Chapter Three
ON HIS LAST EVENING in the mountains Balint returned to camp in the evening to discover four men waiting to see him. They, too, came from the Retyicel district but their little settlement, Pejkoja by name, had been built in a remote corner at the northern boundary of the Abady properties, some six or seven kilometres from the village. They came to see Count Abady.
The news that the Mariassa had refused to enter the domnu director’s house, despite the fact that the great judge and the all-powerful notary had been there, had spread through the mountains like wildfire. It was everywhere told that this was not all but that the Lord had also interrupted the great man’s feast, removed two of the gornyiks who were serving them and had then, to their great shame, camped barely five hundred paces away. This fascinating and important news had naturally become much embellished in the telling. It was related with great relish how the Grofu — the Count — had publicly upbraided the hated notary and turned his back on the judge. What sort of mighty nobleman could he be, they asked themselves, who would dare act like this with such powerful and important people? And they told how even the arrogant notary himself had risen at dawn and despite the manner in which he had been insulted the night before, waited outside his tent until the Mariassa should awake. Not only this but, when the Count had emerged, the notary had humbled himself in full sight of all the others. Oh, it must be a mighty Lord indeed who could perform such wonders!
All this news had reached the men of Pejkoja within twenty-four hours and at once the men of the village met together to discuss what they should do, for they were in great trouble. The problem was this. The money-lender, Rusz Pantyilimon, had taken the village to court and sent the bailiffs in to collect a debt he claimed from them. If they did not pay up, all they possessed would be sold by public auction. Everyone in the village had a share in this debt, which had somehow inexplicably grown to an astronomical sum out of a simple loan made to two villagers four years previously. The story went that the men had borrowed two hundred crowns but, simple, illiterate peasants that they were, somehow they had signed for four hundred. In six months the sum had mounted to seven hundred and, as the debt grew and grew, so the other villagers had come forward to give their guarantees for its repayment, for everything they owned was held in common and was so entered into the land registry — sixty-seven Hungarian acres of grazing land, sixteen houses and a small sawmill. All the village families therefore were forced to band together to defend their community inheritance, and this is why they were all now involved. By the time Balint came to the mountains the money lender was claiming some three thousand crowns. To repay such a sum would mean that everything they owned would have to be sold and all the families made homeless … And all this for a paltry loan of two hundred crowns. It was the grossest injustice.
For five days the men of the village met and talked and finally decided to do what the village elder, Juon Lung aluj Maftye, advised. Juon, who was now well over sixty, had known well Balint’s maternal grandfather, the elder Count Tamas, and for many years had managed all the communal property of the village, always going to Denestornya for advice as Count Abady, to whom they had formerly owed allegiance as serfs, still took a fatherly interest in everyone who lived and worked on his properties. Besides, he was also the county court judge. Old Juon Maftye therefore proposed that they should now go to the young Mariassa, ask his help and tell him of their complaints, for there was no doubt that, just like his grandfather before him, he was a mighty man who would put all to rights.
After much discussion this proposal was accepted, though by no means unanimously. There were those among them who merely complained without themselves offering a solution; there were others who were swayed by the much respected head man and who put their faith in an approach to the young count; and there were those who declared that this was not the right way to go about it and that the only final solution was to be found ‘one night’! What was to be done on that night was not specified, but everyone understood what was meant by that little phrase — la noptye — namely that ‘one night’ people should go to Rusz Pantyilimon’s house … but what they should do there — burn the records, beat the rascal to death or merely give him a good scare — was never said: such things were better not discussed.
After all the talk, however, they took Juon Maftye’s advice and it was agreed that the old man himself, with two others, should seek out the Mariassa at his camp and tell him of their troubles. The other two men who sent with him were Nikolaj Lung, who was nicknamed ‘Cselmnyik’ — Tiny, because he was so huge, and the headman’s grandson, Kula, who had somehow scrambled himself into a little education. This last was scarcely more than a boy, but he came along not only to help his grandfather but also because he had met the Mariassa on his visit the previous February. On their way to Balint’s camp they had been joined by a fourth man, who was ironically called ‘Turturika’ — Little Dove. It was he who had so strongly urged la noptye.
It was these four men whom Balint found seated round the camp-fire. He at once offered them slices of bacon and draughts of mountain brandy and asked them to come to his tent, which stood a little way apart from the gornyiks’ shelter, as soon as they had eaten. He did this because they would be able to speak more freely away from the men who came from other districts. Balint made one exception: he told Honey to be present, not only because the men of Pejkoja respected him but also because Balint, though his Romanian had greatly improved, felt it would be better to have someone by him who could translate if necessary.
The old man presented the villages’ case. He spoke at length, but cogently with much detail and, after Balint had posed several questions and received their answers, Maftye explained exactly what they wanted him to do. In short, the petition to their lord was that he should intervene, summon the wicked money-lender to his presence and forbid him to do any further harm to the respectable people of Pejkoja. In exchange they offered the sum of eight hundred crowns to Rusz to settle the debt. This great sum they had managed to scrape up but further they could not go, not now or ever. Balint tried in vain to explain that in these times he no longer possessed such powers as they attributed to him and that there was no way he could force Pantyilimon to anything he did not wish. The old man did not believe him. For him the Mariassa was all-powerful and if he did not do something it was because he did not wish it. The Excellenciasa Abady, his grandfather, said the old man with dignity, would not have let them down; he would have stood by them in their trouble! Balint was touched by their faith and in the end agreed that he would do what he could. In saying this he was swayed by the fact that the Little Dove, who had hitherto remained silent, suddenly broke angrily into the discussions, saying: ‘Didn’t I tell you this wouldn’t be any use? There’s only one answer — la noptye!’
What an evil face that man has, thought Balint, looking hard at the bearded Turturika. I certainly wouldn’t want to be at his mercy!