Elisabeth Kostova - The Historian

“‘Is this a typical gathering at a conference here?’ I wasn’t sure what I meant, but it was something to say while I took my eyes off Helen.

“‘Yes,’ said my companion proudly. He was a short man of about sixty in a gray jacket and gray tie. ‘We have many international gatherings at the university, especially now.’

“I wanted to ask what he meant byespecially now, but Professor Sándor had materialized again and was guiding me toward a handsome man who seemed very eager to meet me. ‘This is Professor Géza József,’ he told me. ‘He would like to make your acquaintance.’ Helen turned at the same moment, and to my utter surprise I saw a look of displeasure-was it even disgust?-flash over her face. She made her way toward us immediately, as if to intervene.

“‘How are you, Géza?’ She was shaking hands with him, formally and a little coldly, before I’d even had time to greet the man.

“‘How good to see you, Elena,’ Professor József said, bowing a little to her, and I caught something strange in his voice, too, which could have been mockery but could have been some other emotion. I wondered if they were speaking English only for my benefit.

“‘And you,’ she said flatly. ‘Allow me to introduce my colleague with whom I have been working in America -’

“‘What a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, giving me a smile that illuminated his fine features. He was taller than I, with thick brown hair and the confident posture of a man who loves his own virility-he would have been magnificent on horseback, riding across the plains with herds of sheep, I thought. His handshake was warm, and he gave me a welcoming cudgel on the shoulder with his other hand. I failed to see why Helen would find him repulsive, although I couldn’t shake the impression that she did. ‘And you will honor us with a lecture tomorrow? That is splendid,’ he said. Then he paused for a second. ‘But my English is not so good. Would you prefer we speak in French? German?’

“‘Your English is far better than either my French or German, I’m sure,’ I responded promptly.

“‘You are very kind.’ His smile was a meadow of flowers. ‘I understand your field is the Ottoman domination of the Carpathians?’

“News certainly traveled fast here, I thought; it was just like home. ‘Ah, yes,’ I concurred. ‘Although I am sure I will have much to learn from your faculty on that subject.’

“‘Surely no,’ he murmured kindly. ‘But I have done a little research on it myself and would be pleased to discuss it with you.’

“‘Professor József has a great range of interests,’ Helen put in. Her tone would have frozen hot water. This was all very puzzling, but I reminded myself that every academic department suffers from civil unrest, if not outright war, and that this one was probably no exception. Before I could think of anything conciliatory to say, Helen turned to me abruptly. ‘Professor, we must go to our next meeting,’ she said. For a second, I didn’t know whom she was addressing, but she put her hand firmly under my arm.

“‘Oh, I see you are very busy.’ Professor József was all regret. ‘Perhaps we can discuss the Ottoman question another time? I would be pleased to show you a little of our city, Professor, or take you for lunch -’

“‘The professor will be fully engaged throughout the conference,’ Helen told him. I shook hands with the man as warmly as her icy gaze would permit, and then he took her free hand in his.

“‘It is a delight to see you back in your homeland,’ he told her, and bowing over her hand, he kissed it. Helen snatched it away, but a strange look crossed her face. She was somehow moved by the gesture, I decided, and for the first time I disliked the charming Hungarian historian. Helen steered me back to Professor Sándor, where we made our apologies and expressed our eagerness to hear the next day’s lectures.

“‘And we will expect your lecture with all the pleasure.’ He pressed my hand in both of his. Hungarians were tremendously warm people, I thought with a glow that was only partly the effect of the drink in my bloodstream. As long as I postponed all real thought of that lecture myself, I felt adrift in satisfaction. Helen took my arm, and I thought she searched the room with a quick glance before we made our exit.

“‘What was that all about?’ The evening air was refreshingly cool, and I felt more aglow than ever. ‘Your compatriots are the most cordial people I think I’ve ever met, but I had the impression you were ready to behead Professor József.’

“‘I was,’ she said shortly. ‘He is unsufferable.’

“‘Insufferable, more likely,’ I pointed out. ‘What makes you treat him like that? He greeted you as an old friend.’

“‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with him, really, except that he is a flesh-eating vulture. A vampire, actually.’ She stopped short and stared at me, her eyes large. ‘I didn’t mean -’

“‘Of course you didn’t,’ I said. ‘I checked his canines.’

“‘You are unsufferable, too,’ she said, taking her arm from mine.

“I looked regretfully at her. ‘I don’t mind your holding my arm,’ I said lightly, ‘but is that a good idea in front of your entire university?’

“She stood gazing at me, and I couldn’t decipher the darkness in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. There was not anyone present from anthropology.’

“‘But you knew many of the historians, and people talk,’ I persisted.

“‘Oh, not here.’ She gave her dry snort of laughter. ‘We are all workers-in-arms together here. No gossip or conflict-only comradely dialectic. You will see tomorrow. It is really quite a little utopia.’

“‘Helen,’ I groaned. ‘Would you be serious, for once? I’m simply worried about your reputation here-your political reputation. After all, you must come back here someday and face all these people.’

“‘Must I?’ She took my arm again, and we walked on. I made no move to pull away; there was little I could have valued more at that moment than the brush of her black jacket against my elbow. ‘Anyway, it was worth it. I did it only to make Géza gnash his teeth. His fangs, that is.’

“‘Well, thank you,’ I muttered, but I didn’t trust myself to say anything more. If she had intended to make anyone jealous, it had certainly worked with me. I suddenly saw her in Géza’s strong arms. Had they been involved before Helen had left Budapest? They would have been a striking match, I thought-both were so handsomely confident, so tall and graceful, so dark haired and broad shouldered. I felt, suddenly, puny and Anglo, no match for the horsemen of the steppe. Helen’s face prohibited further questions, however, and I had to content myself with the silent weight of her arm.

“All too soon, we turned in at the gilded doors of the hotel and were in the hushed lobby. As soon as we entered, a lone figure stood up among the black upholstered chairs and potted palms, waiting quietly for us to approach. Helen gave a little cry and ran forward, her hands outstretched. ‘Éva!’”

“Since my meeting with her-I saw her only three times-I have often thought of Helen’s aunt Éva. There are people who stick in one’s memory much more clearly after a brief acquaintance than others whom one sees day after day over a long period. Aunt Éva was certainly one of those vivid people, someone my memory and imagination have conspired to preserve in living color for twenty years. I have sometimes used Aunt Éva to fill the shoes of characters in books, or figures in history; for example, she stepped in automatically when I encountered Madame Merle, the personable schemer in Henry James’sPortrait of a Lady.