Balint sat in front of his tent alone. He had cut himself a sharp hazel twig to use as a spit, as he had learned in his youth, and started to roast some bacon over the camp fire in front of him.
It was a modest little fire, but even so he was reminded of the great fires the gornyiks had lit each evening of his trip during the winter. Looking into the flames, he thought again of Adrienne, not that he needed anything to bring her to mind for her image had not left him the entire day. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not notice that the piece of bacon had long since fallen from the spit and was sizzling among the embers of the fire. He just sat there, his jaw thrust forward, his mouth open and his lips drawn back showing his anger and frustration.
After a while he heard little tripping steps over the grass and in a moment Nyiresy’s two young maids stood before him, barefoot, dressed in snow-white cotton blouses, voluminous white skirts and little black bodices stretched over their breasts. ‘Poftyic, Mariassa — at your service, my Lord!’ they said, as they placed before him all sorts of delicacies: cold trout, venison, fried chicken and roast turkey with slices of strudel and cakes, all of which they had brought in two large baskets with plates and cutlery, glasses and wine. All this they laid out on a cloth on the grass in front of him and, smiling and giggling, urged his Lordship to eat.
Balint set to with gusto. He sat on the ground at the entrance of his tent using the folding chair as a table, his feast now lit by the rising moon. And he dined. The two girls served him assiduously, alternately passing through the narrow entrance of the tent to offer him selections of what they had brought. The entrance was narrow and it was no doubt because of this that from time to time, as they changed his plates or poured his wine, a hand would brush his face or a soft shoulder press gently into Balint’s own. They chattered away merrily, though they spoke so quickly that Balint was unable to understand their prattle. They were young and gay and they smiled as they gazed into his face with their large shining brown eyes.
Later there was only one girl near him, not at his side but behind him in the tent. Then, from the shadowy interior, two naked arms crept around his shoulders, embraced him and drew him back out of the moonlight. Balint felt that he was falling softly into some deep welcoming darkness.
Dawn was breaking when he awoke. It was still dark inside the tent but a pale light found its way in through the slits between the entrance flaps and he realized that the little Romanian fata must thoughtfully have closed them after he had fallen asleep. As everything that had happened the night before came slowly back to him, Balint was filled with a great anger.
Firstly he was angry with himself. How could he have allowed himself to do such a thing on the very evening of that holy day when Adrienne had been so good to him! Balint could still smell that odour of rancid butter, the butter that country girls used to smooth their hair. His nose was full of it and it disgusted him, just as he was disgusted with himself. How base he was, how selfish and ignoble! How mean! Then his anger took a different direction. He thought of old Nyiresy. The decaying old lecher must have planned it. That is why he had sent over the supper and no doubt given careful instructions to the girl as to what she should do, and how she should report it all to him afterwards so that he and his cronies could laugh at him and make fun of him!
Balint jumped up and stepped out of the tent. On the road the horses were already waiting, together with three foresters. The first two were those who had been serving Nyiresy’s party and the third was Krisan Gyorgye who had been sent for from his home at Toszerat. Honey himself stood a little farther away with the notary Gaszton Simo. The latter must have been watching the tent, for as soon as Balint came out he began to saunter towards him.
‘Well!’ he called in a familiar tone, ‘and how are we the morning after? I hope the noble Count passed an agreeable night?’ and he winked lasciviously. This impertinent allusion made Balint even angrier than he had been before.
‘How is it, Mr Notary, that you come to be eating trout in September, in the middle of the closed season? You can be fined heavily for this, especially as you are supposed to be a responsible official. I warn you here and now that I propose to inform the authorities!’
Simo smiled in a superior, self-satisfied manner.
‘Those fish were confiscated from a poacher, as the law provides. I’ve several witnesses to the fact, indeed as many as you like. Someone has to eat the fish once they’ve been caught. Anyhow, they tasted good, didn’t they?’ he added impudently as he twirled his moustaches with a gesture of defiance.
Balint turned away angrily and called to Honey: ‘Bring my wash-basin and water!’ He went back into the tent thinking what a scoundrel the notary was and how he was being mocked with that pack of lies about ‘witnesses’. Of course he could and would get as many witnesses as he wanted. This was unendurable, thought Balint. Nevertheless he would have his revenge and show him who was the master. Therefore, when he stepped out of the tent he said, with an expression of frozen displeasure on his face: ‘Since I last visited the mountains I have been informed that the peasants are being ruined by some unscrupulous money-lender. Do you know anything about the matter, Mr Notary?’
Gaszton Simo’s small eyes glinted suspiciously. Then he forced himself to look sad and said sorrowfully: ‘Indeed I’m sorry to say it’s perfectly true, though I do everything I can to protect our poor people, everything possible. I try to educate them, make them understand. What’s more I write all their contracts for them, but they are so stupid, they won’t be helped! They are their own worse enemies. You can have no idea, Mr Deputy, how stupid they are …’ and he went into lengthy tales of what he had tried to do, quoting names, dates, figures and this … and then that … He told how all his efforts were in vain because the peasants were so backward and helpless and also suspicious of ‘us gentlefolk’. And all the while he looked hard at Balint, trying to learn how much this pesky meddling aristocrat knew about his own part in the matter.
While this was going on Honey had seen to it that the horses had been fully loaded.
‘Goodbye, Mr Simo. We’ll talk about all this some other time, without fail!’ Balint said as menacingly as he could. Now in good humour, for he knew that he had thrown a good scare into that swaggering dishonest brute of a notary, Balint mounted swiftly and rode away.
The road they took was the same as when Balint had come in February. It led first to Gyalu Botira, and then along the crest of the mountains. How different it is now, thought Balint. The distant chains of mountains were barely visible through the haze produced by the heat and dust of an exceptionally dry summer. Nearer at hand were the meadows that Balint had only previously seen covered in a blanket of snow, and on them had been erected haystacks, each mounted on three wooden poles so that the autumn rains would run unimpeded beneath them. On the juniper trees the berries were already ripe, while the beech trees were turning red and yellow. Only the fir trees were the same, dark and unchanging. From the valleys below occasional wisps of fog rose gently as soon as they were reached by the rays of the morning sun.
‘There’ll be rain tonight,’ said Honey, turning back in his saddle. ‘We’ll be lucky if we make good enough time to erect a shelter.’
Now Balint could see that some order had been brought to the different stands of timber. Since the new engineer had taken charge, the licence system for felling had been abolished and now all those trees that were to be cut had been carefully marked. Indiscriminate felling by individuals had been prohibited. Of course this was easy to enforce in summer, because everyone was kept occupied in the fields cutting and making hay and harvesting the corn. In winter it would be more difficult, but Balint hoped that the Viennese firm to whom he had contracted the timber would start the systematic felling that would give steady work to the mountain people. It had been a strict article of the contract that local labour must be employed and only skilled foremen were to be brought in from elsewhere.