That's what he always did, that Pisti, pretend not to hear her; he'd always do that, and then she'd sneak up on him and kiss him, but even then he wouldn't pull his hand out from under his head and wouldn't throw away his cigarette; with his eyes open he'd pretend he didn't see her, and then she had to go on kissing him on his mouth, his face, and his neck until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then he'd kiss her back, and pull her down, and by then she couldn't get away no matter how hard she tried, he wouldn't let her, he was very strong: now the conductor was there, and he stopped; he was still in uniform, with his conductor's bag slung over his shoulder, who knows, maybe he just simply left his tram for her; he looked around to make sure he was at the right place and then, very quietly so Pisti wouldn't hear him, he backed away, back among the trees; she couldn't see him anymore, though Pisti sat up.
From her place she saw that Pisti couldn't see the conductor but the conductor could see Pisti, and Pisti must have sensed that.
Because Pisti acted as if he was just getting up, having rested there for a while, and was now ready to go on; picking up his jacket, he was on his way; but as soon as he got as far as the trees, he suddenly turned around and kept staring at the spot where he thought the conductor must be hiding.
And then she, squatting up there in the stifling heat, felt that she had suddenly got her period, and she had no panties on.
You're an idiot, you're a complete idiot, Maja said.
Slowly the conductor ventured out of his hiding place, not completely, for a while he just stood there, under the trees, listening for noise, adjusting his leather bag and rubbing his forehead, all those pimples, and he was very nervous, thinking maybe he was at the wrong place after all; and then he started walking, not noticing that Pisti was watching him.
In the meantime, she had such cramps she thought she was going to burst; she reached under her skirt and felt that everything was bloody, it was gushing out of her and, since she was crouching, trickling down her behind and dripping onto the rock; she didn't know what to do, she couldn't very well stand up; when the conductor reached the middle of the clearing, suddenly Pisti also stepped out into the open and started toward him to cut him off; luckily she had a handkerchief with her; she folded it, twisted its edges, and then stuffed it in; but she still couldn't wipe the blood off or budge from her place; and she was sure Pisti had figured out she had a hand in all this, she was still pretty sure even though he never said anything about it to her; and now he was headed straight for the conductor as if he didn't even see he was there; whenever it was hot, Pisti would hook a finger into the loop of his jacket and sling it over his back; anyway, the conductor could no longer turn back, even if he wanted to; he stopped, and so did Pisti; all she could see was that he yanked the jacket off his back and smacked the conductor across the face with it, and when the conductor doubled over and put up his hands to protect himself, Pisti hit him on the back of his head with the hand he had the jacket in, hit him hard, so hard that the conductor just crumpled up, tripped over his bag so stupidly the change spilled out all over the grass.
She thrust out her beautiful bare feet and pulled them under herself, but she was sitting too deep inside the hammock to pump; the hammock barely swayed to and fro.
And then Pisti left, just like that, without even looking around; and she never told him she'd seen the whole thing, but she's pretty sure that if she ever ran into that conductor again he would probably beat her.
Maja sat up, the mysterious dignity of her face and bearing somehow reflecting Szidónia's calm and infinite satisfaction; for a long time they did nothing but look at each other, silently and a bit dreamily staring straight into each other's eyes, and to me this silence was far more telling than the story I'd just heard; each time Szidónia thrust out her feet she almost brushed Maja's face, but Maja did not bat an eye; it was as if now, in this silence, something more important than the story was happening, or assuming a recognizable shape, something that moments earlier I'd felt to be a secret, their secret, and it may have been nothing more than Szidónia's urge to tell all this to Maja and Maja's urge to listen.
Down in the valley, cradled by gently curving mountains, the city hovered in the bright summer mist.
And then, in a curious voice I'd never heard before, Maja began to speak.
The white shimmer of houses and the blurred outline of jumbled roofs and towers on the Buda hills were all so peaceful and distant.
But what kind of handkerchief did you use, my dear? Maja asked.
Beyond the gray strip of the lazy river, the mist of smoke and dust of the Pest side stretched into the horizon.
Maja's voice was sharp, offensive, a falsetto not her own.
What d'you think? Szidónia answered languidly, her voice deep; with her outstretched toes she was poking Maja's face.
That's just what I'm asking you, my dear, what kind of handkerchief?
A bloody one, Szidónia answered and on the next swing of the hammock shoved her foot into Maja's face.
So it was my little batiste handkerchief you shoved up in there, wasn't it, Maja said, her voice rising to a higher register, though her face was enjoying the touch of Szidónia's sole, and for a moment, full of pleasure and satisfaction, she closed her eyes; don't deny it, it was my little handkerchief, the one with the lace!
What was most peculiar was that the smile had vanished from Szidónia's face and Maja wasn't smiling either; they were content, pleased with each other, very much alike now, or maybe their sudden solemnity made them resemble each other; whatever was happening did not seem too serious.
Maja was sitting on the grass, her feet under her, thighs spread apart; holding her spine straight and throwing her head back a little, she kept pushing the soles of Szidónia's feet, not too hard, with steady, even movements; they were no longer looking at each other, so I couldn't tell what would happen next.
That afternoon, too, Maja was wearing one of her mother's dresses, an absurdly long, loose-fitting, lace-trimmed purple dress, whose shoulder pads hung down almost to her elbows; her distorted voice also reminded me of her mother's, though perhaps the dress made me think that; anyway, the two girls carried on their dialogue so rapidly and easily that I could see they were indulging in a familiar, well-practiced game.
The sun was beating down on my neck; it was their silence that made me realize I was there, too, and I was hot, as though until now I hadn't been aware of my own presence.
I had no idea how long or how cautiously I'd been hiding behind the hot green boxwood; there was really no need for all this spying and listening, actually, because at other times they felt free to discuss adventures like this right in front of me or even with me, asking my advice, which I gladly gave; I could have stepped forward at any time, and nothing would have happened if they had noticed me, the only reason they didn't being that they were too involved in the story; the ball-shaped shrub was so dense that if I really wanted to see anything, and I most certainly did, I had to stick my head out; nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to leave my ludicrous hiding place; I would have preferred to disappear, evaporate, or maybe rudely disrupt the scene, end it by throwing a stone at them; I could have used the spigot only inches from me and the red garden hose lying right there in the grass like a snake, but it would have been hard to pull over the nozzle and turn on the water without their noticing; if I could just wreck that annoying strange intimacy of theirs! which I could share only by not stepping forward, by their not noticing me; I could deceive myself, but in every moment, and every little fragment of each moment, things were happening here that in my presence never could; I was stealing from them, though I had no idea what; and the excitement was also unbearable, the shame of acquiring something I could neither use nor abuse, for it was exclusively theirs; the confidence they'd shown me was illusory, fraudulent, they'd given me mere morsels of confidence but in truth deceived me; they'd never let me come into their real confidence, because I was not a girl, and now they were talking about themselves, among themselves, and it seemed that I was robbing them of something.