Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

All the men visiting the bazaar were happy to let the bevies of pretty girls cajole them into parting with their money. They carelessly bought anything put before them, some of it useless junk of no value but offered for many times the price they would have paid at one of the town shops. And they bought with such recklessness because these inflated prices included the right to a little mild flirtation. The girls were not ungenerous with their favours for it was exciting to see how much more than its worth the lovesick male could be induced to pay for a one-crown pot of flour, a necktie which usually fetched three crowns or a completely useless paper doll. If she smiled a little more than he had expected, if she leaned towards him so that he could catch the scent of her perfumed shoulders, or if — just by chance of course — a lock of her hair brushed his cheek, if she sold just a little bit of herself, then the money came raining in and the sense of triumph made eyes shine brighter and added a touch of real sensuality to every laugh. Even the most upright and straitlaced of women can occasionally succumb to the lure of trying a little hint of seduction without ever realizing that it was perhaps tantamount to prostitution … but by this process the most natural of instincts was satisfied by knowing exactly how much money each girl’s charms were worth to their eager male customers.

Some of the stands were more popular than others and around one or two there was a positive crowd. Some of the customers were real buyers while others, after making some insignificant purchase, just stayed to chat. The bar this year was in the charge of Isti Kamuthy’s pretty older sister, Countess Szentpali, who had recruited the two elder Laczok girls to help her. They were busy encouraging everyone to sample their flasks of French brandy and Benedictine. The only one of their customers who needed no urging was old Daniel Kendy who made straight for the bar on arrival and settled down for the duration of the event, though he was absolutely penniless and did not have the means to buy himself anything let alone spirits at three times their normal price. It was a well thought-out move, for all his friends who passed by found themselves obliged to offer the old man a drink. Daniel had a wonderful time, which he remembered for a long time to come; and it was made even more memorable for him when Laszlo Gyeroffy turned up, sat down beside him and started ordering double-sized drinks for them both.

In the stand across the way Mrs Bogdan Lazar was selling honey, the product of her own bees, in attractive specially designed little jars. She was being helped by Dodo Gyalakuthy who had brought her own home-made honey-cakes to complement the pure honey. At this stand, too, there was someone who never moved away. He was a large, sturdy red-haired man with a long bony face covered in freckles; and he was a foreigner, Ugo von der Maultasch, who came from Pomerania on the Baltic coast of Prussia. What brought him to Transylvania no one knew, unless it was the mysterious scent of money which was apt to reach penniless Teutonic barons, no matter how far away they lived, and tell them where marriageable heiresses were to be found.

He had arrived some weeks before the bazaar and had been courting Dodo assiduously ever since. Now he was not buying up the whole stand, as an ambitious Hungarian might have done, but was making himself discreetly useful, always at hand to help, wrapping parcels and praising the merchandise seemingly unconscious of the fact that few people could understand his outlandish north German accent. He was presumably working hard to show what a helpful and useful fellow he could be.

Adrienne Miloth’s stand was not far away, a little nearer to the Patronesses’ platform where the dowagers sat enthroned.

With her was the attractive young wife of Dr Bela Korosi, the elderly university professor who was a prominent member of the Opposition in Transylvania and a power at the provincial assembly, where he led the Independence Party. Mrs Korosi was a pretty dark-haired woman with large eyes and a sweet slightly plaintive expression which seemed to say, ‘Oh dear! Politics and public affairs! There seems to be so much of it! My husband’s entirely wrapped up in such things, and in his teaching …why, he hardly has time to notice poor little me!’

Their stand had been made to look like a toy shop that specialized in dolls of every sort. There were giant ones from Italy, the size of a six-month-old child, and tiny ones made from a single little cotton tassel, many of them hanging in rows along the front and the sides of the stand, all sorts of Punchinello dolls, comic dolls and baby-dolls; and the largest sat on the counter staring up at the customers with their huge glass eyes.

From a distance it was hardly possible to see what Adrienne’s stall held for the crush of buyers crowding around. The pretty little Mrs Korosi was a general favourite and all the young men from the Miloths’ circle of friends, the Alvinczys, Pityu Kendy, Kadacsay and many others, kept on coming back even if from time to time they strayed briefly to other stalls or to the bar. Only Uncle Ambrus never moved. He brought up a chair, placed it beside Adrienne and never ceased, in his noisiest manner, to pay court to her across the bonnets and silken hair of the dolls and puppets. He was trying to show by this proprietorial manner that he had some sort of prior right to Adrienne’s attention and so he played the part of a sort of host. He interfered when customers were bargaining, shouting at the young men who clustered round, ‘Don’t be so stubborn, you ass, let’s see the colour of your money!’ or else, ‘Don’t fool around, young fella-me-lad, do as I do! For this lovely lady I’d let them skin me alive!’ And so he thundered on; and he was as good as his word, himself buying the largest doll on display for many times its proper price. He kept the thing on his lap, rocking it in his arms and crying, ‘What a lovely baby! But I could make a better one!’ leering at Adrienne as he spoke. For Ambrus the opportunity was worth every penny he had spent, especially as Adrienne was so busy that she could not answer back.

Business was good, but there was a problem. As soon as a sale had been made someone had to take the sold doll down and wrap it for the purchaser. This was the job of the two young girls on the stand, Liszka Laczok and Adrienne’s own youngest sister, Margit. Liszka was rushed off her feet, unable to cope with the rush as for most of the time Margit was nowhere to be seen. Each time she was wanted they had to call and call, often as many as eight or ten times, and a few moments after she had reappeared she was gone again.

In fact she was not very far away, only a few feet in fact, hiding in the little space between the stand and the wall.

In that little narrow space she was sitting, not alone but with Adam Alvinczy, and it was from there that she reappeared when the calls became too insistent. ‘Why! Here I am!’ she would say, wide-eyed and innocent; but she wasn’t there for long. Margit had something on hand that was for her far more important than merely wrapping parcels at a charity bazaar; she had to cheer up poor love-sick Adam.

Adam was more forlorn than ever, parading his sorrow at length and finding beautiful love-sick words with which to do so. It was, of course, the old story of his yearning for Adrienne who now would not even look at him let alone speak to him. Why, she even seemed to favour old Uncle Ambrus while hardly noticing Adam’s existence; it was truly depressing.

This was a familiar subject between Adam and young Margit, and, as far as Margit at least was concerned, it was well worth talking about, as would have been anything that kept them together. And together they certainly were, huddled closely on a narrow chest where there was hardly any room, the long-legged Adam and the little round Margit. In such a constricted space they were obliged to sit closely together, their arms linked, not, of course, in an embrace, but simply because otherwise one or other would have fallen to the floor. And if they were whispering into each other’s ears, so closely that the mouth of one might have been caressing the ear of the other — that, too, was not kissing, not at all, for it was merely by chance that their nearness entailed such intimacy. Merely one of life’s little hazards for which no one could be blamed.