The String Diaries (31 page)

‘Oh, Illes, I did not intend that as a slight.’ Her face softened. ‘You bruise so easily. Go on. You know where I am. You know that I’m safe. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.’

Illes cast Hannah a distrustful look, then muttered his acquiescence. He climbed back into the boat and Gabriel cast them off. The craft turned in a lazy circle before heading back upstream,

Taking Hannah’s arm, the
Főnök
steered her up the path that led to the house. ‘I want you to know how sorry I was when Gabriel told me what happened. No woman your age should have to suffer the loss of her spouse. No woman of any age should suffer that loss because of another.’

Hannah feared her composure would dissolve if she acknowledged the woman’s words. Conscious of Leah at her side, mindful of her vow to show strength in front of the girl, she forced the conversation into a new direction. ‘You’re the
Örökös Főnök
?’

The woman smiled. ‘Such an ancient old title.’

‘I thought the position was always taken by a man.’

‘Sometimes I wish that were true.’

‘You didn’t want to be
Főnök
?’

‘I didn’t want to be the last,’ the woman replied, as they emerged from the woodland that bordered the plum orchard. Arriving at a bench, its slats silvered and warped by the suns of past summers, she slowed and glanced up at the house. For the first time since her arrival, she looked uncertain. ‘Is he inside?’ she asked, turning to Gabriel.

‘He went out for supplies. He’ll be back soon.’

She appeared to consider this for a moment, and then said, ‘You know, I think Hannah and I need to talk a while. Perhaps, Gabriel, you’d be good enough to bring us some tea.’

Hannah found that she enjoyed the airy way the
Főnök
commanded him. She met Gabriel’s eyes and when he shrugged helplessly at her she grinned. As he returned her smile, Hannah noticed a troubled look cross the
Főnök
’s face.

‘Perhaps you could find yourself a little helper, too,’ the woman added.

‘Yes, mother,’ he replied, bowing low. Gabriel turned to Leah. ‘Come on, little miss. I’ll show you how the Irish make tea.’

Hannah watched them go, and turned back to the
Főnök
. ‘Gabriel’s your son?’

‘That boy is a number of things, not all of them useful and several of them irksome,’ the woman replied. ‘But, yes, I’m proud to call him my son. Come, let’s sit.’

Hannah settled on the bench beside her. Together, they listened to the laughing call of a woodpecker somewhere in the forest. For a while, neither of them spoke, yet the lack of words did not feel uncomfortable. Eventually, Hannah said, ‘You mentioned something just now. About being
Főnök
.’

‘About being the last?’

‘What did you mean by that?’

A fine delta of lines appeared at the edges of the woman’s eyes. ‘It’s a difficult thing to offer leadership to a people who have lost control over their future. But offer it I must. And when I look around me and see the dignity displayed by our last generation, see their elegance and their grace, it fills me with pride even as it tears at my heart.’ The
Főnök
’s chest rose and fell, and she turned her lavender eyes upon Hannah. ‘We’re dying, you see. As a people.’

‘Dying?’ Hannah frowned. ‘How can that be?’

‘What do you know of our history?’

‘More than you might think. Nowhere near as much as I’d like.’

‘You’ve heard, I suppose, of the
hosszú életek
 . . . cull.’ She grimaced as she spoke the word.

‘A little.’

The
Főnök’s
eyes unfocused and she began to talk. In the nineteenth century, although they had begun to spread out across the world, the largest population of
hosszú életek
remained concentrated in Hungary – the majority of those in Budapest. For centuries they had lived in virtual anonymity among the populace. But as the towns and cities filled, and as records of births and deaths became more stringent, it became harder for them to keep their secrets. The nobility had always been aware of them and, perhaps due to their dynastic nature, had forged many cross-generational trading relationships with
hosszú élet
families over the years.

Perhaps it was inevitable, but some of the Budapest nobility began to covet their longevity, and envied their ability to disguise themselves. To the peasantry and common folk, the
hosszú életek
were still little more than an entertaining yarn, but
as envy among the nobility developed into jealousy, and jealousy
bred mistrust, those entertaining fireside yarns developed a more sinister note.

It was, the
Főnök
explained, a mountain of powder kegs waiting for someone to light the fuse. ‘And then,’ she said, ‘Balázs Jakab attended his first
végzet
at the palace of Buda, and was rejected in cruel and callous fashion by his peers.’

Hannah straightened. ‘Jakab?
Jakab
had something to with the cull?’

‘Jakab
was
that fuse, Hannah. The
végzet
did not go well for him. He stormed out of the palace, ending up in the company of a couple of young rascals down at the riverfront. The young man’s name was Márkus Thúry. The girl was called Krisztina. Jakab went drinking with them and they developed a relationship of sorts. It’s unclear exactly what happened next, but it seems that Jakab became interested in the girl. Perhaps she spurned his advances. We’ll probably never know. What we do know is that he kidnapped the young man, supplanted him, and took the girl up into the hills, where he raped her. The truth emerged eventually, but not before Thúry was hanged for the crime.

‘By then, that mountain of powder kegs had been lit. It was a long fuse but, facing increasing pressure, the palace finally signed our death warrant. The following summer, after biding their time and planning their strategy, the newly formed Eleni murdered our entire
tanács
with their first strike. It happened the same night as the first
végzet.
That particular
végzet
wasn’t held at the palace that year. Franz Joseph would not allow it. But he did allow it at a specially built timber-framed building two miles further down the river. With our children inside, and our elders already dead, the Eleni boarded up the doors and burned it to the ground.’

‘My God.’

‘
Végzet
s in other cities were attacked and destroyed in similar ways. They didn’t find all of us. Many escaped. But the damage had been done. Too many of us had died.’

‘I don’t understand. If there were survivors . . .’

‘Hannah, maybe it’s something you’ve yet to learn about us, but we don’t bear children easily. Much study has gone into why that’s the case, but no one really knows the answer. We have few children, and we’re fertile for only a very brief period in our lives. A few hundred years ago, an annual
végzet
was held in every major city more than two days’ journey from Budapest: Debrecen, Vienna, Bucharest, Lviv. In the north too: Moscow, Minsk, Warsaw, Berlin. The year after the cull, no
végzet
was held anywhere in Eastern Europe, or, indeed, the world. Two years later, in the most paranoid secrecy, we managed to hold a single event. In total, twenty youngsters attended, and some of those were siblings, limiting the possibilities even further. I can’t remember the last time a
végzet
was convened.’

The
Főnök
laid her hands on her lap and studied her smooth skin. ‘It’s painful to bring a child into the world and watch him grow, knowing that he will never have the chance to enjoy children of his own.’

‘Gabriel . . . you mean there’s no one?’

‘There are no more available
hosszú életek
his age, Hannah. None.’

She reeled at the woman’s words. Losing Nate had brought her pain almost beyond endurance, but the thought of never even meeting him, of never meeting
anyone
, was too bleak to imagine. She recalled the expression on Gabriel’s face as he recounted the Eleni’s involvement in a young
hosszú élet
woman’s death. ‘But there are alternatives, surely? Why must he restrict himself to a
hosszú élet
girl
?
’

‘Can you imagine the special agony of watching someone you love age and die, all within what seemed to you like a matter of years? Would you want anyone to experience that horror?’

‘No. I wouldn’t. But we’re not just talking about a life partner for Gabriel here, are we? We’re talking about your survival. If he has children . . .’

‘It can’t be.’

‘But—’

The
Főnök’s
eyes darkened in anger. ‘Do you think if it were that easy we wouldn’t have considered it? Do you think I’d sit back and watch us fade away if there were any chance of what you’ve just described? It’s been tried before and the results were . . . you wouldn’t have wished to see the results. The only mercy was that they did not live long.’ She sighed, and reached out her hands to Hannah as the lavender hue returned to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. This is difficult and you were right to ask. But it’s outlawed, Hannah. Our blood just doesn’t mix.’

‘You don’t need to apologise. It’s tragic. All of this is a tragedy. I had no idea about Gabriel, about what he’s lost. It’s hard to think that he’ll never even share the
lélekfeltárás
with someone who can reciprocate it.’

‘He told you about that?’

‘He showed me.’

‘He
showed
you?’ Alarm crossed the
Főnök
’s face, and then it dissipated into weary resignation. ‘He should never have done that. It wasn’t right.’

‘Maybe not. But I asked.’ Hannah shrugged, and then she laughed, a brittle sound. ‘Let’s face it, inside that house we’re a collection of broken people.’

The woman rose to her feet. ‘Speaking of Gabriel, he never brought us that tea. Another thing to have words with him about. Come on, it’s time we went to see the others. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the company of a child.’

By the time Sebastien returned, the four of them were gathered around the table, drinking tea. Hannah heard the front door slam and the skittering of paws on wood as Moses scampered along the hall into the kitchen.

His hackles raised, the dog paused in the doorway, staring at the
Főnök
. He barked once.

Behind him, the old man backed through the door, a paper sack of groceries under each arm. ‘Out of the way, Moses. Damned dog’s confused as hell since Gabriel turned up. I found a gun shop. Filled out all the forms but it’s going to be . . .’ He turned towards the group and his voice drifted away to silence as he noticed the woman on Hannah’s left.

Moving to the counter, he set down the bags. His arms fell to his sides. He took a step towards her, his breath rasping in his throat. ‘Éva?’

The
Főnök
’s face was a tumult of conflicting emotions. ‘Hello, Sebastien.’

The old man tilted his head away to the side, his eyes losing their focus. When they returned to her, his jaw began to tremble and his hands began to shake. He looked down at his fingers, as if surprised that they should betray him like that And then his eyes widened and he lifted his hands to his face.

‘Sebastien, I—’

‘No!’

‘It’s OK. You—’

‘
Don’t LOOK at me!
’

He was too old to run. Perhaps, if he had been younger, more agile, he would have tried. A terrible wail escaped him. Spying the french windows hanging ajar, he fled outside, covering his face with his hands. Staggering between the trees of the orchard, he clutched at his hair, his ears.

The
Főnök
stood, her face a grimace of pain. A flush had appeared on her cheeks. ‘Leave this to me.’

Hannah watched her follow Sebastien. She turned to Gabriel. ‘The woman he met as a young man. Éva. She’s your mother?’

Gabriel nodded.

Hannah turned her eyes back to the orchard. The
Főnök
had caught up with Sebastien. She took him by the arm and led him to the bench.

Can you imagine the special agony of watching someone you love age and die, all within what seemed to you like a matter of years? Would you want anyone to experience that horror?

Witnessing the pain on Éva’s face as she followed Sebastien had made Hannah see the hard truth of those words. What must it be like for Sebastien, too, to see the woman he loved, as young now as she had been when he had met her fifty or sixty years earlier? Éva’s beauty was undiminished by time. The four-score years that Sebastien had walked the earth were etched into every furrow of his face, were evident in every liver spot, every gnarled vein, every swollen knuckle. His hair had receded, his skin had sagged. His muscles had contracted, his joints had stiffened. His eyes – eyes that had perhaps caused Éva to mistake him for
hosszú élet
all those years ago
–
had remained a startling emerald. But everything else had changed, aged, worn away. To Hannah, he was a beautiful old man, headstrong and brave, unsentimental yet compassionate. But for all of that, it would have been churlish not to recognise the physical diminishment time had dealt him.

Hannah wondered what Sebastien thought as he contemplated that diminishment. She wondered what he saw when he looked at Éva. And she wondered what Éva must see when she looked at the young man she had loved and saw him battered and made fragile with the passing of the years.

Outside, the couple had sat down on the bench. Sebastien slumped forwards, staring at the ground. Éva talked softly to him. When she reached out and laid one hand over his, he flinched, but accepted her touch.

‘Your mother explained a lot,’ Hannah said. ‘It doesn’t make Nate’s death any easier to face, but she made me see that it’s not just Leah and I affected by all this.’

‘She told you everything?’

‘She said you were likely to be one of the last
hosszú életek
.’