“There it is.”
Where was it? There below him, there it really was, the sea, the sea itself, smooth and blue as he had seen it on that wall map in primary school. Just one more point, the bay of Buccari, the Quarnero strip. He gaped at it, mouth wide open. But before he could admire it properly it had vanished. The sea was playing hide and seek with him.
Then it spread out before him, for a long time, in its calm majesty.
He had not imagined it any lovelier or bigger. It was lovelier and bigger than he had ever imagined. A smooth, blue infinity, and sailing ships on it leaning sideways, like the wings of butterflies, parched butterflies that had alighted on the mirror of the water and were drinking from it. From a distance it was a pure panorama, a picture in a book, silent, almost motionless. Not even the hiss of the waves reached him. Nor could their ripples be seen. The ships themselves moved no more quickly than that toy boat of years gone by which he had pushed around in the bath as a child. And yet it was festive, it was a giant, alone in the ancestral glory of vasty ages.
Then there burst forth within him that poem on which he had been working earlier, that dithyramb which he had conceived in the anguished hours of the night, and the shouts of Xenophon’s men, the scattered army of the Anabasis, that starving, homesick ten thousand, could have been no louder for all their ten thousand throats, than he himself: Thalatta, thalatta, immutable, eternal one, thou art whole in the cathedral of mountain ranges, among the church pillars of peaks, thou the holy water of earth in the stoop carved out of the rocks, baptismal font of all greatness that has ever lived in this world, thou milk of mother earth. Suckle me, redeem me, keep evil spirits far from me. Make me what I was born to be. He immersed himself in the smell of the sea, washed himself first in its breath. He held out his arms to be nearer to it.
Later the Scoglio di San Marco loomed into view, the ancient, ruined pirate stronghold. After the crescendo, a decrescendo followed. The train was descending the stepped slope among the crags. The first Italian house came into view. It wasn’t as neat as a house in Hungary, nor as comfortable and clean. It was slim and airily graceful. Pieces of colored cloth and shirts hung from windows with the honest grime of life which here wasn’t concealed. Red, white, and green flags flapped in the wind on tall poles, triumphantly announcing the Hungarian seaport. He had to fetch his luggage.
Mother and daughter were still there together. He was almost horrified — he’d forgotten about them in the meantime. Hadn’t given them a thought for hours. This forgetfulness brought home to him how much together those two had been, and would forever be. Now he realized the meaning of fate.
They too were getting ready. The mother had put a broad-brimmed hat on the girl’s head, and slipped the elastic band under her bony chin. She herself was now wearing a hat. A nest-shaped straw hat. There were two white roses on it. Esti helped her get her cases down.
It was almost time to say good-bye. He’d decided, word for word, what he meant to say to her: “Madam, I have an inexpressible respect and deep sympathy for you. Right at the very first moment I felt a remarkable warmth toward you. I noticed on your forehead a sign, such pain as I had never before seen. Near Zagreb you tied up your hair, your ash-blonde hair, in a light black veil. At dawn, when I ran hastily — and ill-manneredly — out of the compartment, I suddenly saw the whole world blackened by that veil. You are a martyr-mother, a sainted martyr-mother, with seven daggers in your heart. I’m very sorry for you. I’m very sorry for your daughter too. She’s a strange girl. Perhaps you should dose her with potassium bromide solution, a teaspoon every evening, and bathe her in cold water. That helped me. As for the — what shall I say — the affair, I’m not offended. I was a little afraid. But now I’m not. I’ve forgotten it. The only thing that worries me is where you vanished to after midnight. I looked for you everywhere and couldn’t find you. Even now I can’t think where you could have been all that time. The idea crossed my mind, madam, that for the sake of your daughter, whom you love so, for the sake of your daughter, who doesn’t live in this world, you’d gone away with her into the realm of fantasy and with her become invisible. That’s not a satisfactory explanation, I know. But it’s a profound poetic thought. And so I’ll take the liberty of telling you. I’m going to be a writer. If once I master that difficult craft — because please believe me, one has to learn to be constantly watchful, to suffer, to understand others and oneself, to be merciless to oneself and others — well, then perhaps I’ll write about this. It’s a very difficult subject. But things like this interest me. I want to become the sort of writer who knocks at the gates of existence and attempts the impossible. Anything less than that I despise — please forgive my immodesty, because I’m nothing and nobody yet — but I do despise it, and profoundly. I’m never going to forget what happened to me here. I’ll keep it among my memories and by it express my ceaseless grief. I no longer believe in anything. But in that I do believe. Permit me now, madam, before I finally take my leave, to kiss your hand as a mark of sympathy and filial homage.” That was what he meant to say, but he didn’t. Eighteen-year-old boys can, as yet, only feel. They can’t compose speeches like that and deliver them. So he only bowed. More deeply than he’d intended. Almost to the ground. The woman was surprised. She looked at the ground, still all the time hiding her eyes, in which there must once have been life but now were only fear and everlasting anxiety. She thought, “Poor boy, poor boy. What a dreadful night you must have had. When you came into our compartment, my first thought was to send you away somehow. I could see that you were trembling. Sometimes you were a little ridiculous too. I wanted to enlighten you. Only I can’t do such a thing. Then I’d have to talk on and on, tell everyone, here on the train, the neighbors at home, people abroad and everywhere what’s happened to us. It can’t be done. So I prefer to say nothing. And then, I’ve truly become a little unfeeling toward people. At midnight, when my daughter and I left this compartment and — somewhere else — a scene was played out such as you’ve never witnessed — you can be eternally thankful — I hoped that you’d change your mind and move somewhere else in the meantime. You didn’t do that. Out of politeness you didn’t. You didn’t want to let me know that you knew more or less what you did. You behaved beautifully. You behaved as a well-brought-up young gentleman should. Thank you. You’re still a child. In fact, you could be my son. You could be my son-in-law. Yes you could, you could be my son-in-law. You see the sort of things that a mother thinks of. But you can’t be my son-in-law. Nobody can. You don’t know life yet. You don’t know what the doctors have diagnosed. The experts in Switzerland and Germany aren’t very encouraging. We’ve come away against their advice. There’s a little island near here. It’s called Sansego. Fishermen live there, simple people. They grow olives and catch sardines. They won’t notice anything. I’m taking her there to hide her away. I want to keep her with me this summer. It may be our last. Then, it seems, I’m going to have to ‘put her away’ after all. The specialists have been recommending that for years, in Hungary and abroad. There are some reliable ‘establishments.’ She’ll get a private room there, her bodily needs will be taken care of. I’ll be able to visit her as often as I like. You don’t know about this sort of thing yet. Don’t ever find out. God bless you. I believe in God. I have to believe in Him, because otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do my duty. Of you go, my boy. Forget the whole thing. Be happy, my boy.” So she thought. But she didn’t speak either. People who suffer don’t talk much. She merely tossed back her head, raised her ravaged face and now, for the first time, looked at Kornél Esti, and as a reward granted him a long look into her ivy-green eyes.