Mother's face, the most mysterious of all, confirmed my feelings about the men; without having moved from her place or having picked up her robe, she came and stood with her face between the two men.
And then the trembling mouth belonging to my father with the winter coat finally thrust the first sentence out into the silence; he said something to the effect of, You've come to see us, then.
On the other man's face pain rolled over the smile, and when he said he'd come against his will and couldn't help it, the smile and pain united again, and he continued: his mother had died two years ago, as Father must surely know, of course he went home first and found out from the people who in the meantime had taken over his apartment.
We didn't know, said my winter-coated father.
But then, in a very sharp, shrill voice, almost like a saw stuck in a knot of wood, Mother shouted, That's enough!
Again there was silence between the two men, and while my mother added — her voice deep and choked, sounding as if taking revenge on someone — that they did know but hadn't gone to the funeral, I felt all my strength flowing out of me, which is why I couldn't move from my spot.
Everyone was quiet, as if they all had retreated into themselves and also needed to gather their strength.
All right, János said a little later, it didn't matter; and the smile vanished completely from his face, only the pain remained.
This made my winter-coated father feel stronger; he moved finally, started for János, and although he didn't do anything but walk with his hat in his hand, making no other gesture, it still looked as though he was going to embrace János, who, as if alluding to his pain, apologetically raised his hand, imploring him not to come closer, to stay where he was.
He stopped, in his winter coat, his hair shone as it caught the slender shaft of sunlight, and I don't know why, maybe because of the unfinished movement, his hat fell out of his hand.
We must get over this, Mother whispered, as if trying to take the edge off János's rebuff, and then repeated even more quietly that they must get over this.
They both looked at her, and the way they did showed that both were hoping that she, the woman, would help them.
And this one look brought them together, made them a threesome again.
Except that here no one could help anyone; after a little while János turned away, it must have pained him that they were again three; and as soon as they felt János could not see them, the other two exchanged a hateful glance, some kind of signal, behind his back; he seemed to be looking out the window, listening to the water dripping in the drainpipe, watching the bare branches swaying in the wind, and a sob broke from him, a whimper, tears spilling over the brim of his eyes, but just as quickly he pushed it all back, swallowed it down; Yes, all right, he said, I know, he said, and then he broke down completely, and Mother began yelling at me, What was the matter with me, couldn't I see I had no business being there? and like a madwoman she shrieked at me that I should get out!
I would gladly have obeyed her, but I couldn't, just as they couldn't take another step toward one another but all stood in their places, too far apart to cross over.
So you want to settle the account, after all, Father said, too loudly, for at last he could say the words he'd been afraid to say earlier.
No, no, I'm sorry, János said, wiping the tears from his eyes with his fist, but, as before, one eye remained filled; I'm sorry, it's not you I came to see, I did come to this house, but not to see you! and then he said that my father had no reason to be afraid, there wasn't going to be a showdown, why, he couldn't even talk to Father; and if he planned to wipe out Father's family, he would go about it differently, wouldn't he? but either way, from this moment on, no matter how unpleasant it might make their reunion, or however uncomfortable it might be, my father had better get used to the idea that János was here, was alive, hadn't rotted away in jail, and would say whatever was on his mind; Didn't he think, my winter-coated father asked very quietly, that he, too, had something to do with it?
With getting him into jail or with getting him released? János asked.
With getting him released, of course.
No, frankly, he didn't think so; as a matter of fact, because of certain circumstances, he had reason to believe just the opposite.
In other words, János thought that Father was responsible for the first.
Unfortunately, János said, he couldn't forget the circumstances; five miserable years hadn't been long enough for that; only the dead could conveniently forget things; those responsible should have done the job more thoroughly, with greater foresight! making sure no one was left to remember.
Would he be good enough to tell him just what circumstances he was alluding to, my winter-coated father asked.
At this point Mother let go of her robe, as if something terrible had happened inside her, hunched over, placed both hands on her stomach, and pressed down, trying to stop whatever was going on inside her.
No, he didn't think circumstances were right to discuss trivial details.
No, don't! not now, Mother whispered to them, not now!
What did he mean trivial details, his honor was at stake, and Father demanded, most emphatically demanded, to know the circumstances János was hinting at: Come on, out with it!
János remained silent for a long time, but this was a charged silence, unlike the earlier one; turbulent emotions seemed to have had a purging effect on Father, helped him to regain his equilibrium, to put his feelings back on the smooth, well-worn track of conviction, and this gave him strength, though behind the brittle guise of regained strength he was still fearful and humbled as he kept on listening to the words of the other man, who, because of the quarrel that had erupted between them and against his will, was now strangely less self-assured; as he tried with elaborate and carefully chosen words to keep his contemptible opponent at a distance, all the tender sentiments vanished from his face, gone was the lovely pain caused by the shock of his sudden freedom, the news of his mother's death, his passionate reunion with us, not to mention the sight of Mother's mutilated body, which in itself would have been enough to turn a man into mush in the maw of fate; unlike Father, János reacted to the argument by casting off the burden of his sentiments and now seemed ready to resume the fight naked, with nothing to protect him; he struggled, he wanted to smile, but he was struggling not with his emotions but with the freedom the gods had inflicted on him; pain made the wrinkles around his eyes contract and deepen, with a bit of fanciful exaggeration one might even say that Mentor was standing next to him, urging him on; he became somber, the wrinkles relaxed, and he grew weary but not weak, with the weariness of a man so confident in his own truth and in the justice of his cause — way beyond the personal, this was nothing less than part of universal truth and justice — that he was already bored by, and found superfluous, the very process of having to present evidence; at the same time, from a moral standpoint, this struggle could hardly seem elegant, since only he, and he alone, could have truth on his side— after all, he was the victim; and although this was the role that in his freedom he was most loath to take on, the fight could not be avoided— indeed, they were already in the midst of it; for several minutes they'd been speaking in that secret language only they could fully understand, the language of alertness and suspicion, of constant readiness and accusation, whose sources and origin Maja and I had tried to trace while playing detective; this was their language, their only common weapon, the language of their past, which János, unless he was determined to annihilate himself, could consider neither irrelevant nor useless; he hated their shared past, and so he was looking for a chink in the armor, a phrase, a piece of information, with which he could still avoid his former self.