A Book of Memories (43 page)

Maja sprang up from the ground because she could push more easily when standing, took two steps back, spread her legs, dug in her heels, and pushed Szidónia so hard that it looked as if she'd meant to turn her over completely, which was of course impossible; the apple trees groaned and creaked, their crowns trembled, but up there, in the light, the hammock always came to a halt and, pulled back by the weight it carried, came swinging back with equal force; and Szidónia, catching her breath and shouting from the speeding hammock, continued her story.

Well, if he really wanted to see her again, she told him, he should take this tram on Saturday afternoon to Boráros Square, change to Number 6; yes, but he was on duty Saturday afternoon; well, change shifts with somebody, take the Number 6 to Moszkva Square, change to Number 56, and then get off at the cog-railway station, walk up Adonisz Road, and at the end of the stone fence around the first house he'd find a trail leading to the forest, he couldn't miss it, he'd see three tall pine trees, he should walk right into the forest and keep walking until he came to a large clearing and she'd be waiting for him there.

The only thing was, she'd already made a date for the same time with Pista, Szidónia was now shouting.

I, too, knew this Pista.

But she said she was curious to see what these two would do with one another.

Maja could contain herself no longer; her whole body tautened with excitement, and I could sense that the tension would soon reach a point where she'd have to tear herself away from Szidónia's story; she was still pushing the hammock, then suddenly covered her face with both hands, as if she had to laugh as hard as Szidónia was shouting, but no sound came from her, she was only shamming this laughter, for her own benefit, and for Szidónia's; the hammock kept flying of its own momentum, and Maja seemed determined to continue the game, false or true: once she started it, she had to go on; pressing her hand to her stomach, she nearly doubled over with this silent laughter; convulsing, she sank to the ground, slipped her hands between her thighs, which she kept pressing together, and looked up at Szidónia as if she were about to pee in her pants.

In patches, the skin on her neck and face turned white, her body seemed glued to the ground, and I knew she was ashamed of herself, but her curiosity must have been equally deep and eager, because her mouth was open and because, begging all at once for mercy and for more of the story, her eyes were flashing wildly among the tall blades of yellowing grass.

But Szidónia did not wait for the hammock to stop; she sat up, grabbed the taut ropes on both sides, and, thrusting out and pulling in her bare feet, she began to pump herself forward and backward, as on a swing, the effort making even her wrinkling forehead turn red though her voice remained soft and steady, and the smile, with her teeth continually exposed, did not leave her face for a moment, which must have been painful for Maja to bear.

By the time she got there, Pista was waiting; she hid in the thicket where the trail dipped, on that flat rock among the bushes where they often found discarded condoms
—yes, Maja knew where that was—a very good spot from which you can see everything, but from below no one can see you; she was squatting on this flat rock, didn't dare sit down, ready to run away should something unexpected happen; Pista was not in uniform that day, he wore a blue suit and a white shirt—the reason she'd not told Maja about all this before was that she was afraid of the possible consequences; anyway, Pista was lying in the grass, on his back, smoking, his neatly folded jacket next to him on the ground, he was such a neat fellow; he was planning to take her dancing later on; for a long time nothing happened; Pista wasn't getting impatient, and there was no noise of any kind, nothing to make him think she was coming, only the sun shining very brightly, and once in a while he shook himself, a fly must have landed on him; this made her want to laugh up there on the rock, but she wouldn't; she began to think that the conductor might not show at all, because she heard the cogwheel train stop, move on, and still he didn't come; anyway, a whole hour went by, because he came with the next train; Pista kept smoking and twisting and shooing away the flies, and once in a while she did sit down on the rock.

That's what he always did, that Pisti, pretend not to hear her; he'd always do that, and then she'd sneak up on him and kiss him, but even then he wouldn't pull his hand out from under his head and wouldn't throw away his cigarette; with his eyes open he'd pretend he didn't see her, and then she had to go on kissing him on his mouth, his face, and his neck until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then he'd kiss her back, and pull her down, and by then she couldn't get away no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't let her, he was very strong: now the conductor was there, and he stopped; he was still in uniform, with his conductor's bag slung over his shoulder, who knows, maybe he just simply left his tram for her; he looked around to make sure he was at the right place and then, very quietly so Pisti wouldn't hear him, he backed away, back among the trees; she couldn't see him anymore, though Pisti sat up.

From her place she saw that Pisti couldn't see the conductor but the conductor could see Pisti, and Pisti must have sensed that.

Because Pisti acted as if he was just getting up, having rested there for a while, and was now ready to go on; picking up his jacket, he was on his way; but as soon as he got as far as the trees, he suddenly turned around and kept staring at the spot where he thought the conductor must be hiding.

And then she, squatting up there in the stifling heat, felt that she had suddenly got her period, and she had no panties on.

You're an idiot, you're a complete idiot, Maja said.

Slowly the conductor ventured out of his hiding place, not completely, for a while he just stood there, under the trees, listening for noise, adjusting his leather bag and rubbing his forehead, all those pimples, and he was very nervous, thinking maybe he was at the wrong place after all; and then he started walking, not noticing that Pisti was watching him.

In the meantime, she had such cramps she thought she was going to burst; she reached under her skirt and felt that everything was bloody, it was gushing out of her and, since she was crouching, trickling down her behind and dripping onto the rock; she didn't know what to do, she couldn't very well stand up; when the conductor reached the middle of the clearing, suddenly Pisti also stepped out into the open and started toward him to cut him off; luckily she had a handkerchief with her; she folded it, twisted its edges, and then stuffed it in; but she still couldn't wipe the blood off or budge from her place; and she was sure Pisti had figured out she had a hand in all this, she was still pretty sure even though he never said anything about it to her; and now he was headed straight for the conductor as if he didn't even see he was there; whenever it was hot, Pisti would hook a finger into the loop of his jacket and sling it over his back; anyway, the conductor could no longer turn back, even if he wanted to; he stopped, and so did Pisti; all she could see was that he yanked the jacket off his back and smacked the conductor across the face with it, and when the conductor doubled over and put up his hands to protect himself, Pisti hit him on the back of his head with the hand he had the jacket in, hit him hard, so hard that the conductor just crumpled up, tripped over his bag so stupidly the change spilled out all over the grass.

She thrust out her beautiful bare feet and pulled them under herself, but she was sitting too deep inside the hammock to pump; the hammock barely swayed to and fro.

And then Pisti left, just like that, without even looking around; and she never told him she'd seen the whole thing, but she's pretty sure that if she ever ran into that conductor again he would probably beat her.

Maja sat up, the mysterious dignity of her face and bearing somehow reflecting Szidónia's calm and infinite satisfaction; for a long time they did nothing but look at each other, silently and a bit dreamily staring straight into each other's eyes, and to me this silence was far more telling than the story I'd just heard; each time Szidónia thrust out her feet she almost brushed Maja's face, but Maja did not bat an eye; it was as if now, in this silence, something more important than the story was happening, or assuming a recognizable shape, something that moments earlier I'd felt to be a secret, their secret, and it may have been nothing more than Szidónia's urge to tell all this to Maja and Maja's urge to listen.

Down in the valley, cradled by gently curving mountains, the city hovered in the bright summer mist.

And then, in a curious voice I'd never heard before, Maja began to speak.

The white shimmer of houses and the blurred outline of jumbled roofs and towers on the Buda hills were all so peaceful and distant.

But what kind of handkerchief did you use, my dear? Maja asked.

Beyond the gray strip of the lazy river, the mist of smoke and dust of the Pest side stretched into the horizon.

Maja's voice was sharp, offensive, a falsetto not her own.

What d'you think? Szidónia answered languidly, her voice deep; with her outstretched toes she was poking Maja's face.

That's just what I'm asking you, my dear, what kind of handkerchief?

A bloody one, Szidónia answered and on the next swing of the hammock shoved her foot into Maja's face.

So it was my little batiste handkerchief you shoved up in there, wasn't it, Maja said, her voice rising to a higher register, though her face was enjoying the touch of Szidónia's sole, and for a moment, full of pleasure and satisfaction, she closed her eyes; don't deny it, it was my little handkerchief, the one with the lace!

What was most peculiar was that the smile had vanished from Szidónia's face and Maja wasn't smiling either; they were content, pleased with each other, very much alike now, or maybe their sudden solemnity made them resemble each other; whatever was happening did not seem too serious.

Maja was sitting on the grass, her feet under her, thighs spread apart; holding her spine straight and throwing her head back a little, she kept pushing the soles of Szidónia's feet, not too hard, with steady, even movements; they were no longer looking at each other, so I couldn't tell what would happen next.

That afternoon, too, Maja was wearing one of her mother's dresses, an absurdly long, loose-fitting, lace-trimmed purple dress, whose shoulder pads hung down almost to her elbows; her distorted voice also reminded me of her mother's, though perhaps the dress made me think that; anyway, the two girls carried on their dialogue so rapidly and easily that I could see they were indulging in a familiar, well-practiced game.

The sun was beating down on my neck; it was their silence that made me realize I was there, too, and I was hot, as though until now I hadn't been aware of my own presence.

I had no idea how long or how cautiously I'd been hiding behind the hot green boxwood; there was really no need for all this spying and listening, actually, because at other times they felt free to discuss adventures like this right in front of me or even with me, asking my advice, which I gladly gave; I could have stepped forward at any time, and nothing would have happened if they had noticed me, the only reason they didn't being that they were too involved in the story; the ball-shaped shrub was so dense that if I really wanted to see anything, and I most certainly did, I had to stick my head out; nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to leave my ludicrous hiding place; I would have preferred to disappear, evaporate, or maybe rudely disrupt the scene, end it by throwing a stone at them; I could have used the spigot only inches from me and the red garden hose lying right there in the grass like a snake, but it would have been hard to pull over the nozzle and turn on the water without their noticing; if I could just wreck that annoying strange intimacy of theirs! which I could share only by not stepping forward, by their not noticing me; I could deceive myself, but in every moment, and every little fragment of each moment, things were happening here that in my presence never could; I was stealing from them, though I had no idea what; and the excitement was also unbearable, the shame of acquiring something I could neither use nor abuse, for it was exclusively theirs; the confidence they'd shown me was illusory, fraudulent, they'd given me mere morsels of confidence but in truth deceived me; they'd never let me come into their real confidence, because I was not a girl, and now they were talking about themselves, among themselves, and it seemed that I was robbing them of something.

Choosing the most shameful escape route, I was about to back away so I could sneak off, disappear, never to return, hoping to reach the garden gate unnoticed and be able to slam it shut really loudly, but just then, using both feet, Szidónia caught Maja's neck in a vise, and simultaneously Maja grabbed hold of those powerful feet and tried to pry them off her, and the hammock swung back, so that Maja lost her balance and was dragged along on the grass; it was now impossible to see just what was happening, and as they were pulling, pushing, clawing, and kicking at each other, with hands and feet, suddenly Szidónia tumbled out of the hammock right on top of Maja; Maja cleverly slipped out from under her, sprang up and started to run
—by now they were both shrieking, letting out terrific screams—and Szidónia took off after her; they were like two rare butterflies, flitting and flashing into and away from each other, Maja's loose purple dress billowing against the wings of Szidónia's rising and falling waist-length hair streaming above the white undershirt as they plunged down the garden's steep slope, at the bottom of which they finally crashed into each other and, I did see it, kissed each other, but in the very next moment, grabbing each other's hands, their bodies arched, they were whirling round and round, and they kept it up for a long time, until one of them must have let go, because they flew apart and went sprawling; they stayed there on the grass, panting hard.

It wasn't me Maja liked but the mark Szidónia's teeth had left on my neck.