Antal Szerb - Journey by Moonlight

The Persian was talking about his homeland. There, love was a difficult and romantic business. Even today it was still the case that the young man in love had to climb a ten-foot wall and hide in the garden of his beloved’s father, to watch for the moment when the lady might walk by with her companion and they might exchange a few words in secret. But the young man was playing with his life.

“And this is a good thing?” asked Erzsi.

“Yes, a very good thing,” he replied. “Very good. People tend to value things much more highly when they have had to wait for them, to struggle and suffer. I often think Europeans don’t know what passion is. And really they don’t, technically speaking.”

His eyes glowed, his gestures were exaggerated but noble — untamed, genuine gestures.

“I am delighted you have returned, Madame,” he suddenly announced. “I was just beginning to be afraid you would stay in Italy. But that would have been a shame … I should have been very sorry.”

Erzsi, in a gesture of thanks, placed her hand for a moment on the Persian’s. Beneath it he closed his, making it like a claw. She was alarmed, and withdrew hers.

“I would very much like to ask you something,” continued the Persian. “Would you accept a small gift from me? On the happy occasion of your return.”

He produced a beautifully wrought gold tabatière .

“Strictly speaking it’s for opium,” he said. “But you can also use it for cigarettes.”

“I’m not sure on what basis I can accept this,” Erzsi said, in some confusion.

“On no basis whatever. On the basis that I am happy to be alive. On the basis that I am not a European, but come from a country where people make gifts lightly and with the best of intentions, and are grateful when they are accepted. Accept it because I am Suratgar Lutphali, and who knows when you will ever meet such a bird again.”

Erzsi looked inquiringly at János. She greatly admired the tabatière , and would have loved to accept it. János gave her a look of approval.

“Then I accept,” she said, “and thank you very much. I would accept it from no-one else, only you. Because who knows when I shall ever meet such a bird again in my life.”

The Persian met the bill for all three of them. Erzsi was a little irritated by this. It was almost as if János had found her for the Persian, as if, not to put too fine a point on it, he were his impresario, now withdrawing modestly into the background … but she dismissed this thought. Most likely János was again out of funds and that was why he allowed the Persian to pay. Or the Persian, with his oriental magnificence, had insisted on it. Besides, in Paris one person always paid.

That night János fell asleep early, and Erzsi had time to reflect:

“It’s coming to an end with János, that’s for certain, and I’m not sorry. What is interesting in him I already know by heart. I was always so afraid of him — that he might stab me, or steal my money. But it seems this fear was misplaced, and I’m a bit disappointed in him. What comes next? Perhaps the Persian? It rather seems he fancies me.”

She thought for a long time about what the Persian would be like at close quarters. Oh yes, he certainly was the real Tiger, Tiger, burning bright/In the forests of the night . How his eye glowed … It could be quite terrifying. Yes, quite terrifying. She really should give him a try. Love has so many unexplored landscapes, so many secret, wonderful, paradisal places …

Two days later the Persian invited them on an outing by car to Paris-Plage. They bathed in the sea, had dinner, and set out for home in the dark.

The journey was a long one and the Persian, who was driving, began to be more and more uncertain.

“Tell me, did we see that lake when we came?” he asked János.

János looked thoughtfully into the dark.

“Perhaps you did. I didn’t.”

They stopped and studied the map.

“The devil knows where we might be. I don’t see any kind of lake here.”

“I said at the time the driver shouldn’t drink so much,” said János in exasperation.

They drove further on, in some uncertainty. No-one, not a vehicle, in the whole countryside.

“This car’s not right,” said János. “Have you noticed it spluttering from time to time?”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

As they drove on the spluttering became quite pronounced.

Do you understand this contraption?” asked the Persian. “Because I don’t know the first thing about it. For me, the mechanics of a car are still the work of the devil.”

“Pull over. I’ll see what the trouble is.”

János got out, lifted up the bonnet, and started to investigate.

“The fan belt is completely ruined. How on earth could you drive around with a fan belt like that? You really should look at your car occasionally.”

Suddenly he swore, copiously and brutally.

“ … the belt’s torn! Now we’ve done it!”

“Now you’ve done it.”

“I’ve certainly done it. We can’t go on until we find another belt. You might as well get out.”

They got out. Meanwhile it had started to rain. Erzsi fastened up her waterproof coat.

The Persian was angry and impatient.

“Hell and damnation, what do we do now? Here we are in the middle of the main road, and, I’ve a strong suspicion, this isn’t the main road any more.”

“I can see some sort of house over there,” said János. “Let’s try our luck there.”

“What, at this time of night? By now the whole French countryside is asleep, and anyone who is up won’t be talking to suspicious-looking foreigners.”

“But there’s a light on,” said Erzsi, pointing to the house.

“Let’s try it,” said János.

They locked the car, and made off towards the house. A wall enclosed the hill on which it stood, but the gate was open. They went up to the house.

It was a very grand-looking building. In the darkness it seemed like a miniature château, bristling with marquesses and the noble families of France.

They knocked. An old peasant-woman thrust her head out of a small opening in the door. János explained what had brought them there.

“I’ll just have a word with their lordship and ladyship.”

Soon a middle-aged Frenchman in country attire stood before them. He looked them up and down while János repeated his account of what had happened. His face slowly brightened, and he became immensely friendly.

“God has brought you amongst us, Madame and Gentlemen. Come in and tell us all about it.”

He led them into an old-fashioned room, reminiscent of a hunting lodge, where a lady sat at a table over her embroidery, evidently his wife. The man briefly explained the situation and made his visitors sit down.

“Your misfortune is our good luck,” said the lady. “You can’t imagine how dull these evenings are in the country. But of course one can’t leave one’s estates at this time of year, can one?”

Erzsi felt somehow ill at ease. The whole mansion seemed unreal, or indeed too real, like the set of a naturalistic play. And either these two people had sat there forever under the lamp, wordlessly waiting, or they had sprung into being at the precise moment of their arrival. Deep down she had the feeling that something was not quite right.

It emerged that the nearest village where they might find a garage was three kilometres off, but the hospitable couple had no-one they could send, as that night the male staff were sleeping out at the farmhouse.

“Do spend the night here,” suggested the wife. “There’s sleeping-room for all three of you.”

But János and the Persian were insistent that they still had to be in Paris that night.