But not for long. As soon as one hackneyed phrase was uttered it would be taken up by someone else, distorted, laughed at, thrown to another, who would take the joke further with a new twist. A third would then turn the meaning inside out and offer it back to the speaker, who, still completely serious, would try to explain what he meant. And while he did so, another of his sayings would be taken up and teased and dissected in the same way until it sounded a ridiculous confirmation that these provincial Transylvanians understood nothing.
Everyone took part in the game. Old Crookface interjected only short obscenities; Jeno Laczok, with a straight face and dry humour, would pose seemingly irrelevant questions; while Uncle Ambrus kept to the subject, but, in his deep rumbling voice, gave every phrase a grossly sexual meaning. Abonyi, his eyes bulging in astonishment as he found himself mocked by the country bumpkins, could not conceive why his superiority was not universally respected. He battled on, and finally tried to explain that the war would never end because neither side had the necessary weapons …
‘Because then comes the great big Kaiser with his great big tool …’ roared Uncle Ambrus.
Abonyi jumped up, furious: ‘And as for you, Ambrus, you know nothing of — politics. All you care about is sex …’ Offended, he ran to the door, fumbled with the handle, and rushed out. He was followed by roars of mocking laughter.
On the wide balcony above the porch the young were also enjoying themselves. Some sat on the rococo stone balustrade and some on chairs that the footmen had brought out from the hall.
Gazsi Kadacsay was making a good story of his ride to Var-Siklod, and it seemed even funnier because his slanting eyebrows, raised high, gave his face the expression of someone begging for mercy.
It had started on the rrrace-course, he said, rolling his r’s. Just as he was about to start, Joska Kendy had come up to him and said, cigar-holder in mouth:
‘What can you do with that nag of yours? I’ll get my lumbering old wagon to Siklod before you’ve even got that hay-bellied hack into a canter!’ and he imitated Joska’s grating voice so well that everyone laughed. ‘Well, you know me! I’m such a sucker I bet on it — ten bottles of bubbly. How could I be such a moron? We’d start late, Joska said, shrewd old beast that he is, and the road’d be clear. What happened? I got among all those cursed Szekler carts — they were all over the road — nearly fell into one, nearly snagged my poor beast’s legs on the axle-pins, was blinded with dust; and Joska, crafty old thing, just drove them all off the road! He got through easily, driving like Jehu, and I only caught up with him once … once, I tell you. It was just as we turned off the main road — and when I tried to get past that team-of five of his, he nearly ran me down. After that I had no chance in the narrow drive!’
‘You certainly fooled me that time, you dreadful man,’ went on Gazsi plaintively but grinning at Joska as he spoke. Kendy just looked at him ironically and said, dryly:
‘That piebald isn’t a horse, it’s just a louse with four legs!’
Gazsi cringed in mock horror at the insult, holding his head as if recovering from a blow.
‘Vulgar abuse, on top of it all! I’ll kill this man, you’ll see! One of these days I’ll get him!’
But it was all good-humoured fun. The anger was mock-anger, and the despair mock-despair. To Gazsi, Joska was a hero and he knew he could never get the better of him, let alone surpass him, either riding or driving. He did not mind losing the bet, in fact he was rather pleased because if Joska had not won Gazsi’s whole world would have collapsed. So he rejoiced and was glad, and all his clowning was really just an expression of his happiness.
As with the older men in the library the conversation ended in general laughter interrupted by the music starting again in the great hall. Laji had begun with an old Transylvanian waltz that everyone knew. Everyone went inside.
The band looked happy and relaxed, and Laji’s face shone. Obviously they had been given a good supper and no doubt a good few bottles of champagne had come their way.
Farkas Alvinczy grabbed young Ida Laczok and swept her off to start the others dancing. Down the long hall they went, turning and gliding to the beat of the music. Other couples soon joined them.
In a few moments the room was filled with dancers; the girls, in many-coloured gowns that swept the ground, holding their heads high and gazing at their partners as they skimmed swiftly over the polished floor.
Dances … Dances … Dances …
Two French quadrilles, two typical exciting csardases lasting an hour, many waltzes slow and fast and even a polka, though not many cared for this.
At about half-past-one the big double doors of the hall were opened and Countess Laczok, round and smiling, made her appearance just as they were finishing the last figure of ‘The Lancers’, which was still popular in Transylvania though in Vienna it had disappeared at the end of the Biedermeier period half a century before. The countess stood in the doorway until the dance was over and then made a sign to Farkas Alvinczy, who had been leading the dance. He signalled to the band leader, and the music stopped.
The young people flowed out into the great drawing-room of the castle where the supper was laid. The gypsy musicians vanished to their by now third meal of the evening, and Janos Kadar, helped by a maid, started changing the candles in the Venetian chandeliers. As he did so, young Ferko and the footmen rushed to remove spots of candle-grease from the floor and polish the parquet.
In the drawing-room the long dinner-table had been re-erected to form a buffet and on it was displayed a capercaillie, haunches of venison, all from the Laczoks’ mountain estates in Czik; and home-cured hams, hare and guinea-fowl pâtés and other specialities of Var-Siklod, the recipes of which remained Countess Ida’s closely guarded secret (all that she would ever admit, and then only to a few intimate friends, was: ‘My dear, it’s quite impossible without sweet Tokay!’).
At one end of the table were grouped all the desserts — mountainous cakes with intricate sugar decorations, compotes of fruit, fresh fruit arranged elaborately on silver dishes, and tarts of all descriptions served with bowls of snowy whipped cream. As well as champagne there were other wines, both red and white. An innovation, following the recent fashion for imitating English ways, was a large copper samovar from which the Laczok girls served tea.
As the guests were finishing their supper and beginning to leave the table replete with delicious food and many glasses of wine, the gypsy musicians filed into the room and took up their places to play the traditional interval music. On these occasions Laji Pongracz would play, in turn, all the young girls’ special tunes. At the winter serenades he had made sure that he knew exactly who had chosen which melody as their own and now, each time he started a new tune, he would look directly at the girl whose song it was and smile at her with a discreet but still knowing air.
The guests had all seated themselves on the chairs and sofas pushed back against the wall and Balint, looking round the room for a place, found nearly every seat taken. At the far end of the room, near the door, he saw a free chair beside Dodo Gyalakuthy, who was the only girl present not to be escorted by a partner.
‘Aren’t you afraid to sit with me, Abady?’ she said quietly as Balint took his place beside her.
‘Is it so dangerous then?’
‘Oh, very! No one dares sit with me. All the young men are afraid they’ll get a bad name if they’re seen paying me any attention!’ She laughed, her long eyes and round face smiling. ‘Yes! Yes! It’s true. I’m too good a parti, and they don’t want to be thought fortune hunters! I promise you it’s true. You’ve been away so long you don’t know, but I’ve known it for two years now, ever since I first came out. Even for square dances and cotillions I’d never get a partner if the organizers didn’t take pity on me. I’m a wallflower. And as for waltzes and csardas I’m only asked by boys too young to be accused of looking for a wife!’