Csardas (40 page)

“I will not say no at this moment then, Papa. I will think about it.”

He nodded, but that was all. His shame prevented him from smiling or speaking on the subject further. As she walked away from him she caught sight of his reflection in the mirror set into the back of the server. He too resembled the old man she had seen so many years ago.

In September, Kati—small, afraid, wearing a white silk dress that became her as little as anything else—was married to Felix Kaldy. Bride and groom spoke to each other hardly at all, and if Kati seemed frightened, Felix failed to notice it, his attitude throughout being one of boredom with Kati and delight with all the guests who thronged to the Racs-Rassay villa.

Gizi had excelled herself, providing not only a magnificent repast for the county inside the house but unlimited food, wine, and a gypsy player outside for the estate workers.

A succession of carriages and a sprinkling of motorcars brought relatives and influential friends of the Kaldy and Racs-Rassay families from halfway across the county. The farm servants and their wives walked to the villa, and by the end of the evening the numbers in the yard had grown, swollen by people from the village who had wandered up and by farm workers from other estates who had somehow heard of the party and found means of joining it.

Inside, during a gargantuan wedding feast that took no cognizance of the fact that food was in short supply throughout the land, they toasted the incongruous couple in champagne and congratulated them on the uniting of two sound old families. Outside, Kati and Felix were toasted in rough wine straight from the barrel, and the good wishes ranged from the merely lewd to the downright obscene. Kati appeared not to hear or understand any of the greetings, and as Felix never once stepped out of the house, he heard only the elegant comments of his friends.

Everything was bright, everyone—except the bride—vivacious. Eva drank, flirted, teased Felix unmercifully—which Felix adored—and danced every dance, a great number with Mr. Klein, an even greater number with Adam.

Uncle Alfred, who along with one or two Racs-Rassay relatives and several distant Kaldy kinsmen wore the velvet tunic and dolman of the Hungarian gentry, quickly became very drunk and remained in a condition of loud, semi-boisterous gaiety for the remainder of the evening. Since the war he had grown much heavier and more florid. When young he had looked handsome and romantic in his lavish costume, but now, drunk, his tight trousers and boots looked uncomfortably strained and his complexion had turned to a dull red that was both unattractive and alarming.

Aunt Gizi, brilliant in a fashionable new gown of pink crepe trimmed with osprey at the hem, was outshone by only one figure, that of the triumphant Madame Kaldy.

Amalia, gazing round the huge drawing-room, her eyes drawn repeatedly back to the central figures of Aunt Gizi and Madame Kaldy, realized that it was as though it were
their
marriage, two dominating women who had accomplished their hearts’ desires. They had both submerged their entire lives and personalities to the fulfillment of those desires, and on this day their success and happiness was assured.

Madame Kaldy, more restrained than Gizi, nonetheless overpowered the room. Tall, fine-boned, her dark eyes glowing and feverish and her farm-stained hands covered in lace gloves, she moved from group to group of old friends, people she had deliberately avoided for years, families who had witnessed her humiliating downfall and who now were there to see her triumph. She bowed graciously to Mama, remembering but no longer caring about her husband’s long-past flirtation with the Bogozy woman. She bowed more coolly to Papa; he was an upstart, but nonetheless the brother of Gizi, and it was Gizi’s money that had finally rebuilt the Kaldy estates. She smiled, slightly, at Eva, then ignored her. And strangely enough she also appeared to ignore Kati—no, not ignore her; it was as though Kati, having performed her function, wasn’t there any more.

Amalia watched Kati move farther and farther back into a corner. Once the right things had been said to her, everyone preferred talking to all the old friends and acquaintances they had not seen for a long time. There was so much to discuss: the war, the losses, the decline of their properties. The little bride was really too dull to waste a good party on. Amalia weaved through the guests towards Kati.

“Are you all right, Kati?’”

“I’ve spilt champagne on my dress.”

Amalia looked down at the pale stain on the white silk, then up into Kati’s bewildered face. “It doesn’t matter,” she answered gently. “You are a married woman now. You can spill anything you like.”

Kati smiled half-heartedly. “I hate parties, Malie. I wish I could go away. I mean, away from all these people.”

“You will be going soon, Kati. In a little while you’ll be going to your new house.”

“Madame Kaldy’s house, you mean,” answered Kati with a rare flash of irony. “And there’ll be even more parties there, parties and dinners and lunches and ladies coming in the morning and afternoon—oh, Malie!”

Amalia sought consoling words and found none. Kati’s lot was completely unenviable.

“It will be... nice to have a husband, won’t it, Kati?” she asked feebly.

“I don’t know.” Kati flushed suddenly and Malie felt even more sorry for her. Any number of girls—Eva, for one—would have envied Kati’s happy lot and the fact that tonight she had to climb into bed with Felix. Kati, who was innocent but not so innocent she didn’t know, vaguely, what was supposed to happen, could only view the ordeal with awkward embarrassment. There was a moment’s silence in which Malie desperately wanted to say something to the effect that it wouldn’t be too bad. But what right or experience had she to try and reassure Kati? Whenever she thought of loving a man, she thought of Karoly, the long hot kisses and embraces, furtively stolen and always interrupted by Mama or Eva or Aunt Gizi, embraces that, she imagined, would have progressed naturally to a shocking and ecstatic fusion of bodies. But how would it be with someone like Felix? How would it be with someone like Mr. Klein? She pushed the thought quickly away and transferred her thoughts from Mr. Klein himself to Mr. Klein’s motorcar.

“We’ll come and see you very, very soon. We’ll ask Mr. Klein to bring us in his motor, the day after tomorrow. There, that’s not too far away, is it?”

“Oh, Malie, you will come? It will give me something to look forward to if you say you’ll come. Eva too?”

They looked across the room at Eva. She was enchanting—pale pink voile in soft drapes and frills—twinkling, sparkling up at Adam Kaldy, who appeared to be completely absorbed in her.

“Eva’s so beautiful,” Kati said wistfully. “I thought at first she would be angry with me for taking Felix from her, but she doesn’t seem to mind, does she? And she looks so happy....” Her voice trailed away. Amalia was struck afresh with the foolishness of it all. Kati, longing to be Eva who was pretty and free, and Eva, raging with hurt frustration and anger because she was not going to live with Felix in Madame Kaldy’s old house.

“Eva will come too. Of course she will.” Eva looked across at them, laughed, and waved her hand. “You see, Kati, Eva’s not a bit angry with you. She wants you to be happy.” And Kati, deeply touched at the thought that anyone might care about her happiness, gave a tremulous and uncertain smile.

Eva, like everyone else in the room, had hardly noticed Kati. Just once, when Kati was being greeted by a distant relative—standing stiffly while being kissed on both cheeks—she had thought, Oh, why is it her? Why not me? I would have done it all so beautifully! I would have been so charming to everyone! I would have looked and behaved so well! Why is it terrible old Kati and not me!

But the thought had not been directed with any resentment towards Kati. Felix didn’t like his new wife. That was obvious. She didn’t even think he would
talk
to her very much. She wasn’t jealous of Kati, so why was she still so hurting inside, why the pain, the jealousy, the humiliation? After all these months when she had tried so hard to convince herself she didn’t care, why did she want to scream and cry and pound her fists on the body of the hateful old Kaldy witch?

A fresh wave of anguish smote her, and she smiled even more brightly at Adam, who hadn’t taken his eyes from her for the whole day.

“Adam! How strange it is that your eyes should be green when Felix’s are brown. I wonder what happened!” She glanced naughtily at him. “You are not alike at all, are you? I don’t think I ever met two brothers so unlike before.”

“Felix is tall and slim and elegant. I am short and square and clumsy,” Adam answered briskly, without taking his eyes from her face. “Nonetheless, Eva Ferenc, I feel flattered that after several years you have looked at me long enough to notice the colour of my eyes.” She hardly heard him. There was a pain in her stomach, a twisting, bitter agony of misery. She fought the pain, straightened her body, and held out her glass. Adam filled it and pressed the glass back into her hand.

“And so now you must live all alone in your little farmhouse. How sad. Whatever will you do there, all alone without your incredible mama to arrange your life?” That was better, much better. She was still teasing, still flirting, but she was able to do it better when she could speak scathingly about his mama.

“I shall do all kind of things,” Adam replied coolly. “I shall get drunk a lot, of course, and I shall not bother to wash or change my clothes, and I shall have girls from the village to come and sleep with me every night.”

She was shocked. Even through her misery she was shocked. Felix would never have spoken that way, not even when they were in their most suggestive and flirtatious moods. Adam had never spoken like that before. He had spoken very little at all, and when he did he was always stilted and boring. How could he be so crude and vulgar?

“It would be nice to have someone to get drunk with when I am all alone,” Adam continued blandly. “Have some more champagne, Eva.” He handed her his own glass, scarcely touched, took the empty one from her and refilled it. She drank, feeling that she was somehow being mocked but unable to work it out properly. There was a fuzzy feeling in her head but it helped to blur the pain and anger of Felix and Madame Kaldy.

“You are very coarse!” she rebuked, forgetting to flirt with him.

“Yes. I feel it incumbent on me to be coarse. I have a family reputation to maintain. My father—you must have heard—was a roue who spent all our money at the gaming tables and in bed. I believe he gained little return at the tables. I can only hope his mistresses proved more rewarding.”

She was so astonished she couldn’t answer. He had always been dull but he had behaved like a gentleman, his manners at least a poor imitation of Felix’s.

“And then there was my grandfather. His tastes were not so expensive. He slept with peasant girls who were pleased to do as they were told. You may have noticed several stolid faces on the land that bear a strong resemblance to mine?”

He was insulting her. Just because she had been discarded by Felix, humiliated by his horrible old mother, he thought he could insult her, speak to her like a factory girl. How dare he! Tears of rage choked in her throat and she hiccoughed.

“I have a reputation to uphold, Eva: the last of the Kaldy philanderers.”

“You... you are not the last of the Kaldy anything!” she said angrily. “Felix is the last of the Kaldys! Felix is the gentleman, the head of the estate. You are only a younger son!” Careful, a little warning bell in her head cried, if you argue with Adam people will notice and see that you are unhappy. Madame Kaldy will note it and be pleased, and everyone else will snigger and feel sorry for you. You must flirt and laugh with Adam, the way you have been doing all day.

“True. I am only the younger son. But just look at Felix. Do you think he will be able to sustain the reputation of the profligate Kaldys? Quite apart from anything else, Mama would not allow it.”

“How dare you!” She trembled, trying to keep her voice quiet and controlled. “How dare you say things like that about Felix! Speaking of him as though he were... stupid. Or weak. What of you? You do what your mama tells you as well as Felix!”

“No,” said Adam, suddenly still. “I do what I want to do, Eva. No one, not even you, can make me do things unless I wish to.”

The misery welled up again. Now even Adam was turning against her. He wasn’t much, but he served to flirt with; his adoration, bovine and uncritical, had been useful. Suddenly he had become vulgar and boorish, and his adoration had turned to contempt and a rebuke. She looked in desperation round the room. Where was Mr. Klein? He would do; he would flatter her and look after her. She felt lonely and unloved and the pain of losing Felix was as strong as it had been several months ago. She couldn’t be brave any more. The fight had gone. She didn’t want to scream or claw at Madame Kaldy, she just wanted to rock to and fro crying, not having to be brave and show people she didn’t care.

Her shoulders slumped and she didn’t try to hold them straight. She felt the taut lines of brightness on her face begin to slip and she didn’t care. Adam’s hand suddenly gripped her arm.

“Outside,” he said. She felt herself propelled through the company, her legs forced to speed, people looking at her curiously but gone before they could really see what was wrong. The doors were open onto the veranda, and Adam hurried her out and then round to the side of the house. She could hear the violin—beastly, wretched violin—scraping and wailing in the distance at the back. Once Felix had paid a violinist to stand beneath her window playing for her. She had comforted him and loved him and he hadn’t even noticed her love. She slid to the ground, a heap of soft pink voile and pale arms and face.

“Up!” said Adam crossly.

“Leave me alone,” she wept. “Leave me alone to die!”

He placed his hands under her armpits, heaved, and she came up like an awkward, floppy doll.

“I’m so miserable!” she sobbed. “I don’t think I can go on being as miserable as this. What can I do! Oh, what can I do?”

“You can be quiet.”