They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [154]
Only this was real to him: this and the beauty of Denestornya in spring.
By the middle of March the snow had vanished but for a few patches on the northern sides of the nearby hills. For a while some lingering traces of white remained on the banks of the streams but, when these disappeared, on the riverbanks and beside the paths, young grass started to shoot up and, in meadows which had lain asleep all winter, violets bloomed in their thousands.
One afternoon in early May Balint returned from a visit to the mares who had been put out at grass in the meadows near the castle until the summer grazing paddocks were ready for them.
On the steps of the main entrance he found the old butler Peter waiting to tell him that Countess Roza had been repeatedly asking for her son.
‘Where is she? She isn’t feeling any worse, is she?’ he asked.
‘Not at all, my Lord,’ replied Peter. ‘On the contrary she seems suddenly to be better. In fact her Ladyship is expecting you on the veranda. She has already asked for her tea.’
Balint ran up the stairs, passed through the billiard-room and there, on the glazed-in veranda, sat his mother in her wheelchair. At first he could not see her face, for she was sitting with her back to him, but as soon as he took his place on the sofa beside her he saw an unexpectedly joyful radiance in her eyes. When the old lady saw him sitting beside her she put out her left hand – the only one she could move – and took his in her own.
‘Ah!’ she said. ‘Here you are! Here you are!’ The words were not quite clear, indeed they sounded more like ‘He-y-Ga!’ though to Balint’s ears they seemed clearer than for many months. Her still half-frozen face was irradiated with a happy smile.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you … waiting for you so long…’ and her smile seemed to suggest that she had been awaiting him for years, since time immemorial.
Balint did not quite know what to make of this, for he had been with his mother two hours before, just after lunch. And not only that but for some weeks she had received him with such indifference that this sudden warmth made him wonder in surprise whether she had really recognized him at all. Whatever the reason for the change he was overjoyed and started to tell her about the mares grazing in the meadow and how the new grass was already growing lush and appetizing, with plenty of clover in it. Everything he told the old lady was happy and encouraging, and she would squeeze his hand and interrupt, saying, ‘Oh, I am so happy, so happy!’, while the repeated little pressures of her fingers seemed to pulsate to the rhythm of his words.
As he spoke the nurse Hedwig offered the old lady the special cup with a spout from which she could drink her coffee and buffalo’s milk. Roza Abady allowed the spout to be put in her mouth and then, when she had drunk her fill, her lips to be wiped with a white napkin. On this day she let this be done for her without protest, though on all other days she had let them know that she hated to be helped and would herself hold the cup to her mouth with her left hand. Now she was using her left hand to hold Balint’s and did not let it go for an instant. As soon as possible she turned towards Balint and gazed hard at his face as if she could never see too much of him. Soon, however, she started to tire, and then it was clear what had rejoiced her heart.
Countess Roza closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the pillow. Then, just before dozing off, she murmured, ‘Tamas! I am so happy … so happy that you came back! Tamas, my Tamas!’ And she spoke quite clearly without even the hint of a slur.
For a moment Balint did not fully understand; but then it came to him – Roza Abady had thought that it was not he but his father Tamas who had sat beside her and held her hand; Tamas, who had died twenty-five