Sandor Marai - The Rebels

How long can it last? he wondered. And what then? The spell that held them together might be broken in a matter of minutes. One word and, like an overloaded fuse, the electricity would snap off and all would be darkness. They had long prepared for this evening. Ábel couldn’t say what precisely he was expecting, what form of liberation. The only thing that surprised him was how extraordinarily morose they all felt. It had never occurred to him that the moment of freedom would appear so unattractive.

It was their low stature that made them nervous: they had suddenly fallen from the highest echelons of their own hierarchy to the rank of second-rate adults.

“We have to start over again, right from the beginning,” he said.

NOT ONE OF THEM WANTED TO SET OFF WITHOUTTibor. Who’ll go first, asked Ernõ. When they remained silent, Tibor made no move: he too waited silently, expectantly, staring at the marble-topped table. He didn’t look up, knowing it was him they were waiting for, that they were watching him closely. He was determined to say nothing. The way they competed for his affection, the passionate loyalty they radiated from every side, even more powerfully, more jealously now than before, made him all the more obstinate. He sat like the wounded Paris, biting his lip.

This jealousy radiating from each of them individually, a jealousy whose intensity he could not help but feel, shook and embittered him. He felt anxious, uncertain of himself. Friendship was a burden. It was nice to know that the bonds that had so far united them had now been broken. Thinking this he felt a sense of freedom and lightness. He no longer needed their friendship. It was too much, it weighed him down. Ábel’s enthusiasms, Ernõ’s jealousy, Béla’s leech-like clinging, the actor’s games and very being: it was all excessive, he could no longer bear it. He felt a great relief contemplating the possibility that, within a month perhaps, the barracks would be his home. No longer would there be Mother, Lajos, and Ábel constantly asking him to account for his every movement, no longer would he suffer the insufferably critical gaze of Ernõ, no longer would he have to endure the presence of Béla, that mincing shadow. He had had enough of them all. He thought fondly of the front of which he knew nothing, only that it would mean a final break with the life he had been leading, a life whose tensions he could no longer bear. His father’s face appeared before him out of the chaos, cast in bronze like some heroic statue. There was something certain you could cling to there, though the enormous weight of it oppressed everyone around him. Tibor wanted to settle his bill with Havas. Tomorrow he would speak to his mother and maybe even confess everything, but the important thing was to pay Havas off, to recover the silver, then, with a light heart, to say farewell to Ábel and Ernõ, clap Béla on the shoulder, avoid the actor, and, free as a bird, to enter the barracks, maybe the war itself, that great community of adults where he would no longer be responsible for anything, where he would no longer be the idol of a small votary circle all the more burdensome because he was incapable of reciprocating their feelings. Everything would be fine, it would all be all right, a word might be enough and they would all be free of this aching, agonizing spell. He no longer knew who he was. The rules of the game had become confusing, incomprehensible. They were sitting around, waiting for something to happen. What had happened? Whose fault was it? He felt no sense of guilt. He had simply tolerated their loyalty to him. He had been fair: he tolerated them all equally. He felt he had assumed a great burden he could barely support. He had to shake it off with one great effort and move on. He was fed up with the game. He couldn’t stand it any longer: it agitated him so keenly that his whole nervous system rejected it.

He thought of Ábel and cast a glance at him. The doctor’s son immediately returned his glance with such enthusiasm, such feverish anticipation and readiness to leap to his feet and carry out his orders, that he felt guilty and miserable as he averted his eyes. People were so hard to reject. We think we are free but when we try to tear ourselves away we find we cannot move a muscle. Someone smiles at us heedlessly and immediately we are entangled in that person’s friendship. He didn’t know what friendship was. He had imagined friendship differently, as taking a lighthearted, pleasant walk, a kind of fellow feeling that imposed no obligations. People spend time with each other, exchanging ideas…And for the first time it struck him that such a bond might weigh on one, that it might not be breakable without causing injury.

But it didn’t depress him to think that such injury might be inevitable. So what if he hurt someone? Why not punch Ernõ in the face and dislodge that pince-nez, why not fetch Ábel a mighty blow or squash Béla’s nose, then stride away with head held high? The problem was that he couldn’t just walk out, that a man cannot simply abandon a world, a habitation he himself has shaped. They all lived on the same planet and none of them could stop inhabiting it: they were their own sun, their own atmosphere, held together by forces none of them could overcome alone.

I might be able to make my peace with each of them, he thought hopefully. It was not impossible. I’ll have a word with Havas, and tomorrow, when Ábel gives that whistle I’ll tell him I don’t have the time. Perhaps I will write a letter to Father and ask him to come home. If he were here and he forgave me, no one would dare come anywhere near me.

He turned his face away with a proud suffering look. What are they looking at? he strained to think. Perhaps they’re waiting for me to stand up so they can form a line behind me, and I won’t be able to take a step without them because they’re scared I might escape. Oh, to be through with all this! To forget! To play something else, some completely different game! Now, when we are free to play what we like…To forget these years, the gang, the thefts, the anxiety, the entire game, this whole crazy painful rebellion…Let them feel some pain. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered why it hurt when people loved you. Every nerve in his body, every sinew, bristled and protested against the demands that he felt to be radiating from the others. They all wanted him exclusively to themselves, he thought. They’re jealous. Filled with pride, he broke into a barely visible smile and raised his head.

One of them has cheated, he thought. The whole game is crooked, has been crooked for a long time. The game was serving someone’s interests. He looked straight ahead like a slave owner, disgusted by what he saw. I have to try and find the word, he thought, the word that once pronounced will blow it all to kingdom come, that will explode the whole point of the gang, or lance it like a blister that you only need to touch with a pin, just one word…I loathe you all, he thought. If I stood up now and started screaming, that I’d had enough, I can’t bear it any longer, they would all think something, their thoughts would be of me, and I want no more of this, I’ve had enough. I want to be free of them, alone; I want new friends. This friendship is a pain. I can’t stand it any more.

He looked up almost as if begging.

We shouldn’t have close friendships, he thought. It’s not my fault. I didn’t ask anyone to be my friend.

He raised his hand and they all looked him right in the eyes. Ernõ’s eyes shone with a cold and mocking light. They all hate me, he thought and a hot wave of contrariness ran through him.

He stood up and stretched sensuously.

Come on, he said simply, I’ve had enough.

THEY MADE THEIR WAY THROUGH THE CAFÉ,Tibor at the head, three of them in a single group behind, Lajos bringing up the rear. The bon vivant bowed to the director. People watched them leave. Friends of Amadé, they said at one of the tables. Sniggering laughter followed them out, looks of curiosity. Ábel felt himself blushing. All the tables were talking about them. They stood at the revolving doors. The door was temporarily jammed: someone was pushing the opposite way. There were eyes everywhere. Perhaps books were better after all. They should have stuck to books: people caused you pain, they infected you. I’d never have believed it could hurt so much. I know I’ve been a burden to him. He’s far more stupid than I am. More stupid? What does that mean? He doesn’t feel the excitement I feel when I meet someone, when I search through my memories to locate a voice I once heard. Father will be asleep now. Etelka might be awake, she may be sitting in my room. She loves me. Ernõ told me she was in love with me. What was the cobbler saying about Tibor’s mother? There was no deterioration in her condition overnight. If she should die tonight the colonel would arrive the next day or the day after…I must speak to Havas. Why did he call me as well? We will ask him to hand back the silver and we’ll give him a signed note to promise that, should we survive and grow to be adults, we will settle the debt. I’ll write him a letter and after I’m dead he can give it to Father or to Etelka. Six months or so and I will have forgotten all this. Perhaps I will still be alive and might, one day, write something. That hurts too, but not as much as living with other people does. Here we stand now with everyone staring at us. They look contemptuous: the editor is looking at us, waving us over. Perhaps they know Amadé is waiting for us. There is something disgraceful about going around with Amadé. They don’t like Amadé. They smirk when they see him and whisper when his back is turned. Now they’re smirking at us too. Perhaps they think we are off to the brothel. That’s something of a tradition here. Amadé would lead us. That wouldn’t be too bad, actually. Big Jurák, the bodybuilder, visited the brothel last week and said they had a new blond girl down from the capital, and that she showed him her license in which the police specify what streets they may use for soliciting, where they may smile and invite men over, how at the opera and at the National Theater they may only enter the second circle, and how much of the licensed girl’s income may be deducted by the landlord for rent. That would make good reading. One should read everything, everything people have written, and see everything they have built and constructed, everything. Some time, perhaps quite soon, I want to write down all I’ve ever seen or heard, write it down in a great big book, yes, including everything about this town, Tibor, Amadé, Etelka, and them all; everything I see and hear right up to the beginning of my book. Not a bad thing to do. What’s up now? Why aren’t we moving? Tibor hates me. Ernõ hates me too. I think we all hate each other. I loathe Amadé and Lajos gets on my nerves with his stupid questions. He changes subjects all the time without any warning. He gets the wrong idea about everything. I don’t want Tibor to hate me. I know he’s stupid but I still don’t want it. I’m utterly unlike him, and yet his beauty sets him apart. He can’t help it that I suffer on his account. If Tibor were my friend I’d go away with him and take great care to discuss everything with him, even if I knew he didn’t understand or wasn’t so much as listening. Perhaps he would help me if I gave him a present, something special. I’ve more or less poured out my heart to him. I have nothing I can give him. What would he say if I told him he was beautiful? Maybe he doesn’t know. I didn’t know it till recently. I must forget the fact that he’s beautiful, and once I do that I’ll be free of them. Everyone can go his own way and we can forget each other. I should pay a visit to the brothel. If I knew, if everything worked out…Perhaps Amadé will take me there now. Get a move on. The prima donna is looking this way too, laughing and beckoning. Maybe she fancies Tibor. What to do if Amadé should introduce us to the prima donna? Tomorrow is free. Everyone finds Tibor attractive. There was an army major in the street yesterday who turned round to look at Tibor. Everyone likes him. Nobody likes me…Well, maybe Etelka. It isn’t good for a person to love somebody. I shall be alone soon. I feel ill in the afternoons. I must find out who cheated. I must be free of Amadé. And of Ernõ and Havas too. I don’t want to dream about him any more. I must be free of Tibor as well. When does a person become an adult? The revolving door turned. They stepped out into the street.