They Were Counted (72 page)

At last Lelbanya could be seen a little way off, and now they had to leave the track and make their way down from the grassland prairie to where, in a cleft in the hills, stood the little town on its salt-flaked bank of clay and, beside it, the dark lake, now almost covered by the reeds and canes from which the townsfolk earned their living. Though invisible from where Balint was riding, the surface of the lake was dotted with wild duck and moorhens whose broods were brought up in safety in the cover of the reeds.

 

At Lelbanya, following his mother’s instructions, Balint stabled his horses in the innkeeper’s own cowshed.

When he had done this he visited the Co-operative Society, which was still housed in the town-hall, inspected the books,
conferred
with the bookkeeper who was a retired employee of the railways and an excellent man, Tobias Batta by name, and walked with him and the notary up to the Abady house. This had been repaired by Azbej, who was doing his utmost to keep in with Count Balint and who, by tact and persuasion, had obtained
possession
of two rooms which were to house the Co-operative.

In the evening Balint dined alone in the inn and afterwards
received
the leading citizens of the town who, hearing of his arrival had called to pay their respects and to take a glass of wine with him.

There was quite a gathering: the mayor, the notary, the
physician
, the chemist, the two priests and everyone else of any
importance
. Even the old knight, Balazs Borcsey, condescended to put in an appearance. This was remarkable, indeed almost unheard-of since Borcsey was so proud of being a Borcsey of Lesser-and Greater-Borcse, that he felt it beneath him to mingle with such lowly-born persons as made up the society of Lelbanya. When one bore such a name, he had been heard to say, one could not make friends with just anyone, even if they were your neighbours. The old man was as poor as the proverbial church mouse and this fact alone made him all the more arrogant and careful of his dignity. His decaying manor house stood on the crest of a little hillock near the town. It was a small, dilapidated, ancient dwelling with three or four plum trees and a crab apple in front. It was surrounded by some twenty acres of barren goat pasture, and here the old man lived without even one servant to wait upon him. He rarely saw anybody and he had never married, presumably because he had never found any woman worthy of bearing his great name.

Old Borcsey owed money to every one in the town, to the
grocery
store, to the innkeeper, butcher, miller, tailor, shoemaker and even to the mayor and the chemist, who had from time to time advanced him small sums that had never been repaid. No one minded, however. They even gave the old man their respect. On important feast days he would be sent presents, a sack or two of corn-flour, a lamb or sucking pig, fruit and vegetables in summer, and in winter, cabbages or a pint or two of plum brandy. All this out of respect.

The recipient of these charitable acts took it all as no more than his due, since he firmly believed he was the social superior of all those who sent him presents and that therefore it
was
no more than his due. His conviction was so strong that it communicated itself to all around him until they had all come to believe that the old man really was some kind of superior being to whom homage must be paid. There was a rumour that he had been one of those
revolutionaries
who had taken up arms against the Habsburgs in 1848, though he had never allowed anyone to mention this in his
presence
. Anyhow, why talk about it? He was a Borcsey of
Lesser-and
Greater-Borcse, and that should be enough for anyone.

So when the old revolutionary descended from his eyrie and came into the inn parlour a great commotion started, with
everyone
jumping up and offering him their seats. A place was found for him, as was his due, in the seat of honour directly in front of Count Abady.

Balint had heard of him before when he had first come to Lelbanya at the time of his election as Member of Parliament. He had sent a message to the old man asking if he could call upon him but the reply had been that he never received anyone who supported the 1867 Compromise (and who was therefore
presumed
to collaborate with the hated Austrian tyranny). Today, however, he had put in an appearance; and even Balint felt that he had been honoured.

 

The old knight strutted in clutching in one hand a long oak
walking
-stick. He was a slight old man seemingly made only of skin and bones, and though he must have been well over seventy his hair and moustache were still black. He wore grey trousers which were covered with stains and from which it appeared that all
colour
had been drained by the application of some acid. His boots were worn and old and none too clean. He went straight over to Abady, shook hands with him, but with no one else, and sat down. Then he nodded his head graciously to the others as if indicating that they too could now be seated. When everyone was in their place and had resumed a respectful silence, old Borcsey lifted a forefinger and said: ‘Well? And what is the news from Budapest?’

Balint gave an outline of recent events, explaining what the Burian talks had been about and how futile they had proved, and giving a brief résumé of the various solutions that had been put forward. At first Balint was listened to in silence, but gradually his audience began to get more animated and express their own opinions, some even quite belligerently.

Most of what they said merely echoed what they had read in the columns of the opposition newspapers, quoting, perhaps
unintentionally
, the most sonorous phrases from the previous days’ leading articles. The loudest spoken was the Armenian butcher, Kirkocsa, who sat at the end of the long table with sleeves rolled up, thick neck bulging from an unbuttoned shirt-collar, and smote the table with his great fist each time he opened his mouth. The quietest was the Romanian priest, who sat at the other end of the table without ever opening his mouth, though his moustaches seemed to be hiding what could have been a discreet smile of
amusement
. As one hour and then another went by, the atmosphere
became
more and more heated. The chemist and the miller argued so bitterly that they almost fell to blows, though neither of them had really had a chance to justify their opinions, since they were constantly interrupted either by the butcher, who bellowed like a bull bison, or by the physician, who screamed in a high falsetto. Everyone had long forgotten that the reason for the gathering was to greet their Member of Parliament and hear what
he
had to say, and so they all spoke at once saying what they would have done had they themselves been the party leaders. Time went by and the wine bottles were emptied. The smoke-filled room was filled with noise, and everyone was enjoying himself.

‘We shouldn’t pay the taxes!’ they shouted. ‘We don’t need more soldiers! Give the arms to the people … and we’ll march to Vienna!’

Borcsey lifted his hand. Everyone fell silent.

‘The Old Hangman should be kicked out of the Hofburg – and that’d be an end of it!’ said the old revolutionary and rapped his stick on the floor.

This unexpected intervention had a most surprising effect. Suddenly the whole gathering calmed down. No one spoke, and for a moment all that could be heard was an occasional cough or clearing of the throat. The Emperor Franz-Josef commanded such general respect that they were as shocked by this remark as if old Borcsey had blasphemed in church. Few of them had realized that he was still thinking of the terrible reprisals taken after the 1848 uprising in Hungary when the Emperor, then a very young man, had ordered some of the rebellious Hungarian generals to be hanged rather than shot. Balint alone understood; he made as if to get up. No one spoke. They were all pretending that they had heard nothing.

Then the mayor turned to Balint and asked: ‘Will your
Lordship
be staying with us long?’

In a few moments everyone rose and started to take his leave.

 

The next morning Abady was kept busy with visits from his
constituents
, who came to ask his advice or present some request or petition. Among his visitors were several of those who had been present the previous evening and, even if they thought every
minister
an unscrupulous scoundrel and despised anyone who even spoke to such persons, they still wanted Abady to approach them and arrange for their petitions to be accepted, real life being a thing apart from politics. And, as before, each request ended with the words: ‘It only needs a word from your Lordship!’

This went on well into the afternoon. At six o’clock the last
petitioner
left and he was free to get away. He decided to visit the Miloths and so, ordering his man to saddle up, he left the inn and together they took the road back up to the grassland plateau. Balint knew, of course, that Adrienne would not be there but thought, as he was so near, that if they heard that he’d been to Lelbanya and not ridden over they would think that last
September
he had come only to see Adrienne.

When they reached the ridge above the town they rode first to the north and then shortly afterwards turned to the north-west. In half an hour they could see Mezo-Varjas in the valley below. Balint stopped for a moment as from where they were they could already see the whole Miloth estate and manor house as well as the village nearby.

 

Riding into the stable yard they had hardly dismounted and handed over their horses to the Miloths’ grooms when a voice could be heard from somewhere inside the barn. It was old Rattle, as usual shouting a stream of complaint at his servants.

‘You idiots! A guest arrives and no one tells me! I’ll beat the daylights out of you all!’ and he came bustling out crying, ‘Where are you, my dear chap, where are you?’ as he peered out among the lilac bushes that surrounded the barn doors. Then he turned back to face the interior of the barn, waving his arms furiously. ‘Asses! Idiots! Pig-headed brutes!’ but, seeing Balint, he came
forward
open-armed: ‘How nice of you to visit us! What a pleasure! I
am
glad you came!’