When Adrienne had gone back to Almasko Balint had not known what to do nor where to go. After all the storms of the last few days he longed for peace and solitude. He needed time and quiet to concentrate all his thoughts and decide what he would do next; so he had come up to the high mountains where the could be alone, and there, too, he would be close enough to get news quickly from Adrienne if she too came to a decision.
‘Honey’ Andras Zutor had soon found horses and a baggage wagon, the saddle-ponies were already at Skrind with the gornyiks, and Balint’s tent was brought up the next day from Beles.
They went straight up to Balint’s favourite camping site on the highest slopes of the Prislop.
There was something essentially soothing in the quietly drizzling rain which seemed like a silken veil whose function was to soften the harsh outlines of reality. Through its barely visible threads one could only just make out the saffron leaves of the maple trees or the green of the other deciduous trees whose colour had not yet started to turn. Here and there was a group of hawthorns or a wild plum which had already acquired a faint blush-like tint, and the low hanging branches of the nearby pines were shining brightly as if lacquered.
Everywhere there was silence apart from the soft murmur of the raindrops on the canvas roof of the tent. No birds sang, neither the kingfishers’ tiny piping, nor the songs of blackbirds or mountain jays; the birds of prey no longer called hoarsely to each other and at night even the owls were keeping their own counsel. Everywhere there was silence, as of infinity or death.
Balint barely moved from his tent. He who was usually so passionately interested in everything that lived or grew or moved on the mountain now lay passively on his trestle bed doing nothing and seeing nothing. Even when Honey brought in his reports, Balint hardly seemed to notice his presence. Not even the news that the dishonest notary Simo had now gone too far in his oppression and abuse of the people of the mountain brought any definite reaction from Balint. The information that Honey brought was enough, if brought out into the open, to have Simo dismissed — which would automatically have freed the peasants from his tyranny and acquisitive ways. It was a complicated matter of a tax-fraud; but fraud there had been and if Balint had stood by the oppressed and demanded a full-scale investigation from the county magistrates, the problem of Simo would have been settled once and for all. At any other time Balint would have been fired with zeal to put matters to rights and he would have rushed to the aid of those poor mountain people, at once planning a line of attack and the best way of doing good for others. Now he just read the report and then put it away in his knapsack, deciding nothing except perhaps that he would look at it some other time.
Some of the day he would sit at the door of the tent, gazing out in front of him but seeing nothing but the images of Denestornya … and of Adrienne … and thinking of nothing but them.
How wide her eyes had opened when he told her that he had broken with his mother! And how scared she had looked! ‘You really did that?’ she had said. ‘You did that terrible thing?’ And he realized that Adrienne had been frightened because she knew at once what a great burden this placed on her, she for whom the sacrifice had been made. And Balint had not spared her when he told the tale. He had underlined everything, cruelly repeating his mother’s words, and his own, consciously doing it (though hating himself for it), so that she would feel obliged, at last, to break with her husband.
With her mouth she had given him her kisses and she had held him tightly in her arms as she had given her body to him for consolation, but she had known then that this was not enough and that she could no longer repay him with caresses but only with her whole life; and diamond tears had glistened on her long, dark lashes.
Later, when it was already long after noon, the clouds lifted slightly and the rain slackened.
On the old hornbeam tree opposite Balint’s tent, two blue-tits started to chatter, chirping merrily as they flew from branch to branch. Somewhere a siskin could be heard and below the little camp the rushing of the stream was now louder than the rain, though before there had seemed to be a universal silence. From the bed of the valley little streams of vapour started to rise and float lightly on the hill-slopes. Very slowly the weather cleared.
The man in the tent saw little of this. His thoughts were still in the recent past and his heart was bitter.
Always he had assumed that it was certain what would happen when he told Adrienne of what he had done for her. He had known that naturally then she really would make up her mind, accept what he had done for her and publicly tell everyone that she was suing for divorce. But it had not happened like that at all, and perhaps it never would happen. What had she said? ‘I can’t do it yet!’ she had cried. ‘It’s impossible! It’s horrible, but I still can’t do it! I can’t!’ And she had gone on repeating, over and over, ‘I can’t! I can’t!’ There was despair in her voice, but that was what she had said. And she had told him again how the doctor had said that any sudden shock would have a terrible effect on her husband. If she demanded a divorce now it could provoke no one knew what awful reaction. It was a terrible responsibility and she alone must carry it. It was she who was responsible, responsible for everyone. Then she had added those words she had not known would hurt him the most: ‘And then there’s my daughter’.
And so they had parted once again, agreeing to wait, as they had before. The parting was agony for both of them, for even though it was not a final goodbye, neither knew when or how they might meet again, if ever, nor whether there was still any hope for a future life together. All was uncertain. A promise lay between them; but could it ever be fulfilled?
‘I’ll write, as soon as I can. I’ll think of a way … I’ll do everything in my power,’ she promised.
And again her long dark lashes were wet with tears and there was despair in her eyes as she walked away.
Now the mists were fast disappearing, leaving only a few wisps to hide the tops of the very tallest trees. A light breeze stirred in the valley, so light that though the leaves began to rustle the men in the meadow could hardly feel it.
Balint was still wrapped in his dismal thoughts. Why, he asked himself, was it so impossible for Adrienne to breach the subject of divorce? He knew that she was not afraid for her own life or safety, nor especially for his, for had they not courted disaster night after night spent in each others’ arms in Uzdy’s house where Uzdy himself might at any hour suddenly and unexpectedly return from the country? Then they had played with death with no thoughts for their safety. What, therefore, could be this dreadful obstacle today?
No matter how hard he fretted he could not find any better answer than that Adrienne must be determined to have her daughter with her, which would be impossible if Uzdy disputed the divorce. It was those words ‘And then there’s my daughter!’ Didn’t they prove what was in her mind? Subconsciously he felt that this explanation was wrong, and yet he could find nothing better to replace it. There couldn’t be any other reason … There wasn’t any other reason…
Dusk began to fall and with it the sunset began to cast a faint rosy glow on the mist covering the distant mountains.
Balint, still wrapped in his own dismal thoughts, did not notice it, but the calm of the forest evening was suddenly broken by a deep booming sound. Immediately, from the log cabin where the foresters lodged, two men came out and made their way down to Abady’s tent. They were Honey Andras Zutor and old Zsukuczo, who guarded the forests on the slope of the Gyalu Botin and who, though now the head game-warden of the district, had once been a famous poacher.