“I’ll cut you down to size, Terey. I’ll cut you till you bleed. I’ve not yet written an opinion. It’s enough that I will attach a report of our meeting — of what the comrades said, and they had their eyes on you more closely than you think. You’ll be sacked from the ministry before you know what hit you.”
“I haven’t the least desire to stay. That’s a misconception,” Terey broke in, lounging carelessly in his chair.
“I’ll crush you, Terey,” the ambassador said gleefully, winking. “You’ll be squealing. I’ve taken bigger people than you down a peg.”
“If I were in your place I would be more careful about making categorical statements, ambassador. Try…” He was embarrassed at having said too much, for the other man had the upper hand and could injure him, accuse him — and explaining himself would bring down more blame. “There are comrades who remember your merits.”
“I was in prison. You can’t take that away from me.” He thumped his chest until it seemed to rattle.
“I wouldn’t think of it.” Istvan sat cheerfully erect. “It’s just that those merits are somewhat more common now. You liked the uncompromising way of doing things. Budapest is what it is because of people like you.”
Bajcsy was too good a player to be shaken; he took these blows. Could it be that this measly poet, this little puling cad, this detestable piddling intellectual, had his own channels of information? Was he reaching high? Did he know something the ambassador did not know yet? Had he received some signal?
“Do you want to know what the comrades attested against you?” He counted, seizing his heavy, soft fingers one by one with his other hand. “First: you hardly work. You’re lazy. And this is a country for conquest”—he quickly corrected himself—“a country that could be won over. You had nothing in your head but women, outings, amusements. No one but you belonged to a club; you’re a social climber. That circle of friends: you spent time with them, they invited you places, you became intimate with capitalists, for what is Rajah Khaterpalia? And his father-in-law? And that pettifogger Chandra? And Major Stowne, who works for the intelligence service, and everybody knows it but you? And what is she doing here, that Australian who’s attached herself to you? You picked a fine set of friends!” he intoned. “These are not just suspicions. I have evidence in hand. It was the last minute; you would either be recalled, or”—he weighed his words—“we would push you out. Cut ourselves off from you.”
“Groundless accusations,” he said with feigned indifference.
“Groundless? You foisted your trashy connections on me. On me personally.” He jabbed his chest with a finger. “And your suspicious inquisitiveness? I caught you in the cryptographer’s room, where entry is not allowed.”
“I wanted to read the proclamation of the new government.”
“You should have come to me. I would have given you access. And the strange pretexts, the sounding people out, feeling for their weak places. Who got my personnel to drinking? Did you give the caretaker whiskey? Six bottles. What did you want out of him in exchange?”
Istvan put out his cigarette. Stay in control. Next he will certainly be brandishing the invoices I gave Ferenc. I set myself up.
“Is that all?” To his own surprise, he sounded calm.
“Isn’t it enough? What would you do in my place? I only asked that you be recalled.” He leaned toward Terey, his face drooping as if in good-natured solicitude. “I didn’t want to destroy you. I wrote that it was at your request — that you have had enough of being separated from your family.”
Istvan was not certain whether Bajcsy was mocking him or overwhelming him with blame, humiliating him so he could raise him from his knees like a prodigal son with a gesture to all appearances forgiving, compassionate — raise him and press him to his bosom so tightly as to smother him.
“That’s right,” he admitted politely. “I think, ambassador, that they will not count that as a weakness on your part.”
“My dear fellow”—his fatherly tone was almost caressing—“why did you go behind my back? What were you prying and digging for?”
“I like to know things.” Istvan’s face tightened into something like a grimace.
“But for what purpose?”
“I was looking for the truth.” The admission had the ring of a concocted lie; it embarrassed him.
“At whose direction?” Seeing that Terey was silent and found the question distasteful, the older man explained as if to a stubborn child, “I will remain here. It’s impossible to move me; it isn’t even proper. If they cut Bajcsy, soon they would be asking, Why not the others? I’ve attained too high an elevation. To censure me is to discredit the party. Only those who do nothing are unblemished. Do you understand? I don’t want to yield my place to some fool! When they wanted dirty work done, they turned it over to me. And I was good then. Now they look at me as if I were a criminal. Though after people like me, something remained. It stands. It — is. Doesn’t that count? Have I ever said I am an innocent lamb?” He breathed with parted lips. Mechanically, angrily he shoved tobacco into his pipe but did not light it, for he knew the smoke would stifle him.
“I want to be a vice-minister. I will be. I want to rest, to go to a small, comfortable country — to a country like Holland — and I’ll bide my time. They won’t push me lower. Perhaps I won’t be read by schoolchildren as you will, but such people as I made the history of the republic.” The sagging fold of skin under his chin quivered with his shallow breath. “They won’t put me out to pasture. I won’t be buried alive. I’ll be where the party puts me.” Yet he spoke as though he would give orders to the party.
Istvan remembered the ambassador’s wife’s anxiety, the instinctive fear that the taut string would break. It was the tale of the golden fish: the boss knew the magic words and he knew in which ear to whisper them. And they had been fulfilled, but the party of today was not the golden fish. On his doughy hands, damp with unhealthy sweat, it would be difficult today to feel the corns, the traces of hard labor, for they belonged to the distant past. He had grown stout; his broad hindquarters filled more and more capacious chairs. He had lost his immunity, though he thought he still had it. The first failure would break him; he would sink into despondency. He would be like a rag. Istvan did not feel hatred for him. He was almost grateful that he could feel sympathy.
“You wanted the truth? And for what? Will things be easier for you when you know it? You insist on your right to it, and you don’t know what it is. Truth corrodes like acid. That is the price of power. Some of those who rule know the truth. And they must keep it hidden inside themselves, for if they shouted it to the nation, the people would stop their ears and run away. And they must open their mouths in order to issue commands every day, to lead, to govern. How I envy you that boyish ignorance, Terey!”
His hands shook. He noticed it and rested them heavily on his parted knees. “I don’t want to scuttle you,” he whispered furiously. “Just get out of my sight. Go to Hungary. Go to Australia. Go to the devil. Anywhere I can’t see you and those good, stupid, inquisitive eyes of yours.”
Istvan knew that Bajcsy was too distraught to play the game. He had crushed him; he knew he held the advantage. He heard his wheezing. He saw the fold under the unevenly scraped chin, the gray and black stubble; the cracks in the baggy skin showed through. The conversation must have taken a toll on him. No, I’ll not attack him. I’ll not inflict a blow. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.