A Book of Memories (52 page)

Kálmán cautiously bent down, picked up a stone, and threw it quickly, aiming accurately so he wouldn't actually hit his dog.

The stone struck a tree, the dog didn't budge; it kept watching Kálmán as though it understood him, but apparently it understood something else and only wagged its tail once, lazily; I detected a certain indignation in this.

Kálmán hissed angrily at the dog, motioned to it to go home, get lost, and to show that he meant it, he picked up another stone; he was still pale, still shaking.

And then slowly, reluctantly, the dog started to move, though not to where Kálmán was pointing but toward us, and strangely enough, as it moved, the light of curiosity and attention in its eyes which we had seen only moments before began to die out; it abruptly changed direction and, ignoring Kálmán's angry hissing and brandishing of the stone, trotted out from under the trees into the clearing; frozen, we stared after it; for a while it disappeared completely, and we could only follow the line where its body broke the rippling waves of the tall grass, only see its black back resurfacing near Krisztián's feet; he looked up, said something to the dog, the dog stopped, even let Krisztián scratch it with the tip of his knife, then trotted into the woods.

Seeing Krisztián so unsuspecting, not even bothering to glance our way to see where the dog was coming from, assuming it must simply be wandering about, filled us with such a sense of victory, such elation, that Kálmán raised a clenched fist and we silently grinned at each other, the grin looked kind of odd on his pale face, especially since he still hadn't stopped shaking; he seemed to be struggling with an inner force unable to break out of him and now made more powerful by that triumphant gesture of his fist; his neck was pale, too, and though the skin on his body didn't change color, it seemed shriveled somehow, matte and chilly, as when covered with gooseflesh, making it seem as if another boy, a stranger, was standing next to me, yet because of my own excitement I didn't attach special importance to this at the time; after all, is there anything a child wouldn't consider natural? anything he couldn't comprehend? shaking, pale, lusterless, he lost the familiar shape of his easygoing, good-natured self, although he seemed stronger, better proportioned, perhaps even more beautiful; yes, I'd be on the right track if I said that it seemed as if, along with the fatness, the softness that lent him a genial air had been dissolved, and the petulant, tense vibration of his naked muscles bespoke an already transformed being; he was more beautiful but also distorted: his bluish-red nipples seemed larger on the muscles of his chest, which kept twitching feverishly; his mouth seemed smaller, his eyes expressionless, and innocence seemed to have been supplanted by a kind of stiffness, which emphasized the anatomical aspects of his body and threw them into sharper, more striking relief; yes, we could contemplate the laws of beauty: if he were still alive, then, ever curious about the principles governing beauty's functions, I would question him about the secret cause of the physical change, but he died, before my very eyes, in my hands almost, on the night of October 23, 1956, which was a Tuesday; so I can only surmise that the emotions released by our fight, by his defeat and victory, made him confront feelings that, being unfamiliar, his body could not struggle against; he began to run and I ran after him, and if I said that the idea of running had been mine, I must also say that actually doing it was much more urgent for his body; we ran carefully, watching every step, trying to make no noise, seeking each secure foothold with an attentiveness sharpened by excitement, swiftly deciding on a slight detour so Prém wouldn't notice us from his tree.

That's how, having gone around the clearing, we finally reached the famous spot, that jutting rock, where we had once touched each other and where, hiding behind the tall thornbush, Szidónia had watched Pista fight the conductor and in her excitement begun to bleed.

When I look at it today, it is not some great rock but a rather ordinary, not even very large flat stone that, ravaged by the elements and assailed by tree roots, is crumbling into separate layers; and when I recently found myself at this place again, it was surprising to realize that children, in their blissful ignorance, may consider a rather exposed spot or sparse thicket to be the safest of havens.

Krisztián must have finished preparing his stick, he said something, but we couldn't hear because of the wind, and Prém, thrusting his body away from the tree, dangling, his feet groping for a branch, began to climb down.

This was the right moment, or rather, we couldn't delay any further.

I rushed out first, I wanted Kálmán to follow me, the all-compelling, ready impulse could be restrained no longer; if I had let him he would have started out too rashly and I desired the more subtle effects of a surprise.

With long leaps we quickly gained the tent and slipped in unnoticed, fairly sliding on top of each other as we did, it was a surprisingly spacious, dark tent, its thick canvas letting in no light, also warm, and although we could have stood up, we chose to crawl on all fours; in the stuffy darkness I could immediately distinguish Krisztián's delicious smell; through an open flap on top a single beam of light fell into the tent, somehow making it seem even darker; we kept bumping into each other's hands and feet, we were blinded by both the darkness and the light as we moved about, touching objects in our way; I can still hear Kálmán huffing and puffing like an animal; hard as I try, I remember little else besides this groping and crawling in the stifling excitement of the heat and darkness, and the sharp ray of light hitting the back of Kálmán's neck, and his heavy panting; I don't know, for example, how long all this lasted or whether we said anything to each other
—probably not, there was no need; I knew what he wanted and what he would do next and he knew the same about me; we both knew why we had to touch these precious objects which almost made us cry out with joy, objects which in a moment would be sent flying out of here! and still, we were alone, each of us locked in his own feelings, in the very center of what we had assumed was that secret, real, and conspiratorial life; I think he made the first move by knocking the entrance flap up to the top of the tent; anyway, I remember that first it made the tent light, and then I heard a thud as the kettle crash-landed after a great, arched flight; a flashlight was next; at first we were tossing things out one by one, whatever came to hand, the harder and more fragile the better! we hurled, smashed, shattered, pulverized them one after the other; after a while we didn't have time to pick out just the good ones, and we dug into the soft stuff, frantically heaving out clothes, sheets, sacks, blankets, bumping into each other in frenzied haste, for by then we saw them running up the clearing toward us, Krisztián with his stick and knife; there were still plenty of things left in the tent, but even in my feverish zeal I made sure that the more delicate items like binoculars, an alarm clock, the slightly rusty hurricane lamp, a tuning fork, compass, and a cigarette lighter were flung as far and in as many directions as possible.

I had to yell to reach Kálmán, and I did, at the top of my voice; I was also tugging and pulling him to come on! because stones were beginning to hit the stiff canvas top; Prém was running and throwing stones, with devilish agility running, bending down and throwing without breaking his stride, but Kálmán was so caught up in this orgy of destruction he saw nothing, heard nothing, and I thought I'd have to leave him there, though that didn't seem plausible, so I kept nudging and pushing him and still he didn't notice that they were almost on top of us and that Prém had overtaken Krisztián; we had no time left, I had to make a decision, so I sneaked behind the tent and, holding on to branches and roots, constantly looking back to see why he was taking so long, started to climb up, trying to reach that miserable rock and the safety of the large bushes; Kálmán stopped right in front of the tent, stood up straight, and stared them in the eye; they were only a few steps away; then Kálmán bent down and with a leisurely saunter circled the tent, pulling up every single stake, kicking the looser ones free with his feet, and only after he'd pulled up the last one did he take off, running and then climbing after me.

The tent collapsed the very instant the boys reached it, and the sight clearly stunned them; they may have had some idea about what they were going to do, but now they just stood there, panting, helpless.

In the still booming wind I could hear the crunch and then the falling of pebbles dislodged by Kálmán's feet as he scrambled his way up toward me.

Their defeat was so spectacular, so final, their losses so considerable, they simply couldn't move, couldn't yell or curse, couldn't chase us; a single look couldn't possibly take in the extent of the destruction, and any move or word would have been an admission of this total defeat; they simply couldn't find an appropriate response, which gave us further satisfaction; in spite of our retreat, we were in a position of perfect advantage: we were above, looking down at them from a well-hidden, protected observation post, and they were below, in a fully exposed open space; as soon as he was next to me, Kálmán threw himself flat on his stomach to avoid being a target, and we lay there quite still, waiting; victory was ours, but its possible consequences were unpredictable, and for this reason I can't say we savored it for long; it was as if we ourselves were reappraising the dimensions of our deed; I was now shocked both by the sight of it and by my own presentiment that we had crossed a barrier into the forbidden, not with the treachery of our attack or the unexpected termination of a friendship
—we could always find a nominal justification for that— but with the real destruction of real objects; we shouldn't have done that, we couldn't just simply return from that and resume our customary games; so now something even more dreadful, something fateful was yet to happen, it was no longer a game; by smashing those objects, we had exposed the boys to unpredictable parental intervention; however justified our retaliation may have been according to the rules of the game, by doing it the way we did, we had in effect turned the boys in; our victory, therefore, was an act of treason, and it put us outside our own law, too, for not only had we administered justice but we had exposed them to the reprisal of the common enemy; we knew only too well, for instance, that Prém was beaten nightly by his father, and it was no ordinary beating: his father set upon him with a stick, a leather strap, and if Prém fell down, his father would go ahead and kick him, too; the hurricane lamp and the alarm clock belonged to his father, Prém had taken them without permission, I knew that, and I also thought about it the very moment when I'd heard them break to pieces; still, it was our victory, and we were not to be deprived of its momentary advantages by petty ethical considerations or the shock induced by the extent and possible consequences of the destruction, if only because our victory had given them a moral superiority we couldn't possibly endure.

They didn't look at each other, just stood there motionless above their collapsed tent; Krisztián was still holding his stick in one hand and his knife in the other, which in light of their stinging defeat looked ridiculous rather than ominous; their faces were also completely motionless, and it didn't look as though they were exchanging secret signals to ready themselves for a counterattack but that they realized it was all over; their necks were stiff, Prém was closing his fist as if still holding the stone he'd hurled at us moments before; but if it was all over, what then? I didn't know what Kálmán was thinking, I myself was weighing the possibility of an immediate, unconditional, and silent withdrawal; we had to extricate ourselves somehow from this impossible situation, back off, slink away, quit the battlefield in a most cowardly fashion, if necessary, forget about our victory, and the sooner the better; but Kálmán quickly got up on his knees and, realizing what a wonderful arsenal he had been lying on, scooped up a fistful of pebbles and stones, leaned out of the bush, and without even aiming began throwing them.

With his very first stone he hit Krisztián in the shoulder; the others missed.

And then, as if pulled by the same string but in opposite directions, the two boys ducked and took off, one to the right, toward the woods, the other to the left; they disappeared among the trees at the edge of the clearing.

By doing this, not only did they blunt the attack and confuse us, the attackers, but they also dispelled the illusion that in their defeat they didn't know what to do.

It may not have been written on their faces, but they had some kind of plan; this running off was a planned move, not a flight, which they must have prepared right before our eyes, only we couldn't comprehend their secret signals; and this meant, of course, that there was a special bond between them, after all, something that could never be broken.

What an animal, what a prick, I muttered angrily, what did he have to throw those rocks for? using a word that ordinarily I'd never have used, but now it felt good, because it was part of my sweet revenge for everything.

Kálmán stayed as he was, on his knees, still holding the stones in his hand; he shrugged his shoulders lightly, which meant there was no reason to get excited; the curious pale splotches vanished from his face and he wasn't trembling anymore; he was content, calm, and gave me a friendly look filled with a kind of witless superiority born of hard-won victory; his mouth relaxed, the savage glint left his eyes, though in this newfound amiability there was a certain amount of contempt for me; with a wave of his hand he indicated that those two were probably trying to surround us, and it would be highly advisable to stop grumbling and turn around, because we had to secure our rear, too.

But I was so angry at him, hated him so much, that I wanted to fall on him, or at least knock those lousy rocks out of his hand; it was on account of his precious glazed jug, I realized, that he'd turned Krisztián into my enemy for good; I got to my knees and began cursing him; and just then two black butterflies floated by between us, their fluttering wings almost touching his chest, then they flew upward, around each other, and passed by my face; I didn't tell him what I really wanted to, that he was an ignorant hick, instead I grabbed his hand, but it turned out differently than I intended; I don't know what happened, I found myself begging him, Let's get the hell out of here, even called him Kálmánka, which only his mother did, and that made me feel more disgusted; I told him the whole thing was so stupid, and who the hell cared, anyway, and what more did he want, and if he didn't come I'd go by myself; but he just shrugged his shoulders again and coldly withdrew his hand from mine, which meant I could go whenever I wanted to, he didn't care the least bit.