But that sentence again changed everything, turned things into a different direction, and it was irrevocable.
One always feels clearly these turning points in one’s life, and nothing can be done about them.
I quickly asked her what she wanted to study, just so she wouldn’t ask me more questions. But this was very strange, because the lie that had simply appeared in my mouth, independent of my will, now seemed to be erasing my embarrassment. As if I needed some ignoble advantage to collect strength for an attack of uncertain outcome, and the lie indeed gave me strength, and my legs were no longer shaking.
Philosophy.
I looked at her; this was not to be believed.
Philosophy, I asked incredulously. What, I asked, as if I hadn’t heard well.
As if I were hearing echoes of my own lie.
And I didn’t even know what philosophy was. What had philosophy to do with a beauty like this woman. Philosophy was something my uncle talked about with his colleagues. I had the distinct impression that this branch of science was a means by which old professors could use one another in some dark business or trap one another. They fuss around in this language to disguise their true intentions and so as not to frighten others away before it’s time. It had never occurred to me that philosophy could be anything but the thieves’ Latin of these old fogies. When they invoked philosophy too frequently, Nínó would get up without a word and leave the men to themselves, or she’d chat with the ladies.
But the woman didn’t even acknowledge my insulting shock, except now her anger opened up, her helplessness, and she pelted me with her bitterness.
If her life is being ruined, it’s thanks to that miserable Jewess.
She hit me with that word, which she may not have noticed, or perhaps she meant to hit me with it.
But she’d outsmart them. If she had wanted to enroll in the Academy of Commerce they’d have unconditionally supported her application. She should have taken them up on that offer. Dumb as she was, she refused it. And what was she jumping around for, she didn’t have a very good social background for the current regime. Downright terrible, undesirable. But if there was one thing that did not interest her, it was commerce, business. She’d leave that to the Jews. She laughed, and with her beautiful teeth laughing into the darkness, she cried out that they couldn’t defend their philosophy against her. With her mouth and teeth she was shining like a French chanteuse. And I should believe her, she’d prefer even the School of Physical Education to a business school.
She had played basketball regularly in high school, they had a pretty good team, and sometimes they still got together to play, and she was a good short-distance runner but had to stop that too.
As she talked, I tried to think how I could take back my insulting remarks. What can I say about philosophy when I know nothing about it; it seemed more urgent to distract her with something lighter. I could have asked her, but I didn’t, what distances she ran and what her best times were. I couldn’t have asked anything else about running; I knew almost as little about running as I did about philosophy. But I wasn’t afraid that my ignorance would give me away, all I could think was that the whole stupid conversation was going in the wrong direction. The longer we talked, the farther I drifted from where I wanted to be, and we were drifting farther away from each other. She was taking me into dangerous waters, or even thrusting me out of the main current. And I didn’t understand why she used the expression Jewess, which in Budapest parlance was definitely a pejorative.
It was pretty clear to me that good manners required something other than what my mind needed and my mind was busy with something other than what my body desired. All three strong sources flowed simultaneously, but each was taking me to a different place.
I should have rejected something in her, but it was impossible to do everything at once.
We could not refuse to have this conversation, and I can’t say I wasn’t interested in what she said or might have said. I was carried along by a current of curiosity, and with her unfortunate expression she carried me even further, but while she spoke, my mind kept weighing something else and it felt as if I missed, individually, every one of her words. My mind was assessing what would be better and more comfortable for my legs and hands. And if I didn’t know what to do with my limbs, then it was pointless for my mind to want this conversation, which could not be halted, if only out of politeness. The further she carried me along with her words, the more strongly I felt there was something I hadn’t done with my hands that would be more natural, actually more necessary, than all those superfluous, flawed, and insulting words. But neither politeness nor my mind allowed my hands to do anything — I just couldn’t touch someone who abuses Jews at the drop of a hat and whom I don’t even know. Perhaps she had made me talk to her so I could get to know her. Yet I didn’t want her to speak, so I interrupted her, spoke into her speaking. I had to extricate myself from the dangerous current of my lie, and I was deadly afraid that she would literally make me drift away in the current of her words, that I would miss or already had missed something important. I wanted to get back to the place where we’d started, where my legs and hands had been condemned to idleness and were busy either taking me toward her or trembling. In other words, I felt I must not lose time — not a place, not a conquered territory, but time; time was the possession I might lose. It was as if we had already enjoyed a brilliant golden age, and if she carried me further with her words it would be like accepting a paler, silver age. As if in the former it was possible to touch each other’s face with our hands but now it no longer was.
I asked what she would have done if it had been a stranger who followed her.
She saw it was me.
When did she see that, and how did she.
I saw on her face that she was reluctant to answer.
Perhaps she preferred to go on drifting with the words.
Her gaze was now circling in very different areas, around my eyes, gliding across my mouth, continually touching my forehead, where it lingered, as if it had found something there, and I liked that very much. Perhaps she wanted to continue talking so she could find what she was looking for and she wouldn’t have to touch my stubbled cheek, either gently or rudely. In fact, I was very curious to know what her touch would be like; I wanted her touch. We were standing very close; from below, she was looking up at a place she wasn’t reaching out to touch.
She’d caught sight of me, she said reluctantly, when they were closing up the store.
I didn’t notice that you did.
Because she does this more adroitly than I do, she doesn’t stare so obviously and irresponsibly, and still she sees more than I do.
But now she really must hurry.