The New Hungarian Quarterly, 1984 (25. évfolyam, 96. szám)

Sarkadi Imre: The Deserter (short story)

IMRE SARKADI: THE DESERTER 47 I heard the fire crackling in the kitchen and a horse being led across the yard. Margit was cooking—she had killed some chickens, several as far as I could make out. I asked her what for, for breakfast. “Not for us,” she said. “Some guests came at dawn; they bought them.” I didn’t like it—why the devil kill chickens for guests who come at dawn? When they’d written they hardly had any chickens. “Had to,” she said. “They’re soldiers. They’ve quartered themselves here and bought them.” Mother also came in, and I asked her what kind of soldiers they were. I didn’t like them having come to us of all places. “They’re sort of half civilians,” she said. “About ten of them. They came by lorry.” “The hell,” I said. “And when are they going? Didn’t they say?” “No, they didn’t.” “I wouldn’t mind if they did go. And if they come in here to eat in the kitchen, where can I go? What with them in the yard and the stable, I can’t even go out.” “Why?” asked Mother. “Surely, you’re not afraid of them, are you? You’re a soldier yourself.” “Yes, but I’d prefer not to meet this lot. You said yourself they were sort of half civilians.” “Something of that sort, but they’re soldiers for all that. They’re armed...” I went back to the room and Mother came after me. She obviously wanted to say something, but didn’t dare. And she kept peering at my face to see if it wouldn’t get more friendly. I began to get dressed, because if they did happen to come in I didn’t want them to go pulling me out of bed in my pants and vest. “What’s wrong?” I asked Mother finally, as she was putting the things away round me. She didnt’t say really anything, but just began muttering that surely nothing bad could come of it, of them having put up here, and anyway they hadn’t done much asking whether we’d let them or not. Of course they hadn’t, I knew that myself, you don’t do much asking when you put up somewhere. Especially if you come with a lorry. But Mother wanted to know why it would be bad if I was to meet them. “It would,” I said. “Never mind why, but it would. And don’t ask too many questions. I don’t want you to go mentioning that I’m here, and you’d be as well to bring my kit in from the kitchen.” “Oh, they’ve seen that,” she said. “In fact they asked whose it was, so I had to tell them. But they didn’t seem to mind. They asked me how many of my sons were soldiers and they even praised me when I told them that the older one had died at the front last year.”

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