“My room upstairs was plain and clean, with incongruous touches of former grandeur in the fat bodies of gilded cherubs in the upper corners and a marble basin in the shape of a great mollusk shell. As I washed my hands there and combed my hair in the mirror above it, I looked from the simpering putti to the narrow, tightly made bed, which could have been an army cot, and grinned. My room was on a different floor from Helen’s this time—the aunt’s foresight?—but at least I would have those outdated cherubs and their Austro-Hungarian wreaths for company.
“Helen was waiting for me in the lobby, and she led me silently through the grand doors of the hotel into the grand street. She was wearing her pale blue blouse again—in the course of our travels, I had gradually become rather rumpled while she managed still to look washed and ironed, which I took for some kind of East European talent—and she had pinned her hair up in a soft roll in the back. She was lost in thought as we strolled toward the university. I didn’t dare ask what she was thinking, but after a while she told me of her own volition. ‘It is so odd to come back here very suddenly like this,’ she said, glancing at me.
“‘And with a strange American?’
“‘And with a strange American,’ she murmured, which didn’t sound like a compliment.
“The university was made up of impressive buildings, some of them echoes of the fine library we’d seen earlier, and I began to feel some trepidation when Helen gestured toward our destination, a large classical hall bordered around the second story with statues. I stopped to crane up at them and was able to read some of their names, spelled in their Magyar versions: Plato, Descartes, Dante, all of them crowned with laurels and draped in classical robes. The other figures were less familiar to me: Szent István, Mátyás Corvinus, János Hunyadi. They brandished scepters or bore mighty crowns aloft.
“‘Who are they?’ I asked Helen.
“‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Come on—it’s after five now.’
“We entered the hall with several animated young people I took to be students and made our way to a huge room on the second floor. My stomach lurched a little; the place was full of professors in black or gray or tweed suits and crooked ties—they had to be professors—eating from little plates of red peppers and white cheese and drinking something that smelled like a strong medication. They were all historians, I thought with a groan, and although I was supposed to be one of them, my heart was sinking fast. Helen was immediately surrounded by a knot of colleagues, and I caught a glimpse of her shaking hands in a comradely way with a man whose white pompadour reminded me of some kind of dog. I had almost decided to go pretend to look out the window at the magnificent church facade opposite when Helen’s hand grasped my elbow for a split second—was that wise of her?—and steered me into the crowd.
“‘This is Professor Sándor, the chairman of the history department at the University of Budapest and our greatest medievalist,’ she told me, indicating the white dog, and I hurried to introduce myself. My hand was crushed in a grip of iron, and Professor Sándor expressed his great honor at having me join the conference. I wondered briefly if he was the friend of the mysterious aunt. To my surprise, he spoke a clear, if slow, English. ‘The pleasure is all ours,’ he told me warmly. ‘We expect happily your lecture tomorrow.’
“I expressed my reciprocal feeling of honor at being allowed to address the conference and was very careful not to catch Helen’s eye as I spoke.
“‘Excellent,’ Professor Sándor boomed. ‘We have a big respect for the universities of your country. May our two countries live in peace and friendship for every year.’ He saluted me with his glass of the medicinal clear stuff I’d been smelling, and I hastened to return the salute, since a glass of it had magically appeared in my hand. ‘And now, if there is something we can do to make your stay in our beloved Budapest more happier, you must say it.’ His great dark eyes, bright in an aging face and contrasting weirdly with his white mane, reminded me for a moment of Helen’s, and I took a sudden liking to him.
“‘Thank you, Professor,’ I told him sincerely, and he slapped my back with a big paw.
“‘Please, come, eat, drink, and we will talk.’ Right after this, however, he vanished to other duties, and I found myself in the midst of eager questions from the other members of the faculty and visiting scholars, some of whom looked even younger than I. They clustered around me and Helen, and gradually I heard among their voices a babble of French and German, and some other language that might have been Russian. It was a lively group, a charming group, actually, and I began to forget my nervousness. Helen introduced me with a distant graciousness that struck me as just the right note for the occasion, explaining smoothly the nature of our work together and the article we would soon be publishing in an American journal. The eager faces crowded around her, too, with quick questions in Magyar, and a little flush came to her face as she shook hands and even kissed the cheeks of a few of her old acquaintances. They had not forgotten her, clearly—but then how could they? I thought. I noticed that she was one of several women in the room, some older than she and a few quite young, but she eclipsed all of them. She was taller, more vivid, more poised, with her broad shoulders, her beautifully shaped head and heavy curls, her look of animated irony. I turned to one of the Hungarian faculty members so that I would not stare at her; the fiery drink was starting to course through my veins.
“‘Is this a typical gathering at a conference here?’ I wasn’t sure what I meant, but it was something to say while I took my eyes off Helen.
“‘Yes,’ said my companion proudly. He was a short man of about sixty in a gray jacket and gray tie. ‘We have many international gatherings at the university, especially now.’
“I wanted to ask what he meant by especially now, but Professor Sándor had materialized again and was guiding me toward a handsome man who seemed very eager to meet me. ‘This is Professor Géza József,’ he told me. ‘He would like to make your acquaintance.’ Helen turned at the same moment, and to my utter surprise I saw a look of displeasure—was it even disgust?—flash over her face. She made her way toward us immediately, as if to intervene.
“‘How are you, Géza?’ She was shaking hands with him, formally and a little coldly, before I’d even had time to greet the man.
“‘How good to see you, Elena,’ Professor József said, bowing a little to her, and I caught something strange in his voice, too, which could have been mockery but could have been some other emotion. I wondered if they were speaking English only for my benefit.
“‘And you,’ she said flatly. ‘Allow me to introduce my colleague with whom I have been working in America —’
“‘What a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, giving me a smile that illuminated his fine features. He was taller than I, with thick brown hair and the confident posture of a man who loves his own virility—he would have been magnificent on horseback, riding across the plains with herds of sheep, I thought. His handshake was warm, and he gave me a welcoming cudgel on the shoulder with his other hand. I failed to see why Helen would find him repulsive, although I couldn’t shake the impression that she did. ‘And you will honor us with a lecture tomorrow? That is splendid,’ he said. Then he paused for a second. ‘But my English is not so good. Would you prefer we speak in French? German?’
“‘Your English is far better than either my French or German, I’m sure,’ I responded promptly.
“‘You are very kind.’ His smile was a meadow of flowers. ‘I understand your field is the Ottoman domination of the Carpathians?’
“News certainly traveled fast here, I thought; it was just like home. ‘Ah, yes,’ I concurred. ‘Although I am sure I will have much to learn from your faculty on that subject.’
“‘Surely no,’ he murmured kindly. ‘But I have done a little research on it myself and would be pleased to discuss it with you.’
“‘Professor József has a great range of interests,’ Helen put in. Her tone would have frozen hot wate
r. This was all very puzzling, but I reminded myself that every academic department suffers from civil unrest, if not outright war, and that this one was probably no exception. Before I could think of anything conciliatory to say, Helen turned to me abruptly. ‘Professor, we must go to our next meeting,’ she said. For a second, I didn’t know whom she was addressing, but she put her hand firmly under my arm.
“‘Oh, I see you are very busy.’ Professor József was all regret. ‘Perhaps we can discuss the Ottoman question another time? I would be pleased to show you a little of our city, Professor, or take you for lunch —’
“‘The professor will be fully engaged throughout the conference,’ Helen told him. I shook hands with the man as warmly as her icy gaze would permit, and then he took her free hand in his.
“‘It is a delight to see you back in your homeland,’ he told her, and bowing over her hand, he kissed it. Helen snatched it away, but a strange look crossed her face. She was somehow moved by the gesture, I decided, and for the first time I disliked the charming Hungarian historian. Helen steered me back to Professor Sándor, where we made our apologies and expressed our eagerness to hear the next day’s lectures.
“‘And we will expect your lecture with all the pleasure.’ He pressed my hand in both of his. Hungarians were tremendously warm people, I thought with a glow that was only partly the effect of the drink in my bloodstream. As long as I postponed all real thought of that lecture myself, I felt adrift in satisfaction. Helen took my arm, and I thought she searched the room with a quick glance before we made our exit.
“‘What was that all about?’ The evening air was refreshingly cool, and I felt more aglow than ever. ‘Your compatriots are the most cordial people I think I’ve ever met, but I had the impression you were ready to behead Professor József.’
“‘I was,’ she said shortly. ‘He is unsufferable.’
“‘Insufferable, more likely,’ I pointed out. ‘What makes you treat him like that? He greeted you as an old friend.’
“‘Oh, there’s nothing wrong with him, really, except that he is a flesh-eating vulture. A vampire, actually.’ She stopped short and stared at me, her eyes large. ‘I didn’t mean —’
“‘Of course you didn’t,’ I said. ‘I checked his canines.’
“‘You are unsufferable, too,’ she said, taking her arm from mine.
“I looked regretfully at her. ‘I don’t mind your holding my arm,’ I said lightly, ‘but is that a good idea in front of your entire university?’
“She stood gazing at me, and I couldn’t decipher the darkness in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry. There was not anyone present from anthropology.’
“‘But you knew many of the historians, and people talk,’ I persisted.
“‘Oh, not here.’ She gave her dry snort of laughter. ‘We are all workers-in-arms together here. No gossip or conflict—only comradely dialectic. You will see tomorrow. It is really quite a little utopia.’
“‘Helen,’ I groaned. ‘Would you be serious, for once? I’m simply worried about your reputation here—your political reputation. After all, you must come back here someday and face all these people.’
“‘Must I?’ She took my arm again, and we walked on. I made no move to pull away; there was little I could have valued more at that moment than the brush of her black jacket against my elbow. ‘Anyway, it was worth it. I did it only to make Géza gnash his teeth. His fangs, that is.’
“‘Well, thank you,’ I muttered, but I didn’t trust myself to say anything more. If she had intended to make anyone jealous, it had certainly worked with me. I suddenly saw her in Géza’s strong arms. Had they been involved before Helen had left Budapest? They would have been a striking match, I thought—both were so handsomely confident, so tall and graceful, so dark haired and broad shouldered. I felt, suddenly, puny and Anglo, no match for the horsemen of the steppe. Helen’s face prohibited further questions, however, and I had to content myself with the silent weight of her arm.
“All too soon, we turned in at the gilded doors of the hotel and were in the hushed lobby. As soon as we entered, a lone figure stood up among the black upholstered chairs and potted palms, waiting quietly for us to approach. Helen gave a little cry and ran forward, her hands outstretched. ‘Éva!’”
Chapter 39
“Since my meeting with her—I saw her only three times—I have often thought of Helen’s aunt Éva. There are people who stick in one’s memory much more clearly after a brief acquaintance than others whom one sees day after day over a long period. Aunt Éva was certainly one of those vivid people, someone my memory and imagination have conspired to preserve in living color for twenty years. I have sometimes used Aunt Éva to fill the shoes of characters in books, or figures in history; for example, she stepped in automatically when I encountered Madame Merle, the personable schemer in Henry James’s Portrait of a Lady.
“In fact, Aunt Éva has stood in for such a number of formidable, fine, subtle women, in my musings, that it is a little difficult for me to reach back now to her real self as I encountered her on an early summer evening in Budapest in 1954. I do remember that Helen flew into her arms with uncharacteristic affection, and that Aunt Éva herself did not fly, but stood calm and dignified, embracing her niece and kissing her soundly on each cheek. When Helen turned, flushed, to introduce us, I saw tears shining in the eyes of both women. ‘Éva, this is my American colleague, whom I told you about. Paul, this is my aunt, Éva Orbán.’
“I shook hands, trying not to stare. Mrs. Orbán was a tall, handsome woman of perhaps fifty-five. What hypnotized me about her was her stunning resemblance to Helen. They might have been an older and much younger sister, or twins, one of whom had aged through hard experience while the other had stayed magically young and fresh. In fact, Aunt Éva was only a shade shorter than Helen and had Helen’s strong, graceful posture. Her face might once have been even lovelier than Helen’s, and it was still very beautiful, with the same straight, rather long nose, pronounced cheekbones, and brooding dark eyes. Her hair color puzzled me until I realized that it could never have had its origins in nature; it was a weird purplish red, with some white growing out at the roots. During our subsequent days in Budapest, I saw this dyed hair on many women, but that first glimpse of it startled me. She wore small gold earrings and a dark suit that was the sister of Helen’s, with a red blouse underneath.
“As we shook hands, Aunt Éva looked into my face very seriously, almost earnestly. Maybe she was scanning me for any weakness of character to warn her niece about, I thought, and then chided myself; why should she even consider me a potential suitor? I could see a web of fine lines around her eyes and at the corners of her lips, the record of a transcendent smile. That smile appeared after a moment, as if she could not suppress it for long. No wonder this woman could arrange additions to conferences and stamps in visas at the drop of a hat, I thought; the intelligence she radiated was matched only by her smile. Like Helen’s, too, her teeth were beautifully white and straight, something I was beginning to realize was not a given among Hungarians.
“‘I am very glad to meet you,’ I said to her. ‘Thank you for arranging the honor of my attending the conference.’
“Aunt Éva laughed and pressed my hand. If I had thought her calm and reserved the moment before, I had been fooled; she broke out now in a voluble stream of Hungarian, and I wondered if I was supposed to understand any of it. Helen came to my rescue at once. ‘My aunt does not speak English,’ she explained, ‘although she understands more than she likes to admit. The older people here studied German and Russian and sometimes French, but English was much rarer. I will translate for you. Shh —’ She put a fond hand on her aunt’s arm, adding some injunction in Hungarian. ‘She says you are very welcome here and hopes you won’t get into any trouble, as she put the whole office of the undersecretary of visa affairs into an uproar to get you in. She expects an invitation from you to your lecture—which she will not understand that well, but it is the p
rinciple of the thing—and you must also satisfy her curiosity about your university at home, how you met me, whether I behave properly in America, and what kind of food your mother cooks. She will have other questions later.’
“I looked at the pair of them in astonishment. They were both smiling at me, these two magnificent women, and I saw a remarkable likeness of Helen’s irony in her aunt’s face, although Helen could have benefited from a study of her aunt Éva’s frequent smile. There was certainly no fooling someone as clever as Éva Orbán; after all, I reminded myself, she had risen from a village in Romania to a position of power in the Hungarian government. ‘I will certainly try to satisfy your aunt’s interest,’ I told Helen. ‘Please explain to her that my mother’s specialties are meat loaf and macaroni-and-cheese.’
“‘Ah, meat loaf,’ Helen said. Her explanation to her aunt brought an approving smile. ‘She asks you to convey her greetings and congratulations to your mother in America on her fine son.’ I felt myself turning red, to my annoyance, but promised to deliver the message. ‘Now she would like to take us to a restaurant you will enjoy very much, a taste of old Budapest.’
“Minutes later, the three of us were seated in the back of what I took to be Aunt Éva’s private car—not a very proletarian vehicle, by the way—and Helen was pointing out the sights, prompted by her aunt. I should say that Aunt Éva never uttered a word of English to me throughout our two meetings, but I had the impression this was as much a matter of principle—an anti-Western protocol, perhaps?—as anything else; when Helen and I had any exchange, Aunt Éva often seemed to understand it at least partially even before Helen translated. It was as if Aunt Éva was making a linguistic declaration that things Western were to be treated with some distance, even a little revulsion, but an individual Westerner was quite possibly a nice person and should be shown full Hungarian hospitality. Eventually I got used to speaking with her through Helen, so much so that I sometimes had the impression of being on the brink of understanding those waves of dactyls.