independent and indulged, and my other world of military service, where I have to keep my head down, where I’m a poor devil who is greatly relieved when there are only thirty days in the month before my money runs out, not thirty-one. Unconsciously, I don’t want the others to know about my real life, and indeed I sometimes don’t know myself which is the real Toni Hofmiller, the one in barracks or the one at the Kekesfalvas’ castle, the Hofmiller out there or the Hofmiller stationed here.
At my request, the chauffeur stops in the town-hall square, two streets away from the barracks. I get out, turn up my coat collar and am about to cross the wide square. But just at that moment the storm breaks again with redoubled fury, and the wind blows rain straight into my face. Better to wait in the entrance to a building for a few minutes before walking back to the barracks. Or perhaps the café is still open, and I can sit in shelter there until the heavens have finished pouring the contents of their largest watering can over us. The café is only six buildings away, and I’m glad to see the gaslight glowing faintly behind the streaming wet windowpanes. My comrades may still be at their regular table in there, a good opportunity to make up for various omissions. It’s high time I kept them company again. Yesterday, the day before, all week and all last week too, I’ve been away from our regular table. They’d be justified in feeling annoyed with me; if you’re going to be unfaithful you should at least observe the proprieties.
I lift the latch. At the front of the café the lights are already extinguished to save on expense, the newspapers lie around open, and Eugen the waiter is cashing up for the night. However, I can still see light and a glint of shiny uniform buttons in the card room at the back. Sure enough, there they are, the usual card-players, Jozsi the first lieutenant, Ferencz the second lieutenant, and the regimental doctor Goldbaum. It looks as if their game finished long ago, and now they are just lounging around in the torpor typical of the café. I’m familiar with it, it sets in when no one wants to go to the trouble of standing up. It’s a real stroke of good luck for them when my appearance rouses them from apathy.
“Hey, if it isn’t Toni!” Ferencz announces to the others, and, “What a great honour for our humble home!” declaimsthe regimental doctor, quoting Schiller. We often accuse him of suffering from chronic quotationitis. Six sleepy eyes blink cheerfully at me. “Hello there!”
I’m glad they are pleased to see me. They’re good fellows, I think. They don’t think any worse of me for staying away from them all this time without any apology or explanation.
“A black coffee,” I tell the sleepy waiter who comes wearily over, and I pull out a chair with the inevitable, “Well, what’s the latest news?” that opens all our gatherings.
Ferencz’s smile stretches his broad face, making it even broader, his twinkling eyes almost disappear into his rosy apple cheeks, his doughy mouth opens.
“The very latest news,” he says with that slow grin of his, “is that your distinguished self has condescended to put in an appearance here again.”
And the regimental doctor leans back in his chair and begins reciting, this time turning to Goethe’s ballad ‘The God and the Dancing Girl’, “Mahadöh, lord of the earth—when he came down here below—assumed a form of human birth—here to share our joys and woe.”
All three of them are looking at me with amusement, and I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Better start talking myself, I think, before they ask where I’ve been all this time and where I’ve just come from. But before I can get a word in Ferencz is winking and nudging Jozsi.
“Look at that, will you?” he says, pointing at my feet under the table. “How about that? Patent-leather shoes in a downpour like this, and those smart clothes! Our
At my request, the chauffeur stops in the town-hall square, two streets away from the barracks. I get out, turn up my coat collar and am about to cross the wide square. But just at that moment the storm breaks again with redoubled fury, and the wind blows rain straight into my face. Better to wait in the entrance to a building for a few minutes before walking back to the barracks. Or perhaps the café is still open, and I can sit in shelter there until the heavens have finished pouring the contents of their largest watering can over us. The café is only six buildings away, and I’m glad to see the gaslight glowing faintly behind the streaming wet windowpanes. My comrades may still be at their regular table in there, a good opportunity to make up for various omissions. It’s high time I kept them company again. Yesterday, the day before, all week and all last week too, I’ve been away from our regular table. They’d be justified in feeling annoyed with me; if you’re going to be unfaithful you should at least observe the proprieties.
I lift the latch. At the front of the café the lights are already extinguished to save on expense, the newspapers lie around open, and Eugen the waiter is cashing up for the night. However, I can still see light and a glint of shiny uniform buttons in the card room at the back. Sure enough, there they are, the usual card-players, Jozsi the first lieutenant, Ferencz the second lieutenant, and the regimental doctor Goldbaum. It looks as if their game finished long ago, and now they are just lounging around in the torpor typical of the café. I’m familiar with it, it sets in when no one wants to go to the trouble of standing up. It’s a real stroke of good luck for them when my appearance rouses them from apathy.
“Hey, if it isn’t Toni!” Ferencz announces to the others, and, “What a great honour for our humble home!” declaimsthe regimental doctor, quoting Schiller. We often accuse him of suffering from chronic quotationitis. Six sleepy eyes blink cheerfully at me. “Hello there!”
I’m glad they are pleased to see me. They’re good fellows, I think. They don’t think any worse of me for staying away from them all this time without any apology or explanation.
“A black coffee,” I tell the sleepy waiter who comes wearily over, and I pull out a chair with the inevitable, “Well, what’s the latest news?” that opens all our gatherings.
Ferencz’s smile stretches his broad face, making it even broader, his twinkling eyes almost disappear into his rosy apple cheeks, his doughy mouth opens.
“The very latest news,” he says with that slow grin of his, “is that your distinguished self has condescended to put in an appearance here again.”
And the regimental doctor leans back in his chair and begins reciting, this time turning to Goethe’s ballad ‘The God and the Dancing Girl’, “Mahadöh, lord of the earth—when he came down here below—assumed a form of human birth—here to share our joys and woe.”
All three of them are looking at me with amusement, and I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Better start talking myself, I think, before they ask where I’ve been all this time and where I’ve just come from. But before I can get a word in Ferencz is winking and nudging Jozsi.
“Look at that, will you?” he says, pointing at my feet under the table. “How about that? Patent-leather shoes in a downpour like this, and those smart clothes! Our
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