Skylark - Dezso Kosztolanyi [38]
Ijas would set off on his travels at about eight in the evening when he finally got away from the editorial office of the Sárszeg Gazette. He'd trudge along the side streets with his only companion, Ferenc Freund, a red-faced, jovial, sharp-witted Jewish boy who understood him, encouraged him and even dabbled a little in poetry himself. But more frequently he'd walk alone, as he did now.
In spite of their fleeting introduction at the theatre the day before, Miklós's unexpected appearance on the square set Ákos Vajkay's mind racing. There had been a time when he had sat young Ijas on his knee and pressed apricots into his mouth. But that was long ago. He hadn't mentioned it at the theatre, for the boy was sure not to remember.
At one time the Vajkays had been frequent guests in the Ijas household, at their tidy, hospitable villa in Tarliget. That was until a dark coincidence all but swept the fine and famous family off the face of the earth.
One evening János Ijas, Miklós's father, a man of considerable social standing in the county, was arrested at his villa in Tarliget by two detectives and taken away.
The case was something of a mystery. After all, his name alone served as sufficient pledge of his honour, and he was known to be a man of considerable means. And if it was true that he squandered money and sometimes risked his hand at cards, he was nevertheless respected as a thoroughly honest man. It was rumoured that the whole affair had been some kind of mistake, that he had been reported by his secret enemies and that there was no evidence against him whatsoever. He had, it was alleged, once sold a property through an intermediary who had accepted the sum of 1,500 forints from a first buyer, but then, when a second appeared, prepared to pay a higher price, had made a separate deal with him. The first buyer, who had thus lost the property he sought, reported Ijas to the authorities by way of revenge, claiming that he had never been reimbursed, and that the sale had already been officially registered.
The details remained somewhat obscure before the public, but Ijas was detained on remand and was refused bail at any sum. Whether or not the hearing ever actually took place, no one could remember. But it was a fact that poor old János Ijas was not released from jail until some eighteen months later, mentally and physically a broken man, whereupon he went abroad and died. Anguish had already driven his wife to the grave during his imprisonment.
At the time the newspapers had written this and that about the case. Especially when the tragedy of the father was followed by that of his eldest son. Jenő Ijas had been stationed in Sárszeg as a lieutenant in the Hungarian army. Because of the rumours surrounding his father's case, proceedings were taken against him too, in order to establish whether, under the circumstances, he could still be considered worthy of his commission. The lieutenant did not wait for the outcome of the investigation. One morning he walked out to the Tarliget estate and there, beneath the huge walnut tree, shot himself in the head with his service revolver. In a farewell letter he pinned to his military tunic, he wrote that this was the least he could do to defend his father's honour and good name.
Only the fifteen-year-old Miklós was left alive. He was taken in by his relations, who brought him up on the Hungarian plain. Here he rode and exercised in the open air, while doing his fair share of eating and sleeping. Later he applied to study law at the University of Kolozsvár but never sat his exams, and learned English instead. When the scandal died down in his home town, he suddenly turned up in Sárszeg, to everyone's surprise, as a journalist.
Because of his awkward situation, Miklós kept