it dribbled from there onto her neck. “Have you seen my daughter?” Mrs. Horgos asked. “The little one.” “No,” the landlord gruffly replied. “She’s not been here.” The woman croaked and spat on the floor. She took a single cigarette from her pocket, lit it, and blew smoke in the landlord’s face. “You know, the thing is,” she said, “we had a bit of a party with Halics yesterday and now the shit doesn’t even have the manners to say hello. I’ve been asleep all day. I wake up this evening and there’s nobody about, not Mari, not Juli, not little Sanyi, not one of them. But never mind that. The little one has skipped off somewhere, I’ll give her a hiding she won’t forget when she turns up. You know how it is.” The landlord didn’t say anything. Mrs. Horgos drained the remainder of the bottle and immediately ordered another. “So she wasn’t here,” she muttered, grimacing. “The little whore!” The landlord curled his toes. “I’m sure she must be somewhere on the farm. She’s not the kind to run away,” he said. “Sure she is!” the woman snapped back. “Fuck her! I hope she gets what’s coming to her, the sooner the better. It’s practically dawn and she’s out in this rain. No wonder I’m so worn out I’m in bed all the time.” “And where have you left the girlies?” Kráner shouted over. “What’s that to do with you?” Mrs. Horgos spat back, full of fury. “They’re my girls!” Kráner grinned. “OK, OK, no need to bite my head off!” “I’m not biting your head off, but you just mind your own business!” It was quiet. Mrs. Horgos turned her back on the drinkers, leaned an elbow on the counter and, tipping her head back, took another great gulp. “I need it for my bad stomach. It’s the only medicine that helps at times like this.” “I know,” the landlord nodded. “Do you want some coffee?” The woman shook her head, “No, I’d be throwing up all night. What good is coffee? Useless!” She picked the bottle up again and drained it to the last drop. “Good night then. I’m off now. If you see any of them tell them to get back home and be quick about it. I’m not going to hang around all night. Not at my age!” She pushed a twenty at the landlord, put away the change and started for the door. “Tell the girlies there’s no hurry — tell them to take their time,” Kráner laughed behind her back. Mrs. Horgos muttered something and spat once on the floor by way of goodbye as the landlord opened the door for her. Halics, who was still a regular at the farm, didn’t even “spare her a glance of his beady eye” because ever since he had woken he had been staring at the empty bottle in front of him and was only concerned about discovering whether someone had been playing tricks on him. He scanned the pub with eagle eyes and settling finally on the landlord, decided to watch the man like a hawk and to expose him at the earliest opportunity for the scoundrel he was. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall to his chest because he was incapable of remaining conscious for more than a few minutes at a time before sleep overcame him. “Almost dawn,” noted Mrs. Kráner. “I have a feeling they’re not coming.” If only!” muttered the landlord, wiping his brow as he went round with a thermos full of coffee. “Don’t panic,” Kráner retorted. “They’ll come when they are good and ready.” “Of course,” added Futaki. “It won’t be long now, you’ll see.” He took slow sips of his steaming coffee, touched his drying shirt, then lit a cigarette and fell to wondering what Irimiás would do once he got here. The pumps and generators could certainly do with a complete overhaul for a start. The whole engine room needed a new coat of lime-wash and the windows and doors would have to be repaired because there was such a draught there it gave you headache all the time. It wouldn’t be easy, of course, because the buildings were in a poor state, the gardens overrun by weeds, and people had carried away anything usable from the old industrial building leaving nothing but the bare walls so it looked like a bombed site. But there is no such word as “can’t” for Irimiás! And then of course you’d need luck, because there’s no point in anything without luck! But luck comes with intelligence! And Irimiás’s mind was sharp as a razor. Even back then, Futaki recalled with a smile, when he was appointed boss of the works, it was to him everyone ran in case of trouble, the managers too, because, as Petrina said at the time, Irimiás was “an angel of hope to hopeless people with hopeless difficulties.” But there was nothing to be done with bottomless stupidity: no wonder he walked away in the end. And the moment he vanished things ran straight-downhill and the community plunged to ever lower depths. First cold and ice, then foot-and-mouth disease with piles of dead sheep, then wages a week late because there wasn’t enough money to pay them, . though by the time it got to that state everyone was saying it was all over, and that they’d have to shut up shop. And that’s what happened. Those who had somewhere to go cleared off as fast as they could; those who didn’t stayed behind. And so began the quarrels, the arguments, the hopeless plans where everyone knew better than anyone else what should be done, or else pretended that nothing had happened. Eventually everyone was resigned to the sense of helplessness, hoping for miracles, watching the clock with ever greater anxiety, counting the weeks and months until even time lost its importance and they sat about all day in the kitchen, getting a few pennies from here and there that they immediately drank away in the bar. Latterly he himself had got used to staying in the old engine room, only leaving it to call at the bar or round at the Schmidts’ place. Like the others, he no longer believed that anything could change. He had resigned himself to staying here for the rest of his life because there was nothing he could do about it. Could an old head like his set itself to anything new? That was how he had thought but no longer: that was all over now. Irimiás would be here soon “to shake things up good and proper”. . He twisted and turned excitedly in his chair because more than once he seemed to hear someone trying to open the door, but he told himself to calm down (Patience! Patience. . ’) and asked the landlord for another cup of coffee. Futaki was not alone: the excitement was tangible everywhere in the bar, particularly when Kráner looked out through the glazed door and ceremonially declared: “It’s getting lighter at the horizon’, at which point everyone suddenly came to life, the wine started flowing again, and Mrs. Kráner’s voice rose over the rest, shouting: “What is this? A funeral?!” Swinging her enormous hips she took a turn around the bar ending up in front of Kerekes. “You there! Wake up! Play us something on your accordion!” The farmer raised his head and gave a great belch. “Talk to the landlord. It’s his instrument, not mine.” “Hey, landlord!” Mrs. Kráner shouted. “Where’s your accordion?” “Got it, just bringing it. .” he muttered, disappearing into the storeroom. “But then you’ll really have to drink.” He made his way to the food shelves, took out the cobweb-covered instrument, gave it a perfunctory clean, then holding it across his lap, took it over to Kerekes. “Careful now! She’s a bit temperamental. .” Kerekes waved him away, put his shoulders through the straps, ran his hands over the keys of the instrument, then leaned forward to finish his glass. “So where’s the wine?!” Mrs. Kráner was swaying around in the middle of the room with her eyes closed. “Go on, bring him a bottle!” she harried the landlord, and stamped her foot impatiently. “What’s with you, you lazy scum! Don’t fall asleep on me!” She put her hands on her hips and upbraided the laughing menfolk. “Cowards! Worms! Haven’t any of you the guts to take a turn with me?!” Halics was not going to be called a coward by anyone and leapt to his feet, pretending not to hear his wife calling (‘You stay where you are!’). He bounded up to Mrs. Kráner. “Time for a tango!” he cried and straightened his back. Kerekes didn’t even give them a glance so Halics simply grabbed Mrs. Kráner by the waist and started dancing. The others cleared a space for them, clapping, cheering, and encouraging them, so not even Schmidt could stop himself laughing because they did present a truly irresistible spectacle, Halics, at least a head shorter than his partner, cavorting around Mrs. Kráner while she swung those enormous hips of hers without moving her feet. It was as if a wasp had got into Halics’s shirt and he was trying to get it out. The first