Sandor Marai - The Rebels

“What did she say?” asked Ábel and leaned forward.

Havas gave him a glance. “She said: oh, oh,” he repeated. “Nothing else. Nor did she go away but just stood there with the bird in her hand, the tears dropping from her eyes. Then I grew angry because isn’t this just the kind of thing that happens when a man listens to his heart? Why cry for the bird, your ladyship? It wouldn’t touch meat. Are you not ashamed of yourself, all this fuss about a bird? Ashamed, Mr. Havas? she asks. Then I got really angry, as I always do when I pay too much attention to my heart, then have to bear the consequences. Does your ladyship not know there is a war on? I said. Are you not ashamed to weep over a bird when so many are dying day after day? You should be ashamed of yourself, I said, and slammed the shutter down. I am not an evil man but my heart wasn’t up to it. Do you know what she said? Who should I cry for? she asked. Then I started shouting: You scarecrow, you bird fancier! Millions die and you have no one to weep for? No one, she answers. Then weep for those millions, I tell her, and by this time I don’t know whether to shout or laugh. Can you imagine what she said to me then? I don’t know those people.”

He half filled a glass with water and drank a long draught.

“I don’t deal in birds. Imagine, gentlemen!” He smashed his fist down on the table. “I’m sorry. But I get into such a temper each time I think of that old woman and her siskin. One should pay no attention to one’s heart. I accept everything: silver, binoculars, slightly used clothes, but birds, no.” He raised his head defiantly and blew out a dense cloud of smoke that he dispersed with his hand. “No, and again no.”

The room grew darker. The wind was whipping the dust off the road and the first shimmering twilight of the storm settled on the room and on the scene through the window. The blackflies were mercilessly stinging Ábel’s face and the mixed odors of the room were making his stomach heave. He glanced pleadingly at Tibor. The pawnbroker was taking regular sips of water: the thought of the bird that had so excited him was still bothering him. His fingers drummed on the table and he kept grunting. The acrid, almost refreshing smell of mothballs triumphantly overcame the smell of rotting food.

“We’ve come about the silver, Mr. Havas,” Tibor said in the sultry silence.

They waited with bated breath. The pawnbroker ran his eyes over the room as if seeking a fulcrum, some familiar landmark to help him understand what they were talking about.

“The silver?” he asked. “What silver?”

Tibor took out his wallet and handed him the ticket.

“It’s the family silver, Mr. Havas,” he said quickly. “I have to tell you Father is rather fond of it. That’s why we have come.”

“But this ticket is long out-of-date, gentlemen,” the pawnbroker said. “The contract is perfectly clear. It expired a month ago.”

“But we thought…,” said Tibor, then got stuck. “Didn’t Amadé explain?”

Havas stood up with the ticket in his hand.

“Amadé?” he pondered. “Do the gentlemen mean the dancing master? No, he said nothing. But perhaps the gentlemen don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” asked Tibor. He too stood up, and took a step towards Havas.

“Oh!” said Havas, surprised. “I thought you knew. He went away at noon. He’s gone for good. He was here this morning to say goodbye. It’s usually the way with actors,” he said shaking his head, then went over to the window and carefully reread the details on the ticket.

“I’m sorry to say it’s out-of-date. Was it family silver? An old much-loved heirloom? Generally we only lend according to the value of silver, pure and simple. We can’t take sentimental value into account. But I am surprised to hear he didn’t take his leave of you gentlemen. For, as far as I am aware, it was specifically the gentlemen, his friendship with the gentlemen, that is, that was the occasion of his departure.”

He carefully closed the window.

“We shall have a hurricane. Just look. Once it’s over we’ll have a nice cool evening. But no, it’s a real surprise…the young gentlemen should certainly have been aware of his departure.”

They were so tense they were ready to leap. Ábel was unable to speak. The pawnbroker sat back down at the table. Second by second the room was growing darker. They couldn’t see each other’s faces in the gloom. With his back to the window the pawnbroker was indistinct, a large dark shapeless mass.

“May I suggest the young gentlemen sit down?” he addressed them courteously. “Let’s talk this over.”

He waited, then continued with the odd pause for breath.

“He was here this morning. He came in a carriage laden with trunks. He came for money, of course. They’re real characters, those actors. Not all the wealth of Darius is enough for them. Being a foolish man with a foolish heart I naturally gave him some, especially once he explained why he had to leave town. I couldn’t remain indifferent to his plight…He was, I had to admit, in serious danger.”

He gave a dull, flat laugh.

“How extraordinarily mobile these people are,” he remarked in acknowledgment. “It’s nothing to them to pack everything in a few hours and move on. I’m not the sort of person who could make such sudden decisions. Look around you. Then try to imagine the storeroom below, the real thing. Because all you see here is the stuff people have abandoned. People are extraordinary. They find themselves in a spot, pick up the nearest valuable thing, be it silver, a clock, or a pair of earrings, and over they come to Havas. They think six months is a long time. But most of them haven’t a clue what is likely to happen in six months’ time. Then one day there they are in front of me, begging.”

He looked over the ticket again, holding it slightly away from him as though he were nearsighted.

“Six hundred crowns. A pretty sum. Many people could live for six months on that. A silver dinner service for twenty-four…” He stood up, went over to the bed, groaned as he bent down, and drew out a worn old green leather trunk. “Was this the item?”

He opened the trunk and the Prockauers’ family silver lay pale and glimmering before them. Tibor seized Havas’s arm.

“I knew it would still be here, Mr. Havas. You couldn’t have done that to us! You have no idea how terrible it would have been! But everything will be all right, Mr. Havas. You will have our bond.”

The pawnbroker removed Tibor’s arm and, without a word, closed the trunk and pushed it back under the bed with his foot.

“The customer offering items for pawn is not obliged to give his name,” he said. “Please to consider that I cannot know who the silver belongs to. This ticket,” he sat back down at the table and handed the ticket over, “has expired. The customer failed to extend the term of the agreement. The pawned item was auctioned off at a public auction.”

“Who bought it?” Tibor asked.

“I did,” said Havas calmly. “I made the highest bid. Auctions are publicly advertised well in advance.”

“But in that case, Mr. Havas,” said Tibor in his singsong astonished voice, “everything is all right. You give us the silver and we give our bond that the money will be repaid in the shortest possible time. You know us, know who we are. You must understand. Please don’t think ill of us, Mr. Havas. But back then…Didn’t Amadé say anything about it?”

“Whether he said or did not say anything, gentlemen, by law and by right the silver is no longer yours.”

“By law and by right, Mr. Havas?” asked Tibor.

“By law and by right. I go strictly by the terms of the contract. The young gentlemen will not understand: it is a delicate matter. I am not permitted to ask anyone’s name.”