They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [140]
Balint left with a bitter taste in his mouth for it had been some time since he had attended drunken revels of that kind. At the mock trial and execution he had laughed with the others at the humour of it all, but now, as they drove through the darkening afternoon, he looked back with concern and bitterness at the waste of talent and energy that had been lavished on such a lark. Now, he thought, they would talk of nothing else unless it was equally trivial. It was as if none of those people could ever for a moment be serious, even when the country was threatened by something as potentially dangerous as the Balkan crisis. Not a word had been uttered about that, not a single word. And it had been the same all through Balint’s tour, during which he had met all sorts of people, officials and men of all different stations and standing in towns, villages and country districts. And these were people who professed, in their own fashion, an interest in politics and world events …
Kozma sat beside him, silent and apparently so wrapped in thought that Balint wondered if he was thinking the same.
On reaching Dicso-Szentmarton they drove straight to the hotel where they had intended to spend the night before visiting three more villages the next day; but Kozma had to continue the tour alone. At the hotel a telegram was waiting for Balint which the porter explained had come from Denestornya at midday.
Balint’s heart constricted with anxiety as he opened it and all his fears were confirmed for Countess Roza had suffered a stroke that morning.
Balint returned at once to the car, hardly pausing to say goodbye to Aron.
‘Denestornya!’ he said. ‘As fast as you can!’ and the car sped off into the coal-black night.
Days passed without change. Winter set in and soon it was Christmas, the first Christmas in four years that Balint and his mother had spent at Denestornya and not at Abbazia.
Outwardly the festivities were conducted as they always had been.
Roza Abady sat in the centre of the great hall on the first floor of the castle facing the stairs. The dining-table had been extended to its full length and on it had been placed a huge tree decorated with angels’-hair, paper garlands, golden stars and a host of tiny candles. All around it were stacked high piles of winter clothes which Countess Roza and her two housekeepers had been knitting during the previous twelve months. These were for the children in the village and would not be distributed until after church on the following day. They were displayed now because Countess Abady somehow felt they were not really Christmas gifts unless they had first been placed round the symbolic tree.
Also on the table were a quantity of parcels all labelled with a name. These were her gifts for everyone of her household staff and their families, and consisted of shawls, dress materials, warm vests, coats and jackets without sleeves … and a lot of children’s boots.
As had been the custom throughout Countess Roza’s time, each recipient came in from the staircase where they had been waiting, in a rigid order of precedence, the children accompanied by their parents. ‘Enter the hall, bow to the Gracious Countess, receive your present, kiss her hand and then leave quickly so as to make room for those who are waiting!’
This immutable ceremony proceeded as it always had. The two housekeepers, Mrs Tothy and Mrs Baczo, stood on each side of their mistress, pushed forward the children when they had to, and handed up the appropriate presents. The butler stood by the door to see that the right people came in, and also that they went out again.
Only one thing was different – the role played by the countess herself. In previous years she had personally given out each present; now Balint did this instead, for the old lady’s right side was paralysed.
This year, too, she no longer spoke a few friendly words to each of her dependants as they stood bowing before her. Now she just nodded to them, for she did not want them to hear the few almost