Gyula Krúdy - Life Is A Dream

The Colonel smiled under his moustache, as if to acknowledge that his disguise was working — no one had spotted him as a member of the Casino. He dropped the remaining piece of bread into the gravy and speared it with his fork: ‘I can see you know how to prepare the foundations of a stew here. I suspect you put tomatoes in the gravy, even though not everyone does that. The burned green peppers and potatoes are a nice touch. But the most intriguing part is that the dish tastes as if it had been waiting for quite some time for some cab-driver or other customer who for some reason or another could not come back for it. He’s probably standing around waiting on the street somewhere, under the eaves, staring at the faces of passers-by, amusing himself by trying to guess who among those pedestrians will be the next fare, in case the cab is not reserved. But fortunately the cab already has a customer, some chap who is courting a fair lady in an apartment upstairs, the number of which is none of the driver’s business. Don’t cab-drivers come in here anymore?’ inquired the Colonel.

The barman had no idea why he kept listening to this stranger, who under no circumstances would fit in among the regular customers. Nor could you say that he was here from the police to investigate something in the neighbourhood, for one can easily tell a police officer, if not by his behaviour then by his tone of voice.

The barman therefore had to condescend even more to answer the guest (who had finished the beer intended for the janitor). ‘Would you be wanting to sell a horse? The carriage owners generally show up here after six, on their way back from Franciscans Place, Gizella Place, or wherever their business takes them.’

The Colonel almost burst out laughing. It was indeed worthwhile to don disguise every once in a while, just to get to know the ‘common folk’. Crown Prince Rudolf had often been criticized at the Casino for not acting in a manner worthy of his title, but lo and behold, the Crown Prince was right after all to wear a disguise in order to mix among common folk. All he needed now was to be seen here at the Grey Arabian by Luczianovics, Wampetics, Muller, or any of the Casino’s other cab-drivers! There would be no end to the ribbing at the Club the next day! He laughed, but went on to wipe his plate clean of all traces of red gravy, using the last remnants of bread crust for this operation.

‘They say magnates eat a lot,’ he said, winking at the barman. ‘I do not know if I am permitted to go into the kitchen for a visit with Madame, for I am not familiar with her moods. But in any case I would like to know, is there by any chance a bit of leftover pork out there? Of course I mean cold roast pork, just an end piece, the stump, or “butt” as we like to put it. Just a bite or two, some small piece that cannot be sold as a full portion, but most welcome for an afternoon guest such as myself. I am sure that the rascal who’s condemned to die is used to eating something like that when he wakes up after a night of debauchery in his tenement room or dosshouse where people of his sort are likely to hang out. I am convinced that his stomach must be on fire, his head splitting, his eyes seeing double; perhaps even now he’s heading for the pawnshop to retrieve the overcoat borrowed from a friend.’

The guest of the Grey Arabian had undeniable good luck with everything that his untameable appetite conjured up on this day. The Colonel’s stomach, which had the same identical gourd shape as most other stomachs, somehow did not feel right today, manifesting nervous symptoms that affected even the Colonel’s disciplined mind. Why on earth did that stomach crave all sorts of victuals the Colonel usually never noticed, save on this day, when the Colonel’s good heart, pitying his impoverished opponent, made him lower himself, out of sheer chivalry, to imitate the other man’s humble way of life? No one should say the poor fellow had been snuffed out by some lord from on high in a plush box — but by someone who empathized with the trials of those less fortunate. The barman now returned bringing a piece of roast pork, an end part that was roasted to a turn, even singed a bit, featuring bones that tasked the teeth. Some like the nice and tender and even parts of the pork chop, but the Colonel, eager to identify in every way with his miserable opponent, was convinced that the other man could not afford a better piece of meat. He even asked for radishes and onions on the side, although he usually refrained from these pungent items.

‘I could have had elevenses at the Casino, perhaps some crayfish, they’re best during these months,’ the Colonel explained to the barman, who was gradually falling under the spell of this odd guest. ‘I happen to know Miss Finkelstein, who provides the crayfish for the Casino’s kitchen, and during my morning stroll at the market hall always tells me about the shellfish she delivered that day. Last week she informed me that in addition to the small crayfish caught in the river, that are best as stuffing or in soups, she had sent up to the Casino one unusually large specimen that had only one claw, sort of like a sword. And its tail was a veritable battle-axe. She advised me to keep tabs on this crayfish. I immediately proceeded to the Casino and laid claim to the single-clawed crayfish. Indeed, it proved a nice mouthful, accompanied by three of his smaller cohorts. The three smaller crayfish must have been members of the same family for they were all outstanding specimens. But none of them could compete with their elder. Well, you just have to keep your eyes peeled if you want to eat well. Am I right, Janos?’

The Colonel’s torrent of words would have confused even a far more significant individual than the barman of the Grey Arabian. As it was, the Colonel kept sawing away at the cold pork, then gnawed at the bone, in order to resemble as closely as possible that miserable person who was perhaps presently feeding in the same manner at some low dive, if indeed he was able to afford a meal. The Colonel was a benevolent man and would have gladly invited to lunch the poor wretch whom, in consequence of the Casino’s decision, he was scheduled to dispatch to the other world at six this afternoon; of course the man would have to sit at another table, for not even the kindest heart may transgress the rules in the code of chivalry. How often, for instance, must a gentleman in high society sit under the same roof with his deadly enemies … After all, one cannot create a scandal at every chance encounter. This leftover roast pork was truly well done, and the Colonel, while still eating, promised Janos that the next time he had business around here (and pointed over his shoulder) he would make sure to drop in at the Grey Arabian.

‘Alas, I am unable to tell you exactly when that would be,’ said the Colonel, cutting open a radish and attentively examining its texture. One could tell by the radishes that the Grey Arabian’s customers were connoisseurs, for every single radish he tried proved top grade. A light perspiration bedewed their ivory bellies that had not a trace of the brown worm that insidiously eats its way to a radish’s heart, nor were there any spongy, decaying parts, the sight of which is so discouraging for the lover of radishes, leading him to imagine there were no decent folks, or radishes, left in the world, because looks are deceptive, and even the most honest-looking fruit is rotten to the core. But the Colonel’s radishes did not deceive. Their insides delivered what their outsides promised: good health.

The Colonel munched on these radishes, food of the poor, the consumption of which had given occasion for many an amusing remark at the Grey Arabian as well as other, higher-class hostelries.

‘I like to eat oysters, too,’ remarked the Colonel during the ceremony of radish-eating, whereupon Janos began to eye this customer somewhat distrustfully: was the man trying to make a fool of him? ‘But today I feel compelled to abstain, and eat this penitential fare, because you must obey the voice of your conscience. Were I to shoot down that poor devil after a feast, high on French champagne, I might later reproach myself for having had an unfair advantage. In a carefree and reckless mood my victory would have to be a foregone conclusion, since luck is yours if you have pluck. As I was saying, I am quite in favour of oysters but I never eat more than a couple of dozen at a time. As a matter of fact, a friend of mine died after putting away twenty-eight oysters. Yes, twenty-eight, although they were the smaller kind. Now, your octopus is quite something else. The fishermen have to use axes to kill the bigger ones! The tentacles of an octopus, pickled in a sour sauce with plenty of onions, pepper and spices makes as wholesome a dish as any eel. Say, would you happen to have a small piece of salami around?’ the Colonel demanded rather anxiously, as if he had caught the scent of salami in the air. ‘I just want some end piece that’s been put aside because it’s too small to slice. A little end piece that’s tied with a string. Not everyone can chew that, but thank God my teeth are still pretty good, I believe I could bite a copper penny in half.’