Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

I was only picking at my food, I didn't want to overburden my already constipated bowels.

I had missed my morning ritual, which I forgo only in extreme circumstances, and now it was for the third time; first there was my fiancée's unexpected visit, then the journey, and that morning the pleasant appearance of the valet, so for three days I had had no normal bowel movement.

"Well, how is it?" the man on my left asked.

"Oh, really splendid!"

And I couldn't tell which one of my two needs was more important, literary activity or the common daily evacuation, but with the passing years, I had to realize that in me the most abstract intellectual and the coarsest physical needs were so hopelessly intermingled that I could satisfy one only by satisfying the other.

Giving me his undivided attention now, the black-goateed gentleman watched me chew and swallow my food, opening his mouth and pursing his lips, a little as mothers do, moving their own lips to help their little tots gum their food, and then he looked around triumphantly as if to say that, as we can see, he was again right about something.

Usually, after getting out of bed in the morning, still unwashed and unshaven and with only a robe on, I head straight for my desk; if memory serves, I acquired this habit back in my parents' house after my father's terrible deed and even more dreadful suicide, when hours had to pass before I could start the day, since, without being aware of it, for years afterward I lived in the torpor of his story: I often found myself on the banks of an immense, majestic river, and if I didn't want to be swept away in the powerful current I had to grasp at brittle, dried-out branches of willows on the shore and pull myself from the silt, and as I did, I saw the gray, gurgling current twist and cradle and rush away with uprooted trees and dead bodies.

Sitting at my desk, staring out my window at the rooftops across the way and sipping my chamomile tea, I'd pull over a sheet of paper absently and jot down a sentence or two, casually, without much thought.

Hilde and I no longer had any secrets from each other; there were only the two of us left in the house; we rarely went out; the neglected summer garden was growing wild around us; sometimes we fell asleep in each other's arms, but without this closeness causing any sexual excitement; she was in her fortieth year then, I was nineteen; I knew that my father had violated the innocence of her warmly yielding body and then for years afterward used her, like an object, for his pleasure; and she knew she was holding in her arms the grown son of that beloved man who a few months earlier had raped, mutilated, and killed her niece, a rare beauty, a delicate girl-child whom she had brought into the house to help with the domestic chores.

Stories, curious little tales composed with no lofty intention, emerged from the sentences, while I waited for the slowly cooling bittersweet tea to loosen my bowels, sentences with which I could make myself forget the night that had just passed.

It happened that on one such morning I successfully relieved myself, thanks to Hilde's tea, but since the act always took a long time — I had to be careful not to squeeze it out too quickly or with too much strain, because that would leave a lot of it inside, and the powerful excremental smell stuck to my silk robe and my skin — I emerged from the toilet trailing the odorous cloud of my little daily victory, and then I saw Hilde standing before me, disheveled, uncombed, the blouse ripped from her chest, her eyes crazed, her lips literally bitten through; she hurled herself on me, gathered me close into her arms, sank her teeth into my neck, and then let out a howl the likes of which I had never heard coming from a human being; it came from deep inside her, with a force to split my ears, and she kept up the howling into my body until her own large frame buckled and she collapsed, dragging me with her to the stone floor.

The young lady stopped chewing, her gloved hands lowered the utensils to her plate.

She eyed the goateed man with the same mixture of contempt and disgust with which she had watched her mother on the train when the old lady slumped over and fell to snoring, but now I couldn't help noticing that this look of contempt and disgust had a certain flirtatious element, seeming a challenge rather than a snub, and when I glanced curiously at my neighbor I noticed that his mouth had stopped moving, too, and only his pointed beard was still quivering slightly with the effort to control himself, for the haughtiness of the young woman's gaze was forcing his own deep-set eyes to calm down, stop darting; they were not only most deeply engrossed in each other but also playing a game.

At the same time, the dignified old lady leaned toward me and apologized for having been forced to talk to the councillor about so weighty a matter, a wholly inappropriate topic at the breakfast table, she realized, and if she still preferred not to go into detail — the others at the table knew well, unfortunately, what she was referring to — it was only out of consideration for me, I must believe her, she did not want to disturb my surely cheerful mood with her troubles, she wanted to spare me! her words to the councillor were meant only as a reminder, she hoped that I would understand.

It was as if she and her fussing had stolen from me those few moments during which I had to assure her that I did understand fully and then had to thank her, producing one of my most obliging smiles, after which I found it hard to look back at the two, who in the meantime of course had gone on playing with each other — even more openly, I could just feel it, since they no longer had to worry about my inquisitive glance; I could see from the corner of my eye, even while listening politely to the mother, that her daughter had resumed chewing, having mesmerized the aging, vain man with the flirtatious disgust radiating from her rosy cheeks, but now she chewed with an amazing display of mimicry, copying his movements, chewing wildly, eagerly, imitating his insatiable appetite, making her chin quiver as if it were a beard, and this was only the beginning of their game, because the man, as if he'd just discovered how beautiful her face was, had no intention of being offended, the eagerness of his chewing simply shifting into his eyes, producing the leer of a shameless lecher, offering gratification — his deep-set, slightly squinting eyes seemed perfectly suited for this purpose — which, in turn, appeared to have a hypnotic effect on the girl; with their jaws locked for a moment, they looked at each other over the devastated table, and then the man started chewing again, carefully, demurely, almost girlishly, inviting her to chew along with him for a few ravenous beats; unbelievable as it may sound, they kept chewing and swallowing together, although there was nothing more in their mouths to chew or swallow.

But I had to stop watching them, because other startling events began to take place in the dining room, one after another at a frantic pace: in the glass-paneled door appeared a young man whose clothes alone were enough to raise eyebrows, and I had just raised my teacup to my lips when the councillor, on my right, still affecting a sleepy calm, made such a sudden, uncontrolled move with his elbow that I almost spilled my tea on the elderly lady, who was leaning forward to tell me something.

The young man flipped off his soft light-colored hat and handed it to a waiter standing nearby; a golden crown of hair, a mass of long blond curls, nearly exploded from under the hat; instead of a jacket, the young man wore a bulky white sweater and a matching scarf wrapped around his neck a few times and slung over his shoulder — clearly not a sign of good upbringing — he must have just returned from a brisk morning walk; his face reddened by the wind; he was cheerful, somewhat impudent, judging not just from his attire but from his whole attitude, his springy walk and open smile; while the councillor and I excused ourselves for the near-mishap, the young man hastened to his chair, nodding in all directions — he appeared to be on friendly terms with everyone — smiled, giggled, unwrapped his funny scarf and put it on the back of the chair, and the elderly lady across the table, who first became aware of the young man's presence by noticing the amazement on my face, now beamed at his lanky figure and seized his wrist with her ring-studded hand.