Iza's Ballad (25 page)

5

THE STONEMASON HAD
promised it for August, but the headstone wasn’t ready until the very end of October.

The old woman was clearly happy thinking of the journey; she was brighter and more talkative. Iza arranged her baggage, removing from the suitcase a range of useless items her mother wanted to take. The way Mrs Szo
̋
cs packed you’d have thought she was going for weeks in the country, not for three days. Iza removed two changes of shoes, an enormous bath towel and put the washing powder firmly back in the cupboard. Gica could lend her a bath towel and one pair of shoes on top of what she was wearing would be enough, what was the point of taking so many for such a short time? If she really needed washing powder she could call in at Kolman’s and buy some. On the other hand she should take her shawl because it would be just like Gica not to put on the heating even when there were visitors.

There were gifts in the suitcase too. After considerable thought the old woman had decided to give Gica a lead-crystal ashtray that weighed a ton, which annoyed Iza though she didn’t want to be carping all the time. It was not just that Gica didn’t smoke but that she frowned at anyone who did. The old woman had bought the ashtray because she liked its colour, it was such a dignified object, so heavy and priestly looking, with its black-and-white stripes. Maybe Gica had a customer who smoked and if she did it might be nice for them to drop their ash in such a gentle, pious-looking vessel, not in some light, brightly coloured and frivolous piece of pottery.

Iza didn’t say anything. She could have picked up something very like this once she got there, but there was no arguing with her when she was determined not to understand that she might not find a porter on her arrival. Her luggage was rather heavy to carry down to the tram stop as it was. Furthermore, the journey from the capital to the local station being about four hours, the old woman tentatively suggested that she’d like to take some food. Iza bought her a packet of biscuits.

The old woman was unusually agitated on the afternoon before the trip. She kept running out into the hall and opening and shutting the kitchen window, before retreating to a corner in a bad mood and watching everything from there. She fell silent after supper, as if in mourning, finally reconciled to her fate. Iza blushed with embarrassment when the conductor’s wife called at ten o’clock with some red roast chicken and a few pastries. ‘Sorry to be so late, ma’am,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t come earlier because the little girl had a tooth coming and was so grouchy it was hard to know what to do with her.’ Iza brought in the food to her mother and put it on the table. The unusually old face with its unusually youthful blue eyes took a quick look at it, then turned away. She looked very pale. The alarm clock set for dawn was ticking quietly beside her. Iza had arranged for a telephone wake-up call but the old woman didn’t trust it to wake her in case something happened at the exchange.

‘The whole block will be laughing at us,’ said Iza, ‘and, what is more, you are hiding things from me. That’s not very nice of you, dear. Do you imagine you’ll be travelling by mail coach? It’s only a four-hour journey! One roast chicken and a kilo of sweet pastry! Where will you put it? Will you eat it now? Because you might as well eat it. Why didn’t you ask Teréz to make you a little something if you thought the biscuits might not be enough? Why ask Mrs Botka, whom I hardly know? Did you pay her for baking?’

The old woman didn’t answer but drew the eiderdown up to her mouth, which made her look so strange Iza just stared at her.

‘I’m off tomorrow anyway,’ said the old woman without any show of emotion. ‘Leave me alone.’

Iza was almost in tears when she closed the door. She rang Domokos who, of course, was not at home though it was gone ten. Leave her alone! What had she ever done to deserve this? She was just making sure her mother would not be too exhausted with all that silly weight she felt obliged to carry. It was the first time she had been so hurt and offended. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing if her mother went away for a few days. Mrs Botka would tell Teréz what happened tomorrow. She wouldn’t keep quiet about it, of course, they had had a disagreement before, something to do with shaking out carpets, and she’d be all too happy to annoy her.

The old woman was just waiting for her to leave so she could get out of bed. A less than perfect napkin would have served the purpose but she couldn’t find one, so she wrapped the chicken, which was already in greaseproof paper, in a linen headscarf. She went to the cupboard and took out an old beer bottle filled with tea that she had managed to brew using the quick boiler she still possessed without either Iza or Teréz noticing. The smell quickly dispersed in the air that had turned unusually chill in the last few days.

She didn’t sleep a wink because she didn’t trust the alarm clock either and she didn’t want to be late for the train. Iza’s phone rang a little earlier than hers did, but then the alarm clock went off too. She felt proud to hear it. It was at least forty years old and what good service it had done! She slipped it into her string bag next to the food. Maybe Gica had no alarm clock. How would she wake up in time for the homeward journey then?

Iza had calmed down by the morning but she decided not to show it. Let her mother know what she thought of the roast chicken affair! When Domokos arrived with a taxi for them and she opened the old woman’s door to get the suitcase, she stopped on the threshold. She thought it was only a suitcase her mother was taking, now there was a string bag too. How would she be able to get up into the tram at the other end? She asked her but the old woman looked at her coldly as if she were an interfering stranger. The look in her eyes scared Iza.

‘I’ll get a taxi,’ said the old woman. ‘When I arrive I’ll get a taxi.’

Iza shrugged. She didn’t believe her mother would call a taxi and pay ten forint for the very short journey to Gica’s. No, she’d rather tell a lie so she could take her roast chicken and get her way. Once they got to the station and her temper had cooled, as it usually did with a little time, she pulled herself together again. Surely she couldn’t let her mother set off on a journey like this with that miserable string bag?

‘Mama,’ she said and took hold of her arm. ‘Leave the food behind. There’s a dining car on the train and you can eat all the way if you want. Don’t be so difficult.’

‘No,’ said the old woman. She pushed away Domokos’s helping arm and clambered up into the carriage by herself. They didn’t say anything, but got on the train with her, put the suitcase into the rack and the string bag into the baggage holder above her head. The old woman took the seat facing forward. Domokos gave her some magazines to read. She thanked him, then she linked her gloved fingers to signal that she no longer required their company. She wore a blank expression. It was barely polite.

They stayed with her until the train was about to start, Domokos even succeeding in making her laugh once. Iza opened her handbag and slipped her another three hundred forints just in case she suddenly needed something at the other end. The old woman stiffened again, her face filled with suspicion. She glanced at the fat woman opposite who was reading a women’s magazine and didn’t even look up. ‘She is worried she might be robbed,’ thought Iza, shaking with nerves.

Two minutes before departure they kissed her and were obliged to get off.

Domokos pulled down the window for her so that she might be able to wave and she did in fact rest her elbows on the open window to wave her black, lace-edged, scrupulously clean handkerchief. Iza’s eyes glistened and Domokos knew why: the face looking at them was polite, indifferent, without any expression, nothing suggesting either that she was leaving with a heavy heart, or that she was pleased to be on her way. The old woman was waving without any feeling at all, the way she had been taught in childhood. Iza burst into tears and covered her face with her handkerchief. There was a great deal behind her frustration: roast chickens, alarm clocks, even the woman on the train, chewing nuts and reading the magazine. The train set off and disappeared. Domokos drew Iza to him and kissed her. He had never kissed her in such a public place, nor would Iza normally have allowed it. This time she did. It felt good. The station seemed a neutral place.

Iza knew her face must be smeared with tears and wiped them away. ‘Is he sorry for me?’ she wondered in a panic. ‘Does he think I’m someone to feel pity for?’ She was in a mess, a blend of joy and uncertainty, it was like stumbling about in the dark with strange soft objects stroking her face and brow. ‘I could marry him if I wanted,’ thought Iza and the thought made her feel stronger, washing away the anger and sorrow that had taken control of her when the old woman left. ‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘I’ll marry him.’

The ring road was loud with morning traffic. Domokos’s ginger hair and amber eyes comforted her with their familiarity. He was holding her hand as he always did on busy roads, watching the traffic to see whether they could bolt across. Domokos liked playing this kind of game, enjoying the excitement of cheating traffic cops. But Iza still felt he pitied her, and her own feelings were a peculiar mixture of relief, nervousness and confusion.

*

The train seat was comfortable and there was a small lamp above her to use when it got dark. She clung to her handbag with both hands because she sensed the woman chewing American peanuts was giving her a good look now and then. It was a long time before she finally resolved to go to the toilet because she feared someone might steal her luggage and leave the train with it, but slowly she relaxed. She had a brief conversation with the woman opposite, who asked her if she didn’t mind her smoking as she fancied a cigarette, and it turned out the woman was a teacher or an inspector of some sort on her way to examine a school in the provinces. That set her mind at ease. She liked and trusted teachers, and the woman had a half-price ticket so she must be telling the truth. She didn’t feel hungry, of course, but she was thirsty so she took a few gulps of her tea. She was glad she had brought it. She had been on train journeys with Aunt Emma when the train was held up for a long time and it was good to have brought food along then. The thought of the roast chicken filled her with an extraordinary sense of security. It might not be required on the journey but even if not, at least she could surprise Gica with it since she felt awkward about staying with her for nothing. Gica was poor.

She spent some time looking out of the window. The train was fast but did make a few stops. The landscape was foggy and grey at first, then the clouds broke and suddenly it was bright. When Iza took her to Pest the express had been too fast and she didn’t see very much. This time she could take in some of the places they passed.

The landscape wasn’t as she remembered it, everything was more orderly somehow. Instead of scattered farmsteads there were chimneys and long buildings that looked like stables or would have suggested stables had they not looked so much like public buildings. Every so often she spotted a school in the middle of nowhere and, at the odd crossroads, a brand-new house set in a brown field. ‘Everything has changed,’ the old woman thought. ‘I can’t tell what is what any more, only that nothing is as it was.’ She did not recognise the bridge over the River Tisza, the bridge being new and of a strange modern shape, and a couple of hours later she got a fright when she thought she saw the same bridge again and seemed to be going in the wrong direction, heading back to Pest. The school inspector had long got off but the new passengers looked reassuring enough and were talking about canals. She took a long look out of the window again but there was no canal anywhere to be seen, nor had there ever been any kind of canal in the area. A lot of people took their leave at Dorozs, huffing and puffing, making a fuss. The train stopped for only two minutes but that was enough to crowd the station.

A few miles from her place of birth she was alone in the compartment.

She kept looking out, her eyes hungrily seeking the familiar. Soon she recognised the acacias. They came just before the quivering woods full of anaemic trees. If she could call out to the bushes they would answer, she felt. She linked her hands as in prayer. She was back home, in the county that had seen her grow from a baby into a young woman and finally enter widowhood. Vince seemed much closer now than before. It was this soil in which he was laid. The landscape was a part of him.

The conductor called in to announce that her birthplace was the next stop and lifted down both her suitcase and the string bag without being asked. She was radiantly happy and at peace. It was like the last time she went to church, when they christened Iza. Everything seemed to hover around her. She blushed. Her breath came faster. She recognised the railway buildings and the neon sign for the station, which was turned off now, of course, and she almost stepped from the still moving train. Someone handed her her luggage and she stood on the platform, unable to move at first, gazing around her in the wind that was not a light breeze but a biting lowland gust that had a familiar smell. It smelled of home. She didn’t notice how heavy her suitcase was or how the string bag was dragging at her arm, she simply drifted out with the crowd. In the square was the statue of Peto
̋
fi raising his arms to the sky, his eyes in a wild reverie as if to announce the great poet’s immortality. It was a gesture as simple as a bird spreading its wings. She sniffled a little, wept and glowed, telling herself she was home again.

There was a great crowd of people at the tram stop so she let the first tram go and managed to clamber on to the second. No one thought to help her and she had to grapple with the suitcase by herself. She succeeded in blocking the door for a moment in doing so and the conductor barked at her, as did the other passengers, so that, in her panic, she caused an even greater obstruction until, finally, a boy snatched the suitcase out of the way to let other passengers on. Hearing annoyed voices, she immediately pulled herself together. This was even more familiar than the raking wind – they were telling her off. ‘I’ve caused trouble,’ the old woman thought in shame. ‘I’m always causing trouble.’