Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

It was as a result of the bazaar that something else came to pass.

Crookface Kendy had been there when old Daniel Kendy and Laszlo Gyeroffy had to be carried helplessly drunk from the hall. He had become quite used, from many years’ experience, to the fact that his second cousin, Daniel, got drunk whenever he could. He dismissed him with the two short words ‘old swine’. Daniel was past saving.

But the sight of Laszlo Gyeroffy bothered him. Whenever he turned round there was Laszlo, unsteady on his feet, wobbling uncertainly as he tried to move, being propped up beside the door because his legs would not carry him. All this happened quite close to where Crookface had been sitting. At the moment when they had propped him up Laszlo’s face was turned towards him, though because he was surrounded by other people only the upper part of it could be seen, his forehead and those eyebrows that met so strangely in the middle. It was almost as if the young man were looking at him and his angry, somewhat glassy stare, filled old Kendy with recollections of things past, so much so that it seemed to be the glance of someone else and as if that other person were looking at him mutely crying out for help. Of course such fantasies were nonsense; the boy was dead-drunk and well on the way to passing out completely. Besides he knew nothing of all that, he had had nothing to do with it! But that glance, that glance that was so much the same …

Two days later Crookface sent his man to Laszlo Gyeroffy with a message to come and see him at his house on Belszen Street, and to be there at twelve noon that same day.

When the two men sat down facing each other they both remained silent for some minutes. Then Crookface said, ‘You utter fool!’ and then stopped.

Although the insult was so unexpected the younger man did not take offence. He looked up wonderingly at the old man but said nothing. Then Crookface really started. He recounted everything he had heard about how Laszlo was living, about his fecklessness, reckless prodigality, about his debts and about his drinking. He spoke harshly and, as was his way, used coarse and vulgar epithets.

Still the young man listened without saying a word. There was so much force and deep feeling in everything this deep-chested, eagle-beaked, twisted-mouthed old man had to say — and, behind his words, such concern and goodwill — that Laszlo listened patiently, almost humbly. Everything that Crookface was now saying so harshly was exactly what Laszlo, if ever he happened to wake up sober, had become accustomed to thinking of himself. Crookface’s accusations were no different from the self-accusing thoughts with which Laszlo would torture himself and which would only make him despise himself all the more. And when he had said all that to himself he would once again take refuge from this self-inflicted judgement — and from further accusations of which Crookface knew nothing — by reaching for the brandy bottle. As the old man talked on so Laszlo came to feel that it was not another being who was adding up his faults and frivolity, his waywardness and total lack of any sense of responsibility, but that he was merely looking in a mirror and seeing his alter ego repeating what was always and forever in his own soul. No one would be as severe as he himself and it might have been to himself that he was listening.

Crookface went on for a long time until Laszlo found himself desperately looking round to see if there was any liquor to hand. There was none, but Laszlo was by now so used to nipping whenever he felt the need that the present deprivation made his whole body scream out for its regular dose of alcohol. He could not ask; it was against all etiquette!

Crookface now started to say what he thought should be done and, as was his manner, his advice took the form of an order. ‘You will file a petition in the Chancery court asking to be made a Ward of Court and asking for an official guardian to be appointed since you are incapable of managing your own affairs. I will accept the office of guardian; and I’ll keep you on the straight and narrow path no matter what! I won’t allow you to destroy yourself in this way!’

Laszlo’s face changed. Again those words ‘destroy yourself which Balint had used to him not long before. Now someone else was saying the same thing; another person was trying to save him, to order him around, maybe even offer to pay for him as once did Fanny Beredy and more recently Dodo. Laszlo felt himself swelling with anger and resentment and rebellion at this constant meddling in his own life by other people. It was the bitter rebellion of the weak against the strong.

‘If I want to destroy myself I will! It’s none of your business!’ he shouted angrily and stood up. Now the words poured from him. ‘All my life, ever since I was a child, I’ve had people telling me what to do, pulling me in this direction or in that, my guardian, my aunts, everybody. Everything’s always been arranged for me; everyone’s told me what to do. Well! Now’s the time to say No! No! No! I’ve had enough! Enough, I say! Now I’m going to do as I please and live as I want …’ and he went on saying the same thing, time and again, building up his courage by shouting and making as much noise as possible; and repeating over and over again, ‘It’s my life and nobody else’s!’ and ‘I’m not going to take anything from anyone else ever again, from nobody, nobody, I tell you!’ until, gesticulating wildly, he screamed out once more, ‘If I want to destroy myself I will! Everyone has the right to do as he wishes with his own life!’

Old Crookface sat quite still. He said nothing but just listened and as he did so he was watching Laszlo carefully. Those eyebrows that met in the middle, those unusual little movements of the arms as if he was first reaching back and then throwing his words forward … and even those last words ‘everyone has the right to do as he pleases with his own life!’, how they reminded him of the past! And what a throw-back Laszlo was! Julie Ladossa all over again! Memories of the past flooded back: Julie Ladossa had talked in just the same way and said just the same sort of thing. She too had rebelled against everything; and she too had destroyed herself, knowing what she did and doing it of her own free will. He had loved her since she had been a girl — and out of spite she had married someone else. Out of spite too she had bolted from her husband, not with Crookface but because of him. It had been a clash between two rigid, difficult characters and when she had said the things that her son had just unwittingly repeated so many years later, she had thrust her arms forward in the same way and looked at him with the same expression in her eyes, the very same eyes …

The old man stood up. Putting his hand on his young companion’s shoulder he said, ‘Don’t be angry with me, son. Don’t be angry! There’s no need, you know, and … and I ask your forgiveness.’ Crookface had never said this to anyone before, neither had he ever spoken so gently. He went on, quite softly, ‘There isn’t enough love in the world for anyone to throw it carelessly away. I know you feel you’ve had less than your share, and I understand how you feel. No doubt what I said sounded wrong and interfering, and perhaps I ought to have spoken differently. You’ve had no father and no mother, and many things … things that people have had … have been lacking in your life. This is what you resent so much and what is so hard to bear. But I would like, if it’s possible and if you feel you can do it in your own way, that you should … Well, you should pull yourself together; and I … I’d try to help, if you would accept it?’