Elisa offers herself up almost as if she were complying with Mária’s silent consent or express wish. Those two continue to weave and carry on their secret nocturnal interplay at her, Irma’s, expense.
She fought against these paranoid thoughts, she had to be sly with them, give these twisted notions a bit of air, a little chance, and, when they began to breathe, pitilessly strangle them.
But this time she was not mistaken.
When thin bodies touch this closely, they are capable of incredibly profound sensitivity.
This was not the first time she had illicitly experienced Elisa’s thin body or the exceptionally powerful flavor of their nights.
Fuller bodies may be hot and more passionate, but thin bodies are unerringly accurate in sensing things. She could not ignore the feeling that Mária used Elisa, that through her thin body she avenged herself for all her injuries.
The two tugboats were receding, and as they carried their sounds with them, echoing above the Danube and penetrating the water, their throbbing, puffing, and pulsing again separated and became independent.
I don’t mind telling you, you’ve been pretty unfair with me, remarked Irma quietly, and with a little groan she placed Elisa’s body in the wheelchair.
And as if to corroborate her earlier suspicion, Elisa and Mária laughed together, conspiratorially, shamelessly.
For them to get going, along with the chair, Irma had to squat down in front of Elisa and put her inertly dangling outturned feet on the folding footrest. The immobile feet were surprisingly heavy.
With whom else could I be as unfair as I can be with you, Irmuska, replied Mária from above her.
You mean you’re taking your revenge.
Except for you, Irmuska, on whom could I take my revenge, for God’s sake. And if I have a good reason or at least a good motive for it, why shouldn’t I.
I’ll do it.
Which Mrs. Szemző thought was a funny enough remark to laugh. She may have laughed a bit too hard, factitiously and demurely.
With which she meant to excuse herself for her own cruelty. But she had no intention of retreating.
She took the offense more seriously than if it had actually touched her.
Mária quickly pushed the chair forward so forcefully that Mrs. Szemző barely had time to straighten up and jump out of the way.
It’s high time to be at the table, she exclaimed. Please open the door. And put her blanket on her knees.
They had done this before, wasting a little time before the card game, which filled them with pleasant impatience.
Mrs. Szemző opened both wings of the door. Since one of the women would always become impatient during this little interlude, this too belonged to their well-refined routine. In the large space called the workshop, an atelier with a northern exposure originally designed for a famous sculptor, large wooden dummies in various stages of dress or undress were standing around a huge drafting table under the bare lamplight. Nothing shone or glittered, and nothing cast a shadow. On another large table, its surface dotted with myriad holes made by thumbtacks and sewing pins, and with several burn holes left by unattended irons, lay pieces of fabric, cut and waiting to be sewn, stacked neatly in layered piles, blue and claret lining material spread under red and purple silks, measuring tapes, scissors, horseshoe magnets, tailor’s chalks, pin cushions full of pins and attached to rubber bands, which Mária or occasional seamstresses would wear on their arms as they worked, so as to have pins always at the ready. Wheeled clothes racks stood along the bare walls and in front of the very deep, floor-to-ceiling closets, most of whose doors were open. On these racks, in a picturesque jumble, hung basted or finished theatrical costumes along with all sorts of civilian clothes.
Three or four people could hide in those closets at the same time. And not only was it possible to move freely from one closet section to the next, but one could easily move the back panel of the last closet aside and, through the steel door behind it, gain the elevator shaft, from which it was easy to escape to the roof. In theory, Varga was unaware of this at the time; more precisely, he pretended to this day that he was.
On the parquet floor, gray and dry with neglect, so many fabric samples were collected in oversize albums and stacked in teetering layered columns, along with art books, manuscripts, and fashion magazines everywhere, that there was barely room to get by them. Narrow paths led from one door to another, from the tables to the ironing boards and from the clothes racks to the sewing machines. Mária wheeled Elisa very carefully along one of these creaking paths to reach the living room. She wheeled her everywhere, which is why there were neither rugs nor door saddles anywhere in the large apartment. When they got there, the drinks in the tall hazed-over glasses were waiting for them on the table, and the two women were again talking together on the terrace.
At last.
Well, finally.
I see you found everything.
They pushed themselves away from the terrace handrail and hurried inside. They kept interrupting each other, as if each was intent only on what she wanted to say.
Elisa, my dove, what wonderful color you have.
Finding things was the least of it. We uncovered all your dark little secrets.
This terrace is a great blessing.
How pretty that print dress is.
But look at Irma’s new two-piece outfit. I think the material is typical Dobrovan.
And there’s a little bolero to go with it too.
You don’t say.
I had to undo some of the stitches because of all things she had to pick a material that’d been washed a million times.
You, on the other hand, haven’t washed anything since Elisa’s birthday, and your refrigerator is full of leftovers gone bad.
Voilà, everyone grab your glasses and be quiet.
It stinks.
As miserly as old Demeter Lapusa. Where, now? In which novel? Oh, of course, Poor Rich People.
No it’s not, you little fool, it’s not in Poor Rich People.*
Now, we shall put the chair over here and if we ask Irmus very nicely she will put the blanket over her knees.
How many times have I asked you to stop finding fault with everything I say.
You’d better believe I know Jókai’s novels.
Where the hell did I put it. If you paid a little more attention to me, I’d like to tell you something.
If you sit like that, you’ll see right into my cards.
Irmuska, this is your glass.
Just a second.
Don’t give any to Elisa.
Tomorrow morning I’ll be coming with Boriska, that’s the decision of the Party. We’ll toe the party line relentlessly.
I really don’t understand why she needs alcohol.
It seems you’ve forgotten that today is the beginning of the first festival of lemon blossoms.
Santé, santé.
Come on, girls, let’s drink, and then it’s really time we sat down.
A ta santé, ma chérie.
But what kind of holiday is that, for heaven’s sake, I’ve never heard of it.
Forget it, at times like this, no one’s paying attention to you.
This holiday is for the Jews what cherry blossoms are for the Japanese.
A pagan jubilee.
I see.
Or like the famous squash-blossom holiday in Slovakia.
That means it has its own time, like Yom Kippur.
Exactly.
The Dobrovans would never have missed celebrating it.
For a change, they ate maize pudding with onion, because it’s such a festive meal.