Then it was the turn of Uncle Ambrus who, taking Gyeroffy by the arm, bellowed out, ‘All these young fellows here are as raw as bear-cubs. Of course they’ve not had your advantages. They’ve never been anywhere or seen anything, unlike you who was used to hob-nobbing with all the big-wigs in Budapest!’
And they all crowded round Laszlo, bowing obsequiously and winking all the time at each other. Then someone said, ‘It must have been marvellous, that court ball you told us of — the one for the King of Serbia!’
It never occurred to Laszlo that his friend had mentioned the wrong king on purpose.
‘It was the King of Spain, not Serbia,’ said Laszlo. ‘Alfonso XIII, who is nephew to the Archduke Friedrich. You really should know these things and get them right …’ and he launched into one of his favourite subjects, waving his arms with the unsteady but self-important gestures of the very drunk.
Dawn was beginning to break as they approached the main square. They had almost reached the Town Hall when Gyeroffy stopped the whole group with a peremptory wave of his hand.
‘Now we’re here, it’s my turn to give a serenade!’ he said, and called to the gypsies to get ready and have the table and chairs put on the sidewalk.
Ever since they had left the Uzdy villa Laszlo had been thinking of ordering a serenade himself, regardless of the fact, which never even occurred to him, that he only had some twenty crowns in his pocket. Now he felt himself to be a grand seigneur, high above everyone else, and this was his chance to set them an example and show them all how these things should be done. The problem was to decide where, and to whom. It was not as if he were paying court to anyone in the town, either to a young marriageable girl or to a married woman. On the days that he happened to come to town from his home at Szamos-Kozard, with a few coins in his pocket from the sale of some cucumbers or lettuce, he would put in an appearance at whatever festivity was going on, dance if it were a ball or pay calls and drink coffee and whipped cream at a house where there were young girls on the market, play the piano if anyone asked him; but he would do all this mechanically, hardly noticing where he was or what he was doing. Although he was still so good-looking that more than one girl would try to make eyes at him, he took no notice and indeed was barely aware that he had made a conquest and had an opportunity for flirtation. It was all the same to him whether he sat next to one girl or another. When invited to sit down and talk he would do so partly because good manners demanded it but mainly out of torpor. Now he had no idea to whom he should offer a serenade.
As they happened to be in front of the small town palais of the Gyalakuthys, which stood just across from the road from the Laczok house where they had been earlier, he decided on impulse that this must be the place.
Dodo Gyalakuthy was a nice little thing, a good girl who loved music and who, when he called at the house, always asked him to play. Now, as he tried to collect his thoughts and concentrate, he remembered that she always talked to him very nicely, asking him all sorts of questions about many things, about music, for instance, and his life in the country. Why not Dodo? Yes, he would play his serenade for her!
It was about five o’clock when Dodo was awakened for the second time that night. How odd! she thought. The Laczok girls are getting two serenades on the same night. They are lucky!
Dodo never thought the music might be for her, for the simple reason that it never was. None of the young men would dare to be thought to be courting her as she was known to be so rich that no one wanted to be branded as a fortune hunter by paying the slightest attention to her. In Transylvania such a thing — God preserve us! — would have been thought very bad form, indeed dishonourable.
Knowing this, she automatically thought it was for one of the Laczoks that the gypsies were tuning up again.
Dodo turned over, trying to get back to sleep. There would be no reason to get up again, as she had before, tiptoeing to the window and peering down from behind the curtains. She was sure it must be the same band, the two Alvinczys, Pityu Kendy, Gazsi and Uncle Ambrus … and Laszlo Gyeroffy.
Yes, he had been with them. Well, in a sense with them, though he never seemed to be much with anybody. He just tagged along. Poor Gyeroffy! How hurt and bitter he had been when he came back from Budapest! Of course it was all the fault of that cousin of his, Klara Kollonich. What pain she must have inflicted to poison the heart of such a sweet dear boy! How could she have done such a thing? How could she? Oh! thought Dodo, I could kill her for it! And she tried to get to sleep.
Somehow the music seemed to get louder … and nearer? She listened hard, sitting up in bed. Indeed the music came from under her window; it was not on the other side of the street at all! And the music? Why, it was that fast csardas that Laszlo had played to her the last time he had come to tea. It was that music, his music.
Dodo jumped out of bed and ran bare-foot to the window. Through the closed shutters she could see that it was already light outside. A table stood on the broad pavement outside the house with the men sitting round it. On the table stood champagne and glasses, and on each side there was a policeman who shooed away any early passers-by. And under her window the band of Laji Pongracz played, and by the side of the band-leader stood Gyeroffy! The serenade really was for her, for the girl whom no one came to court.
And it was him, Laszlo!
Dodo stood quite still beside the window, too mesmerized to move. She pressed her hands to her round little breasts as if by so doing she could still the excited beating of her heart and control the joy which throbbed in her throat. Then she remembered that she had forgotten to light a candle and that if he didn’t see an answering light he might think his offering was not accepted. She had to be quick as the second song was already coming to an end.
Quickly she ran to the bed and returned with a lighted candle to the double windows. Opening the inner panes as hurriedly as she could she placed the candle behind the curtains. Then she realized how foolish this was, for as it was daylight outside such a tiny flame would hardly be seen. Pulling the outer lace curtains aside she put the candlestick on the sill between the inner linen drapes and the outer window. There it was sure to be seen, and what did it matter if someone had had a glimpse of her round bare arm? Anyhow, what else could she have done? And it wasn’t as if everyone outside had not seen her naked arms when they danced with her at a ball. Surely no one would find fault with that and think her immodest? Feeling chilly, she went to find her feather-trimmed wrap which would keep her warm, as by now she certainly did not feel like going back to bed. What she really wanted to do was to go to the other window and there peep discreetly out to gaze and gaze upon the young man who serenaded her, that young man who at long last had noticed her, who had, perhaps, seen how interested she was in him … and who, maybe, even returned her love. Oh, even a little, little bit of it would be enough! How wonderful that would be!
Around her waist Dodo tied the sash of her silken wrap which fitted closely to her slightly chubby but well-formed body and, leaning against the inside of the window, let her dreams float with the memories the music conjured for her. Some of these memories were quite old, going back to the day, a year and a half ago, when she saw Laszlo at the Laczoks’ ball. That had been the first time they had exchanged more than a few polite phrases. The following two seasons had been filled with vain longings, for she had only seen him occasionally and by chance. Still she had always had news of him: the news that he was courting Klara Kollonich and that he had become a tremendous gambler and then, almost a year ago, that he had resigned his membership of the Casino Club. ‘And it was only because of his grand relations that he escaped being thrown out!’ Dodo was told, with mocking laughter, by several people who never knew how much they hurt her. But it was not only hurt, because this last news also gave her a tiny secret joy as she realized that it would mean that Laszlo would be forced to leave that cursed Budapest and come home to Transylvania … and when that happened, when he was near at hand, she would somehow contrive to see him, be near him, perhaps even console him, and then … maybe then?