Agota Kristof - The Book of Lies

One morning Antonia wakes us early. She tells us to dress warmly, to put on several shirts and sweaters, our coats, and several pairs of socks since we're going on a long trip. She fills two suitcases with the rest of our clothes.

Antonia's friend comes for us in a car. We put the suitcases in the trunk. Antonia sits up front, Sarah and I in the back.

The car stops at the entrance to a cemetery almost across from our old house. The friend stays in the car; Antonia walks quickly, pulling Sarah and me by the hand.

We stop in front of a grave with a wooden cross upon which my father's name is written-a double name made up of mine and my brother's: Klaus-Lucas T.

Among several faded bouquets on the grave, one, of white carnations, is almost fresh.

I say to Antonia, "My mother used to plant carnations all over the garden. They were my father's favorite flower."

Antonia says, "I know. Say good-bye to your father, children."

Sarah says sweetly, "Good-bye, Father."

I say, "He wasn't Sarah's father. He was only our father, Lucas and me."

Antonia says, "I've already explained it to you. Didn't you understand? Too bad. Come, we have no time to waste."

We return to the car, which drives us to South Station. Antonia says thank you and good-bye to her friend.

We line up in front of the ticket booth. It's only then that I dare to ask Antonia, "Where are we going?"

She says, 'To my parents'. But first we're going to stop in the town of S. to take your brother Lucas with us."

I hold her hand and kiss her. 'Thank you, Antonia."

She withdraws her hand. "Don't thank me. I only know the name of the town; I can't remember what the rehabilitation center was called."

When Antonia pays for the tickets I realize that with the grocery money I couldn't have afforded my trip to the town of S.

The trip is uncomfortable. There are too many people; everyone is fleeing from the front. We have only one seat for the three of us; the one who sits takes Sarah on his knees while the other remains standing. We exchange places several times during the trip, which should have taken five hours but lasts more than twelve because of air raids. The train stops in the open countryside; the travelers get out and lie down in the fields. Whenever it happens I stretch my coat out on the ground, lay Sarah down on it, and crouch over her to protect her from bullets, bombs, and shrapnel.

We arrive at the town of S. late at night. We take a hotel room. Sarah and I immediately get into the big bed; Antonia goes back down to the bar to ask for information and does not return until morning.

Now she has the address of the center where Lucas should be. We go the following day.

It's a building in the middle of a park. Half of it has collapsed. It is empty We see the bare walls blackened by smoke.

The center was bombed three weeks ago.

Antonia makes inquiries. She questions the local authorities and tries to find survivors from the center. She finds the director's address. We go see her.

She says, "I remember little Lucas very well. He was the worst resident in the house. Always making trouble, always getting on people's nerves. A truly unbearable child, and incorrigible. No one ever came to see him, no one was interested in him. If I remember rightly, there was some sort of family tragedy. There is no more I can tell you."

Antonia insists: "Did you see him again after the bombing?"

The director says, "I myself was wounded in the bombing, but no one cares about me. A lot of people come to talk to me, asking questions about their children. But no one cares about me. And I spent two weeks in the hospital after the bombing. The shock, you understand. I was responsible for all those children."

Antonia asks again: "Think back. What can you tell us about Lucas? Did you see him again after the bombing? What happened to the surviving children?"

The director says, "I didn't see him again. I tell you, I was hurt too. The children who were still alive were sent back home. The dead were buried in the town cemetery. Those who weren't dead and whose addresses were unknown were sent away. To villages, to farms, to small towns. Those people are meant to return the children after the war."

Antonia consults the list of the town's dead.

She says to me, "Lucas isn't dead. We'll find him."

We get back on the train. We come to a little station; we walk to the center of town. Antonia carries the sleeping Sarah in her arms. I carry the suitcases.

We stop at Central Square. Antonia rings a doorbell and an old woman answers the door. I already know the old woman. It's Antonia's mother. She says, "God be praised! You're safe and sound. I was terribly scared. I prayed for you constantly."

She takes my face in her hands.

"And you came with them?"

I say, "I had no choice. I have to look after Sarah."

"Of course you have to look after Sarah."

She squeezes me, kisses me, then takes Sarah in her arms.

"How pretty you are, how big you are!"

Sarah says, 'I'm sleepy. I want to sleep with Klaus."

We're put to bed in the same room, the room Antonia slept in when she was a child.

Sarah calls Antonia's parents Grandmother and Grandfather; I call them Aunt Mathilda and Uncle Andreas. Uncle Andreas is a priest, and he wasn't called up because he is ill. His head shakes all the time as though he's constantly saying "no."

Uncle Andreas takes me for walks through the streets in the little town, sometimes until dusk. He says, 'I'd always wished for a son. A boy would have understood my love for this town. He would have understood the beauty of these streets, these houses, that sky. Yes, the beauty of this sky that is to be found nowhere else. Look. There are no names for the colors of that sky."

I say, "It's like a dream."

"A dream, yes. I had only one daughter. She left early, very young. She came back with a little girl and with you. You're not her son, nor my grandson, but you're the boy I've been waiting for."

I say, "But I have to go back to my mother when she's better, and I also have to find my brother, Lucas."

"Yes, of course. I hope you find them. But if you don't, you can stay with us forever. You can study and then choose the occupation that pleases you. What would you like to do when you grow up?"

"I'd like to marry Sarah."

Uncle Andreas laughs. "You can't marry Sarah. You're brother and sister. Marriage between you is impossible. It's against the law."

I say, "So I'll just live with her. No one can forbid me from keeping on living with her."

"You'll meet many other young girls you'll want to marry."

I say, "I don't think so."

Soon it becomes dangerous to walk in the streets, and at night it's forbidden to go out. What to do during the air-raid warning and bombings? During the day I give lessons to Sarah. I teach her to read and write and I make her do math exercises. There are a lot of books in the house. In the attic there are even children's books and Antonia's schoolbooks.

Uncle Andreas teaches me to play chess. When the women go to bed we begin a game and play late into the night.

At first Uncle Andreas always wins. When he begins to lose, he also loses his taste for the game.

He says to me, "You're too good for me, my boy. I don't want to play anymore. I don't want anything; all my desires have left me. I don't even have interesting dreams anymore, only boring ones."

I try to teach Sarah to play chess, but she doesn't like it. She gets tired and annoyed; she prefers simpler parlor games, and above all that I read her stories, it doesn't matter which ones, even a story I've read twenty times already.

When the war moves off into the other country, Antonia says, "We can go home to the capital."

Her mother says, "You'll starve to death. Leave Sarah here for a while. At least until you find work and a decent place to live."