Balint saw. The innkeeper’s worry was indeed perfectly clear, and Balint, who had no desire to harm anyone’s private interests, quickly set his mind at rest.
‘I never thought of it like that! Most interesting! Well, we’ll have to think it all out most carefully. I’m not even sure there’s enough level ground anyway!’
The innkeeper cheered up at this and, growing more voluble than ever, he offered himself to go and measure up the available space, check over the grounds, and send an immediate report as soon as he had discovered whether the idea of a bowling alley was feasible. That it was unlikely to be found to be feasible, though Balint was not to know this, was proved by the fact that as soon as Abady had left, the inn-keeper hurried over to see his friend, the chemist, to whom he expressed his deep distrust of Balint’s good faith.
‘That Farmers’ Club idea, we must do everything to stop it,’ he started, and the two of them sat down and began to think hard about the many dangers that menaced their mutually profitable association. It was perhaps appropriate that the room that they chose for this essentially private conversation was the little dispensary where the chemist kept his poison cupboard and the stock of illicit tobacco which had to be hidden from the Customs inspectors.
Balint then went to see the notary. They had agreed that morning to discuss technical and legal aspects of Balint’s projects that afternoon before he took the evening train back to Kolozsvar. The notary, Daniel Kovacs, had proposed this himself, saying that he would take care of everything.
The office was on the ground floor of the Town Hall and the notary’s wide desk was placed facing the wall. Daniel Kovacs sat at the centre with a pile of documents on each side of him and a pen in his right hand, taking each document in turn from the pile at his right, noting what action was required on the document, entering its number and date in the registers he kept open propped against the wall in front of him, and then placing it face downwards on the pile at his left.
When Abady entered the office Daniel was busy writing ‘… Peter Nagy, Andras and Ilona Nagy, wife of Salaman Szasz, and VasiliNiag,the sonof Petre,petitioning about the division of property are advised that a decree of judgment, No.16–2731904, has been given under which …’ and he was so engrossed in his work that it was a moment or two before he noticed that Abady was in the room. Then he jumped up, pushed his reading glasses on to his forehead, took off his elbow-guards and pulled up a chair for his visitor.
They started talking about what had happened that morning at the meeting and afterwards at the Abady house.
‘Naturally I am entirely at your Lordship’s service,’ said the notary. ‘I think the plans for a co-operative at Lelbanya most practical and helpful. I have some experience of such things,’ he went on, smiling, ‘as I used to be assistant notary in the Szekler part of the province and we had a co-operative there. I was its secretary, so you see, my Lord, I really do appreciate what your Lordship is doing in trying to help the people here.’
Balint was becoming used to meeting nothing but agreement and obsequious praise, and though as yet he was by no means suspicious of the good faith of those with whom he talked, he was nevertheless unconsciously becoming somewhat cautious. He answered the notary non-committally, while studying his appearance, which he found unusual and interesting. Kovacs was a man of medium height, but he looked taller than he really was as a result of being exceptionally thin. He must have been about forty and had a bald head above a high forehead. Dark bushy eyebrows shaded a pair of brown eyes in which intelligence and goodwill held a fair balance. Indeed it was the notary’s eyes that made his face particularly interesting for in them was an unmistakable expression of benevolence which illumined and irradiated a face which would otherwise have seemed tired, disillusioned and careworn. Two deep furrows were etched from each side of his nose until concealed by his moustaches, and the lines on his forehead suggested many years of toil and worry. Above all Daniel Kovacs gave an instant impression of being alert and helpful.
‘The peasants, of course, don’t understand the idea, not yet,’ he said. ‘Neither do most of the others, for that matter, but the peasants least of all. Anything new takes them by surprise and they’re always suspicious of anything that comes from townsfolk. No matter what is suggested they’ll always think people are out to swindle them! Set a trap for them!’
‘But what trap could be in this? They’re getting the house, garden and library for nothing. They can elect who they like to the co-operative committee. What more do they want?’
‘They don’t know what they want. They’re just naturally suspicious because they don’t understand, poor souls. Your Lordship shouldn’t forget that they’ve every reason to distrust people. No matter with whom they have to deal, bailiffs, salesmen, everyone is always out for their own advantage whatever they may say, and a peasant has to be pretty spry not to be cheated. It’s true! One day they’ll begin to realize that it really is for their own good, but it’ll take time. Has your Lordship thought who should be the co-operative’s first president?’
‘I was going to ask you, Mr Notary. Would you accept?’
‘I am afraid that it’s not in my power as I have an official position. The best choice, if I may say so, would be the Protestant pastor. He is a good man, and I could do any official business that was needed until he gets to know the ropes.’
Kovacs then pulled down the register of town voters to check what other names he could put forward for the different posts to be filled. ‘I’ll tackle them one by one, if your Lordship agrees, and explain to them what is involved. Of course, the first priority is to form the co-operative itself. When we’ve got all the committee members appointed and everything’s running smoothly, then perhaps it should be the turn of the Farmers’ Club. As for the house, well, perhaps we had better leave that for the moment! When they see how much they need the premises they’ll come asking for it themselves.’
‘That’s funny,’ said Balint, ‘I thought the offer of the house would be the first thing to attract them!’
Kovacs gave a slight smile as he replied: ‘Better this way round. Go slowly, your Lordship, these folk have a lot to learn!’ The notary was thinking of what he had heard when they walked round the property that morning. The farmers who had hung back from the main party had been muttering rebelliously among themselves, saying that the only reason the Count offered them this rotten property was that he didn’t want to have to pay for the repairs himself. And they asked themselves why they should be expected to fork out money on someone else’s decaying old house. As for the proposed model market-garden, all that would do would be to make it impossible for their wives to earn some extra money by selling the produce of their own little plots. If some fancy gardener was raising finer vegetables in the model garden, who would buy the little strings of onions, the few beans and peppers that the farmers’ wives used to take to market? And why should they pay good money for a gardener’s wages when all he’d do would be to take the bread out of their own mouths? The notary was thinking of all this when he advised Abady to go slowly as regards the house. He recalled, too, the count’s disastrous last words at the morning meeting — ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ Whatever Abady may have intended, the very vagueness of this phrase had made a bad impression on those used to the nonsense spouted by demagogues at election times. They did not have to go to special meetings to hear such phrases as ‘God helps those who help themselves!’ What they wanted was something real, something tangible.