Wherever he found himself Balint was obsessed by these fantasies: in his seat in the House when surrounded by noisy argument and endless speech-making, at the rooms in the Casino Club where all his acquaintance were still arguing about politics, at formal dinners or at evening parties while languidly drawling sweet nothings to whichever lady happened to be sitting next to him: wherever he was he was like a sleep-walker. Young Magda Szent-Gyorgyi, with her quick-sighted birdlike eyes, had noticed it at once and said to him outright, ‘Whatever have you been doing to get so absent-minded? I suppose you’ve been out carousing with the ladies of the town, what?’ for Magda liked to talk in this way so as to show off how knowledgeable she was about relationships between the sexes. ‘You’ve lost weight too!’ she added laughing. ‘Tell me, do tell me, is all that very … very …’ and she broke off not quite able to put into words the rather uncertain ideas that were floating around in her inquisitive little head.
Finally, in the middle of March, the long-hoped-for message arrived. Her husband’s mother was going to take the child to Meran where it was hoped she would recover more quickly, and this meant that in a few days’ time Adrienne would be free to come to the Uzdy villa just outside the town. Her young sister Margit would be with her and they would both be there in time to run their own stall at the charity bazaar which was held each year for the benefit of the orphanage. At last they would see each other again.
The bazaar organized annually by the Archduchess Maria-Valeria Circle was a great event in Kolozsvar. Every lady with any pretensions to a position in Society joined in the preparations, the older matrons acted as official patronesses and the younger ones, and the unmarried girls, manned the stalls and, for one day, pretended to be salesgirls. At each stand there were two or three of them, at least one from an aristocratic family, the others from the prosperous middle-classes.
There was much jockeying for position in the days that led up to the bazaar itself, for there was considerable rivalry as to who should sell what and in what part of the hall their tent-like stands should be erected. It was not only important to have one of the best positions, it was also hotly disputed who should be placed next to whom and important to make sure that no one was displaying the same merchandise as their neighbours. It was not easy, either, to invent something new and original which might therefore lead to that great triumph of receiving more money than anyone else. The decoration of the stands was therefore also extremely important. It had to be at the same time striking and sufficiently open to attract buyers while being discreet and intimate enough to make them sit down, chat, and open their purses to be milked of every penny they had brought with them. To ensure this was the job of all the prettiest young girls.
The hall in which the bazaar was held was known as the Redut — a local corruption of the Viennese Redoutensaal named after the masked balls which were held there. The Kolozsvar Redut, which was built in the eighteenth century, had once been the seat of the Transylvanian Parliament. Now it was used for balls — and for the great charity bazaar. It was very large and had an immensely high ceiling.
On each side of the main hall there were other rooms. On the occasion of the bazaar, one of these was used as a changing room for the amateur artistes who would later give a theatrical entertainment, while the other was made into a sort of drawing-room where the older ladies could withdraw to rest and have some coffee or other light refreshments. Near the door of the first room was a raised platform where there were placed chairs for the Lady Patronesses and which would later serve as a temporary stage. Down the full length of the hall were placed the tent-like stands which were so close to each other that it was difficult to pass between them. Each was different. Some of the stall-holders had used Persian carpets as decoration, others were hung with long streaming ribbons, or peasant embroideries, or bales of silks in a myriad brilliant colours. And as to the goods on sale they were as varied as the colours of the stands themselves. Everything was there from home-brewed liqueurs to delicate needlework. It was a vivid scene suggesting an oriental market which happened to be taking place not in the open air but in a rococo ballroom. And in the centre of each stand there was an elegant lady and some smiling girls ready to tempt the cash out of anyone’s purse.
A large number of men were strolling up and down the wide alley between the open stalls.
The bazaar was attended not only by the townspeople but many country folk too who had crowded into Kolozsvar for the great annual agricultural meeting. The ladies of the organizing committee planned this date on purpose because they knew that thereby they ensured the presence in town of all Transylvania’s leading citizens. It was considered an unwritten law that everyone must attend the bazaar, not only to make an appearance but also to buy; and this applied to young and old alike. Therefore at the Maria-Valeria Bazaar you would meet not only the young men but also the old ones such as Sandor Kendy, Stanislo Gyeroffy, and even Miklos Absolon and old Daniel Kendy. Young Farkas Alvinczy and Isti Kamuthy had come specially from Budapest and as both of them were now in Parliament they were treated as important personalities. Even Joska Kendy had put in an appearance, not because of anything to do with horses (which was all that really interested him) but because he too had become a prominent public figure since his appointment as a Prefect of his county. Only old Rattle Miloth had failed to appear. ‘It’s not for me, my dear,’ he had said to his youngest daughter Margit, ‘not for one whose heart is broken like mine! And don’t forget there’s the place to be run. Someone’s got to supervise the ploughing and sowing, and I can’t trust that idiotic farm manager of ours!’ Margit did not insist for she knew that he had recently made friends with their neighbour, the elder Dezso Kozma, one of those brothers who had been childhood playmates of Roza Abady at Denestornya. The previous Michaelmas he had bought some 2,000 acres of land not far from the Miloth estate and, if the road was not too muddy, old Rattle had taken to visiting his new friend almost daily. Kozma listened contentedly to Akos Miloth’s stories for, being a commoner and a newcomer while Count Akos came from a long line of aristocratic landowners, he was flattered by the old man’s attentions.
All the men visiting the bazaar were happy to let the bevies of pretty girls cajole them into parting with their money. They carelessly bought anything put before them, some of it useless junk of no value but offered for many times the price they would have paid at one of the town shops. And they bought with such recklessness because these inflated prices included the right to a little mild flirtation. The girls were not ungenerous with their favours for it was exciting to see how much more than its worth the lovesick male could be induced to pay for a one-crown pot of flour, a necktie which usually fetched three crowns or a completely useless paper doll. If she smiled a little more than he had expected, if she leaned towards him so that he could catch the scent of her perfumed shoulders, or if — just by chance of course — a lock of her hair brushed his cheek, if she sold just a little bit of herself, then the money came raining in and the sense of triumph made eyes shine brighter and added a touch of real sensuality to every laugh. Even the most upright and straitlaced of women can occasionally succumb to the lure of trying a little hint of seduction without ever realizing that it was perhaps tantamount to prostitution … but by this process the most natural of instincts was satisfied by knowing exactly how much money each girl’s charms were worth to their eager male customers.