Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

You probably wouldn’t want to dine with these people, said Madzar, fighting his blushes, and with an awkward movement of his hands tried to return the captain’s sentimental hugs.

Ever since Serbia’s bloody rule after the Great War, the people of Mohács had feared Serbs.

That leaves Chief Counselor Elemér Vay as a possible table companion, you can see him right behind my back, said Bellardi, laughing, but I have a feeling you won’t mind very much if we skip him too.

On the contrary, replied Madzar, but the gesture of dismissal did not succeed, their hands slipped together, their fingers locked involuntarily.

Anyway, I have an important assignment to carry out, Bellardi continued, and because of it, I’ll have a table set for us upstairs. I must talk to you about something in absolute confidence. Josef, he called to the old waiter who had been standing close to them all along, wir essen oben, trinken zumal ein Burgogne Chardonnay .

Madzar, plausibly, was incredulous.

An assignment, from whom, about what.

More confidential than usual, said the captain, and laughed encouragingly.

And Madzar instantly felt that he had to defend himself and apologize; he said he really did not know anyone here, he had not been born into a good enough family to have any serious connections anywhere, and while he spoke he realized how revealing and ridiculous his fear must sound to Bellardi.

Across the bridge, they reached the captain’s salon, where Bellardi usually invited valued passengers for tea or coffee, or for the sheer enjoyment of watching the landscape swim by. The compact wainscoted room was at the highest point of the ship, its windows set in a semicircle. As soon as they came inside, the landscape offered itself to them. Water and air, nearness and distance; in the gentle rhythmic rocking, all outlines dissolved, everything blended together.

The captain reached for the light switch, but the architect put a hand on his arm.

With your permission, one more moment, please.

Of course, of course, laughed Bellardi, as if he realized he had forgotten something important, his friend’s aesthetic thirst, which he, Bellardi, considered feminine whimsy; please, sit down, right there. He pointed to the cream-colored, silk-upholstered cherrywood armchair. From here, you can see all this darkness more comfortably.

Madzar did not sit down.

Along the shores of the huge river, the infinite flatland dissolved in the cool mist of evening.

The darkness endures, giggled Bellardi behind his back.

They moved forward in the darkness, but that made no change in it.

What do you mean by that, asked the architect cautiously. The captain did not reply right away.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the western horizon, leaving wild lights in the air, mad colors piled on top of long, layered strips of clouds. Incandescent oranges, yellows, melting reds, hard purples, nacreous grays radiating from inside out, every shade of gray from white to black, while a thin slice of the moon was already shining on the steel-gray crystal surface of the eastern sky.

Which they kept approaching, the ship puffing and trembling, stuttering as it were, but which they neither reached nor came closer to.

It was my dear old father’s habit to huff and puff about how the universe is mutable and only its darkness is enduring, said Bellardi in an unusually quiet tone. It wasn’t his own wisdom, he added, laughing, he was only summarizing the contents of an old letter. There is an ancient letter, you know, in the possession of Mother’s family, the wisdom comes from that letter.

Madzar wanted to ask what sort of letter and what was in it, but the waiter and the cabin boy appeared, bearing everything needed for the dinner table.

They clattered with the dishes and utensils, exchanging short instructions as they worked.

An ivory tablecloth flew up, opened, flared out, and landed flat in the semi-darkness brightened with improbable lights and colors; the Mayer boy smoothed it out over the table.

The two men kept silent and immobile in their places.

When the old waiter and the cabin boy had disappeared into the steep stairwell, the captain, with two slender wineglasses in his hand, stepped closer to Madzar.

Tell me, Madzar asked in a serious tone, in the deepening twilight that promised to be overemotional, which frightened him, do you remember the name of the Jew who had the lumberyard below the pier.

Gottlieb, you dummy, Bellardi replied, and his voice grew hesitant, quickly taking him in another direction; he concealed his surprise by pretending that the recalled memory put him under the spell of a cheerful absentmindedness. Why on earth are you asking.

Funny, but I couldn’t remember it, Madzar replied, as if he had to apologize for his question. How laughable one can become with memory lapses.

Because of his carelessness, they each knew whom the other was thinking about.

About whom they would never speak again or, more precisely, about whom they had stopped talking even back then.

I never found out, the captain continued in his more cheerful tone, did finally anything happen between you and Marika Gottlieb.

I’m serious, he said, and held out his glass with the quavering gold-blond wine.

I liked her, no doubt about it, the architect replied and gazed pensively at the wine, but we were little children. I haven’t seen her since.

I don’t understand what you mean by that.

Even though he understood very well.

Because Marika Gottlieb’s thin face did appear to both of them, though neither of them was thinking of her. Madzar wanted to keep feelings at a distance, yet he was glad he had managed with his unguarded remark to remind Bellardi of something they wouldn’t speak of.

In fact, I liked her a lot, he added so that they would go on to talk about what they had been keeping to themselves.

Well then, here’s to it, God bless you, said Bellardi, raising his glass. No doubt about it, with Marika Gottlieb our manly life is complete.

They both laughed.

Madzar was embarrassed by their shamelessly shared laughter. This too he could not take back. It was too much for him that with the laughter, instigated by Bellardi, they were sealing their past complicity; with it, they were canceling their love.

Whatever happened, whatever is happening now, the captain continued, growing serious as he made his own reference to the dark story, which Madzar had just succeeded in suppressing with his reminder — and unexpectedly he cried out dramatically, you made me very happy, my dear friend, one might say you gilded my childhood. And I am very happy now that I can have you here for a little tête-à-tête, he added quietly. I must manfully confess that to you.

To keep the emotions generated by the confession from overwhelming him, he grimaced amiably.

Madzar looked at him as at a complete stranger whom he was seeing for the first time.

Why say things like that aloud.

Let’s drink to that, let’s, exclaimed Bellardi as if he understood Madzar.

You won’t believe this from such an arch pagan as me, but I am grateful for this gift even to the Lord, the one and only Creator.

They might have laughed at this remark, but there was only silence between them.

I’d like to know what you were thinking about, said Madzar after a pause, in a more severe tone, as if these frivolous words had briefly anesthetized him.

What does it matter what I was thinking about, replied the captain, pretending to be annoyed, his tone sober. What I think, you know, is that there will be a war and we, dictated by our interests, will join it. The Germans will devour everybody, that’s what I’ve been thinking. And I’m thinking about my scandalous life, about which I’m not going to give a report. All you civilians, pardon my language, haven’t the vaguest notion of what’s going on in the depths.