Skylark - Dezso Kosztolanyi [37]
The warm, soft little paw would not let go of the man's hand. Not until some moments had passed.
Ákos went back over to his wife who was waiting by the exit.
“The way she laughs,” the woman remarked. “Just like on stage.”
“Yes, she plays her part quite naturally.”
They strolled through the still warm night. Only when they reached Széchenyi Square did the woman speak:
“They say she's in love with Zányi.”
“No,” replied Ákos. “She's in love with Dani Kárász. She's going to marry him.”
At that moment an open landau thundered past them, drawn by two splendid, lively bays. Inside, pressed close together, sat Olga Orosz and Dani Kárász.
The old couple watched the carriage disappear.
VII
in which the couple talk to a fledgling provincial poet
AT MIDDAY on Tuesday their table at the King of Hungary, which the waiter had reserved for them, remained empty.
Ákos ate with the Lord Lieutenant. His wife took the opportunity to lunch with an old friend, Mrs Záhoczky, the widow of a colonel and the president of the Catholic Ladies’ Association, at whose home the ladies of Sárszeg would congregate every Tuesday to discuss, over coffee and whipped cream, preserves and assorted pastries, matters of everyday business.
Lately they had proved themselves particularly zealous in the charitable field. They had founded an orphanage, a Mary Society for young ladies, and a Martha Home for serving girls, where one could be assured of finding reliable staff. Their attention had even extended to the rapid spread of poverty in the town, and they provided free meals and clothes to a number of the poor, quite irrespective of religion. All their members made sacrifices, each according to her means, and they were looked upon with gratitude by the whole town.
Mrs Vajkay's husband came for his wife at around six o'clock. He related to her all that had occurred at the Lord Lieutenant's lunch.
There must have been about forty people present, he said, among them the Budapest commissioner, a most obliging gentleman. They had all had a splendid time. The consommé was served in little cups, not in bowls as at home or at the King of Hungary. There were two types of fish, followed by fillet steak in a sauce with ham dumplings. There had been a choice of dessert, which he had found himself too full to try. He had, however, allowed himself half a glass of French champagne.
His wife, for her part, described the afternoon tea. Above all she extolled the milk loaf, which was particularly fresh and spongy.
On the corner of Széchenyi Square they ran into Miklós Ijas.
Everyone ran into someone in Sárszeg, like it or not, several times a day. For the town was so constructed that wherever one was headed, one's route unavoidably led across the square. The townsfolk hardly bothered to greet one another, and merely signalled with their eyes. Such encounters were not occasions of any great excitement. It was rather like members of the same large family meeting one another in the hall of their own home.
The only point of interest was the time at which such encounters would occur. Everyone kept his own hours. Mályvády, for example, would always come striding across the square at exactly half past seven, followed by his pupils, to whom he was as friendly and benign out of school as he was strict once the first bell had sounded. His pupils stumbled behind him carrying cardboard boxes, discs and iron rods for their physics experiments. Sometimes they could even be seen bringing tame rabbits or sparrows which their teacher would place inside a bell jar, deprive of air and summarily execute. Szunyogh would appear just after eight and, hearing the little school bell announce the commencement of classes, would often break into a run, struggling in his overcoat which he wore with the collar turned up, for he was terrified of the headmaster and did not care to be seen arriving late. At nine Dr Gál would make his first appearance. At ten Priboczay completed his familiar manicural manoeuvres outside the pharmacy. At eleven Környey would pass