Gyorgy Dragoman - The White King

Grandmother drank by holding her glass in both hands and taking big gulps, and in the meantime I kept looking at how wrinkled her skin was, and I was wondering if that pointy stone on her hand really was a diamond, and if it was, then whether it could cut glass. Meanwhile Grandmother at last drank down all the water, and when she gave me back the glass I noticed that its edge was smudged with lipstick and that Grandmother's eyes were watery, and at first I thought that this was only from exerting herself, because drinking had been so hard for her, but when she then looked at me and asked if I could keep a secret, and her voice was shaking as if she was about to cry, that's when I saw that she really had gotten all sad, and she didn't even wait for my reply, she said that Doctor Csidej had come by to examine her, and what she'd suspected for years was now certain, she had cancer, she was terminally ill, she wouldn't live to see the summer. She said all this at a whisper, and by the time she finished, her tears were really trickling down, and while crying like that she reached out and took my hand and said, "For the love of God, you mustn't say a word of this to your grandfather, he mustn't know about it," and I was just in the middle of promising I wouldn't, and I also thought of asking her where the cancer hurt, but Grandmother didn't pay even a bit of attention to what I'd begun to say, no, she just whispered to me to be a good boy and leave her be because I'd really tired her out, and then she told me again to be a good boy, and when she said that her eyes shut right away, so I stood up and headed toward the door, and just as I stepped out of the room I noticed that my grandmother was pulling her leg back under the blanket.

My grandfather wasn't in the kitchen, and at first I didn't know where he might be, but then I sat down and heard someone puttering about in the bathroom, and I looked at the walnut crescents but I didn't take any more, I was more thirsty than anything, the taste of the wine was still strong in my mouth, I thought of standing up and pouring myself a glass of water from the tap, but then the bathroom door opened in the hall and my grandfather came back into the kitchen and put a little package on the table, something wrapped in an oily cloth, and then he poured each of us a glass of wine and meanwhile asked me what my grandmother had said, and I said, "Oh, nothing, she only asked me about school," but my grandfather gulped down the wine and told me not to lie, because my grandmother must have told me that story about her being sick, and then I said she had, but I'd promised her not to talk about it, and my grandfather nodded and said, "Fine then, a promise is a beautiful thing," and he poured himself another glass, so I also took a little gulp of wine, but this time it wasn't good at all, and in the meantime I had my eyes on that oily package on the table, and I was wondering what could be in it, and my grandfather noticed that I was looking at it, but this time he didn't say a thing, he just kept gulping his wine nice and easy, and then all of a sudden he asked me if I still played soccer, and I said no, and whether I still took part in Homeland Defense activities, and I said I didn't do that either, and then my grandfather got all quiet, and after he finished the rest of his wine he asked if I remembered the time he promised to take me hunting, and I said yes, even though I didn't remember, because he never did promise me any such thing, and then my grandfather pulled that oily package close to himself and began unwrapping the cloth and he said, "Well then, the time has come," and he pulled out a big pistol.

Never had I seen a pistol like that before, it was much bigger than what policemen wear, its barrel was longer and its stock had a different shape, my grandfather snapped out the magazine and put the empty pistol in my hand, and he told me to hold it knowing it's a Luger, and that no living person had seen this weapon in twenty-five years, and to be careful with it because this was not a child's toy, and then he stood up and said, "Let's go out to the yard," he'd teach me how to aim, besides, the wine would steady my hand, but I didn't pay a bit of attention to what he was saying, no, I just kept holding the weapon, it was heavy and really cold, before then I always thought pistols were a lot lighter, I couldn't imagine how someone could do a quick draw with this sort of pistol, and then my grandfather asked something, but just what he asked I didn't hear because I'd aimed the pistol at the clock on the wall and I was imagining what would happen if I shot a bullet right in the middle of that clock, and then my grandfather yanked the pistol out of my hand and said really loud that he'd told me once already that this was not a child's toy, I should get it through my head that this wasn't some crappy air gun like we clown around with at Homeland Defense activities, this was a real pistol, a genuine Parabellum, and then he looked at my glass and asked, "Aren't you going to finish your wine?" and I wanted to say, "Yes, I'll drink it" because I was scared he'd be offended and give me a good slap, but by then he'd already taken my glass and downed the remaining wine in one gulp, and he said, "Fine then, let's go, time is passing by."

When we went out to the yard, my grandfather gave me back the pistol and told me to aim at the watering can hanging from a nail on the garage wall, and then I lifted the pistol, but it wasn't the watering can I aimed at, no, I aimed at one of those white statues leaning against the garage wall, its face wasn't carved out properly, but I aimed right between its two eyes all the same, and my grandfather told me to lower the weapon and take aim again, and I pointed it right there one more time, at the statue's head, and then my grandfather stood behind me and slightly adjusted my grip, he told me not to hold my arm so stiffly and he told me to aim at the watering can, that I mustn't direct a loaded weapon at a human being unless I planned to kill him, and I wanted to say, "It's just a statue," but without a word I turned my arm away so the barrel of the gun really was now aimed at the watering can, and my grandfather then went off to the side, and at first he told me to lower the gun and then raise my arm and take aim, but then he didn't say it anymore, he just kept waving his hand, up-down, up-down, the gun was pretty heavy and really different to hold than an air gun, but I finally got really good at taking aim, and twice I even pulled the trigger, and I did so right when I breathed out, like I learned to do with the air gun, and I knew that if there had been a bullet in the pistol, I'd have shot the watering can to smithereens.

After a while my grandfather didn't even wave his hand anymore, he let me raise the gun to my own rhythm, and then he said fine, I was talented, I was holding the pistol just the way I was supposed to, sure, he could tell it was a little heavy for me, but nothing could be done about that, this was a serious weapon, not some measly air gun like we shoot with in school, and then he took the pistol from me and inserted the magazine and adjusted something on it, and when he gave it back he told me to be careful because the safety was now off and the gun was loaded, so I should pull the trigger only when he said to. "So, come on," he said, "let's stand by the pear tree because if we don't move they won't notice us, and don't be scared, because we won't have to wait for long," and I didn't understand why he was saying this and who it was that wouldn't notice us, and I was just about to ask him who he meant when my grandfather put his hand over my mouth and pulled me along with him to the pear tree, and meanwhile with his other hand he pointed to the top of the stone fence, and that's when I saw this big black cat standing there, and suddenly I knew what it was we were going to hunt, I felt my hand tighten around the pistol and I wanted to raise it and aim, but my grandfather gripped my shoulder and whispered, "We should wait," and then the cat jumped off the top of the wall, and with its tail held up high and its legs looking all stiff it stepped slowly over the grass, it stopped twice and hunched up its back, and it sniffed about for something, and one time it even looked our way, but either it didn't notice us or it wasn't interested because then it squatted on its two hind feet and started doing its business, I wanted to take aim again, but I could feel my grandfather gripping my shoulder even harder, and then the cat finished doing its thing and started scratching at the grass with its paws, and then my grandfather whispered, "All right, take aim," and I began raising the pistol nice and easy, holding it with both hands just like my grandfather taught me, but the pistol was a lot heavier on account of the magazine, and when I finally aimed it at the cat I could feel my hands trembling a little, but by then my finger was on the trigger and my grandfather said, "Now," and then I pulled the trigger, the cat looked at me as soon as my finger moved, its eyes were all yellow and I imagined what it was seeing, me standing there by the tree in my knit vest and trousers, and then suddenly the shot rang out and the cat jumped up, all four of its paws left the ground, but it wasn't a jump after all, it was just the force of the shot that lifted it off the ground, I'd hit only its side, not its head, even though I'd been aiming for the head, and then I lowered the gun, but the shot was still echoing around the stone walls of the yard, and then Grandfather put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Nice shot, let's go take a look," and we were only three steps away when I saw the cat stir, at first only its tail began to curl up and snake around in the grass, and then the cat began meowing, and I saw its side was bloody and the grass around it was also drenched in blood, and then I looked at my grandfather and he said, "Quick, shoot it in the head already, don't let it suffer," and sure enough, the poor cat was somehow keeping its head up, and as if it wanted to bite the air, it whimpered really loud, plus its tail was still twitching in the grass, and so I raised the pistol one more time, with both hands, just the way you're supposed to, and I aimed right between the eyes and pulled the trigger, and again the pistol almost jumped right out of my hands, the sound of the shot crackled back and forth between the walls of the yard like with the first one, and finally there was silence, the cat wasn't moving anymore, and I saw that nothing was left of its head, and the grass all around it was soaked with blood, and then my hand began shaking so hard that the pistol almost fell right out of it, and my grandfather put an arm around my shoulder and took the gun out of my hand and said, "Such is life, we all die, don't be down about it now, you have practically a whole life ahead of you yet," and then he ripped a medal off his coat and pressed it into my hand and told me it was his favorite award, the Gold Veteran Star, but he was giving it to me because I'd really earned it, and as he spoke I could smell the wine all over his breath.