The politicians now so outnumbered the others that the men round Kutenvary fell silent and left the floor to Samuel Barra.
Soon the train drew to a stop at the Tovis junction, and here it had to wait for a while until the connecting train from Deva should arrive. The station was decorated with flags and on the platform stood the station-master and all his men drawn up as if on parade to greet the monarch himself. Behind them were a crowd of onlookers, the railway employees’ choir, the local gypsy band and the town judge with a group of white-clad schoolgirls who recited a poem and then presented a beribboned bouquet, not, however, to the representative of the Minister but to the famous Samuel Barra whose face was the only one they recognized.
As the weather was clear and sunny and it seemed the halt would continue for some little time, everyone got out of the train. Barra, Bartokfay, Varju and Kutenvary all took the opportunity of making speeches explaining what they were going to do for the poor Szeklers; and when they finished the mob cheered wildly even though Tovis was not in Szekler country and most people present were either ordinary town-folk or railway employees. At each pause the gypsy band played a flourish just as they did at official toasts.
Balint walked down the platform and by the last carriage he found a small group that had descended from a third-class compartment and were stretching their legs on the platform. There were six or seven Romanian popas dressed in shabby grey priests’ robes and among them were some laymen dressed equally shabbily in grey. Slowly they walked up and down hardly exchanging a word and when one of them turned round Balint recognized the old lawyer and politician, Aurel Timisan, who was one of the Romanian minority members of Parliament.
When Timisan came up to greet Balint his companions turned away and left him.
‘What a celebration they are having today!’ said the old lawyer in a faintly mocking tone. ‘It’s a joy to see! And may I ask where you gentlemen are all going?’
‘To Homorod. The Szekler congress opens there tomorrow.’
‘Very right and proper! Most wise to think about the people’s problems. And how beautifully you Hungarians organize these things. All these excellent speeches, all this cheering. Nowhere in the world do they do it so well.’
At that moment the train from the south rumbled into the station and many more festively dressed men jumped out. At once the cheering started again, with more singing, more speeches on the platform, and the choir started on the Kossuth song. Hats were waved, handkerchiefs and banners fluttered.
‘And who is that magnificent gentleman in Hungarian costume?’ asked the old deputy pointing at Soma Weissfeld. Under his thick moustaches there was the hint of a mocking smile.
‘He is the director of the bank at Vasarhely,’ said Balint drily, sensing the old man’s mockery. Not wishing to seem to share it, he went on, ‘Where are you going? I see you are not alone.’
‘To Brasso. We have an unimportant little meeting there … just church affairs.’
‘Then perhaps we could have a talk on the way? Which compartment are you in?’
‘Naturally I should be most honoured by your Lordship’s company, but you see I am travelling third class with my friends and I could not very well leave them. And where I am neither the place nor the company is worthy of your Lordship. They are very simple people, very simple indeed.’
With his last words Timisan waved his hand in farewell and chuckled as if amused by some inner meaning the other could not share.
The two trains were soon linked together and, as the band on the platform played the Rakoczy March, the much lengthened train pulled slowly out. During the wait at Tovis the carriages had all been decorated with flags and so it was with a mass of bunting fluttering in the wind that the delegates were transported across the bridge over the Maros and, leaving the rich flat grasslands, entered the gorge that led to the mountains.
Soon they arrived at Balazsfalva, the seat of the Romanian Uniate bishop. It was from here that all the pan-Romanian movements of the last century and a half had been initiated.
At Balazsfalva the train was joined by the delegates from Dicso, led by Joska Kendy who was now Prefect in Kis-Kukullo. As always, Joska himself, pipe firmly clenched between his teeth, remained silent, but his companions soon made up for this. As at Tovis there were more white-clad schoolgirls, more bouquets and speeches of welcome; and here it was the banker Weissfeld who was cheered, for they all imagined, from his elaborate dress, that he must be the Minister’s representative.
Balint was watching all this from the window of his compartment when he caught sight of a young man dressed as a theology student hurrying towards the back of the train. He looked neither to right nor to left and clearly knew exactly where he was going. Balint was sure that he knew his face, and wondered where he had seen him before.
The youth was very slim, almost gaunt in appearance, with an olive-skinned face whose cheekbones showed the telltale red spot of tuberculosis. Balint watched to see where he would go.
Eventually the student stopped in front of a third-class compartment. As soon as he did so a large hand shot out of the window into the palm of which the youth pressed a small piece of paper. Then he turned and stepped back on the platform, gazing back at the richly decorated engine. His glance met Abady’s and at once Balint recognized him: he was the son of the popa at Gyurkuca in the mountains whom Balint had seen when his father Timbus had asked for wood to enlarge the village church. Balint well remembered those burning eyes as full of hatred then, when the boy was lying covered in fur rugs on the veranda of the popa’s house, as now when gazing at the train full of Hungarian delegates. Balint had heard that he had recovered sufficiently to study for the priesthood and he remembered, too, that the notary Simo had said that while the parintie Timbus was a reliable man his son was a dangerous pro-Romanian agitator.
Young Timbus stayed where he was on the platform, rigidly upright, as the Hungarian delegates crowded back to their seats. And he remained there, still without moving, as the gaily decorated train clattered noisily out of the station and finally disappeared in the cloud of its own smoke.
The congress at Homorod opened at ten o’clock in the morning under the joint chairmanship of the sheriffs of Maros-Torda, Csik, Udvarhely and Haromszek, each taking their turn to preside in order of seniority of service. This had been planned by the government so as to recognize the loyalty of these regions which had remained faithful to the Coalition party all through the time of the government appointed by the King. These four men therefore sat together at the presidential table which had been placed in the centre of one of the long walls of the hall where the congress was to take place.