Peter Nadas - A Book of Memories

With his very first stone he hit Krisztián in the shoulder; the others missed.

And then, as if pulled by the same string but in opposite directions, the two boys ducked and took off, one to the right, toward the woods, the other to the left; they disappeared among the trees at the edge of the clearing.

By doing this, not only did they blunt the attack and confuse us, the attackers, but they also dispelled the illusion that in their defeat they didn't know what to do.

It may not have been written on their faces, but they had some kind of plan; this running off was a planned move, not a flight, which they must have prepared right before our eyes, only we couldn't comprehend their secret signals; and this meant, of course, that there was a special bond between them, after all, something that could never be broken.

What an animal, what a prick, I muttered angrily, what did he have to throw those rocks for? using a word that ordinarily I'd never have used, but now it felt good, because it was part of my sweet revenge for everything.

Kálmán stayed as he was, on his knees, still holding the stones in his hand; he shrugged his shoulders lightly, which meant there was no reason to get excited; the curious pale splotches vanished from his face and he wasn't trembling anymore; he was content, calm, and gave me a friendly look filled with a kind of witless superiority born of hard-won victory; his mouth relaxed, the savage glint left his eyes, though in this newfound amiability there was a certain amount of contempt for me; with a wave of his hand he indicated that those two were probably trying to surround us, and it would be highly advisable to stop grumbling and turn around, because we had to secure our rear, too.

But I was so angry at him, hated him so much, that I wanted to fall on him, or at least knock those lousy rocks out of his hand; it was on account of his precious glazed jug, I realized, that he'd turned Krisztián into my enemy for good; I got to my knees and began cursing him; and just then two black butterflies floated by between us, their fluttering wings almost touching his chest, then they flew upward, around each other, and passed by my face; I didn't tell him what I really wanted to, that he was an ignorant hick, instead I grabbed his hand, but it turned out differently than I intended; I don't know what happened, I found myself begging him, Let's get the hell out of here, even called him Kálmánka, which only his mother did, and that made me feel more disgusted; I told him the whole thing was so stupid, and who the hell cared, anyway, and what more did he want, and if he didn't come I'd go by myself; but he just shrugged his shoulders again and coldly withdrew his hand from mine, which meant I could go whenever I wanted to, he didn't care the least bit.

Fuck you, I said to him — and it was for Krisztián's sake that I said that.

Actually, I'd have loved to tell him we shouldn't have done this, except I couldn't forget so fast that it was originally my idea, and a disgraceful act cannot be put right by another act of dishonesty; he was also important to me, but not like that, surely not like that! and besides, the moment of victory was not a good time to remind him of the horrid way he'd got back at me; I preferred my own quiet disgust.

But not leaving made me feel even more disgusted with myself; inert, I turned over to lie on my stomach and kept my eyes on the forest to see if they were coming.

In a way I was grateful to Kálmán; by staying with him I managed to salvage some of my honor, and my cowardice would be put in the right perspective, at least between the two of us; I was even more grateful that he didn't take advantage of this, said not a word, even though he understood, perhaps accepted for the first time, how important Krisztián was to me and that he, Kálmán, was of no account — I saw his acknowledgment in the form of a jeering glint, hardly more than the flash of a sideways glance.

The sun beat down on us mercilessly, not even the wind could relieve the heat, the rock was hot, and nothing was happening save for the flies swarming; we should have accepted the fact that they weren't coming, though they might charge out of the woods any second, because I was sure they wouldn't leave matters unavenged. I could have yelled, They're coming! it even occurred to me not to warn him, let them come, let them do with us what they would! with the trees groaning and creaking in the wind, cracking and snapping with each gust, branches bending and foliage sweeping forward then springing back, gaps opening and closing between the bushes, light flashing irregularly as it tried to elude the pursuing shadows, it wasn't hard to expect the sound of running feet, to see spying faces among the leaves, bodies advancing from or retreating behind tree trunks; but nothing happened, no matter how much I hoped to win back Krisztián by betraying Kálmán; they weren't coming. And I had to stay on the overheated rock, on the lookout, alert, all according to some unwritten code of honor; stay with him, though he didn't mean anything to me, I didn't care about him. To take my mind off things, I began to collect stones and lay them out in a neat row in front of me, as if to prove to myself that I was ready for combat — should the need arise, the ammunition was to hand — but I tired of this, too, and there was nothing else to do; whenever Kálmán stirred and my foot accidentally touched his shoulder, I pulled away; I didn't enjoy the warmth of a strange body.

Of course we also had to figure on their returning with possible reinforcements; one of them might still be nearby, keeping an eye on us, while the other ran off to get help; yet all I could think of was Krisztián's knife, that he might surprise me from the back, and this made me feel even more strongly the scorching sun on my back and the futile cooling efforts of the wind.

It was around noontime, though the midday bell that would reverberate through the woods hadn't yet been rung; the sun was directly overhead, its blaze felt as if it were right on top of us; if it were not for the wind blowing so strongly, it would have been impossible to endure that hour of idle waiting; all that time I spoke to him only twice, to ask if he saw anything, because I didn't; but he didn't answer, and from his stubborn silence I could surmise that our bodies lying next to each other on that hot rock were gripped by the same desperate, pent-up fury; anxiety held our fury at bay and vice versa, the sharp point of hatred was blunted by fear, though this restrained yet somehow still freewheeling emotion was no longer aimed at the other boys but at ourselves; it was no ordinary fear, not a fear of being beaten, surrounded, overwhelmed, defeated, because by now it was clear we didn't have a chance, and having no chance reduces one's fears; the problem was that during the time passed in uncertainty we ourselves, or rather the peculiar feeling lingering between us, destroyed our advantage; this is the fate of victors who finish the job left undone by the enemy; our bodies, our skin, our very silence carried on a withering conversation during that anxious, uncertain hour, and it became clear to us that our victory was not only morally dubious but also unacceptable for simpler, more pragmatic reasons; we couldn't agree even on the significance of the victory, since it meant something different to each of us, and little by little we began to sense the limits of our friendship, to understand that without the other two boys our momentary alliance simply didn't exist; we could rebel against them, and during a brief period of plotting and acting against them might have felt our relationship to be as strong as theirs, but it could not cope with our victory or sustain it; there was a secret lack here, we could not measure up, Kálmán and I could only be accomplices at best, for we lacked the very harmony — of being complementary and suited to each other — for which we had attacked them, which I envied and found so irritating, which proved as impregnable as a rockbound fortress; and it was with the magic radiance of this harmony — yes, magic radiance, I'm not afraid of the phrase — that they drew us into their friendship and ruled over us, and we appreciated the good that came from this arrangement; and now we had squandered this good, exhausted and shattered it; it wasn't them that we had destroyed but our relationship! Kálmán's rightful place was with them; his easy calm complemented their nimbleness, his lumbering wisdom was a proper match for their resourcefulness, his benevolence a mate to their cruel humor; I was on the outside and could get close to them only through my friendship with Kálmán, like a cool observer of a triumvirate who, by standing on the sidelines, reinforces their cohesiveness as well as their hierarchy — Krisztián was at the top, of course, by virtue of his irresistible charm and intelligence, which had to be accepted, no rebellion should or could topple it; he lived in us, being with him was our life, and perhaps I even had a need to suffer because of him, for something good did come of it, something real and whole and workable; what I understood right away — that we were fatally defeated in the very moment of our victory and that along with my pains I'd lose everything that was any good in my life — took Kálmán longer to comprehend, though now I sensed a message sent out by his body that it was no use lying here, no use waiting, that we were defending our honor for nothing, since even if we managed to defeat them, which was just about impossible, the broken order of the world could never be restored; there'd be no new order, only chaos.