In real life it does happen, though rarely, that the tension of desire and the succeeding nausea is not followed by an equivalent dose of inward self-monitoring, the depression of satisfaction. There are also people who are like pigs, to whom it’s all the same: desire and satisfaction all occur on some indifferent plane of being for them. Maybe they are the satisfied ones. I do not desire that kind of satisfaction. As I say, I didn’t know all this for certain back then: I might have hoped a little, and I certainly looked down on myself a little, laughed at the whole situation and the feelings associated with it, the feelings that were so strongly associated with that ridiculous situation. There was much I didn’t know then, and I had no inkling that there was little ridiculous about situations where our physical and psychological conditions yield to a relationship with another person. I had no idea about that.
I addressed the girl. I can’t remember what I said now, but I can see the whole scene as clearly as if someone had filmed it all on 16mm for a family movie, the kind of record that sentimental people make of a honeymoon, or the first steps of a toddler …
This is what I see: Judit slowly gets to her feet, draws a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron, and wipes her hands clear of ashes and wood dust. I see this with pinpoint clarity. Then we immediately start talking, in low voices, quickly, as if afraid that someone might step into the room. We are conspirators, thief and accomplice.
There’s something I have to say to you now. I’d like to tell it, honestly, exactly as it was, and as I am sure you will understand, this won’t be easy. Because what I am about tell you is not a dirty story, old man, not the story of a seduction — oh, no. My story is somewhat darker than that, and is only mine insofar as I am the chief actor in it. The fact is, there were greater powers exerting pressure on us, greater powers pressing through us.
As I was saying, our voices were low. That’s quite natural when you think about it: I was the master, she the servant, and our conversation was confidential in a house where she was part of the staff. What we were talking about was private and of great importance, and someone really could have walked in at any moment — my mother, or perhaps the servant who wanted Judit for himself. Both the situation and my natural tact dictated that we should talk in low voices. She too felt this, of course, and knew she had to whisper.
But I felt something else too. I felt it from the moment we started talking. I felt there was something else going on here. This wasn’t just a case of a man talking to a woman he finds attractive, someone from whom he wants something, someone he wants to possess for his pleasure. It wasn’t even that I was in love with this firm-bodied, beautiful young woman, or that I was crazy for her, dripping with lust; that the blood had so rushed to my head that I would have tried anything, including force, to get her, to possess her, to make her mine. All this is pretty tedious, I know. It happens in every man’s life, and not just once. Sexual hunger can, as you know, be as agonizing and as relentless as the hunger for food. No, there was another reason for all this whispering. I had never before felt the need to be so on my guard, you know. Because I wasn’t speaking only about my own affairs; it was a direct encounter with another person, as a person. It was why I had to keep my voice down. It was serious stuff, more serious than a romantic tale about a young gentleman and some pretty young domestic. Because when the woman stood up and, without the least sign of having been flustered, started wiping her hands down and looking me in the eye with deep attention, with those big round eyes of hers — she was already in her evening uniform, in a black dress with white apron and white cap, and looked just like the housemaid in an operetta, laughably so — I felt that the relationship I was offering was based, not only on desire, but, first and foremost, on a kind of conspiracy against somebody or something. And she too felt it. We immediately started speaking about what concerned us. There was no preamble, no beating about the bush. We spoke, almost exactly, as you might expect two conspirators to speak in a palace or some important office where valuable documents and secret papers are stored. One is an employee of the office, the other a visitor, and now, at last, they have finally found a couple of minutes to discuss their joint venture. They talk in whispers, as though they were talking about something else. They are both very excited, but one still behaves as though she were simply going about her work while the other behaves as though he just happened to be passing through the room and had hesitated for a word. They don’t have much time. At any moment the boss or some nosy official might enter, and if seen together, both might immediately arouse curiosity and their plot be discovered. That’s why we went straight to the point, and why Judit Áldozó stole the occasional glance at the fire, because the larger bits of wood were damp and did not immediately catch light. So she knelt before the fire again and I knelt down by her side and helped her adjust the yellow copper andirons and made sure the fire was properly lit. But all the time I was talking.
What did I say to her? Wait a moment, I need a cigarette. No, I won’t bother. I don’t tend to count my cigarettes this time of day. In any case a lot of this is not particularly important.