They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [127]
‘Take me, for instance,’ he went on. ‘I was an assistant notary in Kis-Kukullo. I had six years’ seniority and it wouldn’t have been long before I’d have been a fully-fledged notary myself, if I’d stayed on. But Count Balint came to us one day and told us of his hopes and the great goal for which he was working … and I left my job, my excellent little job, which would always somehow have given me a modest little income, and went to work for him. It wasn’t so much what he said, for he’s no great talker, but it was the faith behind it; you can almost feel the faith in him! And it’s been the same for others too, lots of them.’
‘He’s right, you know,’ said Arpad Pelikan, a short stocky man with a direct look. ‘Indeed he is. I had a successful little store here; but when the Count wanted a manager for the Co-operative warehouse, I sold my shop and accepted the job. I would never had done it if I hadn’t known that someone like Count Balint was behind it all. But I’m glad I did.’
‘You’re both right, of course. It’s most interesting,’ said Kozma, and he burst out laughing. ‘I never thought about it like that before. Anyway, who am I to argue the point? Wasn’t it the same for me? The Devil take me if I’d have worked for nothing if Count Balint hadn’t talked me into it.’ He paused, and then he added, smiling, ‘And now, God help us, he’s got hold of my young brother as well.’
Still talking of Balint they went on their way through the village.
As they walked they kicked up little scuffs of pale sand-coloured dust which rose like tiny pennant-like wisps at their heels until it was scattered by the wind.
When the morning service had ended and Kosma and Ganyi had set off from the church to attend their meeting at the other end of the village, Balint passed through the cemetery to the little door that led to the manor house. Every time he went that way, which was at least once a day, he thought about the old man and even fancied that Count Peter was there, waiting for him either among his beloved rose-bushes or else, further up, standing between the Doric columns of the portico. He could see him even now, with his fine features, neatly trimmed pointed moustaches and silver hair, a sweet smile on his face and wisdom in his eyes.
The place had been run down while the lawyer Azbej lived there, but as soon as he moved out Balint had taken the neglected garden in hand and planted new roses – standards along the path and climbers to cover the front of the house – so that now the place was nearly the same as he remembered it; not quite, for he could not give the roses the same loving care as had his grandfather. Balint had also had the outside of the house restored as it had been in Count Peter’s day, so that the white walls and columns, divested of Azbej’s lurid repainting, were now just as they had been. Inside it was different for, when the old man had died, all his furniture had been removed and stored at the castle for now, with one exception, it was not needed as the main rooms of the house were only used as estate offices and for the headquarters of the Co-operative. Only Count Peter’s writing-room had regained its old aspect with all his furniture replaced as it had been. The walls were lined with bookcases made of cherry-wood, of middle height and decorated with finely wrought columns topped by Egyptian-looking heads of gilt and greenish bronze with, at their base, gilded eagles’ claws clutching golden balls.
In this room everything was once again as it had been except for the pictures – the water-colours by Barabas and the portrait of Balint’s great-grandmother by Isabey. Balint had taken them to his own room in the angle-tower in the castle and there they had remained, for Count Peter’s workroom was now used only as Balint’s personal estate office.
The old desk stood in its original place in front of the windows but Balint only used it when studying reports or signing papers, for though its smooth leather top, black and polished and surrounded by a delicately wrought safety-rail,