Theo was a frequent visitor, the trouble being that he was ruled over by a eunuch; Uri would admonish, plead, order him to be released from the eunuch’s power, to work and get himself manumitted, and Theo, a blue-eyed, slender, handsome adolescent would pledge to do everything he could: “Don’t worry about me, father!” Theo would say and chuckle.
There were many visitors, muttering and moving around the room, sampling the food on his plate, tucking him in if he fell asleep. Uri would send his little sister away to Naples: the climate was better there and she would not cough, and he gave her a lot of money to take with her. Joseph also visited, listening with amazement to Uri’s tales about Jerusalem and Alexandria, and was reassured that it was not as bad as all that in Rome either for that matter.
Sometimes Uri would have revenge: he would jab a thorn into Agrippa’s neck, trip Tija as he was running, or give the alabarch a cheeky riposte. “No need for that, dear son,” Philo would yammer. Uri had no idea that he was not sleeping on such occasions because in his dreams he was incapable of taking vengeance, and he could not control his dreams, but he was glad of them, even though they were oppressive, because at least he could see.
His daughters also paid visits, bringing him food, and Uri would tear them off a strip for not getting married, to which they would either laugh or lie that they were already married. Uri’s daughters also brought along children, maintaining that they were his grandchildren, and the children would blubber out something. The women would tell them to stroke their grandfather’s cheek, while Uri would try to nibble at their tiny hands, would bark and curse them, as a result of which they did not come again. It was cold, and Uri was freezing and demanded that they put Tadeus’s liberty cap on his head, but the evil-minded people just would not understand him so Uri pulled his tunic over his head, which the women pulled off, leaving Uri to bellow that he had to have the liberty cap on him at all times! But they refused to understand and wouldn’t hear a word about Tadeus. It was appalling to be at the whim of women like that.
Nor would the women read back to him what he had dictated to the servant. Though there were times when a light went on in his head and he was able to compose marvelous passages, by the next day he would have forgotten what these were and he needed to have it reread so that he could pick up where he had left off, but the women couldn’t read however much he yelled, and the servant would just hide away.
Joseph often visited and talked about business matters with Uri. He had changed his voice and his odor, and occasionally he said he was a physician, but Uri still recognized him. Joseph wanted to open a vein to bleed him but Uri was not prepared to allow this; he was held down but managed to free himself because every day he undertook many hours of physical exercise that could also be done blind — they had not anticipated that and so gave up.
Uri provided his father some superb bits of advice, and Joseph was increasingly proud of his son. They jointly went into a machine-making business in which Uri designed lifting devices and even learned how to cast statues, which they shipped to all the ports. One time they traveled to Syracusa for discussions and to meet Matthew, who was working as harbor master. He had not aged one bit and immediately ordered three lifting machines. Uri reminded him that he had given to Plotius what he owed, and Matthew said that Plotius had indeed passed it on.
When Hermia brought him his meal, Uri ordered barbel, but she moaned that it was horrendously expensive, whereupon Uri tipped her off that he had money, only he had hidden it. That greatly intrigued Hermia, but Uri would not reveal where the money was hidden.
He complained about the food, shouting at the women who brought him meals, after which they did not bring any more. Good thing I’m used to starving, the thought entered Uri’s mind. It stank in the room; Uri defecated besides the chamber-pot, smearing it on the floor, and he laughed when he found there was no water in the pitcher.
Joseph sat beside Uri’s bed and told him stories. He knew some fabulous tales, and Uri listened spellbound.
“Tell them to Theo as well,” he asked his father.
“Who’s Theo?”
Uri deliberated.
“I’ll be him when I grow up.”
Joseph promised.
At dawn one day, Uri woke up feeling like he was choking. Joseph was not to be found anywhere. Uri coughed but it did not relieve the pressure in his chest. He called out, but no one came. His stomach hurt, his chest was painful, the nape of his neck was racked with stabbing pains. He was gasping for air, his arms flailed and his legs churned but he could only choke, his muscles would not function, they just burned. Uri’s struggled mightily.
I still want to live, he thought to himself, and was lost in wonder.
About the Author
and Translator
Born in 1946 in Budapest, award-winning dramatist, novelist, and translator GYÖRGY SPIRÓ has earned a reputation as one of postwar Hungary’s most prominent and prolific literary figures. He teaches at ELTE University of Budapest, where he specializes in Slavic literatures.
TIM WILKINSON gave up his job in the pharmaceutical industry to translate Hungarian literature and history. He is the primary translator of Nobel Prize-winner Imre Kertész. Wilkinson’s translation of Kertész’s Fatelessness won the PEN/Book of the Month Club Translation Prize in 2005.
Copyright © 2015 György Spiró
Translation copyright © 2010 by Tim Wilkinson
Digital edition published by Restless Books, 2015
This edition published by Restless Books, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-63206-049-5
eISBN: 978-1-63206-021-1
Translation of The Book of Enoch used here follows the text in
From the Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha of the Old Testament by R.H. Charles
(Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1913)
Cover design by Rodrigo Corral
Endpaper artwork by Mauricio Diaz
All rights reserved.
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