They Were Counted (87 page)

It was not a question but a bare statement of fact, nothing else: a little, sad, resigned phrase that summed up all that had been going on in her mind.

Laszlo replied slowly, still looking upwards at nothing in
particular
. His voice too was very soft; and he seemed infinitely sad and very, very tired:

‘No. I can’t say I truly love you.’

T
HE
TURMOIL OF EMOTION
that had overwhelmed him in Uzdy’s fast carriage, after he had slipped unobserved into Adrienn’s room before making his formal farewells to old
Countess
Uzdy, had still not evaporated when Balint arrived in the town square of Banffy-Hunyad early in September.

He drove straight to the station where the clock on the tower told him that it was not yet midday and that he had somehow to get through a two hours’ wait before the next train left for
Kolozsvar
. What should he do with all this time on his hands? Still
tormented
by his thoughts he drove to the Tigris Hotel and ordered an early lunch. Though it was market day in the town and the main square was filled with a multitude of people dressed in their best finery, Balint sat alone, unable to think of anything but those last few moments in the dark room beside Adrienne’s bed. Try as he would he could find no way of calming himself, and he
realized
that he could not yet face going back to Denestornya where he would have to talk dispassionately to his mother about Almasko and find some convincing reason as to why he had returned earlier than expected. His mother was sure to cross-question him about the visit and Balint felt quite unable to face, let alone parry, the anxious, loaded enquiries she was sure to make.

The only answer, obviously, would be not to go home at all but to go somewhere else where he would be able to get rid of all that pent-up energy and emotion in the physical tiredness which would spring from activity and hard work. Where? The
mountains
, of course; he would go straight to the mountains, where he always had work to do and where the outdoor life was hard and exhausting. It was true that no one was expecting him, but that hardly mattered as his tent and all his camping equipment was kept at Nyiresy’s. Everything he needed, even his mountain boots and warm clothes, was there in the little room that he had had put at his disposal at the forest manager’s house at Beles. And it was just as well sometimes to arrive unannounced.

He sent someone to find the forester, Honey Zutor, who, as it was market day was sure to be in the town where he was a
prominent
and respected citizen. In an hour or two Zutor had procured him a carriage and some adequate horses, and by four o’clock they were on the road. The carriage was laden with a good supply of smoked bacon, bread and cornmeal packed hurriedly in with blankets, flour and cheeses, especially cottage cheese for the
gor
nyiks
.
Liquor they would obtain at Beles. The road was good, for it was much used in the autumn, and the weather was dry, even up on the normally rain-soaked meadows on top of the
Csonka-Havas
ridge. This was unusual on that particular watershed so the carriage passed easily. It was just after nine o’clock when they drove up to the wooden fence of the forest manager’s house.

Here Balint was surprised to see, beyond the wide forecourt, that the veranda of the house was brightly lit by lanterns and a big party was in progress. Men and women were moving about and the sound of a gypsy band could be heard. Maids bustled around a long table carrying trays, and two of the younger forest guards in their formal livery were filling up the glasses from large cut-glass decanters.

Abady had the carriage stopped in front of the entrance gate. After a few moments’ pause, he said: ‘Zutor! Go inside and bring me my mountain boots, tent and sleeping bag. You know where they are, don’t you? And don’t forget my rubber washing-bowl.’

The forester knew that his master was angry because when he was in a good mood he always used his nickname, Honey.
Accordingly
he clicked his heels smartly and replied with formal brevity: ‘As you command, my Lord!’

‘I shall also need my big Tyrolean raincoat, the folding chair, the iron kettle and the case of knives and forks. Bring those too; we’ll find room for them somewhere. I shall wait here.’

Zutor hesitated for a moment before asking: ‘How far does your Lordship intend going? We can’t get far into the mountains with the carriage.’

‘Just to the bend of the road. We’ll camp there for the night.’

Honey saluted without a word and turned on his heel. Annoyed though he was, Balint could not help being amused to notice how smartly the forester, rifle on his back, marched away to obey his master’s orders. His broad shoulders were etched in black in front of the illuminated glitter from the veranda and as he mounted the steps he stamped his feet noisily as if he were Nemesis arriving to confront old Kalman Nyiresy.

When Honey told the old manager that Count Abady was in his carriage at the door, the pipe nearly dropped from the old man’s mouth. Commotion raged. The gypsies fell silent and all the guests peered outside. No matter how hard they tried they could see nothing; but Balint, from where he sat, could easily
recognize
some of them; the notary Gaszton Simo, the director of the sawmills and the sheriff of the Hunyad county district – all of whom he had met on his last visit – and, at one end of the table, Timbus, the Romanian
popa
from Gyurkuca.

Nyiresy got up and disappeared into the house with Zutor. Two of the
gornyiks
went with them. They were followed by three girls and Balint thought that he recognized two of them as the priest’s daughters whom he had seen when he had gone up into the mountains the previous winter.

Seen from outside in the dark it was like watching a
brightly-lit
pantomime in the theatre. A few peasants strolled out from their tied cottages nearby to gape at the carriage and question its driver as to who could possibly be inside. The coachman, who normally earned his living as a carter, had jumped down and was pulling at the horses’ ears, for it was a country superstition that this was the quickest way of freshening up a tired animal. He
answered
in low tones and in an instant the men bowed low to the carriage and retired to a respectful distance, whispering among themselves that something must be seriously wrong if the
Mariassa
did not wish to set foot in the house of the
domnule
director,
even though the much feared judge was there as well as the even more terrible and powerful notary. The Lord must be angry about something and this could mean trouble. How and why no one knew, but it would obviously only be prudent to stand on the
sidelines
and watch from a distance without giving any sign of whose side they might be on.

Half an hour went by, half an hour which seemed like an
eternity
to the spectators. Then Nyiresy reappeared on the veranda, his face red with anger behind the white beard. From the house emerged three figures, Honey and the two foresters, who hurried out to the carriage and piled in all that they could. The two
gor
nyiks
hoisted the rest on to their shoulders, for the Noble Count had ordered that they should accompany him.

They made camp about fifteen minutes’ walk away on a meadow between the road and the banks of the Szamos. Rapidly they erected the tent and started a fire and as soon as this was done Balint sent the two men and the carter away. Then he sent Honey back to the forest manager with orders that the carriage horses should be housed in the estate stables and that lodging and food should be given to the driver. Honey was also told to arrange that some mountain ponies should be collected that evening so that the party could set off for the mountains at dawn.

Balint sat in front of his tent alone. He had cut himself a sharp hazel twig to use as a spit, as he had learned in his youth, and started to roast some bacon over the camp fire in front of him.

It was a modest little fire, but even so he was reminded of the great fires the
gornyiks
had lit each evening of his trip during the winter. Looking into the flames, he thought again of Adrienne, not that he needed anything to bring her to mind for her image had not left him the entire day. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not notice that the piece of bacon had long since fallen from the spit and was sizzling among the embers of the fire. He just sat there, his jaw thrust forward, his mouth open and his lips drawn back showing his anger and frustration.

After a while he heard little tripping steps over the grass and in a moment Nyiresy’s two young maids stood before him,
barefoot
, dressed in snow-white cotton blouses, voluminous white skirts and little black bodices stretched over their breasts.
‘Poftyic,
Mariassa
–
at your service, my Lord!’ they said, as they placed
before
him all sorts of delicacies: cold trout, venison, fried chicken and roast turkey with slices of
strudel
and cakes, all of which they had brought in two large baskets with plates and cutlery, glasses and wine. All this they laid out on a cloth on the grass in front of him and, smiling and giggling, urged his Lordship to eat.

Balint set to with gusto. He sat on the ground at the entrance of his tent using the folding chair as a table, his feast now lit by the rising moon. And he dined. The two girls served him
assiduously
, alternately passing through the narrow entrance of the tent to offer him selections of what they had brought. The entrance was narrow and it was no doubt because of this that from time to time, as they changed his plates or poured his wine, a hand would brush his face or a soft shoulder press gently into Balint’s own. They chattered away merrily, though they spoke so quickly that Balint was unable to understand their prattle. They were young and gay and they smiled as they gazed into his face with their large shining brown eyes.

Later there was only one girl near him, not at his side but
behind
him in the tent. Then, from the shadowy interior, two naked arms crept around his shoulders, embraced him and drew him back out of the moonlight. Balint felt that he was falling softly into some deep welcoming darkness.

 

Dawn was breaking when he awoke. It was still dark inside the tent but a pale light found its way in through the slits between the entrance flaps and he realized that the little Romanian
fata
must thoughtfully have closed them after he had fallen asleep. As everything that had happened the night before came slowly back to him, Balint was filled with a great anger.

Firstly he was angry with himself. How could he have allowed himself to do such a thing on the very evening of that holy day when Adrienne had been so good to him! Balint could still smell that odour of rancid butter, the butter that country girls used to smooth their hair. His nose was full of it and it disgusted him, just as he was disgusted with himself. How base he was, how selfish and ignoble! How mean! Then his anger took a different
direction
. He thought of old Nyiresy. The decaying old lecher must have planned it. That is why he had sent over the supper and no doubt given careful instructions to the girl as to what she should do, and how she should report it all to him afterwards so that he and his cronies could laugh at him and make fun of him!

Balint jumped up and stepped out of the tent. On the road the horses were already waiting, together with three foresters. The first two were those who had been serving Nyiresy’s party and the third was Krisan Gyorgye who had been sent for from his home at Toszerat. Honey himself stood a little farther away with the notary Gaszton Simo. The latter must have been watching the tent, for as soon as Balint came out he began to saunter towards him.

‘Well!’ he called in a familiar tone, ‘and how are we the
morning
after? I hope the noble Count passed an agreeable night?’ and he winked lasciviously. This impertinent allusion made Balint even angrier than he had been before.

‘How is it, Mr Notary, that you come to be eating trout in
September
, in the middle of the closed season? You can be fined
heavily
for this, especially as you are supposed to be a responsible official. I warn you here and now that I propose to inform the authorities!’

Simo smiled in a superior, self-satisfied manner.

‘Those fish were confiscated from a poacher, as the law
provides
. I’ve several witnesses to the fact, indeed as many as you like. Someone has to eat the fish once they’ve been caught.
Anyhow
, they tasted good, didn’t they?’ he added impudently as he twirled his moustaches with a gesture of defiance.

Balint turned away angrily and called to Honey: ‘Bring my wash-basin and water!’ He went back into the tent thinking what a scoundrel the notary was and how he was being mocked with that pack of lies about ‘witnesses’. Of course he could and would get as many witnesses as he wanted. This was unendurable, thought Balint. Nevertheless he would have his revenge and show him who was the master. Therefore, when he stepped out of the tent he said, with an expression of frozen displeasure on his face: ‘Since I last visited the mountains I have been informed that the peasants are being ruined by some unscrupulous money-lender. Do you know anything about the matter, Mr Notary?’