Parallel Stories: A Novel (105 page)

He leaned back on his chair, to be as far away from the captain as possible.

And the moment he got his distance, he grew alarmed.

But I still don’t know, he argued with himself, how could I possibly know what it is I don’t want to hear from him, or what exactly I consider so ridiculous or false in his request.

In his nervousness, he laughed.

And if this is indeed so, he continued in his thoughts, I must be struggling not with him but with my own cowardice, my own mistrustfulness and ridiculousness.

If you absolutely insist on it, he said, laughing, then all right, here it is, but without the inclusion of any capital-letter God, take my simple word of honor.

What does this kind of word of honor mean, anyway, he thought to himself, nothing.

What accounting do I owe these people. I owe them no accounting at all.

It was heartwarming to think he had deposited his money in a reputable private bank in Amsterdam. He had to laugh at himself, and he did, which quickly produced a small advance on the longed-for fulfillment. And nothing really matters except money. And then he saw that his supercilious laughter had offended the other man, and he regretted his own leniency.

Now they had to reassess each other’s situation. They hadn’t yet started anything; they were in the midst of a methodological introduction but already sagging under the weight of each other’s life.

Come on, out with it, he said aloud and brazenly, because he wanted to be free of this burden as soon as possible.

Well then, I am a member of a very old secret society that today, unnoticed yet most effectively, covers the entire country, Bellardi replied, no less forcefully. What’s more, going with the spirit of the times, we’ve crossed borders.

I’ve been given the task of informing you of the organization’s goals.

Madzar did not even nod at this; he was dumbfounded, reduced to silence.

The terrible hunch was coming true, Bellardi was indeed a zealous Catholic opportunist, just as he had suspected earlier, and a conspirator to boot; he was right. But it cannot be, things cannot be so simple, he kept telling himself, as the other man in turn fell silent to allow his friend to process what he had heard.

But he was slightly relieved, after all, that it was not money the other man wanted from him.

Our organization is a community of men of consequence and influence, Bellardi went on, his voice somewhat hoarse, and I want to reassure you right off that we do not recruit our members but rather, after a number of sounding-out conversations, invite them to join.

You mean, I should consider this as one of those sounding-out conversations.

If you wish, I can quickly give you the names of prominent men in our circles.

No, thank you, I’d rather you didn’t.

The less you know, the safer it is.

That’s what I think too.

Don’t think of it as a young men’s club in some village, but rather as a large family with many distant relatives, or an exceptional gentlemen’s club so special that neither its name nor its address is known to anyone. The society has no address or, more accurately, it has as many addresses as it has members. The name of the organization we do not say out loud. Or you can think of it as a freemasons’ lodge, but one in which nothing embarrassing or exceptional happens. Except for the admission process, there are no ceremonies. At most, we listen to scholarly lectures on topics of Hungarian history. Whenever we can, we do this outdoors, at places where our ancestors gathered. The invited speakers are not necessarily members of our community and often they are not even aware they are speaking before a family or even members of an entire national-ethnic clan. Lajos Bartucs, László Németh, and Dezs
ő
Szabó lecture regularly. We chat about the world’s situation, its destiny, I would say
über Gott und die Welt.
The last time, we heard a lecture by Professor Lehr, with whose work you are probably familiar.

Unfortunately, the name means nothing to me, but you know I’ve been living and studying abroad.

He plays a very active and authoritative role in the society.

Bellardi paused, as if with a knowing look he were signaling something like this: I know what I know, the professor is one of the society’s supreme leaders and I’m letting you in on this.

He lectured, I would say very edifyingly, on the relationship between Dutch methods of dike building and the images of nature in rural Dutch life. I mention this because he himself has lived and taught in Holland, where he is well known in academic circles. His fields of interest include ancient history, linguistics, and ethnography. If you’re interested, I can give you a summary of his lecture.

Madzar waited cautiously; he did not want to reply to anything.

I can also tell you that we do not have debates or arguments among us, Bellardi continued. At most, in the warm circle of his family, each member quietly strengthens his moral duties to the fate of the Hungarian nation. At the end of the conversation that follows the kind of lecture I’ve mentioned, everyone knows what to do for the foreseeable future. No need to talk about it much, no one gives orders to anyone; there are no lengthy voting procedures either. The nature of Hungarians is more suited to this quiet harmony than to noisy parliamentary democracy or anything like that. If a decision is needed, the supreme council can deliberate the question, and in matters of greater importance there is the tool of public acclamation. I can also reveal to you that our activities are approved by more than one important personality in the highest circles. In fact, many of them are active members of our community.

He fell silent again.

With his raised eyebrows climbing high on his forehead, and with his arms elevated above the table, he indicated that His Excellency the regent, gazing down from the summit of the hierarchy, silently supports their activities.

He is, perhaps, our greatest patron.

Of course he does not appear in person, he added in a whisper, almost as if in passing, but occasionally his elder son represents him, and Mihály is undoubtedly a most enlightened Hungarian gentleman.

Madzar did not respond to this either.

Seven percent of our annual income goes to a common pool, the captain added in the same whispery tone, again as if only in passing. The majority of this money goes for the university education, and study abroad if necessary, of young men with proven Hungarian patriotic feelings.

From this moment on, Madzar not only felt an aversion to Bellardi but could not concentrate on what he was saying.

He wants my money after all.

Which he did not understand, but his not understanding was as profound as if he had failed to comprehend not only the other man but Creation itself.

Only moments ago I was thinking of my money, wasn’t I.

He felt as if suddenly he had lost his way in the universe, and while he searched for it the universe made a big turn on its own.

No, it can’t be that Bellardi is a mind reader. The thought made him dizzy. Because he did have some money put aside, the money he made on jobs in Rotterdam with which he wanted to start his life in America. He could not touch that. He considered it a significant sum, but it was not so large as to allow for donations to charities from it.

True, he had gotten a goodly advance for his future projects with the Szemz
ő
s, and he had not transferred that money to the bank in Amsterdam; it was deposited in the General Savings Bank of Hungary.

On hearing Bellardi’s words, this worried him greatly. He felt that every possible trouble was crashing down on him.

Only a few hours earlier, an article in the
Pester Lloyd
he’d picked up by chance had informed him that Baron Koháry, Bellardi’s powerful father-in-law, sat on the board of directors of this bank. This information made everything as clear in his mind now as if he had solved a complicated crime. Aha, he said to himself, how obvious. As if the steam engine’s pumps and pistons were not working three decks below him but sucking and thrusting the blood in his veins, and the paddle wheels were rotating noisily not in the water but in his brain; in his agitation, his temples began to pulsate.

He reproached himself for his irresponsibility.

They’ll grind me up.

These people will take me and grind me up. Here, it seems to me, everybody is somebody’s relative and everything is connected to everything else.

And in that case this conversation is far from being a chance one; the coincidence becomes visible.

I should not spend so much time here; they will swallow me up.

But from this point on Bellardi did not fully listen to him, or rather, he did not notice how he had miscalculated the effect of his words.

Whenever he could talk to someone about this delicate subject, and those occasions were rare, he could not properly control his enthusiasm.

The mere thought that after centuries of discord and division, Hungarians might again join hands, and that he was telling this, very cautiously, to another son of Mohács—this exciting thought all but untethered him from the palpable world. Made him happy. After all, the other man knew as well as he did why every Hungarian in Mohács had become lost; he really did not have to explain this to him. As children, they had both wanted to uncover the mass graves, and thanks to the swallows and the powerful river current, they did find one.

He was filled with the happy feeling of liberty that he could build his case on something they both knew.

His activities in the secret organization gave him the only practical opportunity to open the door of his bodily cage and step outside himself. And it did not occur to him that Madzar might reject out of hand such an exciting human community. The liberating feeling that had brought him so close to others strengthened him in the profound conviction that being Hungarian was not a condition gained by being born as one, but rather a belief and worldview one had to earn with actions and reinforce with communal activity. The moment he touched on this subject, he was stepping onto the vast battlefield that had teemed with true Hungarians at the fatal dawn of the modern era. Because the Battle of Mohács was lost not by those who fought the Turks but by those who stayed at home in their warm dens. This clear feeling turned historical time into a mere second. There was no difference between the Middle Ages and modern times. He was watching the face of his childhood friend, with whom he wanted to share his happiness, and he did not notice that he was losing the other man’s physical presence.

His inner vision was held captive by the vision of this powerful community’s secret network. Its members trusted him and he trusted them. This trust controlled his entire sense of human responsibility. It was as if he were watching with their eyes to see where, in the net he had spread, he should tie up his friend, alive, what he might gain by this, and for what purpose and in what way the underground movement could make use of him.

All this had an alienating effect on Madzar, and not only because of the seven percent. The threatened secrecy of his bank-account number was only a practical symbol of his thinking. He could neither comprehend nor feel the impersonal enthusiasm that radiated from Bellardi’s being, so the other man’s fervor was painful to him. Not only did it not fill him with a sense of liberation, it affected him as a painful physical sensation; he experienced it as a rape committed by his beloved, as if several people at once had cornered him or shoved his body into a lair smelling of decay. In his shame, he bowed his head. His powerful chin nearly touched his breastbone and from there, head lowered, he looked across at Bellardi’s face shining with the power of the secret society, in a partly defensive, partly offensive attitude. In the fluttering candlelight his thick hair became like a specially wrought rubescent copper helmet. It made his skull invulnerable, it was an armor no one could penetrate.

Bellardi will not manage to get his money from him either.

And what about that seven percent.

These people know how much money he has.

Money he will not give to anyone.

He was dizzy, felt bad at the sheer thought of donating money.

Where on earth did Bellardi come up with the idea that he would give a single penny to anybody, for anything.

Not one, to nobody.

Meanwhile Bellardi was going on, saying that in the interest of a definitive solution of the Jewish question, Hungarians could not lay themselves open to the Germans, in other words could not endanger Hungarian interests because of the Jews. Waging war cannot be avoided, but the task is to cut off simultaneously the heads of both dragons, all fourteen of them. Only romantic patriots tend to forget that a weakened Hungary is not in the Germans’ interest today. German and Hungarian interests coincide at many important points. We cannot fight alone against Bolshevism. But, in the interest of the Hungarian race, we must oppose those endeavors that the German secret service, using Swabians and ethnic Germans in Hungary, has been promoting and financing for many years. The price the Germans are asking for the annexed territories
*
is so high we cannot possibly pay it. This is a fight for breathing space, for survival, for sheer existence, and he would very much want Madzar to understand that. The Germans are bent on acquiring more and more positions; they are taking over the police, the entire system of public administration, and the highest echelons of the armed forces.

That is why he keeps saying that civilians have no notion of what goes on deep below the surface. Like moles. Jewish and German elements have undermined the Hungarian state and gnawed it to pieces, and in a weak moment they would lay their hands on it.

This is a struggle, he cried out in frustration, for even these last words the beloved man’s face remained motionless.

Not a hopeless struggle, not at all, and don’t think, he exclaimed, that it’s happening only at higher levels or in higher circles. This needs truly deep Hungarian feelings, but not the sentimental kind. Public administration must be cleansed of German elements, commerce and industry of the Jews. In the interest of progress for the Hungarian race, we must be alert at every moment and acquire every position about to be vacated. In the service of Hungarian goals, we should engage both those who are already among us and those who are not yet with us.