A man looked briefly out through the door and recognizing Abady and his companions, muttered something indistinctly and disappeared again. He had been in the doorway just long enough for the visitors to see that the carpenter was in his shirt-sleeves and that, naturally, they must wait for a moment while, for decency’s sake, he put on his jacket so as to be able to greet them properly dressed.
‘How can I serve you, gentlemen?’ he asked when he came back into the workshop.
‘We would like to have a look at the house and see what condition it’s in,’ said Balint.
The carpenter at once began a litany of complaints: ‘By your Lordship’s leave, it’s in a terrible state! The paintwork’s all peeling! There’s a crack where one of the cornerstones has moved! The inner room is so damp that everything gets mildew at once! And there’s a cracked beam that, by your leave, my Lord,’ and he went on, hoping that this way he might obtain a reduction in the rent.
The visitors inspected the dirty and dilapidated rooms where the carpenter and his wife lived in great disorder. Then they went to the tailor’s part of the house, which was no better and where unmended windows had been blocked up with paper.
The party then went to look at the outside of the building. It was true that one corner had shifted where the foundation stones were displaced. Water from a nearby pigsty had overflowed and collected at the corner of the house, eating away at the earth until a small lake of dirty water had formed in which a yearling pig was rubbing itself against the loose foundations. The carpenter and the tailor, both surrounded by their broods of children, followed Abady and by their endless complaints tried to distract his attention from the dirt and refuse that was everywhere such damning proof of their own neglect of the property. The carpenter’s little son got in everyone’s way. Wherever the visitors went the child always managed to stand by Abady’s feet, staring up at him and picking his nose with his right forefinger. No matter how much the mother threatened the child would not leave Abady’s side.
The little group of farmers who had come on from the meeting stood apart from the others, listening in silence to all that was said but seeming unconcerned as if nothing of it was of any importance to them. Balint expounded his plans: the tailor’s apartment would become the co-operative’s office, the pantry would be for the society treasurer, the big room that the carpenter used as a workshop would become the library, which could also be used for meetings and lectures, and the rooms where the carpenter now lived would be just the place for the caretaker who, by living on the premises, would be able to act both as watchman and gardener.
After examining the house Balint went to look at the garden where now there were only a few acacia trees and an old lilac bush. A muddy stream of water bordered by some reeds formed a bog at one side, while on the other there was a field still covered with patches of snow which showed signs of once having been planted with potatoes. A few dried-up maize stalks were further evidence that the garden was still in partial cultivation.
‘Is there a spring here?’ asked Abady, pointing to the boggy patch.
‘Indeed there is! And more’s the pity!’ said the carpenter. ‘They tell me it used to run freely in the old days, but it got blocked up years ago. That’s why the place is so wet in some places and dried up in others!’
‘Why don’t you put it in order?’ asked Balint. Turning to his companions, he explained how the spring could be made to irrigate the model garden. They would only have to dig out a winding trench with catchments at each corner and the whole area would be properly watered, just as they did in Bulgaria. It was a blessing that there should be a natural water supply at this height above the town.
Balint’s companions all agreed, with unqualified enthusiasm, to everything the count suggested. The proposals were magnificent, everything should be carried out just as the count suggested. Of course, they said, there was the question of cost. Repairs would be needed as the property could not be used in its present state. Finance would have to be found.
‘If the Co-operative and the Farmers’ Club paid a rent then of course my mother would be responsible for the repairs. However, I hope that she will make the property available free of charge as it’s for the public good. If that were the case then naturally the society and the club would be expected to pay the repairs … but very little is involved, just a few hours’ work by the mason and some attention to the drainage. All that would be well and truly covered by the profits made on the garden’s products, as long as it is properly handled, of course.’
‘Of course! Naturally!’ echoed his audience. ‘It’s nothing at all! Hardly worth mentioning! We’ll get it done, never fear!’
They walked back to the main square where everyone took their leave and went home to lunch. Balint went alone to the Grand Restaurant Gsillag, which he now realized was no more than the dining-room of the inn where he was staying. He was pleased to be on his own after the morning’s work, however successful it appeared to have been. When the innkeeper brought his coffee he brought up a chair, sat down and started to talk.
At first he confined himself to flattering comments, saying how magnificent were his Lordship’s plans for their little community, how lucky they were to have a Parliamentary representative who took an interest in them, who was so generous as to offer his property as a gift for the benefit of all. Several times he said how grateful they all were. Afterwards he began, carefully, to ask more detailed questions, into which were woven a few remarks intended to give rather than obtain information. As regards the Farmers’ Club, which he supposed would really just be for peasants rather than country gentlefolk; it would not have a licence to sell liquor, would it? His Lordship would realize, of course, that it would not be at all for the public good if the people started doing their drinking anywhere than the inn in the town where he could keep an eye on them. Here he could not only see that no one got too drunk — which was bad for them — but also, by listening to what they said among themselves, he was able to make the inn an unrivalled centre for local ‘intelligence’!
The innkeeper looked enquiringly at Abady. He was immediately reassured and looked greatly relieved when Abady said there would be no question of either liquor or cards at the Farmers’ Club. The plan was to provide a place for study and serious conversation, not for debauchery and carousing. There would be lectures on agricultural subjects, or modern farming methods and ways of making marketing more profitable. Books and newspapers would be available and, if these did not prove enough, then perhaps they could build a bowling alley where the people could go on Sundays.
‘Bowling?’ asked the innkeeper, now thoroughly alarmed again. ‘Bowling? Oh, no! That wouldn’t be a good idea at all! I wouldn’t do that!’
‘Why ever not?’
The innkeeper stammered a little, looking for arguments that would convince the count without having to reveal what was uppermost in his mind.
‘Well … because, you see, there’s always fighting where there’s bowling, lots of trouble, arguments, blows! People get hurt. I know, because we’ve got one here, partly on the chemist’s land, partly on mine. Oh, how I wish we hadn’t done it! Always trouble, nothing but trouble! But I can’t stop it now. It’s there. It cost a lot of money … so you see I have to go on with it. But, of course, they respect me. I’ve got a certain authority and I can keep them in order. If they went bowling somewhere else, well, you see, your Lordship, that’d lead to trouble!’