Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

Now I could look at her, irresponsibly and carelessly, and smell her to my heart’s content, something I had deeply desired, but I felt I was being locked into this insurmountable, laughable desire of mine. Something you’d want to break out of, but your gratification lies in your inability to break out. Thus, my body truly understood the man, who could not abide this woman, and that is why, against his own decision, he had to abandon his motionlessness. He did not capitulate completely, but he began rummaging in his pocket — a movement that hinted at weakness, vulnerability, and inconsistency. I was no less vulnerable, and I had no reason for it; she completely paralyzed me with her arbitrariness. He put something in the woman’s lap, an object or some secret gift I could not see.

Have you gone crazy, you’ve gone completely mad, the woman cried.

I think so too, responded the man.

Then he had to reach across the woman’s knees to find something in the glove compartment. He probably wanted to light up but found not one lousy cigarette there, and to do something anyway so as not to humiliate himself more, he angrily stopped the windshield wipers.

Well, maybe we should get going then, Simon, said the woman, and she made the mysterious object disappear into her pocket.

The man was frankly admitting his weakness, to which the woman probably always responded with a new cruelty.

What do you mean, maybe we should get going, what is that supposed to mean, tell me.

That we should go instead of keep sitting here.

If you’d be kind enough to close the door, Klára, we could really get going.

You don’t have to tell me twice, Simon.

And since they were still calling each other by their first name, this was obviously a kind of revenge. As if they were saying that no matter what happens, we must not lose patience, and we won’t. Even though they had lost it ages ago; besides, they were the ones who were trying each other’s patience. This must have been a well-practiced game. One of them pretended to have inexhaustible patience, and the sustained deceit made the other one lose patience completely. To make matters worse, the man did not find a cigarette, but the woman nicely vented her anger by slamming the car door shut very hard. Yet nothing happened. The man did not start the car.

Impassive and motionless, they both kept looking straight ahead. Now the woman should have made up some of her losses, or given up, but neither of them could give up anything.

And if I may ask, Klára, he asked very quietly and stopped.

And then at the top of his voice he yelled into the dark, where, you cheerless cunt, would you care to go. I am at your service, awaiting your command. You know your wish is my command.

In response the woman quickly turned around and gave me a quick glance; she obviously hadn’t forgotten me and in this impossible situation wanted to be sure I was still there. I had never heard nor could I imagine a man saying such a thing to a woman. And I’d never come across things like this even in movies or novels. Actually, the woman was not preoccupied with me, though with her glance she betrayed her regret that I had to witness this scene with no chance to escape, and shamelessly she continued her campaign of gentleness.

I sincerely hope, she said very quietly, that you are not being so charming and amiable because I have offended you in some way.

On the contrary, replied the man, no less quietly, I am always happy whenever I can reciprocate your attentiveness with something.

You must have acquired your manners in the Battle of Voronezh.*

I’d have readily acquired them at the Sorbonne if I’d known I’d be in the company of such illustrious types.

I enjoy the company of a tippler.

But I can’t abide your social class.

You don’t mean that seriously, do you now.

They looked into each other’s eyes and I can’t say they didn’t enjoy it a bit. Two obstinate foreheads, two fighting profiles, two magnificent manes of hair, two individual self-hatreds; even I enjoyed seeing their wildness.

Then would you mind telling me, my darling, what happened, what’s wrong, my one and only love, what’s wrong, what’s wrong, repeated the woman with increasing rudeness, ever more harshly and loudly, as if she had truly had enough, as if she’d go mad if she couldn’t redeem herself with hysteria.

Yet she quickly managed to reverse her ominous tone. I really didn’t mean to make fun of you, she then said very quietly. I’d like you to calm down a little. That’s all I want.

You haven’t answered my question.

I did close the door properly, though, didn’t I.

Most laudable.

I am one hell of a girl.

And you really think that everything’s all right now, don’t you.

I don’t know what else I could do to further our progress, the woman replied with a raw grin.

That I’ll forget it, that’s what you hope — that I’ll forget and forgive everything.

You’ve nothing to forget, my darling, my one and only, and you’ve nothing to forgive.

They looked at each other for a long time, as if they were playing on some peculiar instrument: two human heads bewitched by each other, two proud human heads. What emanated and radiated from the posture of their heads was that no matter what they might do for or against each other, they’d never run out of artistic ideas. Now it was the man’s turn to give in first, because her raw grin seemed to have stuck to him, no matter how hard he tried to defend himself against it by struggling for quite a time to put on a serious expression. Laughter probably helped the man accept his new defeat. Like two mischievous children at the successful completion of a prank, they burst simultaneously into brief, quiet laughter. Laughing must have helped the man through this latest defeat. It was painful to hear the two merry voices together. It was as though they were saying, we did this really well, but our shared success means that striving for happiness is more important than truth or justice. And then it was the man again who lost, with his search for truth, and the woman who won, with her search for happiness. Their attraction was much too strong; I could not resist it. I felt the man’s defeat in my cock stuck in my underpants, shriveled with fear yet moist with desire. And the woman gently leaned toward the man and was about to kiss him on the mouth, right in front of my nose. I had no idea what to do on that very hard backseat designed for luggage.

She barely touched him and quickly recoiled, alarmed; I could see the genuine shock on her face.

You’ve had a drink, she cried out desperately, like a child, which meant the man had broken his promise again.

I had one vodka, true. I couldn’t help it.

I can feel that you had more than one.

Even to please you, I can’t admit to more than one.

In that case, please be kind enough to take me home.

And I should go by myself.

By yourself or with anybody. Wherever you want to, however you want to.

After the latest squabble, their silence turned hopelessly dark and ominous. A moment ago, despite all my humiliation and resistance, they had captured my curiosity, but this skirmish unsettled me. For what they were doing to each other now needed no witnesses; my observing them was no longer explainable or endurable. This did not occur to me as a moral question; it simply hit me in my stomach, in my guts. One never knows what sort of life to wish for, because one would have to wish for several different kinds at once, to weigh the possibilities, but surely one wouldn’t wish for this kind. I worried that in my fright I’d have to fart.

I felt the moment had come; I couldn’t keep the results of my prolonged anxiety in check.