Rácz disagrees. Rácz is a city man, you could say. He’s been living quite some time, in fact, right in the city centre. He knows very well that there’s nothing there like what Eržika dreams of. If he could, Rácz would come straight back to his native village. Life is good here. In the city there’s no life! But Rácz has to stay there for now. Business. A lot of people depend on Rácz.
“And do you like me a bit?” Rácz asks Eržika.
“Me?” Eržika asks. Why not? None of her friends have boyfriends like him, with a car and a driver. Eržika is proud of him.
Rácz smiles, contented and proud. He pours another glass of champagne and downs it. A driver? That’s not just a driver; he’s a servant, too! To prove it, Rácz orders Ďula to do his trick: to drink a litre of water non-stop and then crawl under the table with a pork chop between his teeth.
They all laugh and clap. Rácz can’t take his eyes off Eržika. How shy, young and fresh she is!
By now the guests are drunk. Some at table begin to sing mournful, drawn-out songs.
Rácz puts an arm round Eržika. He pours her another drink. He swallows a few times. His ears are buzzing. The blood has gone to his head. He’s excited. “If you really like me,” he says half-choked, “you’ll come to the barn with me right now.” Rácz takes fright: he has a feeling that everyone around has heard what he said. But they’re noisily having fun. Someone has vomited on the table.
“Why the barn?” Eržika asks, “and then what?”
Rácz’s broad, simple face has changed. His eyes are popping with passion and his nostrils flare like a bull’s. His jaw shakes. He trembles all over. He’s sure he’s never felt this way before. Not even Silvia could unleash such a hurricane of feelings in him. He expects it’s because he’s never had much time for champagne before. But that doesn’t matter. Rácz knows that this is it! The other affair meant nothing. He loves Eržika. It’s all coming back to him. After all, he went to the city for the sake of Kišš’s daughter!
“Why the barn?” Eržika asks.
Rácz gesticulates. “You’ll show me there how much you like me,” he says. “That’s how it’s done in the city. If a girl loves someone, she has to prove it to him first.” Rácz is getting the feeling that she loves him only for his money. Yes, Rácz has got money. Why shouldn’t he? But first of all, he’s a man. And what does a man need? He needs proof of love! Rácz drinks a glass of champagne and forces Eržika to do the same. He fills their glasses and proposes a toast: “To us!”
At the other end of the table, Kišš clinks his glass and gets up. He starts a speech. Kišš is, you can say, loaded. A butcher can make good money, people will eat anything. Young Rácz would like to marry his daughter, his only daughter. Rácz is a smart boy. He’s proved that he inherited all the good qualities of his parents who passed away so tragically. He left for the city and became rich amazingly quickly. But you have to admit that if it weren’t for Kišš, Rácz would not be where he is today! This morning Rácz gave him his horse. Now Kišš will give him his daughter. Yes, first thing tomorrow, they’ll go to the priest to arrange the marriage banns.
Kišš, all red in the face, finishes and sits down. Now they all expect Rácz to say something. But Rácz just sits there obstinately mute; he’s not a talker. He’d rather go and hide somewhere.
Uncle Endre saves the situation. He gets up and makes a speech. He assures Kišš that Rácz will be an obedient son-in-law. At home, he got slapped for the slightest thing. His parents choked to death on money. Endre had his share when the inheritance was divided up, while Rácz was on the way to the funeral. There wasn’t that much left. It was just a smidgen compared to what Rácz now has at his disposal. Such is justice: they all helped themselves to money that was not theirs and which — and Endre has to admit frankly — they robbed young Rácz of. They shared out someone else’s inheritance. What a shameful act! However, on the other hand, would Rácz have been able to get so far if he’d inherited the money? Never! He’d have been an averagely well-off peasant, and Kišš would have given him Eržika in marriage there and then, and they’d all have lived happily ever after. A sort of justice arranged things in such a way that a shameful act eventually turned out to be a good deed, even a favour. Otherwise, Rácz would have never become such a wealthy man, a nabob, a tycoon. Uncle Endre now paused for a while. And therefore, he went on, looking Rácz in the face, he asks in the name of Rácz’s aunts and uncles for forgiveness for making him… such a rich man. At the same time, he proposes a toast to the health of the young couple.
The drink has gone to Rácz’s head. He can’t make sense of Uncle Endre’s speech. Something about money, and an inheritance. A few pennies! He’s not interested in that. The point is not to save as much as one can, but to make as much as one can. So Rácz forgives Uncle Endre and his other relatives.
Now Kišš gets up. He’d like to say something else, as this company is all gathered here. In the future someone might spread gossip and slander him, try to damage him. No, Kišš does not want to say that this is inevitable, but it’s quite possible that Rácz might find out from someone that his daughter was for some time, after Rácz left for the city, engaged to Feri Bartaloš. “Well,” Kišš pauses, while Rácz is stunned. “Actually,” Kišš continues, “it’s true and it isn’t.” Kišš did consider it prudent to betroth Eržika, to protect her from the young men of the village. “After all,” Kišš turns to his guests, “a girl is safer when everybody knows that she has a fiancé.” They all murmur in agreement. “But on the other hand,” continues Kišš, “he has to ask: ‘What sort of a fiancé is Feri Bartaloš?’” Yes, Kišš will swear to Rácz that this was only a protective manœuvre. It was the obvious thing to do to get peace for Eržika, so she could wait for Rácz. Rácz needn’t worry. Nothing happened, Kišš made sure of that. And that is why Kišš asks his future son-in-law Rácz: will Rácz pardon him for being so concerned for the safety of his daughter and her future happiness with Rácz? After all, she’s always loved Rácz. Kišš hadn’t meant to tell Rácz, but now he realises that it’s better if he told him, and not some evil-tongued gossiping old woman. Kišš’s conscience is clear.
Kišš stops talking. With a question in his eyes, he watches Rácz. Rácz’s eyes focus on Eržika’s blushing face. “If that’s how it is, I forgive you, Mr. Kišš,” says Rácz after a few moments.
Everyone starts clapping. The toasts are over and the wild party resumes.
“Well, how about it?” Rácz persists.
“About what?” Eržika fails to understand.
“Will you go to the barn with me?”
Eržika shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Rácz sees his opening in her answer. He grabs her thigh. Under the table. Nobody sees a thing. Eržika is afraid to shriek, she doesn’t want to attract attention.
“Let’s go then,” he insists in a muffled monotone.
Eržika gets up with a sigh. Rácz follows her.
Nobody has noticed a thing.
It’s dark outside. The windows illuminate the yard. The curious onlookers have drunk the barrel of pear brandy Kišš brought out for them and are lying motionless, scattered in various positions in the snow. The farm buildings at the back loom up in the dark. The twinkling stars freeze high in the blackness. Rácz grabs Eržika’s hand and drags her to the barn. The champagne sparkles in his head. He feels all tense and stiff.
“I see,” Eržika says, “there are rings round the moon.”
But Rácz couldn’t care less about rings round the moon. He burps and opens the barn door. A shaft of light from the yard falls on a pile of hay. Rats are chasing each other up in the rafters. Their eyes are phosphorescent red.