Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

The man on my right was striking, with almost completely gray-white hair, sleek youthful skin, luxuriant bushy black brows, a thick mustache, a full mouth, and darkly flashing eyes framed in an aggressive smile, and he immediately captivated me: I wished I'd sat across from him instead of next to him; in a slightly strange accent, he asked me if I had arrived yesterday during that awful storm; at first I thought he spoke in a dialect I was unfamiliar with, but as he went on — telling me that after three days of the furious storm everybody complained of sleeplessness, naturally enough, because a storm, especially near water (in the mountains it is quite different, he knew from experience), plays havoc with one's nervous system, causing irritability and flaring tempers — I slowly realized he wasn't speaking in his native language, since he had a problem matching the tenses of the verbs in various parts of his sentences.

"It's all the more pleasant to see the morning sun again in all its splendor! isn't it glorious?" chimed in the man on my left, loudly, his mouth full, waving before my face a bite-size prawn on the tip of his fork, and he went on to explain that I shouldn't misunderstand him, he had nothing against the hotel's cuisine, it was splendid, glorious! but his taste ran to simpler fare, no sauces and spices for him! and if I wanted to taste something truly glorious, I should follow his example, the seafood here was fresh, crisp, tasty, and as you bite down it's glorious! you can feel the sea on your tongue.

Although he muttered "splendid, glorious," several more times later on, too, he seemed to be talking not so much to me as to the food he put in his mouth, because no matter how quickly and eagerly he made his food disappear, however pleasurably he crunched and chewed and ground and masticated the tasty morsels, it seemed it wasn't enough merely to satisfy his taste buds and he had to resort to voluble commentary to feel the certainty of total eating pleasure; around his plate lay little mounds of skin, bones, shells, and gristle, and later I saw that in spite of the waiters' efforts, carried out with a bemused, nearly devotional zeal, the greatest possible disorder surrounded his place setting, because he was always spilling, splashing, knocking over, or dripping something; his abrupt movements made his napkin slide off his lap, sometimes he had to retrieve it from under the table, there were crumbs everywhere, not just on the tablecloth but on his black and no doubt dyed goatee, on the wide lapels of his morning coat, on his less than spotless necktie; but all this did not seem to bother him at all, for only some minor accidents, say a piece of meat sliding out from under his knife, elicited apologetic gestures, and through it all he kept on chattering, with great gusto letting his sentences blend into his chewing and chomping, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed, while his face remained strangely motionless, unsmiling and tense, his wrinkled skin sallow and unhealthy-looking, his alarmed, deep-set eyes darting nervously in their shadowy sockets.

There must have been twenty guests sitting at the long table; only one setting, right across from me, remained untouched.

The younger of the two ladies was eating with her gloves on, which of course one couldn't help noticing, and as I looked at those unnaturally tight white gloves, I felt faint with the same weakness I'd felt the day before when, in our compartment on the train, she had so mercilessly revealed to me the secret of her hands.

I took my time unfolding my napkin — I knew I wasn't going to eat much at this meal — and sensed the furtive glances at my face, eyes, suit, and necktie.

I turned to the gray-haired gentleman on my right, who, incidentally, couldn't have been much older than I; he had broad shoulders, a thick neck, and a compact body; he wore a loose-fitting tan suit that went very well with his swarthy complexion, a somewhat lighter vest, and a lightly striped shirt, the sort of ensemble that was just becoming fashionable for daytime wear; in response to his earlier comment, I told him that I, too, had experienced some of the storm-related stress he spoke of, because, oddly enough, I was awakened by someone's shouts or screams, though it was conceivable, I continued with a candor surprising even for myself— most likely attributable to his confidence-inspiring looks — that no one was actually screaming and the sound was part of my unpleasant dream; in any case, I joined the ranks of those who complained of sleeplessness, although the first night at a new place, as we all knew, was never a reliable measure of one's true state; but by then he wasn't looking at me, seemed not to be hearing me anymore, a studied inattention in which there was something unpleasantly professorial, reminiscent of people who dole out their gestures, comments, and even silences with an air of all-knowing superiority and infallibility, thereby requiring us to be ingratiating, open, and sincere, using our own weakness to bolster their fragile egos; in the meantime, the man on my left was holding forth with what seemed like great expertise on methods of smoking and curing ham, a topic to which I had nothing to contribute, but so as not to appear indifferent, and to please him a little, I asked for a helping of prawns.

The older of the two ladies — whom I'd recognized on the train only after several hours of being together, when she fell asleep with her mouth open and her head kept drooping sideways — was not eating at all but watching her daughter do so, sipping her hot chocolate for the sake of appearances, I suppose, so she wouldn't seem completely idle.

And then I also started on my food.

"We can count on you, can we not, Councillor, to accompany us as soon as possible after breakfast?"

The old lady's voice was deep, husky, masculine, matching her large, bony frame, which made her dainty, lace-trimmed dress look rather like a stage costume.

"I confess I am getting impatient."

The two women sat inseparably close, closer perhaps than one might have deemed proper, and I had the impression it was the mother who needed this physical closeness, just as on the train when she almost fell on her daughter's shoulder though their bodies never actually touched.

And I recalled the contempt and considerable disgust with which the daughter had watched her sleeping and fitfully snoring mother.

Or could her contempt have been directed at me?

"By all means, madam, that's exactly what I've had in mind," replied the prematurely gray gentleman on my right, "of course, as soon as possible, though I must say that in the given situation anything is possible."

And again I had the feeling that the daughter was actually watching me, performing for me, avoiding my glance, of course, as I was avoiding hers.

"And may I be so bold as to inquire if you still remember the dream which you considered so unpleasant?" asked the gray-haired gentleman in his sleepy voice, turning to me suddenly.

"Indeed I do."

"And may I ask you to tell it to me?"

"My dream?"

"Yes, your dream."

For a moment we were both quiet, just looking at each other.

"I'm a sort of dream collector, you see, with a butterfly net, running after other people's dreams," he said, flashing his attractive teeth in a broad smile that was withdrawn the very next instant, as though his sullen black eyes had penetrated inside me and found something deeply suspicious; there was a glint of discovery in the dark of those eyes.

"But you mustn't think for a moment, Councillor, that I am rushing you!" said the old lady now, whereupon he turned to her as abruptly as he had to me a moment earlier — he seemed to enjoy making these sudden, unpredictable moves.

"It's also possible, of course," he said in the same sleepy, absentminded tone, "that the crisis was brought on only by the stormy weather, and just as the elements have subsided, the distraught organism will also come to rest, and do not consider this merely as vain reassurance, my lady, for there is good reason to hope that that is just what will happen."