The Diary of Geza Csath (8 page)

Meanwhile Winter came back from the rendezvous. A little girl who lived in the neighbourhood had invited me to meet her in a letter addressed to ‘Jozsef Krajner’. We sent Winter. The girl was there but she didn’t say a word to Winter. Clearly, it was me she wanted to meet. I went to my room and played the piano a little to lure her into the open. A little maiden did appear, but soon withdrew. What could I do? In a tearful mood, I started rearranging the room, but I couldn’t manage the heavy rugs, grew tired, and gave up.

After that I thought about having to write the letter to Mrs Braun. I was gripped by the revulsion we feel when we start something in the hopes of failing. Finally I sat down to my diary. I wrote and wrote. Now I feel better. At 10.30, I helped myself with another .012 P. In the meantime, I went down to the ward and gave a paralytic an injection. Meanwhile, I weighed myself. 80 kilograms. That means 82 in clothes. I have gained something in the last two days maybe. But what is it all worth? There’s no hope anywhere. I looked in the mirror downstairs. The lamps glow sootily, giving off hardly any light.

‘Get yourself together,’ I said, ‘or you’re going to croak, chum, you’re going to croak.’
I spoke thus, then came upstairs to continue writing. It is now 11.15. How much better I am now than last year at this time, and still I feel much unhappier. Maybe a better day will dawn tomorrow?

I awoke in the dissonant mood of my dreams, which continued the problems of yesterday. The actors were myself and Olga. The location: Iglofured
²⁵
or Stubnyafurdo. We arrived and were put up in a little room, but no matter how we searched for an opportunity, we did not succeed in making a sacrifice to
Amor.
The situation was desperate. Everyone harassed us; an old peasant was even put into our room for the night. Finally Bolemame interrupted us, calling me to a consultation. I felt anxious: ‘I won’t go because while I’m gone someone will bang my wife.’

In the morning, the clinic. In the afternoon, Olga at my place. We grappled twice on the two newly purchased Persian rugs. The girl was sweet and beautiful. In the evening, we supped at Olga’s place and I repeated the Jewish blessing after her father. Later, after supper, we engaged in a good-tasting, long-lasting kiss, ardent and with virtuoso variations.

I woke late. It was 10.15 by the time I got down to the clinic. I was irritated by Moravcsik’s energy and patience as he pursued his minute but unthorough investigations. I recognized that my intolerance of others and contempt for all work and human effort are both attributable to P, and I decided again that by 1 October at the latest, I must free myself of the curse. ‘I will purchase good palinka
²⁶
, I decided, ‘because only that will help me with the withdrawal.’ I’m scared again, I’m scared of it. It won’t be nearly as hard as last year, but still it’s quite painful. Why? Because in a P-less state I can’t smoke even half as much, and that’s unbearable. Still, a hundred times more joy will open up in my life. It must be admitted that in pleasures, one cannot go to infinity.

After a lunch consumed with exceptional appetite came my French lesson. The imbecilic little Annie Laplace came over. We chatted, but it was quite difficult for me. I often thought myself stupid. Distressing, distressing the path offered by P, ‘la grande volupté’, and the usurious toll it exacts in return for this simple trick played on earthly misery. Later, the barber gave me a shave. Then Olga did not come, but telephoned. I felt it in advance. So I got my things together and by four o’clock I was at her place. One sacrifice, with inhibitions, as the

useless thing didn’t pull down the curtains. To punish her I let it be known that the second sacrifice would be cancelled and it was purely her fault. She cried, but I retreated to the bathroom, and with a large dose of .027 committed a miniature suicide.

In the evening I supped at Olga’s again. Beer put us in good spirits. Later we went to a film.
Othello
was playing, and the Desdemona on stage was Olga word for word. Her face, her character, the way she moved. Olga caressed me during the play to divert my attention from this resemblance, but her cleverness seemed symbolic of the weariness instilled by the poison. Unpleasant, boisterous ruffians sat behind us. During the intermission, I slapped on my monocle. One of them made a comment, barely audibly. I made the mistake of not taking him to task. For one thing, I didn’t want to waste the money; secondly, I thought of the disagreeable aspects of the thing: trying to find a second, etc.; and thirdly, I was afraid that in the confined space of the cinema, I wouldn’t be able to take care of the matter quietly, with an exchange of cards. I feared it would turn into a fight, for which all my energy and freshness were missing. To offset this unpleasantness, I behaved as if I didn’t love Olga enough to make it important whether or not I tolerated this sort of thing in front of her. In spite of everything, I felt that I did not proceed properly, and now I know what I should have done. This is what I should have said:

‘Please give me your card. How dare you offend me by making a remark about me?’
Had I hit upon this formula then, it’s certain
that
would have been the end of that. But at the time, only expressions like: ‘What lack of breeding, making comments’ came to mind. I imagined the response would have been drastic.
The lesson of this incident: the game with P must be stopped urgently. The gravest, final, irreparable harm awaits me if I don’t.

Today brought me another big step closer to my final decision: to break from the cursed poison and return to the joys of real life. I was awakened at 9.00 a.m. I dressed still feeling deathly tired. After washing, I felt refreshed. I thought back to the dream which woke me at 2.00 in the morning. I dreamt a woman – Ilda Buchwald, but thin and charming like Dr Bozsi – that is, a woman composed of those two – was chasing me and wanted to pour vitriol on me. I ran, in panic, but slipped on the keramite stones and my pursuer splashed the caustic liquid on my neck. I let out a great scream that I could still hear when I woke up. The roles of the two women are clear. Both loved me and though I loved neither, I accepted their being attracted to me. I even did what I could to heighten their feelings, partly out of vanity and partly out of amusement. The repressed thought: I deserved to have them pour vitriol on me. The thought of something similar happening had already crossed my mind because B.B. was an angry girl who had learned much romanticism from the ‘Nap’ and movies, and she might have known that a woman scorned can pursue such amusements without risk. One motif was Zelma, who had even mentioned that she wanted to pour vitriol on me.

In the morning, before I went to the clinic, I injected .018 P, which did not produce euphoria. I conducted the rounds myself. I was unbearably bored and found no pleasure in the observation of patients. Remembering January and February of this year, I concluded that it would be worthwhile to break with the poison and enjoy medical and musical pleasures again.

In the morning, my former patients Bozsi B. and Mariska K. looked me up. I provided them with IP injections and good advice. Bozsi brought her friend Gizi with her, quite a charming girl whose resemblance to Margit Veszi made her extremely sympathetic. I had seen MV just recently and thought to myself: this woman actually still interests me somewhat, sexually.

The girls left. I ate lunch without appetite. Afterwards, 0.02 g genuine M provided great euphoria. Due to the tolerance of the heart, however, the feeling could not last. For this reason, I injected two more Coff. Natr. Benz. 20% later in the day. The main reason for my poor spirits that afternoon was Dezso’s letter. In it, a horrible woman, a sorceress, told him many true things about his past and that of our family. She declared that I would marry Olga but that we would divorce soon – ‘That woman would like to see the whole world at her feet,’ said the fortune teller, describing Olga. The suggestive effect of the prediction was great, and I immediately had a vivid daydream of an unhappy marriage dominated by Olga’s allegedly flirtatious nature.

That is the curse of M use. All sober judgement is lost; anything that can be imagined appears already to be true, and is accompanied by the same
Lustgefühl
that recognition of a truth causes, even if that truth is unpleasant for us.

Toward 3.30 I went to Olga’s. Before that, I walked for about three-quarters of an hour with Harmos on the side streets off Kalvin ter. She spoke of her own affairs.

I would have liked to speak about Olga and ask her opinion but I didn’t dare and it would have been laughable anyway.

Olga was waiting for me jealously. She thought I had stayed away on account of Prutyi, as I had told her Gyula was organizing a lunch to which I would have been invited with Prutyi, officially. She reproached me gently, but I felt exceptionally
weak
beside her. Of course there was no M in her, she couldn’t have been experiencing the distressing psychic paraesthesia that was afflicting me, augmented by it being Sunday and the family being home. I felt intolerably bad among them – like a victim, stupid, a beast, a simpleton, etc. Olga cheered me up when she declared she would be willing to run away from home tomorrow and go with me wherever I wanted to go. If I had 30,000 francs now, I thought to myself, and felt very miserable in my poverty. It seemed to me that the difference between both of us being very happy our whole lives and my being very unhappy depended on trifles.

I stayed for supper. Afterwards [we went to] a film again. I didn’t find Olga as warm, as effusively soft as at other times, but by then I had been without the syringe for seven hours.

I have come home, now it’s easy. I am not really in a good mood, but I feel massive. If Lady Luck smiles and there is no trouble for a week, now, now I will climb out of the morass again.

I must do it, otherwise
mental illness
awaits me. A wonderful, unforgettably beautiful day. In the morning I stayed away from the poison. Life gave me a regal reward. In the afternoon, with Olga, from 3:00 – 4:45 ++++ … ecstasy that can be called miraculous. Afterwards .024 P. Of that, unfortunately .006 was M. Sublime euphoria. Afterwards home to Olga’s place. We ate raw Westphalia ham, Romadour cheese, green peppers, grapes, and pears. Then we drank malt beer and Marsala wine. Both of us got drunk and spoke more uninhibitedly than we ever have. O. was kind and naive and more sympathetic than ever before. She showed the spirit of a girl-child – I was truly awash with joy and fulfilment. She seemed noble and angelic. We said our goodbyes still drunk, luxuriating in love.
A terrible day followed. In the afternoon, finding Olga’s little brother home, the first part of my plan was ruined. I ordered Olga to get dressed to go out. The little brother came with us. I was annoyed again. Then Olga said this about a little boy: ‘What a beautiful little boy!’ I was annoyed. She pointed out a beautiful woman – in selfdefence, of course – ‘Look at that woman!’ That, too, annoyed me. At the bridal shop she engaged in intimate conversation with the clerk. I was annoyed and kept silent. The harmony between us was destroyed. She accompanied me home and didn’t speak. (Afterwards, she said she had been worried about the young French Miss.) I regarded this as wilful wickedness; that is, intolerable sexual selfishness, wanting to make herself the centre of attention every minute. I wanted to send her home to cause her pain. She began sobbing bitterly on the street. I took her home. I sent the French Miss away and smuggled Olga into my room. An unusual sick feeling came over me – as if the thing were happening in the autumn of 1910. The girl was beautiful and gave herself ardently. Then she started crying bitterly. She had a bad feeling. She said something like: ‘We might not ever be together again.’ I also felt that, if ever, now was the time I should and still could break up with her; but

also felt that she was indispensable to me. Then I was struck by the premonition that her sexuality would ruin me. I hated her and loved her at that moment.

We got dressed. In mutual understanding, we took a carriage home. I wanted to get drunk like the day before. We ate the same supper and drank Madeira afterwards. This time both of us grew sleepy because we drank the wine fast; no liveliness or excitation ensued. During dinner, she said that one of her cousins had a sarcoma – I had just mentioned the subject. Suddenly, I was despondent. Then I noticed she was observing me, smiling. I felt revulsion toward her. I thought I would be miserable with her. Later, I blamed P for corrupting my reason, making me paranoid and delusional. I thought of Jolan, with whom I had never felt such confused feelings. I reflected on my diseased logic with full critical faculties and nevertheless, like the paranoiac, I reached the conclusion that I wasn’t crazy after all. With a sick stomach and a throbbing heart, half-dead from sleepiness, I went home, swearing to cut off the use of the cursed poison.
I went to Olga’s late, around 5.30. She was exhausted with crying. After I arrived she sobbed another good bit. She complained that she was miserable, it wasn’t her fault, I was mistaken,
she hadn’t been observing me
. I tried to hug her, kiss her; it didn’t feel good, I was revolted by her. I kept a cold distance. I tortured her. More crying. Inwardly I rued the fate that made her employ such wiles out of constant worry that she would lose me and that everything would be over. Again, I noticed I was more suspicious and sensitive
immediately
after the injection of P. I raged over having to give up this divine and horrible pleasure, about there being no possibility of using it with any sort of moderation. Before supper, I wanted to leave. She guessed someone was waiting for me at home. (True enough, I had ordered Bozsi to meet me there at 7.00.) I saw her anxiousness and started to feel sorry for her. Our kisses felt good again.

I wanted to phone Bozsi but Olga sensed that too and came down to the street with me. That’s why I had to post the letter express. In the delicatessen, I skulked around the telephone but she noticed when I wanted to speak. We were both in better spirits after supper, and later, sitting in front of the stove in the bright room, after her little brother had gone to bed • It was special. I can see the ribbon of her little corset even now.
In the morning, at my place, ++ in three-quarters of an hour. In the afternoon, she showed off her trousseau. She is excited and happy. In the evening, after another dose of P, more worries. We spoke of feelings that arise in certain positions. She said: ‘You’re so good, dear, you aren’t selfish.’ The phrase made me suspicious:

‘What’s it like when someone’s selfish?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘But you’ve heard about it?’
At that point she seemed embarrassed. She shrugged

I understand clearly that this is insanity and, if I consider [the scene] in a P-free state, I laugh at the whole thing. While thinking back to little things like this – under P-poisoning – I am seized by unbearable nervousness and doubt, which do not afflict me at all when I am sober.

I worry seriously that I shall never be happy. If I had a lot of money, with Olga, I could be, but as it is I must include her in all my dealings, and thus I deprive her of the extra joy unfamiliarity gives.