They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [149]
He stared at Abady with a look that might have been taken for menace. For a moment he paused and then he went on, ‘Yes, a dreadful, evil thing. Do you understand me? My father on one side and on the other young Kula, a poor simple Romanian. And the truth? Either I betray my own father … or I suppress the truth … and you are on the side of the truth and so I have to save you, even you, of all people!’
He looked aggressively again at Abady and then added, almost to himself, ‘I thought about it all night long, until dawn, but I can’t do anything else. So I came.’
He reached in his inside pocket, took out a folded wad of paper and threw it on the desk.
‘Here it is!’
By now Timbus was very short of breath and after panting out the last words he leaned back in his chair, exhausted.
Balint had listened carefully to what the young man had to say. Now he was filled with pity for him, for the internal battle which still raged within him sounded in every word he uttered with such passion and effort that Balint barely noticed his rude manner and obvious hostility.
‘Well then? Read it! Why don’t you read it, that’s what I brought it for?’ he shouted and, leaning forwards, pushed the papers towards Balint with thin dry fingers as if they were garbage he was reluctant to touch.
Balint opened the packet.
Inside were two papers, one a long double sheet, the other a short private letter.
Both had been torn and screwed up and one of them was held together only by a centimetre or two that had remained untorn. At the top corner of the larger sheet were printed the name and professional address of Dr Todor Farkas and below were some hand-written words which started ‘I, Juon Lung aluj Maftye, declare…’ It was the draft text of the declaration said to have been dictated by the old man to the priest in Pejkoja and was written in precise legal terms.
The smaller sheet was in Gaszton Simo’s writing, and read:
‘… since you told me last week that old Juon has now been persuaded to do what we want I am sending you a draft which I have had drawn up and which you must make the old man sign. Take this up to him in Pejkoja. Take with you also pen and paper and two witnesses we can trust. Leave these two outside and go in to see the old man alone. There you must write it down as if he had dictated it to you. Then put this draft in your pocket and call in the witnesses so that they can see that it was indeed there that you have written the paper. Then the old man must put his mark on it in their presence. You do not have to explain what this is all about (this sentence was underlined twice). We must be quick about this. I’ve had that good-for-nothing wretch of a grandson, Kula, called in for questioning about his army service. He’ll be retained at the recruiting office for two days so you must hurry over to Pejkoja at dawn tomorrow and do exactly what I’ve told you. You won’t regret it, I assure you. When you get home be sure to destroy the draft and this letter. I would have come myself and not written but my lumbago has come on again and I can’t get out of bed. It doesn’t matter much, but take care to burn these papers when you get home …’
As he read these words Balint was filled with joy and relief. Salvation at the last moment, salvation from the mess he had got himself into. More, it meant that Kula and Zutor would be freed of all blame. All the worries of the past weeks fell away like a heavy weight taken from him. He looked up at Timbus and, filled with gratitude, he held out his hand, saying, ‘I don’t know how to thank you!’
The young man’s reaction was the same as before: he just looked back as if he had never seen Balint’s proffered hand. Then, venomously, he said, ‘You needn’t bother. I’ll take no thanks from you, not from you!’
‘And why not?’ replied Balint smiling.