There were many crises in the government. He was left alone on the field — he and the Russians, who were watching him closely. Is it possible to know what he really wants?
One thing is certain: the third world war will not start because of us.
The Hindu appeared in the doorway. Tilting his frizzled head, he announced, “I have the latest information. In spite of the occupation of the Austrian border by the Soviet armies, around two hundred thousand have left Hungary, according to provisional estimates. The United States has convened a special commission that will place them in camps and expedite emigration from Europe.”
“Well, I have my answer.” Terey’s knuckles whitened. “The exodus is beginning. Kádár lost. We all lost.”
He stared at the winking flames that lent a red glow to the cavern of the fireplace. He seemed to see, from a great distance, Budapest ablaze. He stared until it hurt, until a dull feeling of strain came over him. At last he shook off these painful imaginings and said under his breath, “No. I don’t want this.”
The dog turned her spotted head toward him, awaiting commands. He had forgotten the Hindu, who stood leaning on the door frame.
“I won’t wait any longer. I’ll call from home. Goodbye.”
“Mr. Nagar will be inconsolable if I let you go.” The young man gave him a limp, narrow hand.
Fear tore at Istvan. He lifted the curls of tape from the floor. The information that had been milled through the telegraph concerned — already! — other countries. No sooner had the cannons gone quiet in Budapest than the world, it seemed, had lost interest in Hungary. The uprising had fallen into an abyss of silence. The eruptions of passion, the battles, the blood, the hasty tamping down of dirt on fresh graves, were slowly dissolving into memory.
He was in no mood to meet Nagar, with his irritating sprightliness — his jaunty exhilaration, like that of a surgeon who exclaims, “What a fine tumor, a beautiful growth!” Or a painter who is arrested by the shriveled face of a beggar and his varicolored rags in a stream of tropical light, and finds the lines and the juxtaposition of colors worthy of perpetuation.
He did not even notice when he found himself in front of the brightly lit garden of the Soviet embassy again. The party was ending; the guests had begun to stream away. A megaphone interrupted the music and called up automobiles that docilely, with a crunching of gravel, rolled toward the stairs. This was not the official closing, for the ambassador had not said his goodbyes to those who were departing and the music was still playing in the pavilion in the park. A few onlookers sat here and there, looking sleepily at the greenish fires of jewels, at gold chains like glittering serpents, and at the odd dress of European diplomats.
He stood on the opposite side of the street under a spreading tree, in a chilly deep twilight like frozen ink.
The cars moved out, cutting the darkness with their beams. For a split second they uncovered a little cluster of Hindus in the darkness…policemen’s white gloves…tree trunks. He blinked warily, anticipating the glare before it washed over him. He was standing still, blinded, when he felt cool fingers above his elbow and heard a familiar voice.
“I counted on meeting you here. But no one came from your embassy. A groundless demonstration. Since it already happened…”
“How did you spot me?”
Attorney Chandra smelled of Yardley. The Asian stamp of the man was camouflaged by his dinner jacket.
“There was no trick. I wanted to see you and you appeared to me in the glow of a headlight as if you were on stage. Are you waiting for someone? Can we walk around? I drank a little. They have good vodka. But the cold penetrates when one is standing still.”
“Let’s walk. I don’t know myself what brought me here,” Terey said candidly.
“I did.” The lawyer rubbed his hands together. “I thought of you all the time.”
They walked in the darkness, rather hearing than seeing each other. At long intervals they passed through lamplight that sprayed through overgrown branches. Then Terey could see the Hindu’s set lips and the gleam of his smooth, glossy hair.
“What is your connection to Khaterpalia’s wife, counselor?”
“There is none. Well, I know her,” Istvan answered, surprised.
“Is none — and was none? There is a difference.”
“I know her husband from the club. We are friends. I have seen them, as you know, from time to time.”
“She hates you,” Chandra said in a tone of absolute certainty. “Something must have happened. Think. Search your memory.”
“No. They are both friendly to me.”
“This morning I had an appointment with your ambassador. You were right: he is a sensible man, he knows something about business, and we will surely arrive at an understanding. She was there before me.”
“Madam Khaterpalia?”
“They were concluding a conversation. My presence did not hamper her; she considers me a partner of her husband’s. He has confided in me on difficult matters, and she knows that I manage to conceal them in the depths of my mind as in a well. Are you not curious as to what they were talking about?”
“Curious? Yes—” he stopped and turned toward Chandra. They were wading through the darkness, through the bitter smell of withering leaves.
“Evidently she was warning the ambassador that you want to be on the other side, that you would not return to Hungary. Is that true? Do not be afraid to tell me. Only I can help you.”
“I?” Istvan chuckled harshly, indignantly. “Rubbish! You must have misheard.”
“So I thought. Pity. You would have managed it. She said something about your plans to marry, your intimacy with the English.”
“Did she mention a name?”
“Well, but this has struck a nerve!” It seemed to Istvan that the attorney’s lips were half parted in a soundless, mocking smile. “In my presence, only Major Stowne’s…”
Istvan breathed easily. His jaws relaxed.
“That means nothing. A retiree. Of course I know him.”
“He was an officer of the Intelligence Service. Such service never ends; it is almost a calling,” Chandra remarked discreetly.
“I didn’t know. Stowne is a man of few words, though he is fond of drinking.”
“One must not trust appearances,” the lawyer admonished him gently. “If we walk confidently, it is because we do not know what traps are hidden around us.”
“Did she say anything about—” Terey began, then abruptly went silent. No! Chandra could not know about Margit.
“Well, speak up.”
Istvan moved easily like someone who wants to stretch his legs after a day’s work, to fill his lungs with cool evening air. With his steps he measured the silence that was lengthening, deepening between them. Chandra waited, then ventured as if to encourage him, “I do not know what she had said before my arrival, but you have an enemy in her. A dangerous one. She is not a docile Hindu. English blood…She is calculating. Well, will you tell me? No?”
Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen, he counted. Automobiles filled with party guests still in high spirits flew past them. Bright light washed over lawns wet with dew.
“Madam Khaterpalia ought not to be leaving home. She is expecting a little newcomer,” Chandra continued. “But perhaps it is more important to her to do someone harm. How have you offended her?”
Istvan shrugged. He wanted to forget the incident on her wedding night. He had pushed it aside; he had thought little of it for so long that it seemed insignificant to him, but it remained, like a festering splinter.
“I told you about the miraculous rescue of the dead brother of our mutual friend, the rajah. Surely you heard that the matter was successfully concluded. For all parties, the deceased as well. He lived for a few months a life that he had not known, which the gods had not given and will not give him. Pity you did not hear the negotiations. The father-in-law and the man’s own brother demanded my assurances that he would never return, for he was even ready to go out to his place of seclusion. Do you understand what their idea of assurance was — what could ease their minds once and for all? Delightful bargaining—” he laughed quietly. “And all for the good of the yet unborn child. How can one not believe in predestination? It will come into the world burdened with guilt, for Grace heard all that passed without a word of protest. She loves that little one. She prefers that it not be forced to share its wealth with anybody.”