Read Online The Invisible Bridge by Julie Orringer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Orringer
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sent a letter to the Jewish organization that provides your scholarship. He wanted to see if money could be found for Tibor, too. But his request was denied, with regrets. New restrictions have been imposed this week in Hungary: As of today, no organization can send money to Jewish students abroad. Your Hitkozseg's student-aid funds have been frozen by the government."
Andras blinked at him, trying to understand what he meant.
"It's not just a problem for Tibor," Vago continued, looking into Andras's eyes.
"It's also a problem for you. In short, your scholarship can no longer be paid. To be honest, my young friend, your scholarship has never been paid. Your first month's check never arrived, so I paid your fees out of my own pocket, thinking there must have been some temporary delay." He paused, glancing at Professor Perret, who was watching as Vago delivered the news in Hungarian. "Monsieur Perret doesn't know where the money came from, and need not know, so please don't betray surprise. I told him everything was fine. However, I'm not a rich man, and, though I wish I could, I can't pay your tuition and fees another month."
An ice floe ascended through Andras's chest, slow and cold. His tuition could no longer be paid. His tuition had never been paid. All at once he understood Perret's kindness and regret.
"We think you're a bright student," Perret said in French. "We don't want to lose you. Can your family help?"
"My family?" Andras's voice sounded thready and vague in the high-ceilinged room. He saw his father stacking oak planks in the lumberyard, his mother cooking potato paprikas at the stove in the outdoor kitchen. He thought of the pair of gray silk stockings, the ones he'd given her ten years earlier for Chanukah--how she'd folded them into a chaste square and stored them in their paper wrapping, and had worn them only to synagogue. "My family doesn't have that kind of money," he said.
"It's a terrible thing," Perret said. "I wish there were something we could do.
Before the depression we gave out a great many scholarships, but now ..." He looked out the window at the low clouds and stroked his military beard. "Your expenses are paid until the end of the month. We'll see what we can do before then, but I'm afraid I can't offer much hope."
Andras translated the words in his mind: not much hope .
"As for your brother," Vago said, "it's a damned shame. Turano wanted very much to help him."
He tried to shake himself from the shock that had come over him. It was important that they understand about Tibor, about the money. "It doesn't matter," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The scholarship doesn't matter--for Tibor, I mean. He's been putting money away for six years. He's got to have enough for the train ticket and his first year's tuition. I'll cable him tonight. Can your friend's father hold the place for him?"
"I'd imagine so," Vago said. "I'll write to him at once, if you think it's possible.
But perhaps your brother can help you, too, if he's got some money put away."
Andras shook his head. "I can't tell him. He hasn't saved enough for both of us."
"I'm dreadfully sorry," Perret said again, coming forward to shake Andras's hand.
"Professor Vago tells me you're a resourceful young man. Perhaps you'll find a way through this. I'll see what I can do on our side."
This was the first time Perret had touched him. It was as though Andras had just been told he had a terminal disease, as though the shadow of impending death had allowed Perret to dispense with formalities. He clapped Andras on the back as he led him to the door of the office. "Courage," he said, giving Andras a salute, and turned him out into the hall.
Andras went down through the dusty yellow light of the staircase, past the classroom where his Gare d'Orsay drawing lay abandoned on the table, past the beautiful Lucia in the front office, and through the blue doors of the school he had come to think of as his own. He
Andras blinked at him, trying to understand what he meant.
"It's not just a problem for Tibor," Vago continued, looking into Andras's eyes.
"It's also a problem for you. In short, your scholarship can no longer be paid. To be honest, my young friend, your scholarship has never been paid. Your first month's check never arrived, so I paid your fees out of my own pocket, thinking there must have been some temporary delay." He paused, glancing at Professor Perret, who was watching as Vago delivered the news in Hungarian. "Monsieur Perret doesn't know where the money came from, and need not know, so please don't betray surprise. I told him everything was fine. However, I'm not a rich man, and, though I wish I could, I can't pay your tuition and fees another month."
An ice floe ascended through Andras's chest, slow and cold. His tuition could no longer be paid. His tuition had never been paid. All at once he understood Perret's kindness and regret.
"We think you're a bright student," Perret said in French. "We don't want to lose you. Can your family help?"
"My family?" Andras's voice sounded thready and vague in the high-ceilinged room. He saw his father stacking oak planks in the lumberyard, his mother cooking potato paprikas at the stove in the outdoor kitchen. He thought of the pair of gray silk stockings, the ones he'd given her ten years earlier for Chanukah--how she'd folded them into a chaste square and stored them in their paper wrapping, and had worn them only to synagogue. "My family doesn't have that kind of money," he said.
"It's a terrible thing," Perret said. "I wish there were something we could do.
Before the depression we gave out a great many scholarships, but now ..." He looked out the window at the low clouds and stroked his military beard. "Your expenses are paid until the end of the month. We'll see what we can do before then, but I'm afraid I can't offer much hope."
Andras translated the words in his mind: not much hope .
"As for your brother," Vago said, "it's a damned shame. Turano wanted very much to help him."
He tried to shake himself from the shock that had come over him. It was important that they understand about Tibor, about the money. "It doesn't matter," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The scholarship doesn't matter--for Tibor, I mean. He's been putting money away for six years. He's got to have enough for the train ticket and his first year's tuition. I'll cable him tonight. Can your friend's father hold the place for him?"
"I'd imagine so," Vago said. "I'll write to him at once, if you think it's possible.
But perhaps your brother can help you, too, if he's got some money put away."
Andras shook his head. "I can't tell him. He hasn't saved enough for both of us."
"I'm dreadfully sorry," Perret said again, coming forward to shake Andras's hand.
"Professor Vago tells me you're a resourceful young man. Perhaps you'll find a way through this. I'll see what I can do on our side."
This was the first time Perret had touched him. It was as though Andras had just been told he had a terminal disease, as though the shadow of impending death had allowed Perret to dispense with formalities. He clapped Andras on the back as he led him to the door of the office. "Courage," he said, giving Andras a salute, and turned him out into the hall.
Andras went down through the dusty yellow light of the staircase, past the classroom where his Gare d'Orsay drawing lay abandoned on the table, past the beautiful Lucia in the front office, and through the blue doors of the school he had come to think of as his own. He
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