I can’t be uncivil to my superior officers.
In my anxiety to put an end to this conversation quickly, I say, “Well, does anyone fancy another game of cards?”
But at once their kindly grins become loud laughter. “Ever heard the like of that, Ferencz?” says Jozsi, nudging him. “Wants a game of cards now, at half-past midnight, when the place is about to close!”
And the regimental doctor leans back lazily, very much at his ease. “Lucky fellow, doesn’t have to take any notice of the time of day!”
They go on laughing at this poor joke for some time, but the waiter Eugen is civilly pointing out that it’s time he closed. Police regulations. We leave—the rain has stopped—and walk back to barracks together, where we shake hands and say goodnight. Ferencz claps me on the shoulder. “Good to have you back.” And I can tell that he really means it. So why was I so angry with them? They’re all decent fellows without a trace of envy or malice in them. And if they laughed at me a little, they bore me no ill will.
They certainly didn’t bear me any ill will, good fellows that they were—but with their silly marvelling and whispering they irretrievably destroyed my sense of security. For before this happened my curious relationship with the Kekesfalvas had increased my self-confidence wonderfully. I had felt, for the first time in my life, that I was the one with something to give, the one offering help. Now I realised how others saw this relationship, or ratherhow any outsider, unaware of all the hidden convolutions, would inevitably see it. What could strangers know about the subtle desire to show pity to which I had fallen prey—I can’t think how else to put it—as if it were some dark passion? They were bound to suppose that I had made myself at home in that generously hospitable house only to curry favour with the rich, save the price of an evening meal, and get presents. And they really don’t mean ill, I think; they’re my friends, they don’t grudge me a warm place to sit, fine cigars to smoke. Undoubtedly—and this is just what irks me—they see nothing in the least wrong or dishonourable in my allowing such people to make much of me, because cavalry officers like us, as they see it, do a moneybags like Kekesfalva honour by sitting at his table. There was not the slightest disapproval in the way Ferencz and Jozsi admired the gold cigarette case—on the contrary, it even made them feel a certain respect for my ability to get such things out of my patrons. But what annoys me so much now is that I am beginning to feel uncertain about myself. Am I really just sponging on the Kekesfalvas? As an officer, a grown man, can I allow myself to be courted like this and keep every evening free? The gold cigarette case, for instance—I ought never to have accepted it, any more than I should have accepted the silk scarf they gave me recently when it was stormy weather outside. A cavalry officer doesn’t let people put cigars in his pocket to take home, and what’s more—for God’s sake, I must talk Kekesfalva out of this tomorrow—there’s the business of the horse! Only now do I remember that the day before yesterday he was murmuring something to the effect that my bay gelding (for which of course I was paying by instalments) was not in very good shape, and he was right there. But his idea of lending me a three-year-old from his own stud farm, a famous former racehorse that woulddo me credit, really won’t do. Yes, “lend”, I understand what he means by that! Just as he has promised Ilona a dowry, only to keep her as companion to poor Edith, he wants to buy me too, pay me cash down for my sympathy, for my jokes, my social skills! And idiot that I am, I nearly fell for it, without noticing that I was degrading myself to the status of a sponger!
Then I tell myself that this is nonsense, and remember, moved, how the old man caressed my sleeve, how his face always brightens as soon as I
In my anxiety to put an end to this conversation quickly, I say, “Well, does anyone fancy another game of cards?”
But at once their kindly grins become loud laughter. “Ever heard the like of that, Ferencz?” says Jozsi, nudging him. “Wants a game of cards now, at half-past midnight, when the place is about to close!”
And the regimental doctor leans back lazily, very much at his ease. “Lucky fellow, doesn’t have to take any notice of the time of day!”
They go on laughing at this poor joke for some time, but the waiter Eugen is civilly pointing out that it’s time he closed. Police regulations. We leave—the rain has stopped—and walk back to barracks together, where we shake hands and say goodnight. Ferencz claps me on the shoulder. “Good to have you back.” And I can tell that he really means it. So why was I so angry with them? They’re all decent fellows without a trace of envy or malice in them. And if they laughed at me a little, they bore me no ill will.
They certainly didn’t bear me any ill will, good fellows that they were—but with their silly marvelling and whispering they irretrievably destroyed my sense of security. For before this happened my curious relationship with the Kekesfalvas had increased my self-confidence wonderfully. I had felt, for the first time in my life, that I was the one with something to give, the one offering help. Now I realised how others saw this relationship, or ratherhow any outsider, unaware of all the hidden convolutions, would inevitably see it. What could strangers know about the subtle desire to show pity to which I had fallen prey—I can’t think how else to put it—as if it were some dark passion? They were bound to suppose that I had made myself at home in that generously hospitable house only to curry favour with the rich, save the price of an evening meal, and get presents. And they really don’t mean ill, I think; they’re my friends, they don’t grudge me a warm place to sit, fine cigars to smoke. Undoubtedly—and this is just what irks me—they see nothing in the least wrong or dishonourable in my allowing such people to make much of me, because cavalry officers like us, as they see it, do a moneybags like Kekesfalva honour by sitting at his table. There was not the slightest disapproval in the way Ferencz and Jozsi admired the gold cigarette case—on the contrary, it even made them feel a certain respect for my ability to get such things out of my patrons. But what annoys me so much now is that I am beginning to feel uncertain about myself. Am I really just sponging on the Kekesfalvas? As an officer, a grown man, can I allow myself to be courted like this and keep every evening free? The gold cigarette case, for instance—I ought never to have accepted it, any more than I should have accepted the silk scarf they gave me recently when it was stormy weather outside. A cavalry officer doesn’t let people put cigars in his pocket to take home, and what’s more—for God’s sake, I must talk Kekesfalva out of this tomorrow—there’s the business of the horse! Only now do I remember that the day before yesterday he was murmuring something to the effect that my bay gelding (for which of course I was paying by instalments) was not in very good shape, and he was right there. But his idea of lending me a three-year-old from his own stud farm, a famous former racehorse that woulddo me credit, really won’t do. Yes, “lend”, I understand what he means by that! Just as he has promised Ilona a dowry, only to keep her as companion to poor Edith, he wants to buy me too, pay me cash down for my sympathy, for my jokes, my social skills! And idiot that I am, I nearly fell for it, without noticing that I was degrading myself to the status of a sponger!
Then I tell myself that this is nonsense, and remember, moved, how the old man caressed my sleeve, how his face always brightens as soon as I
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