They Were Counted (43 page)

Dinora was standing at the buffet eating compote of oranges from a small glass dish. She stood alone because when she had arrived at the table the other ladies already grouped there all found
various
reasons why they should be somewhere else, anywhere,
provided
it was not beside Dinora Abonyi. One lady suddenly felt like sampling a galantine of chicken that sat temptingly on the other side of the table, another a fish salad she had caught sight of some way away, another a particularly luscious cake that was just out of each. So Dinora had eaten her supper by herself and now stood alone, her only companions being her dish of dessert and her glass of wine. Balint saw her and came over.

‘You see how people avoid me?’ said Dinora, with a smile of mock offence on her generous lips. ‘It started yesterday towards dawn, with snide little glances and whispered impertinences.
Today
they avoid me openly!’

‘You must be mistaken,’ said Balint consolingly. ‘I’m sure it’s just coincidence and you’re imagining things.’ But though he said this he knew that what she said was true as he had heard of the malicious campaign of gossip that Aunt Lizinka had launched the night before.

‘No!’ she said. ‘I’m not imagining anything! But, you know, the funny thing about it is that nobody seemed to care when that Nitwit was with me. Now that I’ve thrown him out, oh, ages ago, all this happens!’

‘You threw him out? Why? Wasn’t he any good?’ said Balint with a smile.

‘Not because of that!’ laughed Dinora. ‘Though these athletes are overrated! But that’s quite unimportant. No! For totally
different
reasons,’ she said seriously. ‘Come and sit down. I’d like to tell you about it. Nobody will come near us, never fear!’

They sat down on a sofa by the wall.

‘You remember when we met at Siklod I asked you to come over and see me. I wanted to discuss this with you and ask your advice. But you didn’t come. Were you very afraid of me? Is that why?’ She raised her open fan to hide her face from any observer and whispered in his ear, caressingly, ‘Little Boy, Little Boy? I loved you very much once; and you loved me too, didn’t you? But don’t worry … that was over long ago!’ She paused, lowered the fan, and went on seriously, ‘Nitwit was always asking me for money!’

‘Not possible! Really?’ Balint was amazed.

‘Well, you know, I always like to help people, but this was too much! If I didn’t do what he asked at once he’d become quite rude … well, very rude. You know I don’t ever have much cash. I always have to ask my husband whenever I need any; and it’s not always very … very convenient.
Ce
n’estpas
toujours
agréable.

‘But this is very serious!’.

‘It wasn’t too bad to start with … they were only little loans. Then he got me to sign some drafts and paid me back what he owed me, every cent!’

‘For goodness’ sake! How much did you sign for?’

‘I don’t know … twenty … twenty-two thousand. Something like that; I don’t remember exactly. Now I’m worried that Tihamer’ll get to know about it and then I’ll be in trouble! You see, some bank has written to me asking for the matter to be “settled”, they say, and I really don’t understand because
I
don’t owe them anything, do I? Nitwit cashed the money, but if it
became
known, then my good Tihamer would begin to wonder, wouldn’t he?’

Dinora laughed at the thought while looking enquiringly at Balint, who sat silently beside her, his eyes narrowed and an
unusually
serious expression on his face.

What a vile thing to do! he thought. How base to ask a woman for money, to drag such a bird-brained generous little creature into such a mess!

Balint’s natural instinct to help was at once awakened, as
always
when he encountered the weak and defenceless in trouble. He wondered what he could do to get Dinora out of this muddle. There would be no point in denouncing that scoundrel Nitwit to his regiment; that would only provoke a public scandal and then Dinora would be involved and would suffer as much as he would. No, that was impossible: they would have to find another way. To gain time he advised her, as she was pressing him for an
answer
, to find an opportunity of tackling Wickwitz, very seriously and as soon as possible, and asking when he was going to clear up the matter. Balint agreed to meet Dinora again soon to discuss what further moves she should make. Then they went to dance.

Spinning round the room in Balint’s strong arms Dinora soon forgot her troubles. She opened her full lips in a smile of
contentment
; she was so obviously enjoying herself that no one would have thought that only a few moments before she had been
obsessed
by worry and the possibility of a scandal.

Balint, on the other hand, seethed with inner indignation for a long time until, with dancing, champagne, more dancing and more champagne, his anger began to dissolve and Dinora’s
worries
ceased to upset him. Still he was not entirely untroubled; his suppressed anger at the way he had been treated by Adrienne still welled up from time to time as he, too, sought forgetfulness in the dance.

T
HE LAST BALL
of the Carnival season the dancing went on well into the small hours. The older ladies, tired after two nights-out running, urged their daughters to go home, and
finally
, about six o’clock they all left, though most of the men
remained
behind. Many of them would soon be going back to their estates in the country, while others would be returning to the county towns where they had official duties. For the men at least this was their last chance for some months of seeing each other all together.

They pulled up chairs around the now devastated supper table and called for more champagne. This was the moment when Laji Pongracz came into his own and he played with renewed fervour, wittily titillating his hearers by subtly juxtaposing the tunes of all those he knew to be involved in courtship or dispute. Laji never forgot anyone’s special tune, nor who was or had been in love with which girl and who no longer spoke to who. Now that he was not restrained by the presence of the ladies the tunes he played chronicled the loves and hates of more than a quarter of a century. With a roguish look in his eye he would gaze pointedly at the man to whose past the music referred. Sometimes he would step close to someone, his violin barely audible, just breathing an old tune in their ears and sometimes, with a wild flourish he would make everyone laugh as they recalled a forgotten scandal. Uncle Ambrus, of course, enjoyed the musician’s mockery more than anyone. He sat, still drinking heavily, sprawled in an
armchair
, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his huge bulk the centre of a group of young men. Daniel Kendy, now completely sodden but who could not afford to order bottles himself, sat nearby and held out his glass whenever the champagne was being poured. On a sofa behind him sat Joska Kendy, pipe in mouth, and Isti Kamuthy, who had fallen asleep. Most of the company were
pretty
drunk.

Balint too had had far more than he usually did but, though he tried hard to get drunk, the effect of the wine was merely to
increase
his sense of irritation. He sat, cross and out of temper, at one end of the long buffet table while, beside him, Pityu Kendy morosely drank glass after glass from a giant goblet that must have held nearly a litre.

To vary his programme Laji would sometimes break off his chronicle of love and start a rollicking csardas. Each time he did so Baron Gazsi would jump up and dance unsteadily in his
shirtsleeves
, waving his arms, snapping his fingers and bawling out the words of the song at the top of his voice. When drunk, as this evening, but only when drunk, he would fancy himself dying of love for the eldest Laczok girl and would sit slightly apart from the others moping. But when he danced he would more often look at Joska Kendy, his long woodpecker nose fixed in Joska’s
direction
like that of his favourite pointer and his eyes filled with a
silent
plea for pity and understanding. Joska never noticed this any more than did Adam Alvinczy, who sat cross-legged on the floor at the feet of the orchestra, a cigar drooping from his lips, and who was being constantly jostled by Baron Gazsi’s antics. Even when Gazsi nearly sent him sprawling across the floor he took no notice but continued to stare fixedly at the window where the morning light was beginning to shine ever more brightly.

Despite the approach of day the electric chandeliers were still lit. No one wanted to be reminded that the night’s revelries must come to an end. Clouds of cigarette smoke hung in the air and Pongracz was still playing even though few of his listeners were in a state to take much notice. After another csardas he broke into an Godefrey waltz of the ’60s, the ‘Gardes de la Reine’, which old Dani Kendy had always asked for in the days when he could afford to reward the musicians himself. Pongracz played it specially for the bankrupt old aristocrat, knowing that it would remind him of the days when they called him
le
comte
Candi
in Paris and when he had been an ever-welcome guest at the Empress Eugénie’s court at Biarritz.

The Galahad of former days looked gratefully at the gypsy
until
suddenly the music was interrupted.

Pityu Kendy jumped up violently and, without any apparent reason, started yelling: ‘God damn it! … God damn it!’ and in his anger struck out at the great goblet on the table in front of him. No one ever knew what had provoked this outburst, whether it was because he didn’t like the music, or if he had had a flash of intuition that drink would be his ruin, or whether perhaps Laji’s waltz-tune had made him think of Adrienne.

The glass flew towards Balint and though he was quick enough to jump out of the way he could not avoid the wine which spilled over his trouser-legs. At any other time he would have laughed off the incident, but tonight his ill-humour was too strong and he shouted at Pityu in a rage:

‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ Though the words were innocent enough, his manner was unmistakably threatening. Everyone jumped to their feet, including old Dani who stood straight and tall even if he did sway like a reed in the wind.

‘
Une
affaire
d-d-d’ honneur!
Une
affaire
d-d-d
’
honneur
!’ he cried,
waving
his arms, mistakenly believing that the insult had been
intended
for him and for his past.

Quickly Joska Kendy and Gazsi grabbed the old man from
behind
. They knew what happened when old Dani suddenly stood up with too much drink inside him so they half dragged half pushed him out through the door. Two footmen silently stepped forward, picked up the broken pieces of the shattered goblet and mopped up the wine on the floor.

Everyone sat down again, Abady a little apart from the others. No one spoke and even though the music started up once again the mood had been shattered. Within less than half an hour it was broad daylight and everyone went home.

 

The next evening Abady went again to the Casino. As he passed through the big drawing-room it seemed to him that a group of elderly men who were chatting in a corner fell silent at his
approach
. In another corner he saw Pityu deep in conversation with Adam Alvinczy and two others. He moved on into the card-room where everyone present looked up at him enquiringly as if they were expecting something from him. No one spoke, and he went on into the library to read the day’s newspapers. As he was sitting there he was joined by Tihamer Abonyi, who came out of the card-room.

‘Excuse my interrupting you,’ he said, ‘but what are you
proposing
to do?’

‘About what?’ said Balint, not knowing what he was talking about.

‘About what happened last night, of course! It’s my view that you are the offended party, not Pityu Kendy. He threw the glass and that constitutes an Act of Violence according to the Code Duverger. On the other hand, your reply of ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ was much less serious. I don’t want to meddle, but this is how I see it and, as your friend, I would advise you to look at it from this point of view.’

Abonyi looked at Balint, his protruding light-coloured eyes full of sympathy. He was one of those men, not so rare, who feel
involuntarily
drawn to the men their wives find attractive.

‘But he didn’t throw it at me on purpose! In fact he didn’t throw it at all. He just struck out at the glass and it came my way by accident, that’s all. I’m not in the least offended.’

‘You think that because you’re a gentleman! The others see it quite differently. Everyone’s been talking about it, ever since lunch.’

This was the truth. At lunchtime someone had said that there had been a serious incident after the ball. No one afterwards could recall who had started the gossip, but when more people came into the club – Uncle Ambrus, young Kamuthy and others who had been present – they were cross-questioned as to exactly what had occurred. The eyewitnesses all gave their versions, most of them conflicting and before anyone realized what was
happening
the whole affair had become a
cause
célèbre
with everyone
taking
sides. The Abady faction was convinced that Pityu had thrown the glass on purpose, while those who decided to support young Kendy declared that though the glass had been hit at
random
Abady had rushed at Pityu with clenched fists and menaces. There were those who denied the clenched fists and the menace but who declared that the words ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ could only have meant ‘Watch out, or I’ll hit you!’ Again another group decided that the ‘Watch out!’ only referred to the flying glass but that the ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ would have been quite innocent if said quickly without emphasis, but that ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ broken by pauses and uttered in a stentorian voice constituted an insult because one only spoke to inferiors in such a manner!

When one or two moderate men tried to suggest that the whole affair was a storm in a teacup and that neither party had intended any offence, they were shouted down by the others. Even Daniel Kendy, who had been far too drunk to know what had actually happened, saw the gravity of the insult, and as on the night before cried out: ‘It’s
une
affaire
d’honneur
…
une
affaire
d’honneur
!
’

Shortly after Balint had arrived at the Casino, Major Bogacsy came in and the whole complicated issue was immediately laid before him for a decision as to whether insults had been
exchanged
and, if so, who should demand satisfaction from whom. Bogacsy was a retired officer who for many years had been
employed
as an assessor at the Court of Chancery and who was
considered
the greatest expert in affairs of honour in Kolozsvar. In fact he considered this true profession, treating his work for the orphan’s welfare as a mere sideline by which he happened to earn a living … For a long time not a duel had been fought in the
district
without Major Bogacsy being involved as arbiter or second. His looks were well suited to his self-appointed role. He was a large man who sported a monocle in his right eye, which gave him a lopsided, sardonic expression; and the impression of
ferocity
which he liked to display to the world was carefully
underlined
by the cultivation of a giant moustache of which each side was reinforced by long whiskers from his beard. His face was round, his nose short and snub, and though he would have liked to look like a lion the general effect was more that of a tomcat who had stolen a sausage.

When they appealed to his judgement the Major, with much self-importance, stood with his back to the fireplace, his full belly protruding pompously, and listened carefully to the different
versions
put forward by the witnesses.

‘Well, all I can say is that this affair doesn’t seem at all clear to me! Still, my guiding principle is always to seek a peaceful
settlement
. Kendy must first ask Abady for an explanation of his words. What follows will depend on the reply.’

A small deputation went to find Pityu who was in the
billiard-room
. Though he had been far too drunk to remember anything at all, he meekly agreed to do what he was told. He asked Adam Alvinczy, who was standing beside him, and young Kamuthy, to act for him.

Accordingly these two went at once to the library and asked Abady to explain the meaning of his words ‘Hey! Hey! Hey! Watch out!’ Balint replied that now he could not recall exactly what he had meant but that it must have been intended to refer to the glass. Then they asked if the words had had any offensive intent, and Balint replied that he had no reason to offend Pityu Kendy. The seconds seemed to be completely satisfied with this reply and everyone assumed that the matter would end there. But it didn’t.

For the rest of the evening no one discussed anything else, the most opinionated being those who were in no way concerned. Bogacsy himself was dissatisfied, perhaps because he had not been asked to be a second. While discussion raged Balint went home to see his mother and did not return to the Casino. Gradually the general opinion was formed that Abady’s reply had not been
satisfactory
and that therefore the matter was not settled. What had he meant, they asked, by ‘no reason to offend’? This was
circumlocution
: it was always possible to mean to offend even if one had no reason. Honour demanded a straight answer. Abady would have to be asked again if he
intended
to offend: and he must answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. Everyone agreed, because Abady was not really liked. Some were jealous of his money, others found him conceited and stand-offish, and the general opinion was that he was not really one of them. Well, they would show him that they weren’t to be trifled with!