and also what he should say so his companion might be his old self again. “OK, just don’t shout so loud!” he whispered: “Haven’t we enough troubles as it is?” “God is not made manifest in language, you dope. He’s not manifest in anything. He doesn’t exist.” “Well, I believe in God!” Petrina cut in outraged. “Have some consideration for me at least, you damn atheist!” “God was a mistake. I’ve long understood there is zero difference between me and a bug, or a bug and a river, or a river and voice shouting above it. There’s no sense or meaning in anything. It’s nothing but a network of dependency under enormous fluctuating pressure. It’s only our imaginations, not our senses, that continually confront us with failure and the false belief that we can raise ourselves by our own bootstraps from the miserable pulp of decay. There’s no escaping that, stupid.” “But how can you say this now, after what we’ve just seen?” Petrina protested. Irimiás made a wry face. “That’s precisely why I say we are trapped forever. We’re properly doomed. It’s best not to try either, best not believe your eyes. It’s a trap, Petrina. And we fall into it every time. We think we’re breaking free but all we’re doing is readjusting the locks. We’re trapped, end of story.” Petrina had worked his own way up to fury now. “I don’t understand a word of that! Don’t spout poetry at me, goddamit! Speak plain!” “Let’s hang ourselves, you fool,” Irimiás sadly advised him: “At least it’s over quicker. It’s the same either way, whether we hang ourselves or not. So OK, let’s not hang ourselves.” “Look friend, I just can’t understand you! Stop it now before I burst into tears. .” They walked on quietly for a while, but Petrina couldn’t let it rest. “You know what’s the matter with you, boss? You haven’t been christened. “That’s as may be.” They were on the old road by now, the “kid” eager for adventure scanning the terrain, but there were only the deep tracks left by cartwheels in the summer, nothing looked dangerous; overhead, an occasional flock of crows, then the rain coming down harder and the wind too seeming to pick up as they neared the town. “Well, and now?” asked Petrina. “What?” “What happens now?” “What do you mean what happens now?” Irimiás answered through gritted teeth. “From here on things get better. Till now other people have told you what to do, now you will tell them. It’s exactly the same thing. Word for word.” They lit cigarettes and gloomily blew out the smoke. It was getting dark by the time they reached southeastern part of town, marching down deserted streets where lights burned in windows and people sat silently in front of steaming plates of food. “Here,” Irimiás stopped when they reached The Scales. “We’ll stop here for a while.” They entered the smoky, airless bar that was already packed and, pushing their way past loudly guffawing or arguing groups of drivers, tax officials, workers and students, Irimiás made his way to the bar to join a long line. The barman, who recognized Irimiás as soon as he stepped through the door, skipped nimbly over to their end of the counter, remarking, “Well, well! Who do I see here! Greetings! Welcome, Lord of Misrule!” He leaned across the bar, extending his hand and quietly asked, “What can we do for you, gentlemen?” Irimiás ignored the proferred hand and answered coolly: “Two blended and a small spritzer.” “Right away gentlemen,” the barman answered a little taken aback, yanking his hand back. “Two measures of blended and a small spritzer. Coming right up.” He skipped back to his position at the center of the bar, poured the drinks and quickly served them. “You are my guests, gentlemen.” “Thank you,” replied Irimiás. “What’s new, Weisz?” The barman wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of his shirt, glanced left and right and leant close to Irimiás. “The horses have escaped from the slaughter house. .” he whispered excitedly. “Or so they say.” “The horses?” “Yes, the horses — I just heard that they still haven’t been able to catch them. A whole stable of horses, if you please, running amok in town, if you please. So they say.” Irimiás nodded, then, raising the glasses above his head, cut his way back through the crowd and, with some difficulty, reached Petrina and the “kid” who had made a small place for themselves. “Spritzer for you, kid.” “Thanks, I saw, he knows.” “Not hard to guess. So. To our health.” They threw back the drink, Petrina offered cigarettes round, and they lit up. “Ah, the famous prankster! Good evening! Is it you? How the devil did you get here! So pleased to see you!” A short, bald man with a beetroot-colored face came up and extended his hand, friendly fashion. “Greetings!” he said and turned to Petrina. “So how are things, Tóth?” Petrina asked. “Pretty well. OK as things go nowadays! And yourselves? Seriously, it must be at least two, no, three years since I last laid eyes on you. Was it something big?” Petrina nodded. “Possibly.” “Ah, that’s different. .” the bald man acknowledged, embarrassed, and turned to Irimiás. “Have you heard? Szabó is done for.” “Uh uhm” grunted Irimiás and threw back what remained in his glass. “What’s new, Tóth?” The bald man leaned closer. “I got an apartment.” “You don’t say? Congratulations. Anything else?” “Well, life goes on, Tóth answered dully. “We’ve just had the local election. Any idea how many went to vote? Hm. You can guess. I can count them all, from one to one. They’re all here,” he said pointing to his own head. “Well that was big of you, Tóth,” Irimiás answered in a tired voice. “I see you don’t waste your time.” “Obvious isn’t it?” the bald man spread his hands. “There are things a man has to do. Am I right?” Petrina leaned forward. “Indeed you are, now will you join the line to bring us something?” The bald man was keen: “What would you like, gentlemen? Be my guests.” “Blended.” “Coming up. Back in a minute.” He was at the bar in a matter of moments, waved the barman over and was immediately back with a handful of glasses. “To our meeting!” “Cheers,” said Irimiás. “Till the cows come home,” added Petrina. “So tell me what’s new? What news over there?’” asked Tóth, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Where?” Petrina wondered. “Just, you know, “there”. . speaking generally.” “Ah. We have just witnessed a resurrection.” “The bald man flashed his yellow teeth. “You haven’t changed a bit, Petrina! Ha-ha-ha! We’ve just witnessed a resurrection! Very good! That’s you, all right!” “You don’t believe me?” Petrina sourly remarked. “You’ll see, you’ll come to a bad end. Don’t wear anything too warm once you’re at death’s door. It’s hot enough there, they say.” Tóth was shaking with laughter. “Wonderful, gentlemen!” he panted. “I’ll rejoin my associates. Will we meet again?” “That,” said Petrina with a sad smile, “is unavoidable.” They left The Scales and started down the poplar-lined avenue that led to the center of town. The wind blew in their faces, the rain drove into their eyes, and because they had warmed up inside they were hunched and shivering now. They met not a single soul until they got to the church square, Petrina even remarking on it: “What is this? A curfew?” “No, it’s just autumn, the time of year,” Irimiás noted sadly: “People sit by their stoves and don’t get up till spring. They spend hours by the window until it grows dark. They eat, they drink, they cling to each other in bed under the eiderdown. There are moments when they feel everything is going wrong for them, so they give their kids a good beating or kick the cat, and in this way they get by a while longer. That’s how it goes, you idiot.” In the main square they were stopped by a crowd of people. “Have you seen anything?” asked a gangling man. “Nothing at all,” answered Irimiás. “If you do, tell us immediately. We’ll wait here for news. You’ll find us here.” “Fine. Ciao.” A few yards on Petrina asked, “I might be an idiot, but so what if they’re there? They were perfectly normal to look at. What were we supposed to have seen?” “Horses,” Irimiás replied. “Horses? What horses?” “The ones that escaped from the slaughterhouse.” They passed down the empty high street and took a turn towards the old Romanian quarter, Nagyrománváros. At the crossing of Eminescu Street and The Avenue they spotted them. There they were in the middle of Eminescu Street, some eight or ten horses, grazing. Their backs reflected the faint streetlights and they carried on peacefully chomping the grass until they noticed the group staring at them, then suddenly, it seemed in unison, they raised their heads, one neighed, and within a minute they had disappeared down the far end of the street. “Who are you cheering for?” asked the “kid’, grinning. “For myself,” Petrina nervously replied. There was hardly anyone in Steigerwald’s bar when they looked in and those who were there quickly left. Steigerwald himself was fiddling with the TV set in the corner. “Damn you, you useless bastard!” he cursed at the TV not having noticed the newcomers. “Good evening,” boomed Irimiás. Steigerwald quickly turned round. “Good Lord! It’s you!.” “No problem,” Petrina reassured him. No problem at all.” “That’s good. I thought. .” the landlord muttered. “That rotten bastard there,” he pointed to the television in fury: “I’ve been trying for an hour to get a picture out of it but it’s gone and doesn’t want to come back.” “In that case, take a break. Get us two blended, and a spritzer for the young gentleman.” They sat down at a table, unbuttoned their coats and lit more cigarettes. “Listen kid,” said Irimiás. “Drink it up then go down to Páyer’s. You know where he lives? Good. You tell him I’m waiting for him here.” “OK,” answered the “kid” and buttoned his coat again. He took the glass from the landlord’s hand, threw back the contents, and was quickly out of the door. “Steigerwald,” Irimiás stopped the landlord who, having put their glasses down in front of them, was on his way back to the bar. “Ah, so there is trouble after all,” he groaned and planted his behemoth of a body on a chair beside them. “There’s no trouble,” Irimiás assured him. “We need a truck by tomorrow.” “When will you bring it back?” “Tomorrow night. And we sleep here tonight.” “All right,” nodded the relieved Steigerwald then struggled to his feet. “When are you paying?” “Right now.” “Pardon?” “You misheard,” the master corrected him: “Tomorrow.” The door opened and the “kid” rushed in. “He’ll be right here,” he announced and sat back in his chair. “Well done, sonny. Get yourself another spritzer. And tell the man to make us some bean soup.” “With pork trotters,” Petrina added with a grin. A few minutes later a heavily-built, fat, grey-haired man entered, umbrella in hand. He must have been ready for bed because he hadn’t even dressed properly but simply thrown a coat over his pajamas and put a pair of fake-fur slippers on his feet. “I hear you’re back in town, squire,” he said sleepily and gently let himself down into the chair next to Irimiás. “I wouldn’t resist if you tried to shake my hand.” Irimiás was gazing mournfully into space but at Páyer’s words, snapped to attention and gave a smile of satisfaction. “My deepest respects. I hope I have not awoken you from your slumbers.” The smile did not wither on Irimiás’s lips. He crossed his legs, leaned back and slowly blew out smoke. “Let’s get down to business.” “Don’t go scaring me at the outset,” the newcomer held up his hand, but he spoke with confidence. “Go on, ask me for something now that you’ve dragged me from my bed.” “What will you have to drink?” “No, don’t ask me what I want to drink. They don’t have it here. I’ll have a plum pálinka.” He listened to Irimiás with his eyes closed as if asleep, and only raised his hand again to ask a question when the landlord arrived with the pálinka and he had thrown it all back at once. “Wait a minute! What’s the hurry? I haven’t been introduced to your esteemed colleagues. .” Petrina leapt to his feet. “Petrina, at your command. I’m Petrina.” The “kid” did not move. “Horgos.” Páyer raised his lowered eyelids. “A well mannered young man,” he said and gave Irimiás a knowing look. “He has a bright future.” “I’m pleased my assistants are slowly gaining your sympathy, Mister Bang-bang.” Páyer raised his head as if by way of defense. “Spare me the nicknames. I’m not a gun obsessive as I believe you know. I just deal in guns. Let’s stick with Páyer.” “Fine,” smiled Irimiás and stubbed out his cigarette under the table. “The situation is this. I would be most grateful for certain. . raw materials. The more kinds the better.” Páyer closed his eyes. “Is this a purely hypothetical inquiry or are you ready to back it up with a certain figure that might help me bear the indignity of simply being alive?” “Backed up, naturally.” The guest nodded in acknowledgment. “I can only repeat that, as a business associate, you are a gentleman through and through. It’s a pity that there are ever fewer well-mannered men of your profession to deal with.” “Will you join us for supper?” Irimiás inquired with the same unwearying smile when Steigerwald appeared at the table with plates of bean soup.” “What have you got to offer?” “Nothing,” the landlord grunted. “Do you mean that whatever you bring us is inedible?” asked Páyer in a tired voice. “Right.” “In that case I won’t have anything.” He got up, gave a slight bow and gave the “kid” a special nod. “Gentlemen, at your service. We’ll deal with the details later if I understand you correctly.” Irimiás too stood up and extended his hand. “Indeed. I’ll look you up at the weekend. Sleep well.” “Look, it is precisely twenty-six years since I last slept five and a half hours without waking: ever since then I’ve been tossing and turning, half asleep, half awake. But I thank you anyway.” He bowed again, then with slow steps and a sleepy look he left the bar. Once supper was over, Steigerwald prepared beds for them in a corner, grumbling all the while, and gave the non-functioning TV set a frustrated nudge with his elbow as he was about to leave them to it. “You don’t have a Bible by any chance?” Petrina called to him. Steigerwald slowed, stopped and turned round to face him. “A Bible? What do you need one of those for?” “I thought I’d read a little before I sleep. It always has a settling effect on me, you know.” “How can you even say that without blushing!” muttered Irimiás: “You were a child the last time you read a book, and even then you just looked at the pictures. .” “Don’t listen to him!” Petrina protested, making an offended face: “He’s just jealous, that’s all.” Steigerwald scratched his head. “All I’ve got here are some decent detective stories. Do you want me to bring you one?” “Heaven forbid!” cried Petrina. “That won’t do at all!” Steigerwald looked sourly at him then vanished through a door to the yard. “That Steigerwald, what a miserable bastard. .,” Petrina mumbled. “I swear the starving bears I meet in my worst nightmares are friendlier than he is.” Irimiás had lain down in the place prepared for him and covered himself with the blanket. “Maybe. But he’ll survive us all.” The “kid” turned off the light and they fell quiet. The only thing to be heard for a while was the sound of Petrina mumbling as he tried to remember the words of a prayer he’d heard his grandmother say.