Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

I could actually see her thick brown hair getting dry in the heat of the afternoon; when I'd begun watching them from behind the hedges, it still clung wetly to her bare back and shoulders; she was wearing a white linen undershirt and a lace-trimmed petticoat; the vestee, as she called the little shirt, fastened in front with tiny snaps and held down, almost flattening her aggressively large breasts, but it left bare her back, her broad shoulders, and her strong fleshy arms; as the hammock kept rising into the light and falling back into the shade, the drying strands of hair on her shoulders and back gradually came unstuck, at first only at the edges, fluttering and gliding in the wake of each swing.

Then finally, she went on, after riding like this for a good long time they got to the last stop, except she didn't know it was the last stop, and the conductor, sitting opposite her but much closer, now stood up, and so did the other man, to get off, though he was still looking at them, wondering what would happen; he seemed a decent sort, wore decent clothes, a white shirt and black hat, and had a small parcel with him, probably food, because the wrapper was greasy, and yet he looked hungry, but not drunk; then the conductor told her that it was the last stop and to his regret they'd have to part company; and she laughed at him, saying there was no need to part, she'd take the return trip with him.

This made both girls laugh, a brief, dry, I'd say colliding laughter, a meeting and sudden breaking off of two separate laughs; Maja stopped pushing the hammock and with a quick move gathered her skirt between her thighs and, still sitting, leaned stiffly forward; the hammock was slowing down, and in the girls' silence it continued to rock Szidónia's body gently for a little while longer; I felt I had come upon their innermost secret; they looked so familiar and at the same time I was seeing them for the first time; Maja's eyes seemed to be thrusting, retrieving, and rocking Szidónia, while Szidónia's softly swaying glance kept Maja in a charmed immobility; but it was not only that with their looks they held each other in this position, but that their faces also remained fixed in that short, dry, somewhat sarcastic burst of laughter; no matter how different those two sets of silently parted lips, wide-open eyes, and raised eyebrows, the sharing of their secrets made the two girls alike.

When the hammock was only barely swinging, about to stop, Maja grabbed Szidónia with both hands and gave her a mighty push; there was cruelty and fierceness in the movement, even a touch of wickedness, but not directed against Szidónia so much as sent forth with her, and Szidónia, flying back into the light, resumed her story, her loud voice resonating with the same touch of wickedness.

On the way back, she said, the conductor went on talking to her, but she wouldn't respond, only listen, look at his bulging eyes, get up suddenly to change her seat, playing this little game for a while, as the conductor would also get up, follow her, not listen, go on talking and talking; no one else got on the streetcar for a long time, and the conductor told her about how he, too, was from the country and lived in a workers' hostel and how much he wanted to find out her name; she didn't tell him, of course; and he said he'd fallen in love with her the moment he saw her, she was the kind of girl he'd always been looking for, and she shouldn't be afraid of him, and wanting to be honest with her, he'd tell her right away that he just got out of jail a week ago, having served a year and a half, and all that time he hadn't been with a woman, but she should hear him out, he was completely innocent; he was an illegitimate child, his mother had a friend, a boozing good-for-nothing whom his mother had sent packing and never wanted to see again, even though she had another child by him, a little girl, and the conductor loved this little sister of his more than his own life, and since his mother was a very sick woman, with a bad heart, he had to raise the little girl, a sweet child with golden hair; but the man kept coming back, whenever he ran out of money or had no place to sleep, he would come and kick in the door, he even smashed in their window a couple of times, and when he couldn't have his way he would beat the sick woman, call her a whore; and if he, the conductor, tried to stop him, then the big lug would beat him up, too; one night, after they'd bathed the little girl and put her to bed, he was doing the dishes and accidentally left a knife on the table; it wasn't a big knife but very sharp — he used to sharpen all their knives — the man showed up again, and it was the same old story: they wouldn't let him in, but then the neighbors started yelling that they'd had enough of this, and so his mother finally opened the door, he came in and started after her; as she was backing away from him, she reached the table and tried to hold on to it, and as she did she felt the knife; she snatched it up and stabbed the bastard, and then, to make sure his little sister wouldn't lose her mother, he confessed to the crime, but at the trial it came out that he wasn't the one who'd done it, because the door was open and the neighbors saw everything; so he was sentenced to a year for perjury and for being an accessory to a crime; and now he was asking her not to get off the streetcar without giving him her address at least, he wasn't asking for a date, but he didn't want to lose her, and anyway, from now on he wouldn't stop thinking about that pretty face of hers.

Maja sprang up from the ground because she could push more easily when standing, took two steps back, spread her legs, dug in her heels, and pushed Szidónia so hard that it looked as if she'd meant to turn her over completely, which was of course impossible; the apple trees groaned and creaked, their crowns trembled, but up there, in the light, the hammock always came to a halt and, pulled back by the weight it carried, came swinging back with equal force; and Szidónia, catching her breath and shouting from the speeding hammock, continued her story.

Well, if he really wanted to see her again, she told him, he should take this tram on Saturday afternoon to Boráros Square, change to Number 6; yes, but he was on duty Saturday afternoon; well, change shifts with somebody, take the Number 6 to Moszkva Square, change to Number 56, and then get off at the cog-railway station, walk up Adonisz Road, and at the end of the stone fence around the first house he'd find a trail leading to the forest, he couldn't miss it, he'd see three tall pine trees, he should walk right into the forest and keep walking until he came to a large clearing and she'd be waiting for him there.

The only thing was, she'd already made a date for the same time with Pista, Szidónia was now shouting.

I, too, knew this Pista.

But she said she was curious to see what these two would do with one another.

Maja could contain herself no longer; her whole body tautened with excitement, and I could sense that the tension would soon reach a point where she'd have to tear herself away from Szidónia's story; she was still pushing the hammock, then suddenly covered her face with both hands, as if she had to laugh as hard as Szidónia was shouting, but no sound came from her, she was only shamming this laughter, for her own benefit, and for Szidónia's; the hammock kept flying of its own momentum, and Maja seemed determined to continue the game, false or true: once she started it, she had to go on; pressing her hand to her stomach, she nearly doubled over with this silent laughter; convulsing, she sank to the ground, slipped her hands between her thighs, which she kept pressing together, and looked up at Szidónia as if she were about to pee in her pants.

In patches, the skin on her neck and face turned white, her body seemed glued to the ground, and I knew she was ashamed of herself, but her curiosity must have been equally deep and eager, because her mouth was open and because, begging all at once for mercy and for more of the story, her eyes were flashing wildly among the tall blades of yellowing grass.