Prockauer. The actor had talked with him that morning. They were taking his mother into the hospital for two days, for tests. That was six months ago already: October 13, 1917. Date elapsed: April 13, 1918. Write it down, miss. One set of silverware for 24, 22 kilograms, with monogram. Estimated value 800. Deposit 600. He didn’t look up: his nimble fingers pushed the money under the glass screen.
“I, for example, would never eat only cold ham for supper,” said Havas. “It’s not the food, I believe. My friend Amadé claims it’s the diet. But please, what use is a diet to me? I lose not an ounce of weight, I get a headache, and it’s such agony I want to curse all day. A body needs decent sustenance I say. And a spot of exercise. Love has a slimming effect too. Love, gentlemen, take it from one who knows. But how is one to find a little love nowadays? It’s scarce. A man has to rely on himself.”
“Fat pig,” said Ernõ and turned away from him.
They laughed awkwardly. So did the actor. The actor was showing his false white teeth as though Ernõ had said something remarkably witty. They cackled as though compelled to do so. Ábel blushed. There was something painful yet welcome about the way Ernõ had addressed Havas. Havas weighed close to two hundred and ninety pounds. Ernõ knew that unless a miracle occurred everything depended on him: they were all dependent on Havas being in a good mood. Tibor’s mother hadn’t yet noticed the silverware was missing. But the colonel might arrive home any day on leave or wounded and he might decide to inspect it. It did not bear thinking about what would happen if the silverware was not in its usual place. The colonel had once knocked the driver of a dray cold with his bare fist. It wasn’t just Lajos and Tibor’s fate at stake: it was all their fates. If the silverware was lost, if Havas didn’t want to hang on to it until they found some money, it was possible the colonel wouldn’t stop short of setting the lawyers on them. Their affairs would not bear close examination. It was a private matter. All that had happened in the last six months was their business and no one else’s. If only Havas would grant them a few weeks’ grace. Just until they had finished their training. True, the matter of the silverware would have to be faced even so. The colonel might follow them to the front and threaten them with a sound whipping even in the heat of battle. There was no limit to the power of fathers.
Ernõ spoke to Havas as though it were degrading to address remarks to him. The pawnbroker put up with it. Ernõ had some hold on the pawnbroker, though no one knew what that hold was. Maybe he knew something about him, was aware of a piece of dirty business, had information about his usury. Ernõ would turn away whenever the pawnbroker approached them. He pulled a painful face, as if the disgusting sight were enough to make him spit. The pawnbroker pretended not to notice Ernõ, nor to hear his insults. He hastened to agree with anything he said. He kept smiling. The hairs of his mustache bristled as he smiled. Tibor said Havas was frightened of Ernõ.
The actor looked as if he were daydreaming and occasionally glanced away.
“It is all settled,” he told Tibor. “Havas is a friend and he knows you to be gentlemen. There is nothing in the conditions that obliges him…He won’t demand anything.”
Havas did not demand anything. The money, like all money in the last few months, drained invisibly away: they were having to save Béla with it. Amadé was embarrassed, since he too was in receipt of some. He kept quiet for now. He smiled. He could smile so stiffly while looking straight ahead that one would think he had a glass eye. His bluish jowls sat stolidly in the vent of his collar. His brow practically shone. It was like precious china. He smiled, a toothpick dangling from his lips, and looked fixedly into the distance with his glass eyes. The pawnbroker fitted a
“I, for example, would never eat only cold ham for supper,” said Havas. “It’s not the food, I believe. My friend Amadé claims it’s the diet. But please, what use is a diet to me? I lose not an ounce of weight, I get a headache, and it’s such agony I want to curse all day. A body needs decent sustenance I say. And a spot of exercise. Love has a slimming effect too. Love, gentlemen, take it from one who knows. But how is one to find a little love nowadays? It’s scarce. A man has to rely on himself.”
“Fat pig,” said Ernõ and turned away from him.
They laughed awkwardly. So did the actor. The actor was showing his false white teeth as though Ernõ had said something remarkably witty. They cackled as though compelled to do so. Ábel blushed. There was something painful yet welcome about the way Ernõ had addressed Havas. Havas weighed close to two hundred and ninety pounds. Ernõ knew that unless a miracle occurred everything depended on him: they were all dependent on Havas being in a good mood. Tibor’s mother hadn’t yet noticed the silverware was missing. But the colonel might arrive home any day on leave or wounded and he might decide to inspect it. It did not bear thinking about what would happen if the silverware was not in its usual place. The colonel had once knocked the driver of a dray cold with his bare fist. It wasn’t just Lajos and Tibor’s fate at stake: it was all their fates. If the silverware was lost, if Havas didn’t want to hang on to it until they found some money, it was possible the colonel wouldn’t stop short of setting the lawyers on them. Their affairs would not bear close examination. It was a private matter. All that had happened in the last six months was their business and no one else’s. If only Havas would grant them a few weeks’ grace. Just until they had finished their training. True, the matter of the silverware would have to be faced even so. The colonel might follow them to the front and threaten them with a sound whipping even in the heat of battle. There was no limit to the power of fathers.
Ernõ spoke to Havas as though it were degrading to address remarks to him. The pawnbroker put up with it. Ernõ had some hold on the pawnbroker, though no one knew what that hold was. Maybe he knew something about him, was aware of a piece of dirty business, had information about his usury. Ernõ would turn away whenever the pawnbroker approached them. He pulled a painful face, as if the disgusting sight were enough to make him spit. The pawnbroker pretended not to notice Ernõ, nor to hear his insults. He hastened to agree with anything he said. He kept smiling. The hairs of his mustache bristled as he smiled. Tibor said Havas was frightened of Ernõ.
The actor looked as if he were daydreaming and occasionally glanced away.
“It is all settled,” he told Tibor. “Havas is a friend and he knows you to be gentlemen. There is nothing in the conditions that obliges him…He won’t demand anything.”
Havas did not demand anything. The money, like all money in the last few months, drained invisibly away: they were having to save Béla with it. Amadé was embarrassed, since he too was in receipt of some. He kept quiet for now. He smiled. He could smile so stiffly while looking straight ahead that one would think he had a glass eye. His bluish jowls sat stolidly in the vent of his collar. His brow practically shone. It was like precious china. He smiled, a toothpick dangling from his lips, and looked fixedly into the distance with his glass eyes. The pawnbroker fitted a
Similar Books
