Péter Nádas - Parallel Stories

Every night they beat him, kicked him, tortured him, and stepped on him, until after a few weeks he found the solution.

He put himself under the guardianship of older boys. This meant humiliating slavery, he had to fawn and flatter, but in fact, he was using them as he would use objects needed for good camouflage. This turned into eternal servitude, yet in this way he could better conceal his shattered self-assurance, and that was more important for his survival.

Perhaps, unlike the two other men, he constitutionally did not have the urge to show his real self directly or show off before others. Occasionally, though, he would rebel against them, just as once he had done against his slave drivers, or he would pout and sulk ridiculously, behavior that also belongs to the ambiguous childhood repertory of extortion and resistance. On such occasions, André, looking daggers, would order Ágost back to his place, and/or Hans would enfold him in his huge body, warm him as a stove would, and in no time the two men would defuse the rebellion. This was precisely what Ágost wanted to achieve, this is how he rewarded them. In their game, this became the source of mutual enjoyment, because at one point the bigger boys had to bend down to their protégé, exclude their effusive tenderness from sexual proscriptions, and he could legally break free of them. They no longer had to play the roles of Zeus and Hera, at last they could behave as those lost distant parents, on whom they had given up completely, should have behaved with them.

Between women and girls, the differences in mental constitution, the fine mechanism of emotions, is probably even more important.

Between men and boys, it is the physical traits, the coarser or at least more visible signs, that dictate this secret casting of roles.

Size, muscle power, adroitness, or, more mysteriously, energy is linked to traits that are not completely physical. Of course, the possession of certain mental abilities can be advantageous, especially if the fine mechanism of emotions is also first rate. Not because they would be put to use — among boys this use is forbidden — but because it can serve their cunning and wickedness. André Rott was of smaller stature and more fragile than Kovách, who struggled with a number of illnesses usually attributed to women, such as migraine headaches, and who was always on guard against chest colds of a mysterious origin that were hard to cure. He gave the impression of a soft canine; not harmless, it could probably tear you apart but, if left in peace, it would loll around or curl up and snooze on the warm oven. Looking at André, however, one would have the impression of a looming clash; there are faces and physiques that emanate some unnamable restlessness.

Something radiates from them that demands a response, but not everyone is ready with one. His skull was unusually narrow and elongated. In relation to his body it was not out of proportion, but it resembled nothing so much as a spool. His forehead was bony, lumpy, and convex, his nose thin, hooked, with a very prominent ridge. He exuded rigor, authority, and strength; his dark hair and the bluish stubble bristling under his skin deepened this impression. Two of his facial features not only softened and greatly reduced the grievous sternness of his appearance, but were also enchanting, alluring, enthralling. One was the deep dimple on his forceful chin, which was difficult to shave, and the other, his dark eyes, accentuated by very long lashes; his soulful glances.

Looking into his eyes was like entering a labyrinth; if one didn’t stand on guard, one might not find the way out.

Added to this were the almost repulsively thick, purplish red lips, the lower one jutting out a bit.

The same shade, hinting at hyperemia, was noticeable on his nipples with their swollen areolae when he took off his shirt. Or when he withdrew the abundantly creased foreskin from the blunt-ended, strongly rimmed, shiny bulb of his penis. This bashfully rapid yet demonstratively exhibitionist movement was also part of their sign language. This was the most secret signal that made his fatherly authority incontestable: his prick. Showing it meant a prolonged warning. And its effect lay not necessarily in its size. Not showing it, avoiding the opportunities to show it, meant withdrawing himself, as though withholding love, the denial of the greatest trust, a deliberate punishment.

What once has been seared into one’s brain will be missed, or at least will need occasional reinforcement, because its mere sight is evanescent. It is in this sense that size and strength are meaningful — but in proportions, relative positions, shapes and characteristics, everything that speaks of activity, of glowing energy, everything that can be intuited but not shared, in a word, everything that had to do with aesthetics in the category of the taboo. And of course all this belonged to the language, placed under the obligation of silence, that every male understands well no matter how vague or distorted but does not speak because of the constant threat of death, and very often will refrain from even touching in his thoughts. Boys can learn to understand this language fully and speak it flawlessly, without distortions, only in the corridors, sleeping halls, and baths of boarding schools, where, left to their own devices, they must fight for their existence and position. Not by chance was the new cabin attendant so upset when he ran off. He understood, and had good reason not to acknowledge, what he saw and comprehended. Most men who grow up in the bosom of their families behave stupidly and obtusely. Before he reached the end of the corridor and must have disappeared into the dark passage leading to the women’s dressing rooms, the ticket-taker woman enthroned behind her table called after him.

Where in the hell are you running like that, my dear Jani. I envy you your legs.

The new attendant stopped. Confused and surprised, curious to know what the woman might want from him, he took a step back.

I just want to tell Uncle Józsi right away, he offered quickly, but did not explain what he wanted to tell his boss; instead, he approached the ticket-taker’s table with such cautious steps it was as if with his locomotion he was already revealing to her something very meaningful and particularly confidential.

He was afraid of this female. In the circumstances, of course, he pretended to seek her graces.

The luminous ticket taker, who each morning applied thick layers of baby cream to her face, did not even bother to look up from her crocheting. She could not be easily swept off her feet with this transparently mysterious behavior. The crochet pattern book lay on the table before her; she was counting the number of stitches on the appropriate diagram. Her fingers kept working fast, and the counting made her lips move too. Crocheting was not some thoughtless entertainment. She worked for marketers who took the merchandise to the countryside. When she reached a round number that was easy to remember, she quickly looked up.

Didn’t you see him go over to the steam, my dear Jani. He walked right in front of you. And you’re not allowed in there.

Is that right, the boy asked dumbly. I didn’t notice him going to the steam.

You probably fell asleep again, Jani. What are you doing again at night.

From the moment he laid eyes on her, the young man had hated this woman the way he hated his own mother. But now he couldn’t protest, he couldn’t say he hadn’t fallen asleep and did see the chief attendant go to the steam section. No matter how he hoped, how he tried to be smart, his lies never managed to cover over his other lies or never fitted together properly. A small error always managed to slip in, or something got stuck out of place and made him vulnerable. And this female seemed to get her kicks by constantly observing him. She was keeping an eye on everybody. To divert her irritating attention, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a whisper.