War & War (30 page)

26.

The interpreter’s lover looked at Korin and quietly asked him in English,
What’s there on your hand
, but Korin was so surprised that she said anything at all, and in any case she spoke too fast for him to understand, that for a while he was incapable of answering, just kept nodding and staring at the ceiling as if he were busy thinking, then put the manuscript aside and took the dictionary instead to look up a word he hadn’t understood then suddenly slammed it shut and cried out in relief that he had understood, that it was a matter of “what’s” and “there” not “Whatser,” or what the hell, of course not, no, he nodded, it was clear now: “what is there on your,” well, “hand” and he held both his hands out and inspected them but couldn’t see anything unusual on them, until it occurred to him what the woman wanted to say, and he sighed and pointed with his left hand to a scar on the right which had been there for ages, an
old thing,
he said in English, not interesting—
no interesting
—the result of an incident a very long time ago, at a time when he felt bitterly disappointed, and he was almost embarrassed to mention it now for the whole disappointment was so childish, but what happened was that he had shot through it—
perforate with a colt
, as he put it, peeking into the dictionary, but it was nothing, it didn’t cause him any problems and he had got so used to it he hardly noticed it anymore, though he would carry the mark around for the rest of his life that much was sure, as the young lady most certainly noticed, but what was a much bigger problem was that he had to carry this head around on this weak and aching neck, a neck that was groaning—he pointed to it and started massaging it with his palm and swiveling his head from right to left—under too great a burden, or rather the same problem kept recurring, for after a short transitional period of easement the old agonizing weight returned just as before so that he has felt, particularly in the last few days, as though the whole thing was genuinely ready to drop off, and having said this he stopped massaging and swiveling his head, picked up the manuscript again, shuffling its concluding pages while adding that he couldn’t in fact tell where it ended because the text had grown so dense and impenetrable, one couldn’t even decide precisely when it was taking place, at what point of history to locate it, for though the earthquake of 402 is mentioned in one bitter monologue, and a few crazy sentences take a melancholy turn in referring to the terrible victory of the Visigoths, to Geiserich, to Theodoric, to Orestes, to Odoacer and even, at the end, to Romulus Augustulus, mostly there were just names, said Korin, spreading his hands, references, flashes, and the only thing certain was that Rome was dying there at the Porta Appia, over, over, declared Korin, but was unable to continue because suddenly there was a loud noise outside, the drumming of feet, a rattling and banging, and some cursing as well—after which there was not much time left to meditate as to who it was, or what it was, for the drumming, rattling, banging and cursing soon revealed their source to be a man, bellowing on the staircase, crying Good evening, darling, a man abruptly kicking the door open.

27.

No need to ask anything, just be happy, the interpreter hesitated swaying on the step, and while the great weight of bags and satchels he was carrying might have explained the swaying, for there were some round his neck and others hung on both shoulders, there could be no doubt about the real reason for his condition, for he was clearly drunk, the red eyes, the slow looks and the stumbling speech immediately betraying the fact, not to mention that he was in unprecedented good spirits and wished everyone else to know it, for when he surveyed the apartment and noticed the two figures emerging from among all the clutter of boxes and packages he started laughing so violently that he was quite unable to stop for several minutes, his laugher self-perpetuating, leading to more and more laughter until he fell back against the wall, quite helpless, the drool trickling from his mouth, but still could not stop himself, and even when, for one reason or another, he got tired and began to calm down, shouting at Korin and the woman—what’s up? how long you want to keep staring?—can’t you see this mass of bags and satchels I’m carrying—so that they ran to help relieve him of his load it was still all in vain, in vain to venture a step forward, for by the time he came to a second step and had run his eyes over the chaos of boxes and packages, the laughter seized hold of him again and he carried on laughing, while choking out the words, start over again, in English, pointing at the mess and falling flat on his face, at which point the woman went over to him, helped him up and, somehow supporting him, got him over to the inner room where he flopped down on the bed, right on Korin’s manuscript, dictionary and notebook as well as on the woman’s magazine, gave a grunt and immediately fell asleep, his mouth open, snoring, though his eyes weren’t fully closed so the woman did not dare move from where she was for she couldn’t be certain that this wasn’t a practical joke he was playing on them, a fact they never found out, because he was awake again, that is if he had really slept, a few minutes later and was bellowing once more—
start over again
—though this might have been a joke since he kept looking at the woman with a mischievous look on his face, eventually telling her to come closer, he wouldn’t bite her, don’t be afraid, let her sit down beside him on the bed and stop all that quivering because he’d smack her one if she continued like that, couldn’t she understand that the days of their poverty were over, and that from this time on she too should behave as though she had a few nickels to rub together, for nickels there were now, he declared, sitting up on the bed, though he couldn’t tell, he winked at her, whether she had noticed the fact, but their lives were changed in the blinking of an eye since he’d got his act together, since he’d gone down to Hutchinson’s and signed up for the “start over again” deal in which they change everything in a single day, replacing old things with new, and true enough he had exchanged all the old shit cluttering up the place and here it was, all filled up with the new, because, by God, did he need a change, and it needed a stroke of genius like the Hutchinson’s offer at Hutchinson’s store, an idea so brilliant in its simplicity that it simply said: rid yourself of this shit at a day’s notice, of every little trace of it, and completely re-equip yourself in the space of a day, and as soon as that was done then you could really start, in order to do which you need nothing more than to pick a convenient moment for the change, and he did find such a moment and did change, and not a moment too soon, for everything here was going downhill all too fast and he had had enough of counting dimes, wondering if he had enough change to buy something from the Vietnamese downstairs; enough, he had decided: he had made the decision, took hold of himself and had yanked himself out of the mire, changed and seized the moment of opportunity, that was the shortest, most efficient way he could put it, he said, stumbling over his words, and now, he sprang from the bed and started toward the door, he would find Korin and they would, he raised his voice, celebrate, so hey, where is our little Hunkie hiding, he bellowed into Korin’s room, as a result of which Korin quickly emerged and said, Good evening Mr. Sárváry, but he was already being dragged away, the interpreter joyfully demanding to know where the damned bag was, then, after a cursory search, finding it himself by the front door, pulling out a couple of bottles, he raised them high in the air and shouted in English once more:
start over again
, so the woman had to fetch three glasses, a none too easy task, for first they had to look through the mess to find the boxes with glasses in them, but when they eventually did so the interpreter opened a bottle and poured half into the glasses and half on the floor, then raised his own glass to the alarmed Korin who was desperately trying to smile, saying,
To our new lives!
concluding the toast by clinking glasses with the cowering woman and declaring
And let bygones be bygones!
after which he made a sweeping gesture, dropped his glass without noticing it, and simply gazed into the air to signal that he was about to make a ceremonial announcement, a signal that was followed by a long period of silence eventually broken by nothing more than a simple:
that’s over, that’s over
, then he dropped his arms, his eyes cleared for a second, he shook his head, shook it again, asked for a new glass, filled it, ordered the woman to come closer, put an arm round her shoulder and asked her if she liked champagne but did not wait for an answer, pulling from his pocket a small package that he placed in her hand, tightening his grip on her at the same time, then leaned closely into her face, looked in her eyes and, in a whisper, asked her whether she liked the good life.

28.

He had been traveling by taxi for days, just as he was now, on his way home, drunk and carrying masses of stuff, the backseat entirely filled with it as was the trunk that he had packed right up before getting in, the one thing he didn’t know, he said to the driver, being how the hell he was going to get all this up to the top floor, for he couldn’t see how it could be done since it was too much for one man, you see? and so saying he lifted one of the bags, saying, this is caviar, and not just any old caviar but Petrossian Beluga, and this is Stilton cheese, and this thing is some kind of preserve, and, he peeked in deeper, what’s this, ah yes, bagel with salmon cream cheese, and see this? he asked, grabbing another package off the floor, this is champagne, Lafitte, the most expensive brand, and cultured strawberries from Florida, and this, he searched around among the pile of paper bags, is Gammel Dansk you know, and then there’s chorizo and herring and a couple of bottles of Bourgogne wine, best in the world, world famous, so he hoped he understood, the interpreter told the taxi driver, that there would be a big party at home tonight, in fact the biggest party of his life, and did he know what they were celebrating, he asked leaning closer to the grille so the driver should hear him over the noise of the engine, because it wasn’t a birthday or a name-day, not a christening, no, no, no and no, he’d never guess because there were few people in New York who could celebrate what he was celebrating, and that thing was courage, his own personal courage, the fact, he pointed to himself, that he took the correct steps at the correct time, that he didn’t shit himself, he never wavered when the decision had to be made, asking himself whether he dared or not, but went and decided without a second thought, and dared do it, and not just at any moment but at precisely at the best, most appropriate moment, not one moment too soon, not a moment too late, but when the moment was dead right, and that is why this night would be the celebration of his courage, and at the same time the decisive prelude to the re-launching of a great artistic career, and this was why they’d all be drunk out of their minds tonight, he could faithfully promise that, and the two of them could drink to that right now for he had a drop of something on his person somewhere that would do, and so saying pulled a flat bottle of bourbon from his pocket that he slipped through the driver’s grille and the driver took it, licked the bottle’s lip then, nodding and laughing silently, returned it to the interpreter, who said,
OK, OK, if you want more just say the word
, they could finish the bottle, there were more where that came from, the whole cab was full of goodies, and the only thing he didn’t know was how in God’s name he was going to get it all upstairs, all this stuff, he shook his head grinning, no, he couldn’t imagine it was all to be carried up to his apartment, but actually, he had suddenly had an idea, like how would it be if they did it together for an extra dollar or two, seeing the cab wouldn’t run away, and the driver smiled and nodded, fine, and he did in fact help carry but only to the bottom of the stairs, that much he agreed to, but no further, not up the stairs themselves and he laughed silently again and kept nodding, but eventually said he had to be getting on so he received only one dollar and the interpreter cursed him vigorously for his pains while struggling up the stairs a good many times until finally it was all piled up at the top, and it felt so good then kicking the door open, he told the woman next morning, he in bed, she standing by the door, it was so good to stand there watching her and the little Hunkie stare at him among that vast pile of boxes, packages, satchels and bags without the faintest idea what it was about, that he forgot his fury and would happily have hugged them, but maybe that was what he actually did, didn’t he? before unpacking a table and two chairs, and, he was pretty sure, sitting Korin down opposite him, putting a couple of champagne bottles before him, switching to Hungarian and explaining to him how he should lead his life, how he should not go on like an idiot, that he should stop wasting his time and so on, though his listener didn’t seem to be listening to all this good advice but only wanted to know where the Hungarian quarter was, the area that he, the interpreter, had told him was the best source of paprika salami in New York, and that seemed to be the most important thing to him because he could swear this was what he kept asking about, that place he thought was above Zabar’s deli round about 81st or 82nd Street, but he wanted to get the street just right, and so it went on for ages, but he hadn’t the foggiest idea why now, or indeed yesterday evening, when he just wanted to tell him what to do should he ever come to a crossroads where he had to make a choice, and how, if he did come to one, he should be brave and trust to his instincts: courage, he said, it was the importance of courage he tried to impress upon him, giving a broad smile as he lay in bed and stuffed his head into his pillow, but the guy had gone on muttering something like, Mr. Sárváry, Mr. Sárváry, and so the time passed, him saying he had done what he had set out to do and a lot of stupid things like that in his usual fashion, and—he had just remembered—that he then paid what was owing on the rent and finally, or so he thought, dipped into his pocket, searched through the pocket of his trousers, brought out all the money he had left, saying it had to be in there, and had asked him, that is to say the interpreter, to pay the provider an advance that would ensure permanent maintenance of his site, and, he even had some glimmering that at the end they kissed each other—he snorted with laughter into his pillow remembering this—and had sworn themselves to eternal friendship, or so he thought, but beyond that he couldn’t remember a thing, so leave him alone now, he had a splitting headache with a bucket of snot for brains, leave him be, he just wanted to sleep now, sleep a bit, and if he’s not here he’s not here, who cares, but the woman just stood in the doorway crying and kept repeating, he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s left all his things behind, but he’s gone, his room is empty.