They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [180]
Someone came forward and covered up the body with the shroud which was made of silk with a wide border of lace.
The Provost of the county arrived, with two deacons, an altar-boy and six singers. The officiating priest wore a black and silver cope, and the others similar funeral vestments. The service began.
Dies iræ, dies ilia. The traditional requiem hymn sounded as beautiful as ever. Then the Provost circled the coffin twice, sprinkling it with holy water, followed by the incense, wafted from a thurible of massive gilt metal.
‘How thoughtful of you to have arranged such a worthy service!’ whispered Julie Ladossa to Balint.
‘It wasn’t me,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps it was our good aunt Szent-Gyorgyi. I really don’t know who did it. Geza Simay took care of everything. He had his orders but he wouldn’t say who from.’
Hearing this Julie Ladossa sat up even straighter, and it seemed to Balint that something of a secret joy flashed briefly in her eyes … why, he wondered?
The wreaths were taken up and the coffin placed on a wooden stretcher which was lifted onto the shoulders of eight men who then carried it outside, where the priest and the deacons were waiting, crosses held high, to lead the procession to the Gyeroffy vault.
Balint offered his arm to Laszlo’s mother, but she shrank back.
‘Up there? To the vault? No! No! I won’t go there …!’ she whispered. Balint could hardly catch what she said, but her face was set and there was terror in her eyes. Balint answered, also in a whisper, ‘Wait for me in Laszlo’s house then. I’ll be back soon.’
The procession formed up and started on its way, the people from the village crowding round behind. Julie Ladossa waited until they had all gone, and then turned and walked away.
At Laszlo’s little house the door at the left of the porch was half open, so she went straight in. In the corner by the stove, hunched up like some wounded animal and crouching on the floor, a young girl was sobbing. It was Regina.
She had collapsed there in the morning when they had carried out the coffin. Until then she had been sad but had remained calm. She had busied herself by seeing that everything was in its proper place, by seeing that Laszlo’s bedding in the coffin was neatly folded as it should be, by putting a cushion beneath his head so that he should lie as comfortably as possible, and then she had smoothed his clothes and adjusted his tie. All this time she felt he still belonged to her. Through the night she had watched by the coffin, sitting next to him on the floor and he was still hers, just as he had been when wasting away before her eyes. For her he remained forever her Fairy Prince, that noble, resplendent Prince of her dreams in whom she had always believed and whom she worshipped. Until that morning.
But when the funeral director’s men had come in and started to carry out the coffin she realized for the first time that they were going to take him away from her, take away for ever the man she loved, whom she had loved ever since her childhood, whom she had served and nursed and worshipped with every fibre in her being, heedless of misery and humiliation, heedless of all the obstacles put in her way, for he had always been hers, only hers. Until this last awful moment. It was terrible for her that now these strangers should come in and tear from her every joy and dream for which Laszlo had stood, even deprive her of that pain she had always felt in loving him. She grasped the coffin firmly, defying them to take it from her, fighting so that they shouldn’t rob her of what was rightfully hers, only hers.
The men pushed her roughly away and she fell in the corner by the stove. It was as if she had been broken in two. Her head was between her knees and her arms folded tightly above it. All that could be seen of her was her thin body in its torn cotton dress and the flaming red hair that tumbled over her shoulders.
Julie Ladossa was taken by surprise to find this adolescent girl crouched there alone in the