Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

He did not seem to be near the end of what he meant to say when suddenly Madzar’s fist rose as if he were going to strike the table.

But he did not.

He rose, kicked the armchair out from under him, and stood up.

You don’t imagine, I mean you don’t think, he said dryly, without emotion, that anyone has the right to tell me, or keep a record of, whom I could or should not work for.

The polite smile did not disappear from his face.

By now he had gained a reliable insight into the way the other man’s thinking and strategy dovetailed.

In response Bellardi also rose, but he took his time to tower over the table.

Nevertheless, putting my trust into good old common sense, I will continue, he said very quietly, almost amiably, as if free of disturbing emotion. Even though at that moment, because of his own sluggishness and lack of comprehension, he loathed and disdained Madzar with all the released force of his zeal; or perhaps it was himself he hated so much. He could not understand why he wanted so passionately to lure Madzar into something he knew was not right for him.

Who would not serve him.

And why doesn’t this servant serve him.

Fortunately, he managed to check his impending fury.

It’s a bit like saying that I’m giving you another chance to save your soul from damnation, he cried out with an unexpected laugh.

Believe me, I know your soul better than you do.

His teeth gleamed wetly.

Come on, what the hell do you know, whom do you know, the architect asked himself angrily. Yet the other man fascinated and enchanted him with his insistence and with his convinced inflexibility, which — along with his teeth and his laughter, false to the point of perfection — he had inherited from his mother and which made him very like her.

It also occurred to him that this was maniacal work, a work of madness, of being blind and deaf.

This cautionary thought, however, made him hesitate in his effort to defend himself at all cost from the threat of approaching chaos.

From crashing along with them.

Why didn’t the terrible beauty of chaos seduce him.

You know very well, he protested weakly, that I am going to set up my life in an entirely different world. It will be like going to the moon. I can’t see why, knowing this, you’re talking to me about these matters.

The little boy’s smile on Bellardi’s face now formed charming little dimples between the strong grooves and sharp lines.

Now you’re talking, he said, letting a chuckle shake his body, his pleasure made visible, this is exactly the point I hoped to arrive at, Lojzi, my precious.

Which, however, was no longer an innocent pleasure but a well-calculated obvious way to perform the latest act of the play that starred the two of them. They could not lose the game, had no reason to, and therefore had to do everything to save every single soul.

He could not be disappointed in himself.

Now, however, I must go below with you because we’re preparing to dock.

He gently grasped Madzar’s elbow and as he did so the ship’s horn wailed, long and desperate.

Madzar, to his shame, shuddered.

Our network is widening, looking for possible residents abroad, Bellardi shouted over the horn. We have people in many places already, including America. But it’s a huge continent, you know, and right now it’s brains like yours that we need.

He opened the door, and as they silently went down the dimly lit stairs, the ship’s bell sounded from the bridge and kept ringing until the engine stopped completely.

They could see the lit-up Mohács pier swim past them in the gloomy silence.

The currents were carrying them on with incredible force; only here, very close to the riverbank and under the enormous embankment, did their power become visible.

Moths and mosquitoes were hovering between the water and the floodlights’ beams, as if the light had torn them from the darkness.

And as the current carried them well past the docking bridge and the yellow docking station, festive with the white flowers of the wide-crowned horse chestnut trees, the noisily reversing engine once again made their bodies rattle. They were almost in line with the cold block of the darkened silk-factory building when, with the ringing of a small bell, the two paddle wheels began to rotate backward and the squeaky rudder turned sharply. Now they were moving in reverse, against the current, and the dark, great river gurgled, boiled, seethed, and churned under them until the enormous side of the Carolina bumped against the docking bridge.

Think about it, please, Bellardi said, almost derisively. But please don’t let it upset you. No point in making a drama of it, you’ve no reason to. What we are talking about, first of all, is that when the occasion arises you should join us. This is a simple invitation, friendly and respectful, nothing else. You can’t be so contemptuous of your race or, if not your race, of truth and fairness, as to refuse to join us. And after that, we’ll see. The whole summer is still ahead of us.

Anyway, I’d like to spend the summer with you, exactly as we did a long time ago.

At the right moment I’ll ask you for your response.

He spoke tolerantly and mockingly, as if he had managed to outwit his friend after all. Then he unexpectedly waved good-bye and, before Madzar had time to respond in any way, disappeared into a dark passage on the deck.

Madzar, who had forgotten his coat and cap, was about to step onto the dock when he heard the old waiter call, Gestatten Sie mir , then thrust the cap into his hand and helped him on with his coat.

And the following day, in Ármin Gottlieb’s lumberyard he found what he had been looking for, and the discovery wiped away his mental anguish and his agitation.

I have such luck. How damn lucky I am again.

He exulted inside.

Bellardi, with his bizarre stories, was the first person whom Madzar completely forgot about once he had found the wood.

More accurately, one emotional upheaval was exchanged for another.

The old lumber merchant did not recognize him.

He sat over his papers at his desk in the lumberyard office; there were papers and business ledgers everywhere on the table, on chairs, on top of the filing cabinets. With his whey-colored eyes, he looked up at Madzar from behind his thick glasses, which even in his childhood Mazdar had thought looked like fish eyes, and listened to him without making a sound.

As if waiting to see whether it was worth getting up from the desk at the visiting gentleman’s request.

Outside, birds were chirping, but the riverside swallows were not yet making their shrill sounds in flight, and suddenly Madzar missed them. They had not yet arrived from Africa. Gottlieb always had the boys put down the driftwood and stack it first and then paid them here, in the office.

If he paid, and if he didn’t say, please, boys, come tomorrow for your pay.

And then they had to hang around for a long time, stand firm on their demands for pay. The shrieking of the swallows was part of the protracted wait.

I see, I see, he said now, after a long while, though frankly he only guessed what sort of wood the stranger had in mind. It should be hardwood, preferably from a demolition site, healthy but old, very old if possible.

A few years back, somebody here made a very interesting big catch, he said warily but still not getting up from his desk and not even putting his pen down.

If it isn’t driftwood, I’d appreciate your showing it to me.

How did you know I was thinking of driftwood, asked the merchant suspiciously.

I am somewhat familiar with local conditions, Madzar answered, sounding not too friendly, to signal that he didn’t want to get into details.