When they arrived back in Florence Mihály went to the main Post Office. Since Venice, their mail had been directed there. On one of the envelopes addressed to him he recognised the hand of Zoltán Pataki, Erzsi’s previous husband. Thinking it might contain something better not seen by her, he sat down with it outside a café. “There’s male solidarity for you,” he thought, with a smile.
The letter ran as follows:
Dear Mihály,
I know it’s a bit much, my writing you a long and friendly letter after you ‘seduced and ran off with’ my wife, but you never were a conventional sort of chap, and so perhaps you won’t be shocked if I too disregard convention just this once, even though you’ve always branded me an old conformist. I’m writing to you because I won’t be at rest until I do. I’m writing to you because, quite honestly, I don’t see why I shouldn’t, since we are both perfectly aware that I’m not angry with you. We only keep up the appearance because it’s better for Erzsi’s self-esteem to have the romantic situation where we are locked into deadly enmity over her. But between ourselves, my dear Mihály, you are well aware that I always thought highly of you, and this hasn’t changed simply because you ‘seduced and ran off with’ my wife. Not as if this ‘crime’ of yours hasn’t left me absolutely distraught. I needn’t deny — this of course is strictly between us — how much I still adore her. But I realise you aren’t responsible for that. As a general fact — don’t take this amiss — I don’t believe you’re responsible for anything I can think of in the whole world.
It’s precisely for this reason that I am writing to you. To be honest, I’m rather anxious about Erzsi. You see, after all these years I’ve got used to looking after her, always making a careful note of things so that I could provide her with everything she needed (and often with things she didn’t), making sure she was dressed warmly enough when she went out in the evening, and I can’t just give up all that concern, from one day to the next. This concern is what binds me so strongly to her. I must tell you, a few nights ago I had a silly dream. I dreamed that Erzsi was leaning far out of a window, and that if I hadn’t caught her she would have fallen. Then it occurred to me that you wouldn’t have noticed if she was leaning too far out the window, you’re such an absent-minded and introverted fellow. And so, I thought, I’ll make a few requests, so you can take special care of her, and I wrote them down in note form, as they came to me. Don’t be offended, but we can’t get away from the fact that I’ve known her so much longer than you have, and that does give me certain rights.
1 Make sure she eats enough. Erzsi (perhaps you’ve already noticed) is terrified of putting on weight. This fear sometimes gets her in a panic, when she will starve for days, and then she has attacks of hyper-acidity, which in turn are bad for her nerves. It occurred to me that perhaps the fact that you (touch wood!) have such a good appetite might encourage her to eat. I myself, sorry to say, am just an old man with a weak stomach, and could never set her a good example.
2 Take special care over her manicurists. If she requires their services while you are travelling, make it your personal business and use only the best establishments. Ask the hotel porter for details. Erzsi is extremely sensitive, and it has happened more than once that her fingers have gone septic because of an unskilled practitioner. Which you certainly wouldn’t want.
3 Don’t let her get up too early. I know that on one’s travels there is strong temptation to do that sort of thing. When we were last in Italy I made this mistake myself, because in Italy the inter-city coaches leave at the crack of dawn. To hell with the coaches. Erzsi goes to bed late and gets up late. Early rising does her no good — she takes days to get over it.
4 Don’t let her eat scampi, frutti di mare, or any other disgusting sea creature — they give her a rash.
5 A rather delicate matter. I don’t know how to put this. Perhaps I should just assume you’re aware of it, but I really don’t know if such an absentminded, philosophical sort of person is aware of such things as the incredible frailty of women, and how much they are at the mercy of certain physical functions. But I beg you to take careful note of Erzsi’s times of the month. A week before the onset you must be patient and tolerant in the extreme. At such times she is not fully responsible. She will pick quarrels. The wisest course is to stand your ground. It gives her an outlet for her irritation. But you mustn’t quarrel in earnest. Remember, it’s just a physiological function you’re dealing with. Don’t get carried away, and don’t say anything you might later regret. Above all, don’t let Erzsi say anything that she might later regret, as that’s no good for her nerves.
Now, don’t be offended. There are a thousand things I should write about — a thousand little details for you to attend to — these are just the most important — but I can’t at this moment think of them. I really lack imagination. All the same, still in confidence, I am extremely worried, not only because I know Erzsi, but, more to the point, because I know you. Now please don’t get me wrong. If I were a woman, and had to choose between the two of us, I too would have chosen you without hesitation, and Erzsi surely loves you for being just the sort of person you are — so utterly withdrawn and abstracted that you have no real relationship with anybody or anything, like someone from another planet, a Martian on Earth, someone who never really notices anything, who cannot feel real anger about anything, who never pays proper attention when others speak, who often seems to act out of vague goodwill and politeness as if just playing at being human. Now, this is all very well, and I too would appreciate it if I were a woman. The only problem is, you are now Erzsi’s husband. And Erzsi is used to a husband who looks after her in every detail, shielding her from the very wind, leaving her nothing to think of but her mind, her inner life, and, by no means least, care of her person. Erzsi is by nature a lady of leisure. That’s how they brought her up at home, and I respected it — and I don’t know if, being with you, she will now have to face up to the realities her father and I carefully protected her from.
There is another delicate matter I have to touch upon. I realise that you (or rather your father whose firm you work for) are well off, and your wife will lack for nothing. But I do sometimes worry, because I know how pampered Erzsi has been, and I fear that someone as absent-minded as you might not take proper account of her needs. Your own nature is that of an amiable bohemian, undemanding, always bound up in your own solid existence, on a rather different level to what Erzsi is accustomed to. Now one of you is going to have to adapt to the other’s standard. If she adapts to yours, that will sooner or later create trouble, because she is going to feel herself déclassée the moment she comes into contact with the old set. For example, in Italy you might meet one of her girlfriends, who pulls a face when she hears you’re staying at a hotel that isn’t exactly top notch. The alternative is that you move up to Erzsi’s level, and this, sooner or later, will have material consequences because — if you will forgive me — I probably know the strength of the firm better than you do, you being such an abstracted sort of fellow — not to mention that you are four brothers, and your respected father a somewhat conservative, rather puritanical old gentleman who believes in saving rather than using his income … in a word, to be brief, you are hardly in a position to maintain Erzsi’s standard of living on your own account. And since it is a matter close to my heart that she should never want for anything, I beg you not to take it amiss when I tell you that should the need ever arise I am absolutely at your disposal, should you ever ask for help in the form of a long-term loan. Quite frankly, I would much prefer to pay you a regular monthly sum, but I know that would be an impertinence. But in any event this much I have to tell you: if ever you are in need, just turn to me.