Gyula Krúdy - Life Is A Dream

Life can be strange, reflected the Colonel of the Casino, catching a glimpse of the tavern-keeper’s wife who must have just risen from her afternoon nap, and waddled across the taproom to check on her husband before doing anything else. Would she catch him in some heinous act that she could seriously reproach him about tonight in the privacy of the bedroom?

‘My little chickadee!’ shouted the hefty tavern-keeper, noting his wife’s stealthy approach in those silent and indestructible felt slippers. He snatched the red-tasselled skullcap off his head (a thing he never did for anyone else), and waved it in the air. ‘My little chickadee!’ he shouted again, and slammed a card thunderously on to the table, as winners like to do. This slam was no doubt intended to set things right concerning his wife’s afternoon dream, for these afternoon dreams of housewives may portend perils untold. At times they can dream the truth and once that happens no amount of kisses will restore their former good spirits. Usually it is jealousy that rouses these publicans’ wives who nap in the afternoon, so that they leap out of bed with their sensible shoes half pulled on, hoping to catch the husband making love to the serving girl. No matter how respectable a tavern-keeper’s past, he may boast of a father and mother who had instilled the best of family morals in him — all the same, the world has never known a tavern-keeper whose wife’s jealousy was not justified. Although it is not easy for a publican to absent himself from his premises in order to pursue some shameful passion! It is most difficult for him to wander off to some other pub to carouse on credit, as a member of the trade, after the wife sequesters his wallet at night! And it’s next to impossible, isn’t it, for a well-known tavern-keeper to get entangled in amorous adventures in his own neighbourhood, for this is bound to have a bad effect on his business! And so tavern-keepers’ wives the world over lay their heads to rest in the afternoon amidst great unease. And that is why the proprietor of the Grey Arabian, sitting among his pals, slammed his card down so hard, upon seeing the approach of his wife.

The Colonel, too, sized up the tavern-keeper’s wife. She was a phenomenon indeed, whom every guest had the right to look over, entertaining notions mild or wild. The Colonel entertained the following thoughts regarding her:

— This woman no doubt has her points, although it would be folly to compare her to Countess Denise or any of my other acquaintances. None the less, one would like to see more specimens of her type among the women of common folk and the middle class …

As we can see, the Colonel was subject to the occasional onrush of arrogance, whenever he recalled his own destined role. After all, this very afternoon he had to execute a man who in a newspaper article had insulted the Casino … But now a nerve stirred in the region of his vest pocket, a nerve he had hitherto known precious little about, and once again he was seized by an abominable hunger. Had the Colonel been superstitious, he might have suspected some special warning at work. But he was not a superstitious man and therefore his eyes reverently followed each move made by the tavern-keeper’s wife, movements that were becoming quite sprightly, once she had ascertained her husband was surrounded by his card cronies and not by a bevy of kitchen maids. No greater shame can befall a housewife than her husband deceiving her with her own serving girl. In this relieved mood of tolerance the tavern-keeper’s wife deigned to take notice of the unfamiliar customer’s nodding salutations.

‘What can I do for you?’ she asked, after the Colonel had nodded at her about ten times.

The Colonel, as if speaking in a dream under the vaulted ceiling of the Grey Arabian, replied: ‘Do not believe for a moment, my dear woman, that I am what my strange outfit indicates. I have quite a decent standing in society, but circumstances at the moment compel me to show myself in the apparel of an ordinary citizen. I repeat, my good woman, that’s all there is to it: I simply do not want to be recognized prematurely, before I settle an affair with a certain gentleman at a certain location in this neighbourhood.’ And the Colonel pointed in a direction that the tavern-keeper’s wife could hardly be expected to guess was the military barracks on Ulloi Road.

She reached into an apron pocket and rattled her keys impatiently. ‘If there’s something you want maybe you should speak to my husband,’ she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, and she was already on her way in her felt slippers.

But the Colonel pressed on: ‘This matter, my personal business, concerns solely you, madam,’ he announced, suddenly decisive. ‘I would like to eat something that in my opinion can only be found here at the Grey Arabian.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I beg you not to laugh at my strange request. I feel like having a bit of stew left over from lunch, you know, from the bottom of the pot, with thick gravy. I don’t mind if it is slightly burned. I happen to hold that each dish is best at the bottom of the pot, where it’s cooked the longest. Don’t worry, I’ve got the money.’

‘Our guests prefer to have their stew early in the day,’ said the tavern-keeper’s wife, pronouncing the word as ‘stoo’.

‘You mean their stee-ew.’

‘Their stoo,’ countered the tavern-keeper’s wife. ‘I’ll see in the kitchen if we have any left over. We had beef stoo at noon.’

The Colonel’s eyes lit up, even though his bushy eyebrows had not experienced such a manifestation in years. After a short while the tavern-keeper’s wife called from the kitchen: ‘Janos, give this to the gentleman,’ and she slammed the window shut.

The plate served up by Janos’s stubby fingers indeed contained some leftover stew. It came in gravy as thick as stewed tomatoes. The meat was burned and consisted mostly of bony pieces that the proprietress would not have served to one of her regulars. After all, most likely she would never see this peculiar gentleman again. The Colonel inspected these bits of meat with special delectation. He used his fork to turn over some, especially the pieces that were most charred, as if he took greatest delight in these. The barman, with some condescension, lingered by the guest’s side for a while. This kind of food would not have pleased even the cab-drivers who happened to drop in here; they liked their food freshly prepared. The Colonel, after selecting a bony piece to his liking, shifted the meat about in his mouth, and just to be stylish, used his fingers to remove the bone sliver stuck between his teeth. Apparently he had made up his mind to degrade himself at all costs …

‘You know, Janos,’ he said, sucking on another bone, ‘I happen to love oysters, but today I had a strange craving to eat the kind of food consumed by a certain someone, somewhere, so that I could imagine myself in that fellow’s place. That’s right, I want to be just like that miserable nonentity who ought to be writing his last will and testament just about now, if he had any brains. Yes, I am eating this “stoo” as an act of penance. I’m asking for pardon in advance, I announce my intentions in advance, because I do not wish to be the cause of anything unexpected. A gentleman, before he slaps your face, gives warning that sooner or later you will receive a slap. Only a bandit strikes you treacherously from behind. I give the gentleman fair warning that this affair will end poorly for him. But now that his death is imminent, I lower myself to his level to make peace with him and do joint penance together with him, even though I am quite innocent …’

The barman was using a matchstick to delve into his ear; it seemed he had understood not a word of what the Colonel was saying. ‘I wouldn’t advise you to fight here. The boss can be very tough.’