They Were Divided - Miklos Banffy [59]
‘Yes, last week. I sent her to “Gallifar” who is standing at stud at Kolozs. He’s got a good line – by Gunnersbury out of Gaillarde – quite worthy of my good Honeydew.’
Then he went on, speaking in a low voice as if confiding deadly secrets, to give his reasons in a most unnecessarily complicated way, with much repetition and circumlocution. He said that Honeydew was already seven years old which meant it was high time she foaled, and the right age to produce something good and healthy. She was anyhow no use as a saddle-horse for anyone except himself as she would tolerate no one else on her back. It had recently, he said, become an intolerable slavery for him as he had always to be there to exercise her, for he couldn’t entrust her to anyone else and it was no life for a horse just to be lunged for a couple of hours a day. This was much the best solution, for she’d calm down as soon as she was in foal. Then her temperament was sure to change and she’d no longer be so dependent on him.
‘What on earth would become of her if I wasn’t there … I mean, if … if I were to go off on some tr-r-rip. As a r-r-riding horse she’d just die … At least in this way she’ll be of some use.’
Balint found these words disquieting, for he seemed to see in them some connection with their talk at Denestornya when Kadacsay had talked about making his will and about his attitude to death. So as to lighten the mood he answered as if he had taken literally what Gazsi had said about going off on some trip.
‘If you’re thinking of being away some time, which I think would be a thoroughly good idea, then I’d suggest Italy. It’s already spring there, especially down in the South, at Naples and in Sicily. You could have Honeydew sent over to Denestornya while you’re away and we’ll give her a paddock all of her own so that she could run free all day long. We often do this with new mares who don’t know the other horses.’
‘Could I really? Do you mean it?’ cried Gazsi joyfully. ‘Are you really sure? Do you know I was just working up to asking you if it might be possible … not now, of course … not yet. But, but, later … if the situation arises … well, it would be wonderful.’ And then, seeing the concern in his friend’s expression, he started to talk about all sorts of technical matters concerned with the treatment of mares in foal. He told Balint that he really didn’t have anyone at his own home who was properly qualified and experienced, not like the stud groom at Denestornya, and all the others who had worked for Countess Roza for so many years. A first foaling was always a bit tricky, of course, and quite a delicate matter, especially with such a highly-strung animal as Honeydew. Then he started to praise all his mare’s good points and went out of his way to say that problems only arose when one put a saddle on her or tried to ride her; then she would grow wild, but at all other times she was as tame and docile as anyone could wish. If she didn’t have a saddle on her back then she would never kick out, not at man or beast, never!
He talked on for some time having apparently entirely recovered his good humour. Then he reached for his glass, filled it to the brim and lifted it to Balint, saying: ‘Servus – greetings! My appreciation and thanks … in Honeydew’s name.’
While Balint and Gazsi had been talking about the problem mare, on the other side of the table Isti and Fredi had been ever more heatedly discussing their favourite topic – England. They both worshipped England and all things English, the country itself, English gentlemen, English horses, English sports, English clothes and footwear, English girls, English bandages