They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [167]
As soon as he got home to Denestornya he drove over to Kozard. The weather, as so often in Transylvania at the beginning of December, was sunny and mild.
He arrived about midday at the little house in which he knew Laszlo was living. The door of wooden laths that led through the crumbling fence was open. It looked as if it was never closed. Balint walked straight into the house. The first room he entered was the kitchen, and through this could be seen a room in total disorder, an unmade plank bed at one side, a rough wooden table nearby, a country cape of rough cloth hung on one wall and under it lay an ancient pair of peasant’s boots. None of this, thought Balint, could have belonged to Laszlo, so he walked through to the next room.
This was not much better, though the pinewood furniture had at least been polished. It looked as if it had come originally from one of the servants’ rooms at the manor house. On the chest of drawers lay a gun-case of ornate brass-bound leather engraved with Laszlo’s name inaccurately spelt ‘Count Ladislas Gieroffy’. This room had been tidied, the floor properly scoured and the windows opened to let in the air.
Balint walked round the house hoping to find Laszlo sitting on the sunny side. He wasn’t there. There was no one there. Then Balint saw that there was a girl standing at the far end of the garden, an adolescent girl who was washing laundry in the stream. He walked down to where she stood on the bank dipping the clothes in the water, soaping them and then scrubbing what she held on a little wooden board.
The girl was astonishingly lovely, so beautiful that Balint was lost for words when he finally came face to face with her. She had large doe-like eyes fringed by dark lashes and her long eyebrows were so fine they might have been painted on with a brush. Her face was a perfect oval and her skin both pale and rose-coloured. Her red lips were full, as red as blood, and she was as slim as a reed. The sleeves of her dress were turned up to the elbow and her smooth satiny arms were as rosy as her face and neck. Only her hands were roughened by hard work. She wore a kerchief tied round her head like all the peasants of that region, but her clothes had been made to be worn in the city, even if now they were worn and patched. Her apron was in rags and her bare feet were slipped into an old pair of ladies’ button boots which would have reached to mid-calf if most of the buttons had not disappeared years before. No matter how old and dirty her clothes the girl was so beautiful that one forgot everything but that.
Balint greeted her and then said, ‘I’m looking for Laszlo Gyeroffy. Do you know where I can find him?’
The girl looked at him with a scornful expression on her beautiful face.
‘What do you want of him? Why are you looking for him?’ she asked sullenly.
‘I am his cousin, Balint Abady.’
The girl made a little curtsy, as good manners demanded.
‘I am Regina Bischitz.’ Then she added, ‘My father owns the village shop.’
‘Well, now we know each other,’ said Balint with a light laugh, ‘perhaps you could tell me where Laszlo is?’
Regina shrugged.
‘He’s not here. They took him to Szamos-Ujvar.’
‘They took him?’
‘Yes. That Fabian, he took him …’ and grabbing a shirt that was both filthy and torn, she held it up for a moment