They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [178]
She spoke calmly, in even natural tones. She showed no signs of sorrow or tearfulness. In fact there was no change in her manner, though Balint felt that if anything her face was even more expressionless than when they had last met. Was the vertical furrow on her forehead a shade more pronounced and her lips even more compressed, as if she was consciously clenching her jaws? It was so uncertain that Balint was not sure if it was really there or whether he had imagined it.
He took her to the Central Hotel and saw her to her room, saying that he would fetch her in his car at eight-thirty the following morning.
‘Are you taking anyone else?’ she asked.
‘No. Only you, Aunt Julie.’
At that last word she turned her head away abruptly. Then, very quickly, she muttered, ‘Goodnight!’ and disappeared into her room.
Balint returned home on foot. As he went he was assailed by many memories of childhood and of his years at school when he and Laszlo had lodged together at the Theresianum in Vienna. His heart contracted with sorrow and he was so overcome that tears filled his eyes. He longed for Adrienne’s comforting presence, but she had had to leave again for Lausanne some five days before as they had wired her that her daughter was ill again and that she should come to be with her. If Adrienne had been at home he could have gone straight to her and told her of his sadness, and she would have listened and understood and comforted him; but she was not there and he had no one to whom he could pour out what was in his heart.
He walked on until he reached the Abady town house, but when he reached the entrance he stopped, knowing that he would not sleep. Perhaps a long walk would help calm him, he thought, and so, even though a slight rain had started, he turned away and quite involuntarily headed for the Monostor road, towards the Uzdy villa. For a long time he stood there, by the bridge that led to the park, and then, after wandering for a while down the tree-lined alleys, he made his way back to the centre of the town. He had been walking for more than an hour and a half.
As he entered the market square he stopped, startled. A tall dark woman was standing on the sidewalk in front of the church. She just stood there without moving, apparently staring at the main entrance, lit up by one of the streetlights.
Balint had recognized her at once: it was Julie Ladossa.
Holding her voluminous coat tightly around her, she stood there like a figure of stone; and Balint wondered how long she had been there and if, like himself, she had been wandering about in the dark night ever since they had parted earlier that evening.
He turned swiftly away in case she should catch a glimpse of him and think that he was spying on her. Balint now took a turn through the streets of the old town and when he finally found himself in the passage beside the Town Hall which gave onto the market square, he looked again towards the church.
The dark shape was still there, just as before, motionless in the slight drizzle. Was she going to stay there all night?
The street in front of the little house at Kozard had been deserted when Balint had arrived the previous day: now it was thronged with people. All the village folk were standing there waiting.
The road was muddy, but the rain had stopped and so everyone could wait without getting wet.
The Bischitz husband and wife were there, dressed in all their finery as if for the Sabbath; and Fabian was strutting about giving orders in a stentorian voice. Old Marton was hovering disconsolate near the house. Only Regina was nowhere to be seen.
The entire Azbej family had turned up – Mrs Azbej, short, fat, full-bosomed, with several double chins; the Azbej children, short and dark, with eyes like tiny black plums, the