The Doll - Bolesaw Prus [79]
Five of us got away from the rest of the army, smashed our swords, disguised ourselves as peasants and set off in the direction of Turkey with our revolvers hidden in our clothing. But Haynau’s pack of hounds caught up with us. Our journey across the pathless plains and woods lasted three weeks. Mud underfoot, autumn rains overhead, patrols before and behind—eternal exile—these were our travelling companions. Nevertheless we were cheerful. Szapary kept saying Kossuth would still think of something; Stein was certain Turkey would declare war on our side; Liptak longed for a night’s rest and a hot dinner, and I said no matter what happened, Napoleon would not desert us. The rain melted our clothes like butter, we struggled through marshes up to our knees, our soles dropped apart and our boots squeaked like so many bugles: the local people were afraid even to sell us a jug of milk, and peasants chased us away from one village with their hoes and scythes. Despite all this, we were cheerful, and Liptak, as he plunged along beside me so the mud splashed, breathlessly exclaimed: ‘Eljen Magyar!…We’ll have a good night’s sleep…Oh, for a night-cap of slivovica…’
Of all this cheerful company of ragged men who were enough to scare the crows, only Katz was depressed. He needed to rest more than anyone, and somehow grew thinner more rapidly: he was parched all the time, and had a pale glittering in his eyes. ‘I’m afraid he may have camp fever,’ said Szapary to me.
Not far from the Sava river on I don’t know which day of our wanderings, we found some huts in a lonely neighbourhood, where we were received very hospitably. Dusk had fallen, we were exhausted, but a good fire and a bottle of slivovica brought us more cheerful thoughts. ‘I vow,’ Szapary exclaimed, ‘that by March at the latest Kossuth will summon us back to the ranks. We were foolish to break our swords…’
‘Maybe in December the Turkish army will start moving,’ Stein added. ‘If only it heals up by that time…’
‘My dear fellows,’ Liptak groaned, wrapping himself up in a heap of pea-pods, ‘go to bed for the devil’s sake, otherwise neither Kossuth nor the Turks will ever wake us…’
‘That they won’t,’ Katz muttered. He was sitting on a bench by the hearth, looking sadly into the fire.
‘Katz, you will soon stop believing in heavenly justice,’ Szapary exclaimed, frowning.
‘There is no justice for those who don’t know how to die with their rifles in their hands,’ Katz exclaimed, ‘you are fools and so am I. Will France or Turkey risk their necks for the likes of us? Why didn’t you stick your own out?’
‘He’s feverish,’ Stein whispered, ‘we’ll have trouble with him on the way…’
‘Hungary! Hungary doesn’t exist any longer!’ Katz muttered, ‘equality! There never was equality…Justice! There never will be any.…A pig doesn’t mind taking a bath in a bog: but a man with guts.…It’s no use, Mr Mincel, I shall never cut up soap for you again.’
I could see that Katz was very sick. I went to him and made him lie down on the pea-pods: ‘Come, August, come…’
‘Where to?’ he replied, conscious for a moment. Then he added: ‘They have driven us out of Hungary, I won’t join the Huns…’ Nevertheless he lay down. The fires went out. We finished off the liquor, then lay down in a row, our pistols within reach. The wind howled through the cracks of the hut, as if all Hungary was weeping, and sleep overcame us.
I dreamed I was a little boy again, and it was Christmas. A tree was glittering on the table, as poor in decoration as we were, and around it were my father, aunt, Mr Raczek and Mr Domański, singing in high-pitched voices the carol: ‘God is born, the powers tremble…’
I awoke sobbing for my childhood. Someone tugged at my arm. It was a peasant, the owner of the hut. He pulled me out of the heap of pea-pods, pointed in alarm