Read Online Iza's Ballad by Magda Szabó, George Szirtes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Magda Szabó, George Szirtes
Tags: Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Family Life, Genre Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, Domestic Life
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what she should do. And who would buy it? Anyone – she wished them well of it. But it was a shame about the little things that would have to be left behind. Never mind, there was no way round it. When Vince was alive he arranged everything for her, now it would be Iza. Wasn’t it great that she wouldn’t have to negotiate with the property office!
The night before the funeral, on that wholly unexpected evening, just as Iza was struggling to prepare a fish in the unheated kitchen, Antal appeared again. It was she, for once, who let him in. Iza was frying fish in breadcrumbs and she shouted to her to open the gate as she had to attend to the meal. It was raining, as it had done constantly for days. Antal was bareheaded, and his hair and brow were dripping. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in a hat; in winter his head was always covered in snow. Hearing his steps, Iza looked out of the kitchen. Seeing it was him, her face immediately froze into a polite smile. She excused herself, said she was cooking and asked if he fancied supper with them because there was enough. Antal thanked her and said he had already eaten. That clearly wasn’t true but it wasn’t something you could argue with.
Antal didn’t beat about the bush. He asked how much it was for the house. Last time Iza was at the clinic she mentioned it was for sale. He himself was looking to move and would be pleased to buy it if they could agree a price.
She stared at Antal in astonishment. She hadn’t thought of him as someone who would ever buy a house.
‘If you cared to leave some furniture behind, mama,’ said Antal, ‘I would be happy to take that off your hands too.’
She looked so delighted, she hadn’t felt as happy since just before Dekker’s diagnosis three months before. She still didn’t know what Iza wanted to keep or sell, but she was already sorry for such items as fell into other hands; it was as if they were endowed with life, with voices and feelings, that they were beings who, having enjoyed long-term security, were now obliged to go into exile and spend the night in strange people’s houses, sighing for home. Antal, it is true, had abandoned them, but in some ways he did belong here.
But, having heard this, she had to call in Iza now.
Iza smelled of fish and oil, and this made her unrecognisable in some way. Iza was always so clean, so cool, it was as if she wanted to distance her body from the grime and grease of housekeeping, so she was quite shocked to see her flushed with cooking. There was something in Iza that didn’t resist this time: she was about more important business so she let the kitchen get the better of her. ‘It’s a matter of care and necessity,’ the girl had explained once. ‘A person can be in possession of herself, even in a kitchen.’ She was not in possession now: cooking and its ingredients had overcome her composure. Iza was less bothered with herself this evening. What was she bothered with?
She stood and listened to the reason for his visit. Later the old woman would be puzzled to explain the peculiar look on her face. For some reason she did not seem to welcome Antal’s offer. She was inwardly praying that her daughter, whatever her reasons, would not reject it. If they couldn’t be here at least let Antal remain. She didn’t dare say anything since all her life it was someone else who arranged things, but deep inside her she would have been willing to let the house go at any price Antal offered, provided the dragon spout was looked after and Antal was conscientious about watering Vince’s flowers. Antal had always helped Vince chop wood and knew that the trunk they used to cut on had its own pet name, Dagi.
‘Do you really want to settle here?’ asked Iza.
Her voice was calm and so controlled that even the old woman noticed it was costing her a great deal of effort to hold something back, that there was an unspoken question lurking somewhere in the background. Antal didn’t
The night before the funeral, on that wholly unexpected evening, just as Iza was struggling to prepare a fish in the unheated kitchen, Antal appeared again. It was she, for once, who let him in. Iza was frying fish in breadcrumbs and she shouted to her to open the gate as she had to attend to the meal. It was raining, as it had done constantly for days. Antal was bareheaded, and his hair and brow were dripping. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him in a hat; in winter his head was always covered in snow. Hearing his steps, Iza looked out of the kitchen. Seeing it was him, her face immediately froze into a polite smile. She excused herself, said she was cooking and asked if he fancied supper with them because there was enough. Antal thanked her and said he had already eaten. That clearly wasn’t true but it wasn’t something you could argue with.
Antal didn’t beat about the bush. He asked how much it was for the house. Last time Iza was at the clinic she mentioned it was for sale. He himself was looking to move and would be pleased to buy it if they could agree a price.
She stared at Antal in astonishment. She hadn’t thought of him as someone who would ever buy a house.
‘If you cared to leave some furniture behind, mama,’ said Antal, ‘I would be happy to take that off your hands too.’
She looked so delighted, she hadn’t felt as happy since just before Dekker’s diagnosis three months before. She still didn’t know what Iza wanted to keep or sell, but she was already sorry for such items as fell into other hands; it was as if they were endowed with life, with voices and feelings, that they were beings who, having enjoyed long-term security, were now obliged to go into exile and spend the night in strange people’s houses, sighing for home. Antal, it is true, had abandoned them, but in some ways he did belong here.
But, having heard this, she had to call in Iza now.
Iza smelled of fish and oil, and this made her unrecognisable in some way. Iza was always so clean, so cool, it was as if she wanted to distance her body from the grime and grease of housekeeping, so she was quite shocked to see her flushed with cooking. There was something in Iza that didn’t resist this time: she was about more important business so she let the kitchen get the better of her. ‘It’s a matter of care and necessity,’ the girl had explained once. ‘A person can be in possession of herself, even in a kitchen.’ She was not in possession now: cooking and its ingredients had overcome her composure. Iza was less bothered with herself this evening. What was she bothered with?
She stood and listened to the reason for his visit. Later the old woman would be puzzled to explain the peculiar look on her face. For some reason she did not seem to welcome Antal’s offer. She was inwardly praying that her daughter, whatever her reasons, would not reject it. If they couldn’t be here at least let Antal remain. She didn’t dare say anything since all her life it was someone else who arranged things, but deep inside her she would have been willing to let the house go at any price Antal offered, provided the dragon spout was looked after and Antal was conscientious about watering Vince’s flowers. Antal had always helped Vince chop wood and knew that the trunk they used to cut on had its own pet name, Dagi.
‘Do you really want to settle here?’ asked Iza.
Her voice was calm and so controlled that even the old woman noticed it was costing her a great deal of effort to hold something back, that there was an unspoken question lurking somewhere in the background. Antal didn’t
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