Connects with: Upon the Heights of Alma, Angel of Death, Sepia and Silver, Where Night is Blind & Tragic Silence
A Thousand Words © May 2023 E. C. Hibbs
Buda-Pesth, Austria-Hungary
November 1875
I opened my eyes to darkness. The fire had receded to a soft red glow in the corner, and the heavy drapes blocked any trace of the streetlamps outside. But deep in the house, I heard my maid, Leila, stoking up the hearths downstairs. Then a clock struck. I counted the chimes. Seven. Half an hour until we needed to rise.
I rolled onto my side. Through the gloom, I saw János lying next to me, his hair tousled from sleep.
I kissed him. He stirred, then curled a hand behind my head to hold me there.
“What a pleasant way to awaken,” he whispered.
The sound of his voice was like velvet against my skin. So rich, so beautiful.
“One should begin the day as they mean to go on,” I replied, and kissed him again.
He raised himself up on his elbow so I was beneath him. He pulled some hair away from my mouth, and combed through it with his fingers. I gazed into his eyes, as blue as a summer sky.
“Do I dare to hope that Éva has learned how to sleep through the night?” I smiled.
János laughed. “It would be welcomed! I am just grateful that she allowed me to rest fully! I need my wits about me today!”
“So do I. I’m… a little nervous.”
“About what?”
“The photograph.”
“Why?”
I glanced at my hands and made a show of inspecting them.
“Don’t you think it a little… well, disconcerting?” I asked. “A painting relies on the artist just putting down what he sees. But a photograph takes you, as you are, with no room for error. Every hair you see is a real hair and falls exactly how it fell in that moment. Forever.”
János shook his head gently, then wrapped his fingers around my own, so I could no longer use them as a distraction.
“Oh, Mirriam, why does that worry you?
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Are you afraid a piece of your soul might be trapped in it?” he pressed. “It is just a burst of light, nothing more, and you know that. People have been using cameras for years and nothing has happened.”
I did not reply. Perhaps a little superstitious part of me pandered to such belief, but my true unease ran deeper than that. Whenever I had seen photographs, they were to memorialise the dead.
I recalled the flash of powder as I stood beside my mother’s coffin: seven years old, dressed from head to toe in black, like a macabre little doll. I had to remain still for the exposure, and soon felt akin to a corpse myself. It was eternity frozen into a science; the perfect farce that time might stand still. But it never did. Even as I had hovered beside my Anya, I was horribly aware that beneath the staging and lace, her body was already breaking down.
No. There would be no death, not today, only life. The photograph would capture our happiness for all time. Me and my family. All I would ever want in this world.
I cupped János’s cheeks in my palms. He was twenty-two now, and I seventeen. A year had passed since we were married, and still, every morning, I awoke as giddy as I did upon the first. How could it be that God had seen fit to send me this angel? How fortunate that, in all the ages of the Earth and all the countries of the world, we existed together, here and now. Cast from different moulds, we might have been, but whatever constituted the material of our souls, it was the same.
“Let us speak on other things,” I said. “Tonight, you shall be Doctor Kálvin, my good sir.”
“Doctor Kálvin,” János repeated. “How strange it sounds.”
“You deserve it. You have worked so hard for it.”
“I would not even be looking at the possibility without you. You are the one who paid for me to get this far. I owe everything to you. Again.”
“All you owe me,” I said, “you have already vowed.”
János smiled and nestled himself against me. Even now, hair uncombed, chin shadowed by stubble, dressed in nothing but a nightshirt, the sight of him was like something carved by a master sculptor. His features were so delicate, in an ethereally pale face; inhuman, almost, in their perfection. His cheeks flushed a little: a tiny hint of fire beneath ice, and it was that warmth which made me love him the most. It gave me hope, and I endeavoured to nurture it; let it grow and be all it dreamed.
His ring swayed between us like a pendulum. After our wedding, he had worn it on his finger, but when he began training as a surgeon, he became worried about losing it. So I had bought him the golden chain upon which it now hung, alongside his tuition, and all his equipment. I had funded it out of my own pocket. As an heiress of the Tákacs family, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to do such a thing.
Unable to help myself, I pulled him close. He deftly unbuttoned the high collar of my nightgown and brought his mouth to my neck. I relished every touch, every breath upon my skin. We lay entwined in each other’s arms as the clock ticked on. If it chimed, I did not hear it. I was too lost in him.
From the next room came a soft infant’s cry.
I sighed. “And there’s our wake-up call.”
János held me still for long enough to kiss me again. The sky had lightened with the coming dawn, so I opened the curtains and pulled on a dressing gown. The floor was cold underfoot, but I ignored it. I would get warm again soon enough.
Éva quietened when she saw me. I lifted her from her cot, held her against my shoulder and gently bounced her up and down. There was little of me in her, I’d found: she’d inherited her father’s black locks and blue eyes. I wondered if any of my own resemblance would become apparent as she aged.
“Good morning, little one,” I smiled. “Are you hungry? Let’s sort that.”
I sat in a chair and undid the rest of the buttons over my chest. As she fed, I listened to the sounds of the city rising from its slumber: early carriages rattling along the road, the cooing of pigeons and calls of vendors in the nearby square. Outside, a funeral procession passed by the window in a parade of black.
I watched silently. Our street led to nowhere but the imposing gates of Kerepesi Cemetery. It certainly allowed for a quiet life on most days, except for when a poor soul was taken to rest. Then this place became a path to the next world, walked by the dead and the memories held by their kin, drifting along like living ghosts.
I closed my eyes so I could not observe any longer. When János was qualified, we would leave; perhaps seek out new lodgings on the other side of the river, near Buda Castle. This house was merely a stepping stone, I reminded myself, nothing more.
“Soon, Éva,” I whispered, and massaged my breast to encourage more milk to flow. “Soon, we shall all know such life.”
“Indeed, we shall.”
János entered, freshly-shaven, halfway through tying his cravat. When he noticed the mourners, he lowered his head for a moment in respect.
“Do not fret,” he said. “A couple of minutes, and they will be gone.”
“I hate to see them,” I admitted. “I can’t wait to be away from all this death. I don’t wish for her first memories to be of a sight like that.”
“Of course not,” replied János. He knelt at my side, waited for Éva to finish, then lifted her from my arms. “Now, go, my dear, get ready. I will mind her.”
I took myself to the dressing room, called for Leila, and had her help me into my corset and dress. I chose a dark red one adorned with white lace around the collar, then sat at the vanity and took down my rag curls. My hair shone gold in the early light.
I sprayed my favourite rose and lavender perfume, attached a brooch over my breastbone, and returned to the nursery. But I didn't go in straightaway. Instead, I lingered in the doorway.
János was humming a tune under his breath – I recognised it as Beethoven, Für Elise – and spun gently around the room with Éva, as though waltzing. His feet were all over the place; he hadn't grown up attending parties and salons as I had. But the sight touched me more deeply than if I were viewing the most accomplished of dancers. I could see the love for her in his eyes.
I caught the scent of porridge and toast, and cleared my throat. János stopped moving as I stepped into view.
“You look lovely,” he smiled.
“Köszönöm,” I replied.
János stroked Éva's head tenderly as he handed her back to me.
“She will want for nothing after I am done with today, my dear. I promise you that.”
“Between us, I’m sure we can arrange for such a thing.”
“But I want more than that. I want to give her the world,” said János, and a flintiness came into his face; a cold whisper to the edge of his voice. “After the Crimea, my father left me and my mother to rot. I will never do such a thing to her, or to you. You know that?”
“Of course, I do,” I said. “But remember: for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer.”
“Then let it be for better and for richer,” János replied. “The greater, the better, for you and for her. I will not see her live the life I had before you came into it, Mirriam. I would have it that she will never need to be saved. That she will have the means to be her own saviour.”
“And so, it shall be,” I said, and stroked his face. “I have every confidence in it.”
A smile traced János’s lips again, and when he spoke, the smooth warmth had returned.
“As do I. Now, come. Let’s eat. We haven’t long to spare.”
Breakfast was waiting for us when we reached the parlour. I passed Éva to Leila, and she took her away to be changed. Upon finishing my meal, I lifted the mail from the tray and leafed through it. Most were matters of finance, and I laid them aside to inspect more closely later. But the bottom-most one caught my attention. It was solely for me, written in a shaky childlike hand, and was a little discoloured at the edges. It had travelled far, clearly from outside Buda-Pesth.
I turned it over and read the return address.
I rolled onto my side. Through the gloom, I saw János lying next to me, his hair tousled from sleep.
I kissed him. He stirred, then curled a hand behind my head to hold me there.
“What a pleasant way to awaken,” he whispered.
The sound of his voice was like velvet against my skin. So rich, so beautiful.
“One should begin the day as they mean to go on,” I replied, and kissed him again.
He raised himself up on his elbow so I was beneath him. He pulled some hair away from my mouth, and combed through it with his fingers. I gazed into his eyes, as blue as a summer sky.
“Do I dare to hope that Éva has learned how to sleep through the night?” I smiled.
János laughed. “It would be welcomed! I am just grateful that she allowed me to rest fully! I need my wits about me today!”
“So do I. I’m… a little nervous.”
“About what?”
“The photograph.”
“Why?”
I glanced at my hands and made a show of inspecting them.
“Don’t you think it a little… well, disconcerting?” I asked. “A painting relies on the artist just putting down what he sees. But a photograph takes you, as you are, with no room for error. Every hair you see is a real hair and falls exactly how it fell in that moment. Forever.”
János shook his head gently, then wrapped his fingers around my own, so I could no longer use them as a distraction.
“Oh, Mirriam, why does that worry you?
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Are you afraid a piece of your soul might be trapped in it?” he pressed. “It is just a burst of light, nothing more, and you know that. People have been using cameras for years and nothing has happened.”
I did not reply. Perhaps a little superstitious part of me pandered to such belief, but my true unease ran deeper than that. Whenever I had seen photographs, they were to memorialise the dead.
I recalled the flash of powder as I stood beside my mother’s coffin: seven years old, dressed from head to toe in black, like a macabre little doll. I had to remain still for the exposure, and soon felt akin to a corpse myself. It was eternity frozen into a science; the perfect farce that time might stand still. But it never did. Even as I had hovered beside my Anya, I was horribly aware that beneath the staging and lace, her body was already breaking down.
No. There would be no death, not today, only life. The photograph would capture our happiness for all time. Me and my family. All I would ever want in this world.
I cupped János’s cheeks in my palms. He was twenty-two now, and I seventeen. A year had passed since we were married, and still, every morning, I awoke as giddy as I did upon the first. How could it be that God had seen fit to send me this angel? How fortunate that, in all the ages of the Earth and all the countries of the world, we existed together, here and now. Cast from different moulds, we might have been, but whatever constituted the material of our souls, it was the same.
“Let us speak on other things,” I said. “Tonight, you shall be Doctor Kálvin, my good sir.”
“Doctor Kálvin,” János repeated. “How strange it sounds.”
“You deserve it. You have worked so hard for it.”
“I would not even be looking at the possibility without you. You are the one who paid for me to get this far. I owe everything to you. Again.”
“All you owe me,” I said, “you have already vowed.”
János smiled and nestled himself against me. Even now, hair uncombed, chin shadowed by stubble, dressed in nothing but a nightshirt, the sight of him was like something carved by a master sculptor. His features were so delicate, in an ethereally pale face; inhuman, almost, in their perfection. His cheeks flushed a little: a tiny hint of fire beneath ice, and it was that warmth which made me love him the most. It gave me hope, and I endeavoured to nurture it; let it grow and be all it dreamed.
His ring swayed between us like a pendulum. After our wedding, he had worn it on his finger, but when he began training as a surgeon, he became worried about losing it. So I had bought him the golden chain upon which it now hung, alongside his tuition, and all his equipment. I had funded it out of my own pocket. As an heiress of the Tákacs family, I was fortunate enough to be in a position to do such a thing.
Unable to help myself, I pulled him close. He deftly unbuttoned the high collar of my nightgown and brought his mouth to my neck. I relished every touch, every breath upon my skin. We lay entwined in each other’s arms as the clock ticked on. If it chimed, I did not hear it. I was too lost in him.
From the next room came a soft infant’s cry.
I sighed. “And there’s our wake-up call.”
János held me still for long enough to kiss me again. The sky had lightened with the coming dawn, so I opened the curtains and pulled on a dressing gown. The floor was cold underfoot, but I ignored it. I would get warm again soon enough.
Éva quietened when she saw me. I lifted her from her cot, held her against my shoulder and gently bounced her up and down. There was little of me in her, I’d found: she’d inherited her father’s black locks and blue eyes. I wondered if any of my own resemblance would become apparent as she aged.
“Good morning, little one,” I smiled. “Are you hungry? Let’s sort that.”
I sat in a chair and undid the rest of the buttons over my chest. As she fed, I listened to the sounds of the city rising from its slumber: early carriages rattling along the road, the cooing of pigeons and calls of vendors in the nearby square. Outside, a funeral procession passed by the window in a parade of black.
I watched silently. Our street led to nowhere but the imposing gates of Kerepesi Cemetery. It certainly allowed for a quiet life on most days, except for when a poor soul was taken to rest. Then this place became a path to the next world, walked by the dead and the memories held by their kin, drifting along like living ghosts.
I closed my eyes so I could not observe any longer. When János was qualified, we would leave; perhaps seek out new lodgings on the other side of the river, near Buda Castle. This house was merely a stepping stone, I reminded myself, nothing more.
“Soon, Éva,” I whispered, and massaged my breast to encourage more milk to flow. “Soon, we shall all know such life.”
“Indeed, we shall.”
János entered, freshly-shaven, halfway through tying his cravat. When he noticed the mourners, he lowered his head for a moment in respect.
“Do not fret,” he said. “A couple of minutes, and they will be gone.”
“I hate to see them,” I admitted. “I can’t wait to be away from all this death. I don’t wish for her first memories to be of a sight like that.”
“Of course not,” replied János. He knelt at my side, waited for Éva to finish, then lifted her from my arms. “Now, go, my dear, get ready. I will mind her.”
I took myself to the dressing room, called for Leila, and had her help me into my corset and dress. I chose a dark red one adorned with white lace around the collar, then sat at the vanity and took down my rag curls. My hair shone gold in the early light.
I sprayed my favourite rose and lavender perfume, attached a brooch over my breastbone, and returned to the nursery. But I didn't go in straightaway. Instead, I lingered in the doorway.
János was humming a tune under his breath – I recognised it as Beethoven, Für Elise – and spun gently around the room with Éva, as though waltzing. His feet were all over the place; he hadn't grown up attending parties and salons as I had. But the sight touched me more deeply than if I were viewing the most accomplished of dancers. I could see the love for her in his eyes.
I caught the scent of porridge and toast, and cleared my throat. János stopped moving as I stepped into view.
“You look lovely,” he smiled.
“Köszönöm,” I replied.
János stroked Éva's head tenderly as he handed her back to me.
“She will want for nothing after I am done with today, my dear. I promise you that.”
“Between us, I’m sure we can arrange for such a thing.”
“But I want more than that. I want to give her the world,” said János, and a flintiness came into his face; a cold whisper to the edge of his voice. “After the Crimea, my father left me and my mother to rot. I will never do such a thing to her, or to you. You know that?”
“Of course, I do,” I said. “But remember: for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer.”
“Then let it be for better and for richer,” János replied. “The greater, the better, for you and for her. I will not see her live the life I had before you came into it, Mirriam. I would have it that she will never need to be saved. That she will have the means to be her own saviour.”
“And so, it shall be,” I said, and stroked his face. “I have every confidence in it.”
A smile traced János’s lips again, and when he spoke, the smooth warmth had returned.
“As do I. Now, come. Let’s eat. We haven’t long to spare.”
Breakfast was waiting for us when we reached the parlour. I passed Éva to Leila, and she took her away to be changed. Upon finishing my meal, I lifted the mail from the tray and leafed through it. Most were matters of finance, and I laid them aside to inspect more closely later. But the bottom-most one caught my attention. It was solely for me, written in a shaky childlike hand, and was a little discoloured at the edges. It had travelled far, clearly from outside Buda-Pesth.
I turned it over and read the return address.
Farkas Zíta,
Templomház, Hattyúpatak, Szatmár County.
Templomház, Hattyúpatak, Szatmár County.
“What is it?” János asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s from my cousin, Zíta.”
“The one who lives in the east?”
“Yes. She probably wishes to pass on her blessings for you today!”
I spoke jovially, but hidden behind my smile, a shadow constricted around my heart like a fist. Why wasn't it addressed to both of us? Why did I feel such a pervading dread as I handled it?
I took the letter-opener, slit the top of the envelope, and pulled out the paper within. I had been correct. It was dated the previous month – mail always took longer than normal, coming from such a rural distance.
My heart sank as I read the news. I could feel Zíta's emotion emanating through the words, as though they had been written in blood rather than ink. They were spattered in places, shaky, full of sorrow and anger.
“Mirriam?”
I looked at János. A concerned frown creased his brow.
“It is my Aunt Nora,” I sighed. “She has been… murdered.”
“What?”
János was at my side in an instant. He put one hand around my shoulders, and took the letter with the other. I let him. There were no secrets between us. We were equal in all things.
“Dear God,” he muttered. “What does this mean? A dark one? A Lidérc?”
I lowered my eyes. “Zíta is only ten years old. I'm sure she is not being literal.”
“I should hope not,” János said. “Such things cannot be real. Do you think, perhaps, she mistook the bastard for something from a nightmare?”
“Perhaps,” I replied tonelessly. “Forgive me… I'm rather shocked.”
János turned my face towards him. “I am so sorry, my dear. Are you alright? Can I do anything for you?”
I shook my head. “Nem.”
“Do you wish to attend the funeral?”
“They’ve already held it. Zíta says the attack was early last month. But… I should like to visit them. I am close with Uncle Alexander. He was a priest near the Castle District when I was a child. Then he went to Hattyúpatak, back in 1865.”
“He left Buda-Pesth for Szatmár County?” János said incredulously.
I shrugged. “He wished for a simpler life. It is a quaint place. I have visited several times.”
János didn’t speak again, just kissed my forehead and got to his feet. I took the letter back and read it again. Never mind that it was on the other side of the country, this was still my family. Terrible things happened every day, of course, but to other people. Not to my family. Not to us.
I forced myself to put dark notions out of mind. I could mourn for Aunt Nora, in my own way, when János was gone.
Leila reappeared with Éva, wrapped in a clean blanket. Already, she was falling asleep. I took her in my arms while the breakfast dishes were cleared, and the rest of the staff retrieved a number of mirrors. They had no sooner laid them in the corner of the parlour when I heard a knock at the door.
Leila went to answer it. While we were alone, János gave me a swift kiss on the lips.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
“I hope so.”
Leila reappeared, with a middle-aged gentleman and teenage boy in tow.
“Mr Viktor Denevér,” she announced.
János stepped forward and shook his hand.
“A pleasure, sir. Would you like a drink?”
“Tea, please, Mr Kálvin,” Denevér said. “And Mrs Kálvin, the pleasure is all mine.”
“Good morning, Mr Denevér,” I replied. “We have the mirrors, as you requested. Where do you wish to conduct the work?”
“This room will be more than adequate. The light is already exquisite. We shall simply enhance it with the mirrors. Nikolasz, position them, like so: here, here, and here.”
I stood back as the flurry of activity got underway. The boy – clearly an assistant – pushed furniture to the edges of the room. Denevér himself brought in a large box, with a wooden tripod under his arm. János and I watched as he withdrew a camera, placed it, then began fiddling with the lens and various other instruments beneath a heavy black sheet. In the neighbouring room, he and Nikolasz set up another dark sheet – I remembered something similar from my Anya’s mourning picture. The photographer only had ten minutes after wetting the plate to shoot and develop the image.
Leila wisely opened the windows to let out the rising odour of ether. I shivered as the cool air swept in, but refused to pay it any mind. Éva’s blanket was thick enough, and when all was done, I would have fires stoked in every grate to warm the house. Denevér paused on occasion to sip his tea, but János had obviously informed him that no moment was to be wasted. There would be time for pleasantries upon conclusion of the session, when it was just myself as host.
“Extraordinary,” János whispered. “I never realised how much work is involved.”
“This is nothing,” I said. “When it's our turn, we must stand as still as the statues in Kerepesi.”
Nerves fluttered in my chest when I said that. I wasn't even sure why I did. Now all I could think of were those same statues and monuments, as cold as the dead they watched over. All that, so close. Less than a minute’s walk to the end of the street.
There would be nothing of such grandeur awaiting Aunt Nora in Hattyúpatak. A wooden cross, perhaps, or an unassuming stone slab. No weeping cherubs or elaborate mausoleum, as I could expect, when my time came…
No. I had to stop this. My poor aunt might be playing on my mind, but I held little life in my arms; I felt it standing at my side. My life was entwined with those of the two around me, and that was what I had to think about. I needed only to endure this spectacle for a short period, then János would go to his final examination. It was the beginning of the happy ending I had so admired in the stories of my girlhood. I would not have it dulled and darkened by death.
Denevér beckoned us.
“Mr and Mrs Kálvin, if you would please stand here. I just need to frame the image and align the focus.”
János placed his hand on the small of my back. I stood on his left, Éva in my arms between us. She squirmed as I adjusted my grip on her. I spoke softly, trying to get her to settle.
“Excuse us,” János said to Denevér, then stroked his finger along Éva's cheek. At once, she stopped fretting and stared at him.
“There we are,” he whispered. “Now, you must behave yourself. Hush.”
In less than a minute, her little eyelids were fluttering. My heart melted as she slipped into slumber.
“Thank you for your patience, sir,” János said.
“Of course,” smiled Denevér. “I remember when my own son was that age. Now, I believe I’m ready now. I ask you to stay where you are, while Nikolasz and I prepare the plate. Once I return, you must remain completely still. Don’t even blink. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly,” I replied.
Denevér took himself to the makeshift darkroom, and a powerful stench of chemicals filled my nose. I grimaced at the smell. It brought back so many horrid memories.
“I hate this,” I whispered. “In future, if there must be images, I want them to be paintings. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said János, equally quiet. “I dare say, it might take less time!”
He glanced over his shoulder, to make sure Denevér was occupied, then put his arm on my waist and pulled me closer. I didn’t protest. Such a tiny distance wouldn’t interfere with the precious focus too much.
“Here we are,” said Denevér, returning with the plate. He slid it into the back of the camera with practised ease. “Remain as still as possible until I indicate. There will be a bright flash of the powder. Please don’t be alarmed.”
I took a deep breath, blinked a few times so I wouldn't feel the urge so terribly, and looked into the lens.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s from my cousin, Zíta.”
“The one who lives in the east?”
“Yes. She probably wishes to pass on her blessings for you today!”
I spoke jovially, but hidden behind my smile, a shadow constricted around my heart like a fist. Why wasn't it addressed to both of us? Why did I feel such a pervading dread as I handled it?
I took the letter-opener, slit the top of the envelope, and pulled out the paper within. I had been correct. It was dated the previous month – mail always took longer than normal, coming from such a rural distance.
My heart sank as I read the news. I could feel Zíta's emotion emanating through the words, as though they had been written in blood rather than ink. They were spattered in places, shaky, full of sorrow and anger.
“Mirriam?”
I looked at János. A concerned frown creased his brow.
“It is my Aunt Nora,” I sighed. “She has been… murdered.”
“What?”
János was at my side in an instant. He put one hand around my shoulders, and took the letter with the other. I let him. There were no secrets between us. We were equal in all things.
“Dear God,” he muttered. “What does this mean? A dark one? A Lidérc?”
I lowered my eyes. “Zíta is only ten years old. I'm sure she is not being literal.”
“I should hope not,” János said. “Such things cannot be real. Do you think, perhaps, she mistook the bastard for something from a nightmare?”
“Perhaps,” I replied tonelessly. “Forgive me… I'm rather shocked.”
János turned my face towards him. “I am so sorry, my dear. Are you alright? Can I do anything for you?”
I shook my head. “Nem.”
“Do you wish to attend the funeral?”
“They’ve already held it. Zíta says the attack was early last month. But… I should like to visit them. I am close with Uncle Alexander. He was a priest near the Castle District when I was a child. Then he went to Hattyúpatak, back in 1865.”
“He left Buda-Pesth for Szatmár County?” János said incredulously.
I shrugged. “He wished for a simpler life. It is a quaint place. I have visited several times.”
János didn’t speak again, just kissed my forehead and got to his feet. I took the letter back and read it again. Never mind that it was on the other side of the country, this was still my family. Terrible things happened every day, of course, but to other people. Not to my family. Not to us.
I forced myself to put dark notions out of mind. I could mourn for Aunt Nora, in my own way, when János was gone.
Leila reappeared with Éva, wrapped in a clean blanket. Already, she was falling asleep. I took her in my arms while the breakfast dishes were cleared, and the rest of the staff retrieved a number of mirrors. They had no sooner laid them in the corner of the parlour when I heard a knock at the door.
Leila went to answer it. While we were alone, János gave me a swift kiss on the lips.
“Are you ready?” he whispered.
“I hope so.”
Leila reappeared, with a middle-aged gentleman and teenage boy in tow.
“Mr Viktor Denevér,” she announced.
János stepped forward and shook his hand.
“A pleasure, sir. Would you like a drink?”
“Tea, please, Mr Kálvin,” Denevér said. “And Mrs Kálvin, the pleasure is all mine.”
“Good morning, Mr Denevér,” I replied. “We have the mirrors, as you requested. Where do you wish to conduct the work?”
“This room will be more than adequate. The light is already exquisite. We shall simply enhance it with the mirrors. Nikolasz, position them, like so: here, here, and here.”
I stood back as the flurry of activity got underway. The boy – clearly an assistant – pushed furniture to the edges of the room. Denevér himself brought in a large box, with a wooden tripod under his arm. János and I watched as he withdrew a camera, placed it, then began fiddling with the lens and various other instruments beneath a heavy black sheet. In the neighbouring room, he and Nikolasz set up another dark sheet – I remembered something similar from my Anya’s mourning picture. The photographer only had ten minutes after wetting the plate to shoot and develop the image.
Leila wisely opened the windows to let out the rising odour of ether. I shivered as the cool air swept in, but refused to pay it any mind. Éva’s blanket was thick enough, and when all was done, I would have fires stoked in every grate to warm the house. Denevér paused on occasion to sip his tea, but János had obviously informed him that no moment was to be wasted. There would be time for pleasantries upon conclusion of the session, when it was just myself as host.
“Extraordinary,” János whispered. “I never realised how much work is involved.”
“This is nothing,” I said. “When it's our turn, we must stand as still as the statues in Kerepesi.”
Nerves fluttered in my chest when I said that. I wasn't even sure why I did. Now all I could think of were those same statues and monuments, as cold as the dead they watched over. All that, so close. Less than a minute’s walk to the end of the street.
There would be nothing of such grandeur awaiting Aunt Nora in Hattyúpatak. A wooden cross, perhaps, or an unassuming stone slab. No weeping cherubs or elaborate mausoleum, as I could expect, when my time came…
No. I had to stop this. My poor aunt might be playing on my mind, but I held little life in my arms; I felt it standing at my side. My life was entwined with those of the two around me, and that was what I had to think about. I needed only to endure this spectacle for a short period, then János would go to his final examination. It was the beginning of the happy ending I had so admired in the stories of my girlhood. I would not have it dulled and darkened by death.
Denevér beckoned us.
“Mr and Mrs Kálvin, if you would please stand here. I just need to frame the image and align the focus.”
János placed his hand on the small of my back. I stood on his left, Éva in my arms between us. She squirmed as I adjusted my grip on her. I spoke softly, trying to get her to settle.
“Excuse us,” János said to Denevér, then stroked his finger along Éva's cheek. At once, she stopped fretting and stared at him.
“There we are,” he whispered. “Now, you must behave yourself. Hush.”
In less than a minute, her little eyelids were fluttering. My heart melted as she slipped into slumber.
“Thank you for your patience, sir,” János said.
“Of course,” smiled Denevér. “I remember when my own son was that age. Now, I believe I’m ready now. I ask you to stay where you are, while Nikolasz and I prepare the plate. Once I return, you must remain completely still. Don’t even blink. Am I clear?”
“Perfectly,” I replied.
Denevér took himself to the makeshift darkroom, and a powerful stench of chemicals filled my nose. I grimaced at the smell. It brought back so many horrid memories.
“I hate this,” I whispered. “In future, if there must be images, I want them to be paintings. If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” said János, equally quiet. “I dare say, it might take less time!”
He glanced over his shoulder, to make sure Denevér was occupied, then put his arm on my waist and pulled me closer. I didn’t protest. Such a tiny distance wouldn’t interfere with the precious focus too much.
“Here we are,” said Denevér, returning with the plate. He slid it into the back of the camera with practised ease. “Remain as still as possible until I indicate. There will be a bright flash of the powder. Please don’t be alarmed.”
I took a deep breath, blinked a few times so I wouldn't feel the urge so terribly, and looked into the lens.
*
Denevér took several more images, one after the other. To my relief, Éva didn’t stir. The only movement was the twitching of her eyelids.
I wondered what she was dreaming about. When she was growing in my belly, I had passed the time by sitting at the piano. Even now, whenever I played Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, she would turn her head, as though in attentive rapture. Could it be that she recognised the stream of notes? Was that simple shapeless simplicity what danced through the minds of sleeping infants? What would take precedence in her innocent lamb’s head? The music? The tone of my voice, and of her father’s voice? Or perhaps even of my own heartbeat. She was the only creature in the world who knew what that sounded like from the inside.
After what felt like an eternity, Denevér allowed us to move, and hastened from the room. I sank into a chair with a grateful moan.
“Thank God that’s over,” I muttered.
“And do you feel as though any portion of your soul is missing?” János said with a smile.
“You won’t continue with that, will you?”
“Only a jest, my dear. And I would know if your soul was fractured. It is interwoven with my own, after all.”
János toyed with the ring around his neck, sliding it back and forth along the chain. Then he looked at his pocket watch.
“How much longer until you leave?” I asked.
“Half an hour,” he replied. “I wonder what Doctor Kovács will have in store for me this time? Hopefully not something as stressful as the previous assignment.”
“What was it?”
“A gentleman who suffered a stab wound to his back.”
“Dear God!”
“Oh, it was an awful injury. But he was lucky, all things considered. The blade missed all the major organs and only paralysed him. Severed a nerve connected to the leg.”
I blinked. “Only paralysed?”
János nodded earnestly. “Surely it is better to be paralysed, and yet live.”
I remained silent. Before the Austro-Hungarian compromise, one of my father’s uncles had been wounded in the 1848 Revolution. His entire leg below the knee required amputation. He had staggered about on crutches, as a shadow of his former self, until the melancholy proved too great, and he put a pistol between his teeth.
It was yet another reason why I was glad to help János achieve his dreams. The opulence I had been born into was a mask for the fact that all men, from peasant to emperor, were equal in death’s eyes. No amount of money was enough to rescue a lost soul, if the appropriate medical care didn't exist. I had learned that lesson early, when I stood beside Anya’s body, trying to make the whole affair appear as art, beautiful and fit for society.
All a farce. Merely a desperate attempt to transform the ugly truth into something less confronting.
But medicine… Today's treatments would have been the stuff of dreams for my great-uncle. What miracle might be discovered next, to not only prolong life, but allow its quality to be maintained? When it did come to light, I knew my dear husband would be at the forefront, using his sharp brain and kind heart to rescue man after man.
Yes, that is what I believed he had been sent to me for. So I could help him to help others. So he could allow people to live, rather than just survive. That way, death truly could be beautiful, because after a lifetime of care, it would have earned the right to be so.
“Mr and Mrs Kálvin?” Denevér said from behind us. “Would you like to see?”
It took all my self-control to not chuckle. He looked giddy with excitement, like a child at Christmas.
I gave Éva to Leila, then János and I followed through the drawing room, into the small garden at the rear of the house. A number of small trays, filled with a chemical solution, sat on the low wall, in clear view of the sun. Within each one lay a sepia-tinted plate.
Denevér motioned to them with a flourish which would have been perfectly fitting of a stage magician.
János and I peered at the images. As in my previous picture beside the coffin, I saw every hair, every line of our faces, in flawless capture – and this time, it truly was flawless. I looked beautiful, as did Éva… and the sight of János, standing there in miniature, was enough to make me gasp.
“Are the photographs to your liking?” asked Denevér.
“Very much,” I replied.
“I especially like this one,” said János, pointing to the centre-most plate. “Your skill astounds me, sir. I am sincerely grateful for it, and for your time.”
Denevér beamed, not bothering to hide his pride.
“In that case, I shall dry them and pack my equipment. I can only apologise for the odours.”
With a speed which surprised me, he and Nikolasz collapsed the darkroom, disposed of the used solutions, and fitted the camera back into its case. Then the staff began preparing some light afternoon food, while Denevér perched in one of the parlour chairs.
János shook his hand again.
“It has been a great honour, sir,” he said. “But, alas, I am afraid I must leave you to my wife’s company now.”
“Of course,” replied Denevér. “I wish you the best of luck for your examination.”
János headed out of the door. I put down my teacup, dismissed myself as politely as I could, then stole after him.
He had left his medical bag just inside the bedroom. Before he could retrieve it, I turned him around and kissed him.
“Are you trying to make me late?” he laughed.
I sighed as his arms closed around me, as though they had been made for the shape of my body.
“Think of it as good luck. Not that you will need it,” I said. “How long will you be?”
“I cannot say. There is a physical examination, and a written one. And then I have the travelling time on either side…”
“Before dark?” I pressed. “Will you be home in time for dinner?”
“I hope so,” János replied. “I would wager around six o’clock. But the sooner I leave, the sooner I will be back!”
I still didn’t let go of him. He smiled, curled a hand around my neck, and kissed me again. It was so gentle, so sweet. Just that simple, chaste touch made my heart beat faster. I wondered if he could hear it, or perhaps feel it, as it pressed against his chest.
“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said. “What did I do to deserve someone like you?”
I gazed into his eyes. “You are my angel. I would do anything for you.”
“And I for you, my dear,” he muttered. “You give me wings.”
When we could delay no longer, I followed him downstairs, retrieved Éva, and stood in the hall to bid him goodbye. He pulled on a coat, pressed a top hat over his hair, then grabbed a pair of gloves.
“It may snow,” he observed with a glance out of the window. “Stay warm, both of you.”
“You too,” I said. “Keep your head and hands steady, Doctor Kálvin.”
“Tempting fate?”
“There's nothing to tempt. You have this, I know it.”
“Then I trust your faith. And I have you, right here.”
János tapped his ring, then tucked it safely inside his collar. He stroked Éva's cheek again, and kissed me one last time.
“I love you, Mirriam,” he whispered.
I smiled, felt warmth from my scalp to my toes. “Szeretlek, János.”
He walked outside, down the steps to the pavement. Still grinning, I shut the door behind him, and returned to the parlour. Now it was time for me to play hostess for a little while.
I wondered what she was dreaming about. When she was growing in my belly, I had passed the time by sitting at the piano. Even now, whenever I played Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, she would turn her head, as though in attentive rapture. Could it be that she recognised the stream of notes? Was that simple shapeless simplicity what danced through the minds of sleeping infants? What would take precedence in her innocent lamb’s head? The music? The tone of my voice, and of her father’s voice? Or perhaps even of my own heartbeat. She was the only creature in the world who knew what that sounded like from the inside.
After what felt like an eternity, Denevér allowed us to move, and hastened from the room. I sank into a chair with a grateful moan.
“Thank God that’s over,” I muttered.
“And do you feel as though any portion of your soul is missing?” János said with a smile.
“You won’t continue with that, will you?”
“Only a jest, my dear. And I would know if your soul was fractured. It is interwoven with my own, after all.”
János toyed with the ring around his neck, sliding it back and forth along the chain. Then he looked at his pocket watch.
“How much longer until you leave?” I asked.
“Half an hour,” he replied. “I wonder what Doctor Kovács will have in store for me this time? Hopefully not something as stressful as the previous assignment.”
“What was it?”
“A gentleman who suffered a stab wound to his back.”
“Dear God!”
“Oh, it was an awful injury. But he was lucky, all things considered. The blade missed all the major organs and only paralysed him. Severed a nerve connected to the leg.”
I blinked. “Only paralysed?”
János nodded earnestly. “Surely it is better to be paralysed, and yet live.”
I remained silent. Before the Austro-Hungarian compromise, one of my father’s uncles had been wounded in the 1848 Revolution. His entire leg below the knee required amputation. He had staggered about on crutches, as a shadow of his former self, until the melancholy proved too great, and he put a pistol between his teeth.
It was yet another reason why I was glad to help János achieve his dreams. The opulence I had been born into was a mask for the fact that all men, from peasant to emperor, were equal in death’s eyes. No amount of money was enough to rescue a lost soul, if the appropriate medical care didn't exist. I had learned that lesson early, when I stood beside Anya’s body, trying to make the whole affair appear as art, beautiful and fit for society.
All a farce. Merely a desperate attempt to transform the ugly truth into something less confronting.
But medicine… Today's treatments would have been the stuff of dreams for my great-uncle. What miracle might be discovered next, to not only prolong life, but allow its quality to be maintained? When it did come to light, I knew my dear husband would be at the forefront, using his sharp brain and kind heart to rescue man after man.
Yes, that is what I believed he had been sent to me for. So I could help him to help others. So he could allow people to live, rather than just survive. That way, death truly could be beautiful, because after a lifetime of care, it would have earned the right to be so.
“Mr and Mrs Kálvin?” Denevér said from behind us. “Would you like to see?”
It took all my self-control to not chuckle. He looked giddy with excitement, like a child at Christmas.
I gave Éva to Leila, then János and I followed through the drawing room, into the small garden at the rear of the house. A number of small trays, filled with a chemical solution, sat on the low wall, in clear view of the sun. Within each one lay a sepia-tinted plate.
Denevér motioned to them with a flourish which would have been perfectly fitting of a stage magician.
János and I peered at the images. As in my previous picture beside the coffin, I saw every hair, every line of our faces, in flawless capture – and this time, it truly was flawless. I looked beautiful, as did Éva… and the sight of János, standing there in miniature, was enough to make me gasp.
“Are the photographs to your liking?” asked Denevér.
“Very much,” I replied.
“I especially like this one,” said János, pointing to the centre-most plate. “Your skill astounds me, sir. I am sincerely grateful for it, and for your time.”
Denevér beamed, not bothering to hide his pride.
“In that case, I shall dry them and pack my equipment. I can only apologise for the odours.”
With a speed which surprised me, he and Nikolasz collapsed the darkroom, disposed of the used solutions, and fitted the camera back into its case. Then the staff began preparing some light afternoon food, while Denevér perched in one of the parlour chairs.
János shook his hand again.
“It has been a great honour, sir,” he said. “But, alas, I am afraid I must leave you to my wife’s company now.”
“Of course,” replied Denevér. “I wish you the best of luck for your examination.”
János headed out of the door. I put down my teacup, dismissed myself as politely as I could, then stole after him.
He had left his medical bag just inside the bedroom. Before he could retrieve it, I turned him around and kissed him.
“Are you trying to make me late?” he laughed.
I sighed as his arms closed around me, as though they had been made for the shape of my body.
“Think of it as good luck. Not that you will need it,” I said. “How long will you be?”
“I cannot say. There is a physical examination, and a written one. And then I have the travelling time on either side…”
“Before dark?” I pressed. “Will you be home in time for dinner?”
“I hope so,” János replied. “I would wager around six o’clock. But the sooner I leave, the sooner I will be back!”
I still didn’t let go of him. He smiled, curled a hand around my neck, and kissed me again. It was so gentle, so sweet. Just that simple, chaste touch made my heart beat faster. I wondered if he could hear it, or perhaps feel it, as it pressed against his chest.
“I am the luckiest man in the world,” he said. “What did I do to deserve someone like you?”
I gazed into his eyes. “You are my angel. I would do anything for you.”
“And I for you, my dear,” he muttered. “You give me wings.”
When we could delay no longer, I followed him downstairs, retrieved Éva, and stood in the hall to bid him goodbye. He pulled on a coat, pressed a top hat over his hair, then grabbed a pair of gloves.
“It may snow,” he observed with a glance out of the window. “Stay warm, both of you.”
“You too,” I said. “Keep your head and hands steady, Doctor Kálvin.”
“Tempting fate?”
“There's nothing to tempt. You have this, I know it.”
“Then I trust your faith. And I have you, right here.”
János tapped his ring, then tucked it safely inside his collar. He stroked Éva's cheek again, and kissed me one last time.
“I love you, Mirriam,” he whispered.
I smiled, felt warmth from my scalp to my toes. “Szeretlek, János.”
He walked outside, down the steps to the pavement. Still grinning, I shut the door behind him, and returned to the parlour. Now it was time for me to play hostess for a little while.
*
Denevér stayed a couple of hours, making polite conversation, like I had heard for my entire life. It was a part of my breeding: how to show etiquette; suitable subjects and how long to linger on them; not to show that one was overly passionate.
“You have a very beautiful home, Mrs Kálvin,” Denevér complimented.
“Thank you, sir. We don't intend to make it our long-term residence, however. I personally find the western side of the Danube more agreeable.”
“It is rather unfortunate that the cemetery is so nearby. But, even so, such a place has a kind of beauty about it, in its way.”
“Have you photographed it?”
“Actually, I have, when I was younger. Photography is not the easiest of arts, least of all with living subjects. With respect, you and your family were marvellous, but there are others who believe that please stay still means wriggle like a worm. Needless to say, it is less stressful to practise with subjects guaranteed to remain stationary!”
I laughed politely. “You’re clearly a man who loves his work.”
“Very much,” said Denevér, taking a sip of his tea. “I believe that one needs only to find his calling, and life is his own.”
“As do I,” I muttered, and threw a glance at the window. János would be at the medical school by now. What was he doing?
Denevér noticed where my eyes had wandered.
“If you’ll forgive me, but I am a curious man,” he said, “however did you find somebody like that?”
I searched his face for the silent hidden language which always danced above civil exchanges like this. At once, I spotted it, and I knew what he was really asking.
How did I, a Tákacs, see fit to marry a fatherless nouveau riche boy? A boy who I had willingly financed to walk the circles above his birth? As a couple of the local newspapers had even insinuated, why should someone like me have any heart for someone like him?
Never mind that the union had been arranged between my father and János’s mother. I had insisted upon some say in the matter, too. From the moment I saw him and spoke to him, I knew it was meant to be. My support of him was unconventional, but I didn’t care. Let the small-minded ones think what they wanted. The truth of the situation was important only to us.
János’s parents had been unable to give him the world, so I would.
“On occasion,” I said in the end, “the greatest of men spring from the most unlikely of places.”
“I’m sure,” replied Denevér. “And they rise so wonderfully towards the sky.”
“Higher than many might wish for,” I added. “But I don't believe there should be limit to man’s endeavour. Times are changing, Mr Denevér, much like your photography. Fifty years ago, such images were impossible. Whatever may come in the next fifty years, I wonder?”
I didn’t expect an answer, and I communicated it in the same way the original question had been put to me. The smile in just the right place; the tiniest shard of steel in my eyes; all glazed with a honeyed layer which could only come from a lady of rank. Young I may be, but I knew these games. János was at his strongest in the operating theatre, and myself in the theatre of conversation.
Denevér realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere further on the subject. We returned to lighter talk, until he announced it was time for him and Nikolasz to leave. Once again, I thanked him, then saw him to the door.
As his carriage rattled away, I sat at the writing desk, and turned my attention to my letters. Yet another bill from the medical school was the first in the pile. I couldn't lie about how much it had cost, even for a family such as mine. My dowry had gone towards securing this house, so everything else, I had offered up myself. It was hardly enough to cast us into poverty, but I would need to be careful and balance the books. When János returned, he would have the necessary qualifications to take high-paid work, which would cover the debt of his training. Then I would have to put money aside for travel to Hattyúpatak…
My hand shook as I thought of that. I fetched Zíta’s letter, and read it again, slower this time.
It was no less ridiculous. All this talk of a demon creeping down the chimney and killing Aunt Nora in her bed. Zíta claimed she had driven it away herself with a piece of birch wood, while her little brother tried to stop the bleeding.
All fancies of a child’s imagination. Zíta had been born in Hattyúpatak, miles from anywhere. The place was still swathed in old superstitions and legends.
And yet, despite myself, I hesitated. She was barely into double-figures, but she described the encounter so vividly. Apparently, even Uncle Alexander believed it, and I had never known a more level-headed man than him.
My eyes lingered on the word Zíta had used to describe the attacker. Lidérc: flying bringer of nightmares.
No. Impossible. This was only a child's nightmare, trying to attach some semblance of logic to a scene of carnage. A comfort blanket, bloodstained as it may be, to account for the fact that the murderer had escaped.
Poor Aunt Nora. She had been late to motherhood, true, but she was still young; only in her forties. She should have known more life, and now some depraved thug had ripped it away from her. For what? Money? Thrill?
Blood, Zíta’s handwriting answered.
I grabbed a handkerchief and wept into it. Why did death have to be so cruel?
Éva started crying. I recognised the sound: she was hungry.
I sniffed back my sobs, collected myself, and called for Leila. At once, she reappeared and passed Éva to me.
“Build the fires high and cut a sandwich for when I return,” I said, then headed upstairs, out of sight, and opened the front of my dress. My corset was low-cut, so it didn’t take much effort for me to position Éva, and she began sucking.
I knew it was common for ladies such as myself to employ a nurse for this purpose, but the idea of a strange woman holding my daughter had turned my belly. It was Éva, János, and me. Nobody else. The two of us had created her, and I would continue sustaining her until I no longer could.
I looked at the window. The sky was heavy with cloud, the sun dulled. Would it be cold in that operating theatre? What would my angel be doing now?
The ticking clock was torture. I just wanted it to be dark already, so he would be home. I had the entire evening planned. The previous week, I had spoken to the cook about preparing János’s favourite dish as a celebratory surprise. Even from the bedroom, I could smell the meat. Later, we would dine and toast to success, take a little stroll along the riverside, sit together around the fire for a while before bed. And then, when we were alone, I would hold him and caress him and love him, until it felt as though we were the only two people on Earth.
Éva turned her face away. I patted her back until she burped, then I rocked her back and forth, humming in the way she liked. First Mozart, then Beethoven. Soon, she grew heavy in my arms, so I laid her in her cot, and tucked the blankets around her.
I sighed as I looked at her. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe such a little piece of perfection had come from me. János was right: she deserved the world, and we would give it to her.
I returned downstairs, ate the food Leila had left for me, and turned to the photographs. The nearest was the one János had liked best. Now I could view it properly, without Denevér breathing down my neck, I agreed. Everything about it was perfection. I would find a frame for it, then give it pride of place atop the mantelpiece, where we could see it every day.
The entire parlour was deliciously warm. A large log had been placed in the centre of the hearth, to burn hot and slowly for the next few hours. The heat tugged at my eyes, already heavy from tears. I barely had a chance to lay the photograph down before I fell asleep.
I drifted through a hazy landscape. It was flat, rural – I distantly recognised it. The Alföld: the great plain which stretched across the Hungarian land. A flock of swans flew overhead. I heard the soft whisper of water over rocks. Snow drifted around me.
No, not snow. Ashes and pieces of birch bark, still smouldering at the edges. On the wind, I heard screaming. I didn’t know whose it was. Zíta’s? Aunt Nora’s? My own?
I touched my throat, to see if I could feel my vocal cords vibrating. My fingers came away wet. There was a terrible wound there, so vicious, it exposed my windpipe.
I woke with a start. I looked around in alarm, and found my writing desk; János’s chair, opposite my own, still empty.
A nightmare. Nothing more. Zíta’s words had permeated deeper than I’d realised.
The clock chimed six. I glanced out of the window. The sun had set, and a faint sprinkle of snowflakes – real ones this time – were settling on the cobbles. There was still no sign of János.
To occupy myself, I checked on Éva. As though sensing me, she stirred as soon as I walked into the nursery, and I duly fed her again. Then I returned to the parlour with her, held her in one arm, and fetched a novel. It was in English: a tongue I hardly spoke, but which Father had insisted I learned. It was an interesting story, to be sure, about a mysterious woman found in a carriage crash, but I quickly put it down. There was too much darkness in the words.
Time ticked on. Still, János did not appear.
“I’m sure everything is fine, ma’am,” Leila said encouragingly. “Perhaps the master’s examination is just taking longer than expected.”
I nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. The food isn't ready yet, is it?”
“It can be kept warm. Don’t worry about that. May I bring you anything?”
The doorbell rang.
I sat bolt upright, startling Éva. Why would János be ringing? He had a key.
Leila walked into the hall and slid back the chain. I heard a strange man’s voice: deep, authoritative, yet with a soft edge, which made my hair stand on end.
“Is your mistress at home?”
“Yes, sir. Won’t you please come in? Who shall I say is here?”
I didn’t wait for an answer and hurried to the doorway. My heart struck up a frantic beat, like a hammer against cloth.
A police officer was standing there, his dark jacket speckled white from the snow. When he saw me, he bowed his head and took off his helmet.
“Mrs Mirriam Kálvin?” he asked. “May I please speak with you?”
My eyes went to his hands. He was holding a folded piece of black material.
I led him to the parlour and sat down before I could fall. He perched opposite me, in János’s chair. I bristled at that. I had a mind to ask Leila to fetch some other furniture, but I knew I was being ridiculous. I just had to listen.
“My name is Officer Horváth,” he said. “I’m here about your husband.”
I looked at the material again, and covered my mouth. Now we were by the fire, in better light, I recognised it. It was János’s coat.
In confirmation, Horváth opened it. The area around the collar was torn, as though it had been violently wrenched away. The fabric itself was slick with a thick black substance, and beneath that, an unmistakable red tinge. Blood.
The world narrowed into tunnel vision. I must have swooned, because Leila ran over and lifted Éva from my arms.
“Oh, God!” I whimpered. “Where is he? What happened?”
“Mrs Kálvin,” Horváth said steadily, “I understand your distress, and I’m sorry. Myself and a few others found this in an alleyway by the river, about an hour ago.”
Nausea wrapped around me like a snake, but I held it in check. I knew where he meant. The alleyway was only a thirty-minute walk from here. János sometimes used it as a shortcut, when he was travelling to and from the medical school in bad weather.
“He was on his way home,” I realised. “Where is he?”
Horváth took a deep breath. “We don’t know, Mrs Kálvin.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We found the coat on the ground, but no sign of your husband. His wallet is missing from the pocket. We think he was attacked.”
“Attacked? Is that his blood? Oh, my God…”
“Again, we can’t be certain. But considering the location of it, I would… assume it likely.”
A stone dropped through my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. Not to János. Not to him…
Hidden by my skirts, I pinched myself, but this was no dream. Horváth was still sitting there, where János should have been. Leila had made herself scarce, but I heard Éva babbling in the next room, and I knew that all the staff were likely listening just outside the door.
Fine. Let them. I didn’t have the strength to dismiss them.
Horváth folded the coat and leaned a little closer to me.
“I’ll have to keep this for now, in case it lends any clues,” he said gently. “But I want to reassure you, we have no reason to believe the worst. Yes, there is blood, but I have been doing my job for twenty years, and there wasn’t enough – either on the garment or the ground – to confirm it.”
“But you mean, confirm it either way, don’t you?” I whimpered. “There might not be enough, because he could have fallen into the water before more could flow.”
“Please don’t think that, Mrs Kálvin. I know how difficult this is. But I want to assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to find him. Is there anything you can tell us which might help?”
“Such as?”
“Well, we knew it was your husband because his name is embroidered in the lapel, but we have little information besides that. Where was he going, or coming from? Were you the last one to see him?”
I shook my head, and forced my tongue to co-operate.
“Nem… I last saw him this afternoon, about one o’clock. He was heading to Szent Erzsébet Medical School for his final surgery examination. He would have been coming back around now. His fellow students and tutor would have been the last to see him. Doctor Bernát Kovács.”
“Can you give me his physical description?” asked Horváth.
“I can do better than that,” I said.
I retrieved one of the other photographs. I was instantly grateful that Denevér had taken several images. For some peculiar reason, I couldn’t bring myself to hand over the one on my table, which János himself had pointed out.
Horváth studied the picture closely. “How recent is this?”
“About seven hours old,” I replied. “It was taken this very day.”
“Who by?”
“Viktor Denevér.”
“Alright, I’ll be sure to speak with him as well.”
I froze. “What? You think he has something to do with this?”
“I highly doubt it, but I want to gather as much information as I can from various people,” Horváth explained. “What else can you tell me that might help us to recognise your husband?”
I took handfuls of my skirt in my hands, and twisted the fabric so tightly, I thought I felt it tear. Once again, I could see the truth behind the question. It was in case they found János in a compromising state, and would need to identify him by other means.
“Black hair, blue eyes. Five feet, eight inches tall. Twenty-two years old.”
“Any scars or defining features?”
“Nem. Nothing substantial, in any case. A couple of small ones on his knees, but they are faded – childhood things.”
Horváth pulled out a notebook and wrote down my words.
“Alright. Would you mind if I keep this photograph?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said.
My voice broke on the last word. I couldn’t do this for much longer. I wanted to curl up in bed, press my face against János’s pillow to catch his scent; and also run outside, scream his name until I was hoarse, wander every street in Buda-Pesth until I found him…
Horváth got to his feet. As he did, the light of the fire caught the black liquid on János's coat.
“What is that?” I asked.
Horváth glanced at where I was pointing.
“I’m not sure. I would say tar.”
“Tar?” I repeated. “Why would he have…?”
“Perhaps he fell in some, when he… well, went down,” said Horváth.
“Did you see anything like that?”
“No, but the snow may have covered it. Please try not to worry. It likely only happened a short while before we were alerted. I have confidence that we’ll find him.”
Horváth's voice was civil, but I’d had enough. I thanked him, wished him farewell, and saw him out myself.
I clung to the doorway as he walked away, taking the same path János had. Was that really this very afternoon? When I last stood here, had it been the final time? Had everything about today been the last?
Where was he? In the river, floating face-down? Had that dream been a warning? Was it not my own throat which had been torn open, but his?
My legs folded beneath me, and I slid to the floor. Hands appeared under my arms and guided me back towards the hearth. They were Leila’s hands. The wrong hands.
I wanted to cry, but I was unable. The shock had turned my bones to glass and my mind to smoke.
“It will be fine, ma’am,” Leila assured. “Would you like a cup of tea? Some food?”
I suddenly remembered the dinner. Its aroma still lingered on the air, but now, it was no longer appetising. The mere thought of eating it repulsed me. I would rather have tasted ash than take a single mouthful without János. To do so would make this entire affair more real.
“Where’s Éva?” I asked. “Bring her to me. Now!”
Leila quickly complied, and I clutched Éva as tightly as I dared. It was only a small comfort, but János was in her. As long as I held her, I held him.
“Please, God,” I wept. “Please, I will never ask for anything else. I will live in squalor and forsake all I possess, if I must. I will happily die without a forint to my name. Just please… please bring him back to me.”
The air swallowed my words. The log in the fire spat and crackled. The clock ticked endlessly on. And from the table, the photograph stared back at me: three corpses from our life before this.
“Come back to me, my angel,” I moaned. “I beg you. Come home.”
There was no answer. Only silence, and the ghostly memory of a kiss.
“You have a very beautiful home, Mrs Kálvin,” Denevér complimented.
“Thank you, sir. We don't intend to make it our long-term residence, however. I personally find the western side of the Danube more agreeable.”
“It is rather unfortunate that the cemetery is so nearby. But, even so, such a place has a kind of beauty about it, in its way.”
“Have you photographed it?”
“Actually, I have, when I was younger. Photography is not the easiest of arts, least of all with living subjects. With respect, you and your family were marvellous, but there are others who believe that please stay still means wriggle like a worm. Needless to say, it is less stressful to practise with subjects guaranteed to remain stationary!”
I laughed politely. “You’re clearly a man who loves his work.”
“Very much,” said Denevér, taking a sip of his tea. “I believe that one needs only to find his calling, and life is his own.”
“As do I,” I muttered, and threw a glance at the window. János would be at the medical school by now. What was he doing?
Denevér noticed where my eyes had wandered.
“If you’ll forgive me, but I am a curious man,” he said, “however did you find somebody like that?”
I searched his face for the silent hidden language which always danced above civil exchanges like this. At once, I spotted it, and I knew what he was really asking.
How did I, a Tákacs, see fit to marry a fatherless nouveau riche boy? A boy who I had willingly financed to walk the circles above his birth? As a couple of the local newspapers had even insinuated, why should someone like me have any heart for someone like him?
Never mind that the union had been arranged between my father and János’s mother. I had insisted upon some say in the matter, too. From the moment I saw him and spoke to him, I knew it was meant to be. My support of him was unconventional, but I didn’t care. Let the small-minded ones think what they wanted. The truth of the situation was important only to us.
János’s parents had been unable to give him the world, so I would.
“On occasion,” I said in the end, “the greatest of men spring from the most unlikely of places.”
“I’m sure,” replied Denevér. “And they rise so wonderfully towards the sky.”
“Higher than many might wish for,” I added. “But I don't believe there should be limit to man’s endeavour. Times are changing, Mr Denevér, much like your photography. Fifty years ago, such images were impossible. Whatever may come in the next fifty years, I wonder?”
I didn’t expect an answer, and I communicated it in the same way the original question had been put to me. The smile in just the right place; the tiniest shard of steel in my eyes; all glazed with a honeyed layer which could only come from a lady of rank. Young I may be, but I knew these games. János was at his strongest in the operating theatre, and myself in the theatre of conversation.
Denevér realised he wasn’t going to get anywhere further on the subject. We returned to lighter talk, until he announced it was time for him and Nikolasz to leave. Once again, I thanked him, then saw him to the door.
As his carriage rattled away, I sat at the writing desk, and turned my attention to my letters. Yet another bill from the medical school was the first in the pile. I couldn't lie about how much it had cost, even for a family such as mine. My dowry had gone towards securing this house, so everything else, I had offered up myself. It was hardly enough to cast us into poverty, but I would need to be careful and balance the books. When János returned, he would have the necessary qualifications to take high-paid work, which would cover the debt of his training. Then I would have to put money aside for travel to Hattyúpatak…
My hand shook as I thought of that. I fetched Zíta’s letter, and read it again, slower this time.
It was no less ridiculous. All this talk of a demon creeping down the chimney and killing Aunt Nora in her bed. Zíta claimed she had driven it away herself with a piece of birch wood, while her little brother tried to stop the bleeding.
All fancies of a child’s imagination. Zíta had been born in Hattyúpatak, miles from anywhere. The place was still swathed in old superstitions and legends.
And yet, despite myself, I hesitated. She was barely into double-figures, but she described the encounter so vividly. Apparently, even Uncle Alexander believed it, and I had never known a more level-headed man than him.
My eyes lingered on the word Zíta had used to describe the attacker. Lidérc: flying bringer of nightmares.
No. Impossible. This was only a child's nightmare, trying to attach some semblance of logic to a scene of carnage. A comfort blanket, bloodstained as it may be, to account for the fact that the murderer had escaped.
Poor Aunt Nora. She had been late to motherhood, true, but she was still young; only in her forties. She should have known more life, and now some depraved thug had ripped it away from her. For what? Money? Thrill?
Blood, Zíta’s handwriting answered.
I grabbed a handkerchief and wept into it. Why did death have to be so cruel?
Éva started crying. I recognised the sound: she was hungry.
I sniffed back my sobs, collected myself, and called for Leila. At once, she reappeared and passed Éva to me.
“Build the fires high and cut a sandwich for when I return,” I said, then headed upstairs, out of sight, and opened the front of my dress. My corset was low-cut, so it didn’t take much effort for me to position Éva, and she began sucking.
I knew it was common for ladies such as myself to employ a nurse for this purpose, but the idea of a strange woman holding my daughter had turned my belly. It was Éva, János, and me. Nobody else. The two of us had created her, and I would continue sustaining her until I no longer could.
I looked at the window. The sky was heavy with cloud, the sun dulled. Would it be cold in that operating theatre? What would my angel be doing now?
The ticking clock was torture. I just wanted it to be dark already, so he would be home. I had the entire evening planned. The previous week, I had spoken to the cook about preparing János’s favourite dish as a celebratory surprise. Even from the bedroom, I could smell the meat. Later, we would dine and toast to success, take a little stroll along the riverside, sit together around the fire for a while before bed. And then, when we were alone, I would hold him and caress him and love him, until it felt as though we were the only two people on Earth.
Éva turned her face away. I patted her back until she burped, then I rocked her back and forth, humming in the way she liked. First Mozart, then Beethoven. Soon, she grew heavy in my arms, so I laid her in her cot, and tucked the blankets around her.
I sighed as I looked at her. Sometimes, I couldn’t believe such a little piece of perfection had come from me. János was right: she deserved the world, and we would give it to her.
I returned downstairs, ate the food Leila had left for me, and turned to the photographs. The nearest was the one János had liked best. Now I could view it properly, without Denevér breathing down my neck, I agreed. Everything about it was perfection. I would find a frame for it, then give it pride of place atop the mantelpiece, where we could see it every day.
The entire parlour was deliciously warm. A large log had been placed in the centre of the hearth, to burn hot and slowly for the next few hours. The heat tugged at my eyes, already heavy from tears. I barely had a chance to lay the photograph down before I fell asleep.
I drifted through a hazy landscape. It was flat, rural – I distantly recognised it. The Alföld: the great plain which stretched across the Hungarian land. A flock of swans flew overhead. I heard the soft whisper of water over rocks. Snow drifted around me.
No, not snow. Ashes and pieces of birch bark, still smouldering at the edges. On the wind, I heard screaming. I didn’t know whose it was. Zíta’s? Aunt Nora’s? My own?
I touched my throat, to see if I could feel my vocal cords vibrating. My fingers came away wet. There was a terrible wound there, so vicious, it exposed my windpipe.
I woke with a start. I looked around in alarm, and found my writing desk; János’s chair, opposite my own, still empty.
A nightmare. Nothing more. Zíta’s words had permeated deeper than I’d realised.
The clock chimed six. I glanced out of the window. The sun had set, and a faint sprinkle of snowflakes – real ones this time – were settling on the cobbles. There was still no sign of János.
To occupy myself, I checked on Éva. As though sensing me, she stirred as soon as I walked into the nursery, and I duly fed her again. Then I returned to the parlour with her, held her in one arm, and fetched a novel. It was in English: a tongue I hardly spoke, but which Father had insisted I learned. It was an interesting story, to be sure, about a mysterious woman found in a carriage crash, but I quickly put it down. There was too much darkness in the words.
Time ticked on. Still, János did not appear.
“I’m sure everything is fine, ma’am,” Leila said encouragingly. “Perhaps the master’s examination is just taking longer than expected.”
I nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. The food isn't ready yet, is it?”
“It can be kept warm. Don’t worry about that. May I bring you anything?”
The doorbell rang.
I sat bolt upright, startling Éva. Why would János be ringing? He had a key.
Leila walked into the hall and slid back the chain. I heard a strange man’s voice: deep, authoritative, yet with a soft edge, which made my hair stand on end.
“Is your mistress at home?”
“Yes, sir. Won’t you please come in? Who shall I say is here?”
I didn’t wait for an answer and hurried to the doorway. My heart struck up a frantic beat, like a hammer against cloth.
A police officer was standing there, his dark jacket speckled white from the snow. When he saw me, he bowed his head and took off his helmet.
“Mrs Mirriam Kálvin?” he asked. “May I please speak with you?”
My eyes went to his hands. He was holding a folded piece of black material.
I led him to the parlour and sat down before I could fall. He perched opposite me, in János’s chair. I bristled at that. I had a mind to ask Leila to fetch some other furniture, but I knew I was being ridiculous. I just had to listen.
“My name is Officer Horváth,” he said. “I’m here about your husband.”
I looked at the material again, and covered my mouth. Now we were by the fire, in better light, I recognised it. It was János’s coat.
In confirmation, Horváth opened it. The area around the collar was torn, as though it had been violently wrenched away. The fabric itself was slick with a thick black substance, and beneath that, an unmistakable red tinge. Blood.
The world narrowed into tunnel vision. I must have swooned, because Leila ran over and lifted Éva from my arms.
“Oh, God!” I whimpered. “Where is he? What happened?”
“Mrs Kálvin,” Horváth said steadily, “I understand your distress, and I’m sorry. Myself and a few others found this in an alleyway by the river, about an hour ago.”
Nausea wrapped around me like a snake, but I held it in check. I knew where he meant. The alleyway was only a thirty-minute walk from here. János sometimes used it as a shortcut, when he was travelling to and from the medical school in bad weather.
“He was on his way home,” I realised. “Where is he?”
Horváth took a deep breath. “We don’t know, Mrs Kálvin.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“We found the coat on the ground, but no sign of your husband. His wallet is missing from the pocket. We think he was attacked.”
“Attacked? Is that his blood? Oh, my God…”
“Again, we can’t be certain. But considering the location of it, I would… assume it likely.”
A stone dropped through my stomach. This couldn’t be happening. Not to János. Not to him…
Hidden by my skirts, I pinched myself, but this was no dream. Horváth was still sitting there, where János should have been. Leila had made herself scarce, but I heard Éva babbling in the next room, and I knew that all the staff were likely listening just outside the door.
Fine. Let them. I didn’t have the strength to dismiss them.
Horváth folded the coat and leaned a little closer to me.
“I’ll have to keep this for now, in case it lends any clues,” he said gently. “But I want to reassure you, we have no reason to believe the worst. Yes, there is blood, but I have been doing my job for twenty years, and there wasn’t enough – either on the garment or the ground – to confirm it.”
“But you mean, confirm it either way, don’t you?” I whimpered. “There might not be enough, because he could have fallen into the water before more could flow.”
“Please don’t think that, Mrs Kálvin. I know how difficult this is. But I want to assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to find him. Is there anything you can tell us which might help?”
“Such as?”
“Well, we knew it was your husband because his name is embroidered in the lapel, but we have little information besides that. Where was he going, or coming from? Were you the last one to see him?”
I shook my head, and forced my tongue to co-operate.
“Nem… I last saw him this afternoon, about one o’clock. He was heading to Szent Erzsébet Medical School for his final surgery examination. He would have been coming back around now. His fellow students and tutor would have been the last to see him. Doctor Bernát Kovács.”
“Can you give me his physical description?” asked Horváth.
“I can do better than that,” I said.
I retrieved one of the other photographs. I was instantly grateful that Denevér had taken several images. For some peculiar reason, I couldn’t bring myself to hand over the one on my table, which János himself had pointed out.
Horváth studied the picture closely. “How recent is this?”
“About seven hours old,” I replied. “It was taken this very day.”
“Who by?”
“Viktor Denevér.”
“Alright, I’ll be sure to speak with him as well.”
I froze. “What? You think he has something to do with this?”
“I highly doubt it, but I want to gather as much information as I can from various people,” Horváth explained. “What else can you tell me that might help us to recognise your husband?”
I took handfuls of my skirt in my hands, and twisted the fabric so tightly, I thought I felt it tear. Once again, I could see the truth behind the question. It was in case they found János in a compromising state, and would need to identify him by other means.
“Black hair, blue eyes. Five feet, eight inches tall. Twenty-two years old.”
“Any scars or defining features?”
“Nem. Nothing substantial, in any case. A couple of small ones on his knees, but they are faded – childhood things.”
Horváth pulled out a notebook and wrote down my words.
“Alright. Would you mind if I keep this photograph?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said.
My voice broke on the last word. I couldn’t do this for much longer. I wanted to curl up in bed, press my face against János’s pillow to catch his scent; and also run outside, scream his name until I was hoarse, wander every street in Buda-Pesth until I found him…
Horváth got to his feet. As he did, the light of the fire caught the black liquid on János's coat.
“What is that?” I asked.
Horváth glanced at where I was pointing.
“I’m not sure. I would say tar.”
“Tar?” I repeated. “Why would he have…?”
“Perhaps he fell in some, when he… well, went down,” said Horváth.
“Did you see anything like that?”
“No, but the snow may have covered it. Please try not to worry. It likely only happened a short while before we were alerted. I have confidence that we’ll find him.”
Horváth's voice was civil, but I’d had enough. I thanked him, wished him farewell, and saw him out myself.
I clung to the doorway as he walked away, taking the same path János had. Was that really this very afternoon? When I last stood here, had it been the final time? Had everything about today been the last?
Where was he? In the river, floating face-down? Had that dream been a warning? Was it not my own throat which had been torn open, but his?
My legs folded beneath me, and I slid to the floor. Hands appeared under my arms and guided me back towards the hearth. They were Leila’s hands. The wrong hands.
I wanted to cry, but I was unable. The shock had turned my bones to glass and my mind to smoke.
“It will be fine, ma’am,” Leila assured. “Would you like a cup of tea? Some food?”
I suddenly remembered the dinner. Its aroma still lingered on the air, but now, it was no longer appetising. The mere thought of eating it repulsed me. I would rather have tasted ash than take a single mouthful without János. To do so would make this entire affair more real.
“Where’s Éva?” I asked. “Bring her to me. Now!”
Leila quickly complied, and I clutched Éva as tightly as I dared. It was only a small comfort, but János was in her. As long as I held her, I held him.
“Please, God,” I wept. “Please, I will never ask for anything else. I will live in squalor and forsake all I possess, if I must. I will happily die without a forint to my name. Just please… please bring him back to me.”
The air swallowed my words. The log in the fire spat and crackled. The clock ticked endlessly on. And from the table, the photograph stared back at me: three corpses from our life before this.
“Come back to me, my angel,” I moaned. “I beg you. Come home.”
There was no answer. Only silence, and the ghostly memory of a kiss.