They Were Counted (50 page)

‘But what trap could be in this? They’re getting the house,
garden
and library for nothing. They can elect who they like to the co-operative committee. What more do they want?’

‘They don’t know what they want. They’re just naturally
suspicious
because they don’t understand, poor souls. Your Lordship shouldn’t forget that they’ve every reason to distrust people. No matter with whom they have to deal, bailiffs, salesmen, everyone is always out for their own advantage whatever they may say, and a peasant has to be pretty spry not to be cheated. It’s true! One day they’ll begin to realize that it really is for their own good, but it’ll take time. Has your Lordship thought who should be the co-operative’s first president?’

‘I was going to ask you, Mr Notary. Would you accept?’

‘I am afraid that it’s not in my power as I have an official
position
. The best choice, if I may say so, would be the Protestant
pastor
. He is a good man, and I could do any official business that was needed until he gets to know the ropes.’

Kovacs then pulled down the register of town voters to check what other names he could put forward for the different posts to be filled. ‘I’ll tackle them one by one, if your Lordship agrees, and explain to them what is involved. Of course, the first priority is to form the co-operative itself. When we’ve got all the
committee
members appointed and everything’s running smoothly, then perhaps it should be the turn of the Farmers’ Club. As for the house, well, perhaps we had better leave that for the moment! When they see how much they need the premises they’ll come asking for it themselves.’

‘That’s funny,’ said Balint, ‘I thought the offer of the house would be the first thing to attract them!’

Kovacs gave a slight smile as he replied: ‘Better this way round. Go slowly, your Lordship, these folk have a lot to learn!’ The
notary
was thinking of what he had heard when they walked round the property that morning. The farmers who had hung back from the main party had been muttering rebelliously among
themselves
, saying that the only reason the Count offered them this rotten property was that he didn’t want to have to pay for the
repairs
himself. And they asked themselves why they should be
expected
to fork out money on someone else’s decaying old house. As for the proposed model market-garden, all that would do would be to make it impossible for their wives to earn some extra money by selling the produce of their own little plots. If some fancy gardener was raising finer vegetables in the model garden, who would buy the little strings of onions, the few beans and
peppers
that the farmers’ wives used to take to market? And why should they pay good money for a gardener’s wages when all he’d do would be to take the bread out of their own mouths? The
notary
was thinking of all this when he advised Abady to go slowly as regards the house. He recalled, too, the count’s disastrous last words at the morning meeting – ‘God helps those who help
themselves
!’ Whatever Abady may have intended, the very vagueness of this phrase had made a bad impression on those used to the nonsense spouted by demagogues at election times. They did not have to go to special meetings to hear such phrases as ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ What they wanted was something real, something tangible.

Bearing all this in mind the notary said: ‘They’ve got to learn how to serve the community themselves, and not to expect that everything is handed to them on a plate! They’re all far too used to having things given to them. Of course they were spoiled by getting money at the time of the elections! That’s why they’ve no interest in matters of public welfare, as there is in other small towns.’

Balint thought about the odd circumstances when he had been elected himself. ‘Honestly now, tell me, did they get money at the last election? I’d very much like to know!’

Kovacs smiled. ‘At the last election, no! I can guarantee that at neither of your Lordship’s elections did money pass. You can rest assured of that!’

For the first time in their talk the notary had found himself
obliged
to go further than merely suppressing part of the truth. These last words were a lie. He knew perfectly well all the details of how Azbej and Cherrytree had rigged the elections between them and how they had been cursed for it by the electorate.
However
, he felt that the moment had come for discretion and when motives of self-protection must outweigh other considerations. The count must be told what he clearly wanted to hear, whether true or not; because if he were told what everyone had conspired to keep from him, it was certain that sooner or later Azbej would revenge himself on whoever had revealed the truth.

Abady was most relieved. He had been worried about the
election
and now knew he would have to find some explanation other than that he had feared. Filled with goodwill to the notary, he started to thank him for all his help and co-operation.

‘I really am most grateful to you, Mr Notary,’ he said. ‘I can see how busy you are,’ he continued, pointing to the piles of official documents on the desk, ‘and I do appreciate all that you have agreed to do!’

Kovacs waved at the evidence of his work in a gesture of
dismissal
: ‘I’m quite used to it! After sixteen years I can carry the
burden
. That’s what the town notary’s for! Not many people appreciate just what it involves. Why, there isn’t a new law made by a minister, country sheriff, or instruction concerning taxes or building standards, or whatever, that doesn’t come through this office and fall on my shoulders. People at the top don’t realize, when they make even a quite simple order, that all the burden falls on those on the lowest rung of the ladder. No matter how hard a notary works he’s always in arrears … and not only that, if he makes a mistake, there’s the disciplinary commission
hanging
over his head! But, never fear, what your Lordship has in mind won’t add too much to the load. I’ll do it gladly!

‘I really am deeply grateful,’ said Balint, shaking his hand warmly. ‘If I can be of any service, I’d be very happy.’

‘Your Lordship is most kind,’ said the notary, ‘but for the
moment
I cannot think of anything. Perhaps one day in the future. In the meantime I serve my country!’

Abady then took his leave of the notary and made his way to the pastor’s house. As he went he reflected that nothing he had learned during his law studies at the university had given him the smallest insight into the tremendous work-load that a country
notary
had to shoulder.

Daniel Kovacs stood for a moment on the threshold of his office following Balint with his eyes until he arrived at the front door of the priest’s house. Then he returned to his desk and, as it was starting to get dark, lit the paper-shaded paraffin lamp that stood on his desk.

This count isn’t a bad fellow, he thought to himself, not a bad fellow at all, but, oh dear, how little he knows about life! He’s like a child in some matters, but I won’t let them take advantage of him! And he sat pensively for a little while before putting on his glasses, picking up the next document from the pile on his right, and starting to read:

I
N THE NEXT FEW WEEKS
Balint went back to Lelbanya twice, on the first occasion to bring with him the General
Secretary
of the Hungarian Co-operative Movement’s central
office
, and on the second to attend a meeting of the preparatory committee. This last went far better than he had expected and Balint was surprised by the degree of serious attention that the townsfolk of Lelbanya devoted to the project, which, of course, was principally due to the notary’s discreet and well-thought-out preparations.

Even at this meeting some of those present themselves raised the question of the property, proposing that the tailor’s lodging should be immediately taken over so as to allow the co-operative to move its office there. As it happened the majority were opposed to this, which suited Balint as his mother had unexpectedly
opposed
cancelling the tenants’ leases.

‘I am very, very surprised’, said Countess Roza one night as she drank her after-dinner coffee, ‘that you should have seen fit to make plans for the house at Lelbanya without first mentioning the matter to me!’ Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo had already left the room on a gesture from the countess, who went on, ‘You can
imagine
what I felt when the first I hear about it all is when those poor people feel impelled to write to me themselves from Lelbanya … not from you, but from our poor tenants!

Balint apologized to his mother. He explained that he had not wanted to bother her until he had first seen the property and checked that the project was feasible and the house convenient for the purpose he had in mind and, when he had seen it, there had not appeared to be any reason to raise the matter as nothing had yet been proposed officially.

Countess Roza was not to be mollified. ‘That is not the point! I am saying that you did this behind my back and that I am
extremely
hurt and upset! The first thing I hear about it is – well, read it for yourself! It’s from the tailor and the joiner …’ and she fished a letter out of the Chinese lacquer bowl that stood on the table in front of her.

‘Have
mercy
on
us,
most
Noble
and
Gracious
Countess!
On
bended
knees
we
beg
…
’
and so on, one obsequious phrase leading to the next and all of them describing their terrible plight in terms of humble flattery. They related how they and their families had ever been devoted servants to the Noble and Gracious Countess’s family, how they were now menaced with losing their livelihood and being thrown out on the streets with their helpless children, how they kept the property in good order, as far as they were able, and paid their rents regularly, when they could, how they were
beggared
by the expense of maintenance and were already in a state of dire misery and if, now they were to have to take to the roads like vagrant beggars … And so it went on, with many repetitions but only one theme.

‘These good people are lying to you, Mama,’ said Balint after reading the letter. ‘The house and gardens are both in a
disgraceful
condition because of
their
negligence, no one else’s! I’ve seen it all for myself. Azbej told me that the carpenter hasn’t paid a sou in years and he was about to give notice to the tailor for the same reason.’

‘This does not concern Azbej! He has no authority in these matters!’ said Countess Roza stiffly. ‘Azbej does what I tell him to do and I will not have these poor people thrown out on the street for no reason. I have never done such things and I don’t
intend
to start now. When the property is yours you can do what you like! But while I’m alive we’ll have none of these new
methods
, if you please!’ And she glared at Balint crossly, her little eyes bulging with anger.

‘My dear Mama, I really didn’t think …’ started Balint, but he was not allowed to continue.

‘All right! But let it be clearly understood I don’t want to hear anything more about it. And, what’s more, you will please
remember
to speak to me before you raise such things with other people!’

This was the first time that Balint had had a collision with his mother since she had asked him to take more part in the running of their estates.

The experience taught him that he would have to proceed with great caution as it was obvious that his mother was by no means as prepared to relinquish the reins as she had previously
suggested
. About two weeks later, therefore, when Kalman Nyiresy, the forest supervisor, brought in the report for which Balint had asked, he went immediately to his mother taking with him the old plans of the forests which Nyiresy now admitted he had found among the archives. Countess Roza was delighted and gave Balint a free hand at once.

 

The weeks and months passed. Spring arrived, and whenever Balint found himself in Kolozsvar he would go, as dusk was
falling
, to visit Adrienne. He would usually go on foot and, as he walked down the Monostor road he would always ask himself the same questions: What did he want from Adrienne? What was the use of all this? Did he really want to start something that couldn’t be stopped and would tie him down, for he certainly did not want to lose his independence to any woman? Life should be lived without that sort of encumbrance. No commitments, that was always best. But if that is what he felt why was he pursuing Adrienne, when there were plenty of other women around with whom he could amuse himself without any problems? Each time he walked up the Monostor road he was assailed by the same
confused
thoughts and ideas.

Sometimes another voice spoke within him, a voice more
cynical
, more arrogant, a voice that laughed at his scruples and
self-searching
, and which accused him of behaving more like a timid schoolboy than a grown man of the world. This was the voice that said Balint was a fool, which scorned his moral reticence and laughed at his failure to end their little game of caresses by a
serious
and determined onslaught. ‘Take her, you timid little college boy!’, it said.

And one day, as they were lying close to each other on the
cushions
in front of the fire, it was to this second voice that Balint listened.

As so often they had been talking about love but, whereas in what Balint said there was always a hidden meaning, a purpose that he felt impelled to conceal from her, when Adrienne spoke her words were cool, impersonal, genuine reflections of what was in her mind. She talked of love as calmly and logically as she might of painting, sculpture or books, and her opinions were
radical
and modern. Marriage, said Adrienne, was an old-fashioned and meaningless institution. Nobody had the right to limit the freedom of another individual. All women as well as men should be free to act as they chose, as much with their bodies as with their thoughts. This was the only undisputed right that was accorded to mankind. Free will must be paramount. If you wanted to – and, shying away from the subject, she paused before going on to say that of course it was incomprehensible that anyone should want to ruin their lives just for that – then it should be their own affair and no one else’s. She herself would never judge anyone for going against the judgment of society. If that’s what they wanted, well, let them! It seemed to Balint as if her
disappointment
in her own marriage echoed through her words and
encouraged
him to hope that this was the moment for which he had been waiting, the moment when he should press for more. Gently murmuring words of agreement and encouragement, he started his attack by pressing his mouth into the back of her neck and gently covering with kisses that part where the almost invisible hairs are as soft and velvety as the skin of a peach. It was here too that her very individual woman’s scent seemed at its strongest.

Finally, when she paused for a moment he pressed her down violently, thrusting forward his shoulder to push her farther down among the cushions, his hands searching, searching, searching … For a brief moment Adrienne did not react; then, with the speed of a panther at bay, she jumped up and stood, back to one of the stone columns of the fireplace, tense, angry and defensive. She looked at Balint with hatred and amazement, outraged,
unable
to find words adequate to express her fury.

‘What? What?’ She was panting with emotion. ‘How dare you!’

Balint bowed his head humbly, without moving from where he sat at her feet. ‘Forgive me!’ he said. ‘Please forgive me!’ And he tried to cover up with a lie, saying that he had slipped, that it was an accident, that he hadn’t meant anything … really
nothing
at all!

Adrienne stood there without speaking, mutinous, looking at him with distrust, in her eyes the look of an animal that feels trapped and unsure of itself. After much pleading and more
abject
apologies from Balint she agreed once again to sit down
beside
him on the cushions, but apart, not close as before. This time she sat opposite him, her legs drawn up under her, defiant, coiled like a spring and ready to leap up and flee at his smallest move. Balint felt that she did not believe a word he said to her as she sat there, tense and strained, and so, after about half an hour of
halting
conversation on totally impersonal subjects, he got up to say goodbye. Adrienne gave him her hand but when he asked if he could call again on the following day, she said that she had some calls to make in the town and would not be at home.

‘Perhaps I could walk with you when you go calling? At least that way we could see each other,’ said Balint.

‘Very well. I suppose you could, though I don’t yet know who I’ll be visiting or when.’

And so they parted.

 

Balint was very angry. He blamed himself far more than he blamed Adrienne and even now he could not make up his mind exactly where the fault lay nor where he had gone wrong.

Once again two warring voices competed in his brain, the one despising him for being a coward and not following up his
advantage
by taking her regardless of any resistance. This voice told him that he would never achieve what he wanted by hesitating until the moment had passed, and that even if she had been angry at first all women calmed down as soon as it was over. And if she didn’t calm down? Well, then, what would it matter? At least he would have had her once! But the other voice was stronger and more convincing. This voice blamed him for even trying when he knew that she was not ready and did not want it. What an ugly and joyless coupling it would have been if he had succeeded,
humiliating
to both of them. Nothing would have been achieved, never again would he be able to pass those afternoons in her arms, those extraordinary, childish, unfulfilled hours when they lay
innocently
, their bodies entwined in a brotherly passionless
intimacy
, and when he was obliged to be content with the light caresses that were all that this woman, so strangely ignorant of what was meant by love, would allow him.

It was incredible that Adrienne could permit those endless fondling caresses, light wandering kisses, contact between their hands, legs and bodies, and still remain cool and unaroused while he was bursting with desire, as full of tension as a tightly drawn bow-string. Up until now this strange anomaly had charged him with power and pleasure until after he had left her as dusk fell,
intoxicated
but not disappointed, giddy with the effort to control himself, but happy too, always happy. But on this day he was sad and depressed. Something had spoilt the magic for him and he could think only of how he could regain that strange paradise where, unlike Eden, the fruit of knowledge was not to be plucked.