They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [106]
During this time Abady only came to Budapest when it was necessary for his work for the Co-operatives. His mother had planned to return home at the end of April so as the weeks went by Balint spent much of his time travelling between Transylvania, Budapest and Abbazia, where Countess Roza still was.
Now, just when she was about to come home, something occurred to delay her. Her room at the Hungaria Hotel in the capital had already been reserved and her son daily expected to hear when she would arrive. The telegram came, but it was not what Balint was expecting. It read: ‘CAN’T TRAVEL NOW. LETTER IN POST. MOTHER.
Two days later the letter arrived. It proved to be a large hotel envelope with the address written by some hand Balint did not know instead of his mother’s slanting spidery handwriting. Anxiously Balint tore it open to find two letters inside.
The larger one read:
‘My dear boy,
‘I am dictating these lines; but do not be disturbed as I am not seriously unwell. I have had a slight mishap in that when I woke up this morning I found I could not use my right hand properly. It is limp, rather as if it were asleep. As it did not get any better during the morning, at midday I sent for a doctor – though you know how much I dislike them. He has diagnosed circulation trouble and says it will soon be better. He has ordered me to have alcohol compresses and massage. It is all quite trivial, but I did not feel like travelling in this rather helpless state. So I shall stay on here for a couple of days, really only because it would be difficult in the wagon-lit train compartment with only one hand working, and it would be hard to dress and undress in the sleeper. You know how I dislike being helped.
‘Please don’t worry. There is no need for you to think of coming here.
‘A thousand kisses.’
Countess Roza had dictated this letter to her old personal maid Terka, who had herself written the second letter. In this she said:
‘I am only writing this to your Lordship to let your Lordship know that this is really so and that her Ladyship is not worse than she says. I was rather scared this morning when I saw that she could not use her arm, but there is nothing else wrong, your Lordship, only this, and the doctor told me himself what he told her Ladyship, that it will get better gradually. Please excuse the liberty in writing to your Lordship, but I thought you would want to know.
‘I kiss your Lordship’s hands. Terka.’
Balint left for Abbazia the same day even though he had promised Adrienne, who was going to Lausanne to visit her daughter at the beginning of May, that he would meet her in Budapest and go with her to Vienna, where they could spend a few days together. He sent an express letter to Kolozsvar to explain why he had had to abandon this plan, and left on the evening train.
He found his mother exactly as she had described herself. She could move her hand and fingers a little, but had no strength in them. Balint went to see the doctor on his own and the latter told him: ‘It is arteriosclerosis. She will get better, though it is possible that she will never be quite the same as before. All the same it must be taken seriously if only as a sign that there is a tendency to apoplectic strokes. Some people are prone to this, and there is really no avoiding action we can advise. Perhaps it might benefit your mother to go to Bad Gastein in the summer.’
Countess Roza did her best to put on a show of crossness because her son had come when she had said it was not necessary; but it was obvious that she was