They Were Counted (49 page)

A man looked briefly out through the door and recognizing Abady and his companions, muttered something indistinctly and disappeared again. He had been in the doorway just long enough for the visitors to see that the carpenter was in his shirt-sleeves and that, naturally, they must wait for a moment while, for
decency’s
sake, he put on his jacket so as to be able to greet them properly dressed.

‘How can I serve you, gentlemen?’ he asked when he came back into the workshop.

‘We would like to have a look at the house and see what
condition
it’s in,’ said Balint.

The carpenter at once began a litany of complaints: ‘By your Lordship’s leave, it’s in a terrible state! The paintwork’s all
peeling
! There’s a crack where one of the cornerstones has moved! The inner room is so damp that everything gets mildew at once! And there’s a cracked beam that, by your leave, my Lord,’ and he went on, hoping that this way he might obtain a reduction in the rent.

The visitors inspected the dirty and dilapidated rooms where the carpenter and his wife lived in great disorder. Then they went to the tailor’s part of the house, which was no better and where unmended windows had been blocked up with paper.

The party then went to look at the outside of the building. It was true that one corner had shifted where the foundation stones were displaced. Water from a nearby pigsty had overflowed and collected at the corner of the house, eating away at the earth until a small lake of dirty water had formed in which a yearling pig was rubbing itself against the loose foundations. The carpenter and the tailor, both surrounded by their broods of children,
followed
Abady and by their endless complaints tried to distract his attention from the dirt and refuse that was everywhere such damning proof of their own neglect of the property. The
carpenter’s
little son got in everyone’s way. Wherever the visitors went the child always managed to stand by Abady’s feet, staring up at him and picking his nose with his right forefinger. No matter how much the mother threatened the child would not leave Abady’s side.

The little group of farmers who had come on from the meeting stood apart from the others, listening in silence to all that was said but seeming unconcerned as if nothing of it was of any
importance
to them. Balint expounded his plans: the tailor’s apartment would become the co-operative’s office, the pantry would be for the society treasurer, the big room that the carpenter used as a workshop would become the library, which could also be used for meetings and lectures, and the rooms where the carpenter now lived would be just the place for the caretaker who, by living on the premises, would be able to act both as watchman and gardener.

After examining the house Balint went to look at the garden where now there were only a few acacia trees and an old lilac bush. A muddy stream of water bordered by some reeds formed a bog at one side, while on the other there was a field still covered with patches of snow which showed signs of once having been planted with potatoes. A few dried-up maize stalks were further evidence that the garden was still in partial cultivation.

‘Is there a spring here?’ asked Abady, pointing to the boggy patch.

‘Indeed there is! And more’s the pity!’ said the carpenter. ‘They tell me it used to run freely in the old days, but it got blocked up years ago. That’s why the place is so wet in some places and dried up in others!’

‘Why don’t you put it in order?’ asked Balint. Turning to his companions, he explained how the spring could be made to
irrigate
the model garden. They would only have to dig out a
winding
trench with catchments at each corner and the whole area would be properly watered, just as they did in Bulgaria. It was a blessing that there should be a natural water supply at this height above the town.

Balint’s companions all agreed, with unqualified enthusiasm, to everything the count suggested. The proposals were
magnificent
, everything should be carried out just as the count suggested. Of course, they said, there was the question of cost. Repairs would be needed as the property could not be used in its present state. Finance would have to be found.

‘If the Co-operative and the Farmers’ Club paid a rent then of course my mother would be responsible for the repairs.
However
, I hope that she will make the property available free of charge as it’s for the public good. If that were the case then
naturally
the society and the club would be expected to pay the repairs … but very little is involved, just a few hours’ work by the mason and some attention to the drainage. All that would be well and truly covered by the profits made on the garden’s products, as long as it is properly handled, of course.’

‘Of course! Naturally!’ echoed his audience. ‘It’s nothing at all! Hardly worth mentioning! We’ll get it done, never fear!’

They walked back to the main square where everyone took their leave and went home to lunch. Balint went alone to the Grand Restaurant Gsillag, which he now realized was no more than the dining-room of the inn where he was staying. He was pleased to be on his own after the morning’s work, however
successful
it appeared to have been. When the innkeeper brought his coffee he brought up a chair, sat down and started to talk.

At first he confined himself to flattering comments, saying how magnificent were his Lordship’s plans for their little
community
, how lucky they were to have a Parliamentary representative who took an interest in them, who was so generous as to offer his property as a gift for the benefit of all. Several times he said how grateful they all were. Afterwards he began, carefully, to ask more detailed questions, into which were woven a few remarks
intended
to give rather than obtain information. As regards the Farmers’ Club, which he supposed would really just be for
peasants
rather than country gentlefolk; it would not have a licence to sell liquor, would it? His Lordship would realize, of course, that it would not be at all for the public good if the people started doing their drinking anywhere than the inn in the town where he could keep an eye on them. Here he could not only see that no one got too drunk – which was bad for them – but also, by
listening
to what they said among themselves, he was able to make the inn an unrivalled centre for local ‘intelligence’!

The innkeeper looked enquiringly at Abady. He was
immediately
reassured and looked greatly relieved when Abady said there would be no question of either liquor or cards at the
Farmers
’ Club. The plan was to provide a place for study and serious conversation, not for debauchery and carousing. There would be lectures on agricultural subjects, or modern farming methods and ways of making marketing more profitable. Books and
newspapers
would be available and, if these did not prove enough, then perhaps they could build a bowling alley where the people could go on Sundays.

‘Bowling?’ asked the innkeeper, now thoroughly alarmed again. ‘Bowling? Oh, no! That wouldn’t be a good idea at all! I wouldn’t do that!’

‘Why ever not?’

The innkeeper stammered a little, looking for arguments that would convince the count without having to reveal what was uppermost in his mind.

‘Well … because, you see, there’s always fighting where there’s bowling, lots of trouble, arguments, blows! People get hurt. I know, because we’ve got one here, partly on the chemist’s land, partly on mine. Oh, how I wish we hadn’t done it! Always
trouble
, nothing but trouble! But I can’t stop it now. It’s there. It cost a lot of money … so you see I have to go on with it. But, of course, they respect me. I’ve got a certain authority and I can keep them in order. If they went bowling somewhere else, well, you see, your Lordship, that’d lead to trouble!’

Balint saw. The innkeeper’s worry was indeed perfectly clear, and Balint, who had no desire to harm anyone’s private interests, quickly set his mind at rest.

‘I never thought of it like that! Most interesting! Well, we’ll have to think it all out most carefully. I’m not even sure there’s enough level ground anyway!’

The innkeeper cheered up at this and, growing more voluble than ever, he offered himself to go and measure up the available space, check over the grounds, and send an immediate report as soon as he had discovered whether the idea of a bowling alley was feasible. That it was unlikely to be found to be feasible, though Balint was not to know this, was proved by the fact that as soon as Abady had left, the inn-keeper hurried over to see his friend, the chemist, to whom he expressed his deep distrust of Balint’s good faith.

‘That Farmers’ Club idea, we must do everything to stop it,’ he started, and the two of them sat down and began to think hard about the many dangers that menaced their mutually profitable association. It was perhaps appropriate that the room that they chose for this essentially private conversation was the little
dispensary
where the chemist kept his poison cupboard and the stock of illicit tobacco which had to be hidden from the Customs inspectors.

 

Balint then went to see the notary. They had agreed that morning to discuss technical and legal aspects of Balint’s projects that afternoon before he took the evening train back to Kolozsvar. The notary, Daniel Kovacs, had proposed this himself, saying that he would take care of everything.

The office was on the ground floor of the Town Hall and the notary’s wide desk was placed facing the wall. Daniel Kovacs sat at the centre with a pile of documents on each side of him and a pen in his right hand, taking each document in turn from the pile at his right, noting what action was required on the
document
, entering its number and date in the registers he kept open propped against the wall in front of him, and then placing it face downwards on the pile at his left.

When Abady entered the office Daniel was busy writing ‘…
Peter
Nagy,
Andras
and
Ilona
Nagy,
wife
of
Salaman
Szasz,
and
Vasili
Niag,
the
son
of Petre,
petitioning
about
the
division
of
property
are
advised that a decree of judgment
,
No.
16–273
1
904,
has
been
given
under
which
…’ and he was so engrossed in his work that it was a
moment
or two before he noticed that Abady was in the room. Then he jumped up, pushed his reading glasses on to his forehead, took off his elbow-guards and pulled up a chair for his visitor.

They started talking about what had happened that morning at the meeting and afterwards at the Abady house.

‘Naturally I am entirely at your Lordship’s service,’ said the notary. ‘I think the plans for a co-operative at Lelbanya most practical and helpful. I have some experience of such things,’ he went on, smiling, ‘as I used to be assistant notary in the Szekler part of the province and we had a co-operative there. I was its
secretary
, so you see, my Lord, I really do appreciate what your Lordship is doing in trying to help the people here.’

Balint was becoming used to meeting nothing but agreement and obsequious praise, and though as yet he was by no means
suspicious
of the good faith of those with whom he talked, he was nevertheless unconsciously becoming somewhat cautious. He
answered
the notary non-committally, while studying his
appearance
, which he found unusual and interesting. Kovacs was a man of medium height, but he looked taller than he really was as a
result
of being exceptionally thin. He must have been about forty and had a bald head above a high forehead. Dark bushy eyebrows shaded a pair of brown eyes in which intelligence and goodwill held a fair balance. Indeed it was the notary’s eyes that made his face particularly interesting for in them was an unmistakable
expression
of benevolence which illumined and irradiated a face which would otherwise have seemed tired, disillusioned and
careworn
. Two deep furrows were etched from each side of his nose until concealed by his moustaches, and the lines on his forehead suggested many years of toil and worry. Above all Daniel Kovacs gave an instant impression of being alert and helpful.

‘The peasants, of course, don’t understand the idea, not yet,’ he said. ‘Neither do most of the others, for that matter, but the peasants least of all. Anything new takes them by surprise and they’re always suspicious of anything that comes from townsfolk. No matter what is suggested they’ll always think people are out to swindle them! Set a trap for them!’