Antal Szerb - Journey by Moonlight

“Fantastic girl, hey? They know a thing or two, these Italians!” or:

“How’s that for a pair of eyes, eh! You don’t see them like that in Pest” or:

“She says, all the men who were going to marry her got locked up, and I’m sure to be the next … what a wit, eh?”

Mihály nervously downed one glass of wine after another. He knew János Szepetneki, knew that he would take ages to get round to what he really wanted to say. For everything he had to establish an appropriately romantic context. So Mihály would have to wait for this little farce with the Italian girl to run its course. Perhaps Szepetneki ran a gang of burglars in the Trastevere and this girl and this tavern were part of it, at least as a setting. But he also knew that Szepetneki hadn’t come to sort out his gang but because he wanted something from him; and he was profoundly troubled about what it might be.

“Just leave the girl alone and tell me why you followed me, and what you want from me. I haven’t got the time or inclination to witness this little comedy.”

“But why?” asked Szepetneki with a face of innocence. “Perhaps you don’t fancy the lady? Or the hostelry? I just thought we could have a bit of fun. It’s such a long time since we were together … ”

And he resumed his chat with the woman.

Mihály stood up and made to leave.

“No, Mihály, for God’s sake, don’t go yet. The only reason I came to Rome was to talk to you. Just stick around for one minute.” And with that he turned to the girl: “Just be quiet a moment.”

“How did you know I was in Rome?” asked Mihály.

“Oh, I always know everything about you, my Mihály. Have done for years. But until now none of it’s been worth knowing. Now you begin to be interesting. That’s why we’ll be meeting more often.”

“Fine. And now be so kind as to tell me what you want from me.”

“I’ve something to discuss with you.”

“You’ve got something else to discuss? And what’s that about?”

“You’re going to laugh. Business matters.”

Mihály’s face darkened.

“Have you been talking to my father? Or my brother?”

“No. Not at present. For the time being I’ve no business with them, only you. But tell me truly, isn’t this girl fantastic? See what a fine hand she’s got. Pity it’s so dirty.”

And once again he turned to the girl and began to rattle away in Italian.

Mihály leapt to his feet and rushed out. He struggled up towards the hill. Szepetneki ran after him and soon caught up with him. Mihály did not turn round, but simply left Szepetneki to address him from behind his back, over his left shoulder, like a familiar.

János spoke quickly and low, panting slightly from the uphill walk.

“Mihály, listen here. I happened to meet a man, a man by the name of Zoltán Pataki, who, it turns out, was your wife’s first husband. But that’s nothing. It also turns out, that this Pataki, believe it or not, still loves her ladyship to death. He wants to take her back. He hopes that now you’ve chucked her over, she’ll perhaps come to her senses, and go back to him. Which would undoubtedly be, for all three of you, the best solution. Well, have you nothing to say? Great. You still don’t understand where the business lies in this, and what business it is of mine. But you know me, I gave up tact a long time ago. In my profession … So, listen to this. Your lady wife not only doesn’t want to divorce you, she still secretly believes that one day you’ll make a happy and contented couple, and perhaps heaven will bless the marriage with children. She knows that you’re not like other people, though she really has no idea what that actually means. She thinks about you a very great deal, to the point of nuisance, and at times when she really shouldn’t. But you needn’t feel bad about her. She’s getting along very nicely, though I don’t want to spread gossip. She’s doing very nicely without you.”

“What do you want?” shouted Mihály, stopping in his tracks.

“Nothing at all. It’s a question of a little business arrangement. Mr Pataki believes that, if you were to take a decisive step, your wife would see that she can no longer expect anything from you, and that it’s all over.”

“What kind of decisive step are you talking about?”

“Well, for example, you might sue for divorce.”

“How the devil would I do that? Since I was the one that left her. And besides, even if she had left me I wouldn’t do it. That’s the woman’s part.”

“Well, yes, naturally. But if the woman doesn’t want to do it, then it’s up to you. At least, that’s Mr Pataki’s point of view.”

“Pataki’s point of view is none of my business, and the whole affair is none of my business. You talk to Erzsi. I’ll fall in with whatever she wants.”

“Look Mihály, this is precisely what our business is about. Use your common sense. Mr Pataki isn’t asking you to give this divorce for nothing. He’s prepared to make substantial material sacrifices. He’s horribly rich, and he can’t live without Erzsi. So he’s authorised me to make you the immediate down payment of a small sum, quite a tidy little sum.”

“Rubbish. On what grounds could I sue for divorce? Against Erzsi? When I was the one who left her? If the court decides that we have to live together again and she comes back to me, what would I do then?”

“But, Mihály, have no fear of that. You sue for the divorce, we’ll see to the rest.”

“On what grounds?”

“Adultery.”

“You’re crazy!”

“Not in the least. Just trust me. I’ll guarantee a wonderful adultery, pure as the driven snow. I’m an expert in these things.”

By this time they had reached Mihály’s door. He could hardly wait to get inside.

“God preserve you, János Szepetneki. This time I don’t offer you my hand. What you have said is a lot of disgraceful drivel. I hope I don’t see you for a very long time.”

And he rushed up to his room.

“I DON’T KNOW what all this is about but I’m quite sure your anxieties are ridiculous,” said Waldheim with great energy. “You’re still the pious son of your respected grey-haired father, still a petty-bourgeois. If someone wants to give you money, whatever the source, you should take it. Every religious-historical authority agrees about that. But you still haven’t learnt that money … quite simply, is unimportant. Where essential things are concerned it doesn’t count. Money is always there of necessity, and it’s there even when you don’t bother about it. How much and for how long and where it came from, that’s completely immaterial. Because everything that depends on money is immaterial. You can acquire nothing of importance with money. What you can buy might happen to be life’s necessities, but really isn’t important.

“The things really worth living for can never be had for money. Scholarship, the fact that your mind can take in the thousand-fold splendour of things, doesn’t cost a penny. The fact that you are in Italy, that the Italian sky stretches above you, that you can walk down Italian streets and sit in the shade of Italian trees, and in the evening the sun sets in the Italian manner, none of this is a question of money. If a woman likes you and gives herself to you, it doesn’t cost a penny. Feeling happy from time to time, that doesn’t cost you a penny. The only things that do cost money are peripheral, the external trimmings of happiness, the stupid and boring accessories. Being in Italy costs nothing, but what does cost money is travelling here, and having got here, sleeping with a roof over your head. Having a woman who loves you doesn’t cost money, only that meanwhile she has to eat and drink, and dress herself up so that she can then get undressed. But the petty-bourgeoisie have lived so long by supplying one another with unimportant things with a cash value they’ve forgotten the things that aren’t to be had for money, and they attach importance only to things that are expensive. That is the greatest madness. No, Mihály, you should pay no attention to money. You should take it in like the air you breathe and not ask where it came from, unless it actually smells.