Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

This was no laughing matter. Karakas was nearly tortured to death during his interrogation.

Although he limped because of an injury received in Spain, he suffered from several organic diseases as the result of the later beatings and torture in Hungary. About these he spoke with no one except physicians at Kútvölgyi Hospital; thus no one knew which of his inner organs had been smashed. A number of people knew that Vladimir Farkas had personally urinated into his mouth, as he had done to comrade Kádár too.* But others reacted to this by saying, no, that’s simply unbelievable.

He was considered a communist who could not and indeed did not have any personal grievances. Today, however, he remained conspicuously quiet, almost fearful; he did not say a single word to André Rott in the stormy pool. Neither did he look at him when, having reached the end of the pool, he turned around. As if he had forgotten him or changed his mind, and then his silence or fear acquired a diplomatic character.

He must have a reason for softening up Rott.

But in fact he was enjoying the water, the storm, and it gave him a special pleasure that he was enjoying it after a double ordeal and shock. Anyway, Karakas was a man who was content with small amounts of enjoyment; a few spirited movements were enough for him, he was satisfied and done.

They swam like this for about six minutes, from one end of the pool to the other and then back again. This was no small torture for Rott. Being an excellent swimmer, he found it very hard to swim slowly. But Karakas swam as if his fear of drowning at each stroke was not completely baseless. And then, unexpectedly, after a turn, he waited for André. While both of them trod water and held on to the railing, he said to the younger man that yesterday the Political Committee put an end to the matter.

The Jews are not allowed to study the Eichmann papers we have.*

Surprising.

We prefer not to have Israeli detectives around who are charged with special missions.

Obviously.

Let them give us the date for when the trial begins, and a few days before that they’ll get the necessary papers.

Or at least copies of the necessary papers.

That would mean, André remarked, to give himself time to think, that the memorandum about the extradition is also canceled.

The Hungarian government will not request Eichmann’s extradition, because rejection of such a memorandum would not be desirable. At the moment Moscow does not want to make a big deal out of the Jewish question.

But we shall offer them appropriate documents that may be important to the Jews, and in exchange they should keep quiet.

Maybe not just any documents, and mainly not all of them.

Then they swam for another four minutes.

Which, this time, was not part of the obligatory theatrics of male power play.

André wondered what this powerful man’s intentions were for sharing this confidential information with him.

At this late morning hour, Karakas gave no sign of special anxiety or perturbation, and Rott could not have heard of the terrible accident.

When Karakas, cold and wet but very content, had returned to the parliament from the garden of the National Museum, he first made his report, which was received with satisfaction. But the moment he stepped out of the prime minister’s office he was given some news that had no official significance, but from which he had to sort and rearrange documents on his shiny desk for long minutes to recover.

Finally he got up, very irritated, and in unusually harsh tones told his secretary that he’d be back in forty minutes; until then he could be found in the Lukács.

The secretary’s concerned look followed him out.

He had ten minutes left for the steam bath.

André Rott accompanied him there too.

In the dim hall, dating from the Turkish era, there were only a few naked figures.

Karakas and Rott took their place in the farthest corner of the hot-water pool, sitting on underwater stone armchairs pitted by sulfides and mineral deposits. Simultaneously, security men appeared between the columns and then withdrew discreetly, which unavoidably made for much slipping and knocking noise in the hall. Karakas, holding on to the carved armrests, absentmindedly floated his paralyzed leg for a while, staring in front of him, but not at his pencil-thin penis peeking out from under his apron or his little testicles floating in long folds of skin, at nothing in particular, perhaps nothing at all, and then suddenly he immersed himself completely in the water. When he surfaced, seeking André’s face, he said, so far as I know, comrade Rott’s friends are not involved in any bad-smelling business.

One expects that much from one’s good friends, comrade Karakas, replied André Rott quickly, though with some reserve, considering the powerful man’s surprising statement.

It would be embarrassing if an ugly mole dug up the ground somewhere.

André added, without thinking, that he was afraid Lippay might be growing prematurely rusty.

Don’t be.

Luckily, Jancsi Wolkenstein is more patient.

I believe we’ll have to entrust him with a dangerous task, Karakas said, and as was the wont of powerful comrades, he made it seem as if he had not heard the warning about Lippay and the recommendation regarding Wolkenstein.

What’s your view, he asked quickly and sarcastically.

He appeared genuinely curious as he observed André’s features, now motionless with surprise. Of course he did not fail to notice that André feigned this surprise.

For once, two pros were talking to each other in this town. In the meantime they had both sunk into the rust-brown water up to their lips and were floating their bodies. It would have been impossible to talk more quietly or intimately. Which was necessary both because of the subject matter and because of the echoing bathing hall. Occasionally a splash could be heard from a neighboring pool when someone was getting into or out of the water.

The more dangerous the task, comrade Karakas, the more responsible one must be.

That’s right, comrade Rott, and then the glory won’t be small.

The timing is good, comrade Karakas, if I may say it like that, one can only approve.

Which in their professional language meant, if you ask me, perhaps it’s not too late. We can sincerely hope that our friend Ágost Lippay has not yet dug himself a tunnel underground and indeed is not a mole.

He would never have thought he’d be able to think of Ágost in such plain words, so that with such a simple falsehood he could avoid his own death sentence, or at least find a solution whereby he would not be the one to be hurt by the friendship among the three men.

He could not have imagined that the betrayal would be so easy, that betrayal was as easy as falling off a log.

Occasionally some dripping was heard somewhere, and then echoed loudly in the dark hall.

It wasn’t as if he were committing a serious betrayal for the first time.

But Karakas had left him no option. He wasn’t going to let himself be held uniquely responsible for this definitive solution. Or at least the weight of the responsibility would be shared. The undisguised strength of this little administrative certainty gave him a peculiar feeling. Not dizziness but raw joy. As if from the pervasive joy of perspicacity he was on the verge of fainting, feeling at once strong and weak. Like Faust, not only had he gained insight into the unmasked nature of the world, but he also proved to be more loyal than he had expected or hoped himself to be. A sense of his own grandeur was reinforced.

Because he was more loyal to the cause of communism and to his oath than he was to his friend, he was more loyal to his profession and his conviction, and because he succeeded in making this loyalty prevail over all his other feelings.