Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

And then I started running, rejoicing in the elemental pleasure of running, with the wind against my body, heading straight for the thicket, and he quickly took off after me; I knew he mustn't catch me, for although my running, my having to flee from him, was an admission of his victory, it was also a way of striking back, of getting even; with his dog running after us, the race was turning into a game, a reconciliation, a mutual acceptance of a tie in the contest; and then, like a young male animal fresh from a successful struggle for his female, exhilarated by my victorious escape and enjoying the swiftness of my body as I bobbed and weaved among the trees and ducked the lashing branches, the resiliency that gives running the sense of freedom, delighting in the sudden twists and changes of direction, I did think of Maja, saw her running, fleeing from Szidónia across their garden and down the slope; it must have been our laughter, the inner similarity of the image, that made me think of her, and I felt as if I were Maja because my tactics, my stratagems were not those of a boy, and there was Kálmán, tramping, clattering, panting right on my heels, the dry twigs cracking under our feet, the branches and leaves swishing, brushing, flying against our bodies; he couldn't catch me, though; I quickened my pace, wanted him to feel my superiority in the increasing gap between us; and that's how we reached the clearing at whose farther edge, but still under the trees, the boys had set up their tent.

When I suddenly stopped and turned back toward him, he was shaking, not laughing at all; his face was pale, which gave his tanned skin a strange, blotchy look; he was trembling all over, and we were both out of breath, panting into each other's face; I wiped my nose with my fist and was surprised to see it bloody; I reached back to find that blood from my ear had trickled down my neck, but I was too excited to pay any attention to that now, and I saw that he was excited, too, although we looked into each other's eyes with seeming indifference.

I knew he knew what was afoot, I could sense it while we were still running; we understood each other.

Seeing the blood made him a bit uneasy, scared even, but by wiping my fist on my pants I showed him that this was of no importance, I didn't care, and it shouldn't bother him either.

It was a good thing that because of the wind they couldn't hear us running; I motioned to Kálmán that we should hide behind a bush and he should do something about his dog; from the thicket we watched them in silence.

The dog kept watching us, not understanding the reason for this sudden stop; there was a danger that it might give us away with its movements or bark at us in its disappointment.

And the only way this thing could work was if they remained completely unsuspecting.

The tall grass of the clearing was undulating in bright, shiny waves.

If everything stayed the way it was.

Krisztián was standing at the lower edge of the clearing, holding a long, leafy branch in his hand and working on it with his characteristic intense concentration and flippant elegance; he was using a bone-handled knife, a veritable dagger he was very proud of, for it allegedly used to be his father's; he was stripping the branch of its leaves, probably making it into a skewer. Not far from him, Prém was sitting up in a tree, saying something to him that we couldn't make out because of the strong wind.

Sounded like something about bringing more planks.

But Krisztián didn't answer, he'd only look up absentmindedly from time to time, letting Prém go on, holding the branch away from his body and aiming at the spots where in tiny nubs the leaves join the branches, flicking his blade to make the leaves drop off.

It occurred to me that I had never before seen them alone like this, although from their hints, casual remarks, and vague allusions I knew they were inseparable; but no matter how closely I had watched them or tried to figure them out, everything between them remained a secret, their hints and allusions expressive of an intriguing collusion; it seemed that there was them and then there was the rest of the world, or rather another world, completely separate and inconsequential, peopled with dull, inferior strangers; and if anyone tried to get close to them, they'd accommodate the intruder for a while, like two ballplayers perfectly attuned to each other's thoughts and intentions, playing politely and graciously, if only to keep themselves amused; their shared life, thus hidden from others, may have been the source of their self-assurance and sense of superiority; one had to assume that theirs was the true life, the splendid real life we all long for, which remained and had to remain hidden, since they were its sole keepers.

How I longed for him, how grievously he was hurting me; I wanted him to be mine, or at least mine, too; I fantasized about that life and about being a part of it.

Their tent stood under the trees; I saw a blue bucket lying on its side, a shovel stuck into the ground with its handle rising straight up, a woodpile prepared for the evening camphre, tall grass swaying gently in the wind, and farther away, the red spot of a blanket spread on the ground; and Krisztián, standing on the lower part of the clearing, slapping at his back, probably shooing away a pesky fly, and Prém sitting in the tree— there was something so ethereally calm and serene in this picture as to suggest a secret, mysterious message, but I hoped to discover even more exciting secrets about them.

Kálmán cautiously bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it quickly, aiming accurately so he wouldn't actually hit his dog.

The stone struck a tree, the dog didn't budge; it kept watching Kálmán as though it understood him, but apparently it understood something else and only wagged its tail once, lazily; I detected a certain indignation in this.

Kálmán hissed angrily at the dog, motioned to it to go home, get lost, and to show that he meant it, he picked up another stone; he was still pale, still shaking.

And then slowly, reluctantly, the dog started to move, though not to where Kálmán was pointing but toward us, and strangely enough, as it moved, the light of curiosity and attention in its eyes which we had seen only moments before began to die out; it abruptly changed direction and, ignoring Kálmán's angry hissing and brandishing of the stone, trotted out from under the trees into the clearing; frozen, we stared after it; for a while it disappeared completely, and we could only follow the line where its body broke the rippling waves of the tall grass, only see its black back resurfacing near Krisztián's feet; he looked up, said something to the dog, the dog stopped, even let Krisztián scratch it with the tip of his knife, then trotted into the woods.

Seeing Krisztián so unsuspecting, not even bothering to glance our way to see where the dog was coming from, assuming it must simply be wandering about, filled us with such a sense of victory, such elation, that Kálmán raised a clenched fist and we silently grinned at each other, the grin looked kind of odd on his pale face, especially since he still hadn't stopped shaking; he seemed to be struggling with an inner force unable to break out of him and now made more powerful by that triumphant gesture of his fist; his neck was pale, too, and though the skin on his body didn't change color, it seemed shriveled somehow, matte and chilly, as when covered with gooseflesh, making it seem as if another boy, a stranger, was standing next to me, yet because of my own excitement I didn't attach special importance to this at the time; after all, is there anything a child wouldn't consider natural? anything he couldn't comprehend? shaking, pale, lusterless, he lost the familiar shape of his easygoing, good-natured self, although he seemed stronger, better proportioned, perhaps even more beautiful; yes, I'd be on the right track if I said that it seemed as if, along with the fatness, the softness that lent him a genial air had been dissolved, and the petulant, tense vibration of his naked muscles bespoke an already transformed being; he was more beautiful but also distorted: his bluish-red nipples seemed larger on the muscles of his chest, which kept twitching feverishly; his mouth seemed smaller, his eyes expressionless, and innocence seemed to have been supplanted by a kind of stiffness, which emphasized the anatomical aspects of his body and threw them into sharper, more striking relief; yes, we could contemplate the laws of beauty: if he were still alive, then, ever curious about the principles governing beauty's functions, I would question him about the secret cause of the physical change, but he died, before my very eyes, in my hands almost, on the night of October 23, 1956, which was a Tuesday; so I can only surmise that the emotions released by our fight, by his defeat and victory, made him confront feelings that, being unfamiliar, his body could not struggle against; he began to run and I ran after him, and if I said that the idea of running had been mine, I must also say that actually doing it was much more urgent for his body; we ran carefully, watching every step, trying to make no noise, seeking each secure foothold with an attentiveness sharpened by excitement, swiftly deciding on a slight detour so Prém wouldn't notice us from his tree.