bitch, too superstitious to implicate the midwives, as if they have some sort of power to curse anyone who acts against them. Well, Jakova certainly isn’t that stupid; it comes of being one of Orsolya Kiss’s friends, and as soon as it becomes clear that her flurry of furious denials are falling on deaf ears, the decision to spread the blame still wider isn’t a difficult one.
‘Sari Arany,’ she says.
On the other side of the room, the world crashes down on Béla’s head.
Her first mistake, Sari thinks, was ever to assume that she was safe. Her guts twist when she remembers the sense of light-hearted relief with which she woke up that morning. She should have known: it was never going to be over until the two of them were safely out of Falucska; until then, there was always the chance that something could go wrong.
She denies everything. Géza tells her that Francziska Imanci and Jakova Gersek have both confessed, and that the latter has implicated her. It’s a battle to stop her rage from showing on her face, but she manages it, swallows it down, showing only confusion. It’s not entirely an act; she can’t believe how quickly things have fallen apart, can’t believe that Francziska and Jakova have collapsed so quickly, surrendered to their own deaths. It’s not over, she tells herself. For Rózsi’s sake, and for her own, it’s not over.
Béla will not meet her eyes.
Béla is certain that if he spends one more second looking at the triumph and pride wreathing Géza’s boyish face, he will vomit. He doesn’t feel like himself any more; he feels somehow subtracted. He can’t believe it, it’s not true – the others, maybe, yes, but not Sari. It’s yet another example of how an intelligent, courageous, and unconventional woman is punished by a small, closed-minded community. And yet she’s been accused, and he cannot fail to act, because Géza will not let him pretend that nothing’s happened.
They are standing outside Sari’s house, and from the moment that the door shut behind him, Géza has not shut up about the logistics of what they have to do next. Béla’s hand itches with the desire to punch him.
‘Of course, now that the two of them have confessed, we have to arrest them,’ Géza says. ‘But there’s obviously a need for ongoing investigation in the village, so what should we do? We have to think of a way of securing Mrs Imanci and Mrs Gersek so that they don’t try and leave while we’re questioning other people.’
‘The church,’ Béla says dully. He can see it from where they stand – empty, with large double-doors that can be easily blocked from the outside, windows small and high enough to prevent escape.
Géza’s face lights up. ‘Excellent! We can shut them in there, while we … Well, and that’s the other question. What are we going to do about Miss Arany? We could arrest her on the strength of Mrs Gersek’s accusation, couldn’t we? She’s far more reliable than old Mrs Imanci was when Francziska Imanci was concerned, surely? Or if we needed more evidence, then we could go back to Francziska Imanci. If she hears that Mrs Gersek has implicated Miss Arany, surely she’d be prepared to back her up?’
He pauses, thinking. ‘On the other hand, if Miss Arany really is the one who supplied the poison to the other women, is it worth arresting her straight away? Perhaps we should watch her, see what she does. Perhaps she’ll go and warn some of the other women, and we’ll be able to take some more of them in …?’
It’s obvious that Géza is thinking aloud, barely expecting a response from Béla, who simply shrugs. Acid floods his stomach. Of course Sari isn’t responsible for this, there’s no way that he can reconcile the woman that he knows with the image of a murderess. And yet, there’s the question of her dead fiancé. What had she said? That he died ten years ago, around the time of the end of the war, making him the first of the ten-year plague of non-specific illnesses. He curses himself for even daring to think it. She wouldn’t, of course she wouldn’t. But she would know how, wouldn’t she? Of all the people in the village, she and Judit would know how. He bites his lip and tastes blood.
‘Let’s go and get Mrs Imanci and Mrs Gersek,’ he says to Géza, cutting him off mid-flow. ‘You’re right, it’s a good idea not to arrest Miss Arany straight away. We’ll see what she does.’
And pray God she does nothing, he thinks, but doesn’t say.
‘They’re back,’ Judit announces from her post at the window. She’s been stationed there since Géza and Béla left that morning. She was banished to the bedroom while they were talking to Sari, ostensibly looking after Rózsi, but of course she was crouched by the door the entire time, listening to what was going on, and when she’d emerged, Sari hadn’t had to explain anything to her. Sari has hardly moved since, poised at the table, but Judit knows that she is thinking, and she knows that giving up hasn’t crossed Sari’s mind. Judit’s given up, because it never mattered much to her in the first place. She’s had a very good run, and she always knew that it would end, and she’d said as much to Sari as soon as Béla and Géza left. She’d looked into Sari’s white, stricken face, and told her.
‘Don’t you dare think about me,’ she’d said. ‘I’m staying here. What will come will come. But you get out of here if you can, and take Rózsi with you.’
Sari hadn’t answered, just stared at her quizzically, and Judit had taken it as a challenge. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sari!’ she’d snapped. ‘I may well be dead before they even get me on the gallows. I couldn’t care less. All I care about is that you get yourself out of here.’
And Sari had nodded, and she hasn’t said another word since. Judit’s been giving her time to think, trying to help as much as she can by keeping her apprised of any developments. She watched Béla and Géza go off towards Francziska’s house, bring her back to the church and lock her inside. She watched them do the same with Jakova, and now they’ve come out of the church and are settling themselves just behind the porch of the Jokai house with only the tops of their heads visible, so that they would probably be overlooked by anyone who hadn’t been scrutinising their movements intently for the past half an hour. Judit feels a faint, indulgent contempt.
‘They’re watching the house,’ she tells Sari.
For a moment Sari stays as still as she’s been all morning, and then rouses herself, visibly sloughing off her thoughts.
‘They want to see what I’ll do,’ she says.
‘Yes,’ Judit agrees. She thinks it’s probably safe to leave the window now, and comes to sit opposite Sari at the table.
‘What do they want me to do?’ Sari asks. ‘What could I do now that would be any help to them?’
‘Francziska led them to Jakova. Jakova led them to you.’ Judit shrugs, leading Sari to draw her own conclusions.
‘They want me to lead them to other people,’ Sari says slowly.
She nods. ‘Yes, that makes sense. But if I do that, it’s as much as admitting what I’ve done.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘Jakova has already accused me. Francziska’s not going to hold out if she knows that Jakova’s already given them my name. They’ve got me whichever way you look at it, haven’t they?’
Judit grimaces. ‘Looks that way.’
‘So the question is whether I go down alone, or whether I take other people with me.’ She grins swiftly at Judit, but no, it’s not a grin; it’s more of a snarl, and Judit, familiar as she is with horror, feels her blood chill slightly. ‘Well, there’s no real question there, is there? If I’m going to hang, that bitch Kiss and her damn friends are going to be right beside me.’
Judit recovers quickly. ‘That’s the spirit. And there’s another thing, too.’
Sari thinks fast, and then smiles, a real smile this time. ‘There’s only the two of them. The more people I lead them to, the less time they can concentrate on me.’
‘You don’t need long. You know the area around here better than anyone else I’ve met. All you need is enough time to get back here, collect Rózsi and enough food to last for a little while, and get to the woods. Hide out there for a couple of days, until they’ve taken the others off to Város, and then go.’
Sari nods. There’s no point in asking where she should go. She remembers the conversation she had with Béla, just last night, about needing money to leave. Yes, of course she needs money, money would make this mess a whole lot easier, but if it’s a choice between life and death, it’s actually no decision at all. She knows enough about how to live off the land to ensure that she and Rózsi won’t starve. It’s a chance, enough of a chance to be worth taking.
‘Rózsi’s at Lujza’s,’ Sari says. ‘Go and get her. Pack enough food for a few days. Make sure it’s ready for when I come back.’
‘All right.’
Sari gets to her feet. ‘Right, then,’ she says. Impulsively she bends and kisses Judit’s withered cheek. ‘I love you, Judit.’
The Angel Makers Page 27