“Go on.”
“Listen to this.” Erzsi’s facial expression changed from exasperation to horror. “Zoltán wants to destroy you, Mihály. He wants to wipe you off the face of the earth.”
“Really. But he isn’t big enough for that yet. How do you think he’d try?”
“Look Mihály, I don’t know exactly, because I’m not as cunning as Zoltán. I’m only guessing. First of all, I’d do everything I could to make your position in your family impossible. Which, at least for the time being, won’t be difficult, because you can imagine what sort of face your father will make, or has already made, seeing this letter.”
“My father? But you don’t think he’d show it to him?”
“I’m quite sure of it.”
Now he was horrified. A shivering, adolescent dread filled him, dread of his father, the old, old terror of losing his father’s goodwill. He put down the glass of aranciata and buried his head in his hands. Erzsi understood his motives, he knew that. But he could never explain them to his father. He had lost credit with his father, once and for all.
“And after that he’ll get to work in Pest,” Erzsi continued. “He’ll make up such a story about you, you won’t be able to walk down the street. Because, my God, I know that the crime you wanted to commit is not so very unusual. There are hordes of people running around Pest who in one way or another have sold their wives and continue to enjoy general respect, especially if they’re in the money and God’s blessing goes with their businesses — but Zoltán will make quite sure that the weekly press, and other leaders of public opinion, will see it in a way that will mean you won’t be able to walk down the street. You’ll have to live abroad, which won’t worry you very much, except that your family will barely be able to support you, or in fact not at all, since Zoltán will certainly do his utmost to destroy your father’s business.”
“Erzsi!”
“Oh yes. For example he’ll find a way of forcing me to take my money out of the firm. When news of that gets out — and I will have to do it, your father himself will insist — that in itself will be a terrible blow to your people.”
For a long time they sat in silence.
“I’d just like to know,” Mihály said at last, “why he hates me so much. Because he used to be so understanding and forgiving it really wasn’t natural.”
“That’s exactly why he hates you so much now. You really can’t imagine how much resentment was stored up behind his goodness even then, what frantic loathing there was precisely in that forgivingness. No doubt he himself believed he had forgiven you, until the opportunity for revenge presented itself. And then like some wild animal reared on milk, suddenly given its first taste of meat … ”
“I always thought of him as such a soft, slimy creature.”
“Me too. And, I have to confess, now that he’s assumed such Shylockian proportions, he impresses me much more favourably. A decent chap, after all … ”
There was another long silence.
“Tell me,” began Mihály, “presumably you’ve some plan, something I, or we, must do, that brought you to Rome.”
“In the first place, I want to warn you. Zoltán believes that you’ll walk as unsuspecting into his other traps as you have into this. For example, he wants to offer you a wonderful job, so that you’ll go back to Pest. So that you’ll be right on the spot when the scandal breaks. But you mustn’t go back, at any price. And then I want to warn you about a … friend of yours. You know who.”
“János Szepetneki?”
“Yes.”
“How did you meet him in Paris?”
“In company.”
“Were you with him often?”
“Yes, often enough. Zoltán also got to know him through me.”
“And how did you find János? He’s really unusual, don’t you think?”
“Yes, really unusual.”
But she said this with so much apparent deliberation that suspicion flashed through Mihály’s mind. Was it really? … How strange it would be … But his considerable discretion instantly rebelled and he suppressed his curiosity. If it were at all like that, then he should say nothing more about János Szepetneki.
“Thank you, Erzsi, for the warning. You’re very good to me, and I know how little I deserve it. And I can’t believe that in time you too will come to hate me as bitterly as Zoltán Pataki does.”
“I would think not,” said Erzsi, very solemnly. “I don’t feel any desire for revenge against you. There’s no reason why I should, really.”
“I see there’s still something you want to say. Is there something else I should do?”
“There is something else I must warn you about, but it’s rather painful because you might perhaps misunderstand my reason for saying it. Would you still think I’m speaking out of jealousy?”
“Jealousy? I’m not so conceited. I know I’ve thrown away every legal claim on your jealousy.”
Deep down, he was well aware that Erzsi was not disinterested. Otherwise she would not have come to Rome. But he felt, and chivalry dictated, that he ought to ignore the fact (which his male ego would normally have insisted on) that she might still be attracted to him.
“Perhaps we should leave this — this question of my feelings,” Erzsi said with some exasperation. “They really have nothing to do with it. So … as I say … look, Mihály, I know perfectly well on whose account you’re in Rome. János told me. The person concerned wrote to him that you’d seen each other.”
Mihály lowered his head. He sensed how very much it hurt Erzsi that he loved Éva. But what could he say to alter what was true and unchangeable?
“Yes, Erzsi. If you know about it, good. You know the background to all this. In Ravenna I told you everything there was to know about me. Everything is as it had to be. Only it shouldn’t have to be so hard on you … ”
“Please, drop it. I haven’t said a thing about it being hard on me. That really isn’t the point. But tell me … do you know what this woman is? What sort of life she leads nowadays?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never enquired about it.”
“Mihály, I’ve always marvelled at your coolness, but you begin to surpass yourself. I never heard of such a thing, someone in love with a woman who has no interest in who or what sort of … ”
“Because all that interests me is what she was then, in the Ulpius house.”
“Perhaps you aren’t aware that she won’t be here much longer? She’s managed to hook a young Englishman who’s taking her with him to India. They leave in the next few days.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh, but it is. Take a look at this.”
She drew another letter from her reticule. The handwriting was Éva’s. It was addressed to János. It gave a brief account of her impending trip to India, and the fact that she did not propose returning to Europe.
“You didn’t know?” asked Erzsi.
“You win,” said Mihály. He got up, paid, and went out, leaving his hat behind.
Outside he staggered for a while in a blind daze, his hand pressed against his heart. Only after some time did he notice that Erzsi was walking beside him, and had brought him his hat.
Erzsi was now quite changed: meek, timid, her eyes all tears. It was almost moving, the tall dignified woman in this posture of a small girl, as she walked beside him, in silence, with his hat in her hand. Mihály smiled, and took his hat.
“Thank you,” he said, and kissed Erzsi’s hand. Timidly, she stroked his face.
“Well, if you’ve no more letters in your reticule, then perhaps we can go and dine,” he said with a sigh.
During the meal they exchanged few words, but those were full of intimacy and tender feeling. Erzsi was filled with a loving desire to console, Mihály with his own suffering, and the great quantity of wine he got through in his unhappiness made him gentle. He saw how much Erzsi still loved him, even now. What happiness, if he in turn could love her, and thus free himself of the past and the dead. But he knew it was impossible.