They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [185]
In front rose the ink-black outline of the Matterhorn, seeming more than ever like a claw, Satan’s claw, reaching for the Heavens. The great peak was no longer a natural pyramid of rock but rather some fatal razor-sharp milestone threatening death to the sky above – a milestone that pointed to the end of the world.
The next evening Balint left the express at Salzburg. Later he had no memory of the journey. He had bought a ticket for Budapest, but on impulse got out at Salzburg instead.
He felt he could not possibly go home to Hungary. In Budapest he would meet so many people he knew; and it would be the same in Transylvania. And if he went to Denestornya he would everywhere be reminded of so many fruitless plans and of all those hopes and dreams which had come to nothing. People would greet him and talk to him, and he would be forced to reply hiding his hurt behind a face of stone and pretending that he was still interested by the farce of everyday life. He decided he wanted to see no one and speak to no one; for all he now desired was to hide, to creep into some concealed corner and die.
He left the train and had himself driven to some small anonymous hotel near the station where he could be alone without the risk of seeing anyone he knew.
He did not count the days but passed his time sitting aimlessly at his hotel window hardly hearing the trains that rumbled past, neither the goods trains that shunted to and fro, nor the slow-moving passenger trains that sometimes stayed half an hour or so at the station before moving leisurely on, nor even the fast expresses that hurtled into the nearby station, brakes screaming with senseless haste, and then almost at once clattering over the points as they hastened away. At dusk the lamps started to glow, little points of white or red light, some of which moved and vanished and then returned and some which remained constantly in place. Whistles shrilled and shrieked, some short and some long drawn-out, until it seemed as if the very engines were crying out in pain.
At night Balint would go for long walks partly so as to escape from the four walls of his dismal little room and partly to tire himself out so that perhaps when he returned he would be able to sleep, to sleep as if he were already dead.
One afternoon, as he was sitting at his window staring at nothing, he gradually became aware of some unusual activity below; newsboys were rushing down the street excitedly calling out:
‘Extraausgabe – Ultimatum zurückgewiesen! – Extra! Extra! Ultimatum rejected!’ Passers-by were stopping and buying and then gathering in groups to discuss what they read. Balint could not imagine what had happened and so hurried down and bought a paper himself. He read the news quickly. Serbia had rejected an ultimatum from Vienna and the Austrian ambassador, Giessl, had already left Belgrade.
War! This could only mean war!
He could not stay a moment longer; so he packed hurriedly and took the first train out.
Home! He had to get home!
Chapter Two
THE RAIL TRAFFIC WAS SO DENSE that it took two days for Balint to get to Budapest. He arrived at three in the afternoon.
The capital was in a fever of excitement. As yet there had been only partial mobilization, just enough to overrun Serbia.
‘At last!’ people said. ‘Now we’ll teach that rabble a lesson!’ Everyone was saying the same thing; the porters in the hotels, the shopkeepers, and even the newspapers. It seemed as if all the world had awoken from some enchanted sleep and in consequence was in high good humour. At the Casino Club it was the same, and some of the younger members were already strutting about in the gold braid of the Hussar uniform or the red and blue of the Lancers. ‘We’ll teach ’em!’ they cried.
All at once the air was filled with heroism and glory,