Zbornik Mednarodnega literarnega srečanja Vilenica 2004 - Ljudmila

Szilárd Podmaniczky
The doctor examined the motionless old man whilst I hung around in
the doorway. He set the chair back in its place, packed up his bag, then on
the way out paused by me in the doorway. I suppose you don’t want to
have him admitted to hospital, he said, I’ve known him for thirty years
and this is where he wants to die, in his own home. What’s wrong with
him, I asked. The doctor stared ahead of him. His internal organs, he said,
he needs a special operation. That would allow him to hold out a few more
years, maybe even get him back on his feet. What do you think? I don’t
know, I replied. My hands were ice-cold. The operation would cost a million
and a half, he said. Well, what can I say, I replied. You know best, he
said, placing a hand on my shoulder, then made to go but lingered in the
doorway: try to get some food down him, grated vegetables or fruit, and
fluid. Who took care of him up till now, I asked. I did, and I’ll look in again
tomorrow, the doctor answered, and he departed. I heaved a sigh or two.
I turned towards the old man, who was puffing almost imperceptibly.
It grew even brighter in the room. I searched through my pockets to see
whether I had any money left on me: just a few tattered paper handkerchiefs.
I rummaged through the drawers, the wardrobe and the dresser in
the kitchen. I found no money, neither my briefcase, just a few utensils
and a threadbare suit.
That’s enough of that, I thought, closing the front door after myself,
then the garden gate, and set off down the muddy street. The occasional
cyclists and pedestrians, having eyed one another, we nodded silent
acknowledgements. It was even colder out in the street, with the wind
going right through my clothes. I heard the sound of a bus around the
corner and hurried my steps.
The names of two villages were displayed on the bus’s signboard, neither
previously known to me. I did not board, having no money on me
after all, though I did exchange glances with the driver for a few seconds
before he closed the door. I could not have explained why, or even if I
could, there was no way he was going to let me board without money. I
gazed for a long time at the bus’s wobbling stern. Then I set off after it.
I contemplated ringing a doorbell and asking for some money, to be
sent back later. I resolved to do that. I looked around: no one out on the
street, then rang the bell on the wall of one of the larger houses. A dog
scampered up to the fence and began mutely sniffing; it did not bark. No
one came. I pressed again. The dog snorted. I waited another minute, but
still nothing.
The fumes from the bus were still swirling around in the dank air. I
carried on after it. I was overcome by hunger and thirst, and 1 was freezing.
The road was on a gentle inclination, then after the incline swung
round into a street market. I had already caught the smell of meat roasting
from way off. In the market there were second-hand clothes and food for
sale: loads of fruit and greens, and fresh-fry stalls. I searched through my
pockets yet again, then thought to myself it was a pity I didn’t have a wristwatch,
I could get a thousand for it now. By one of the second-hand clothes
stalls the idea of selling my jacket flitted across my mind, but just before-
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