Midnight Train to Prague - Carol Windley Page 0,49
“In the country, you see animals dying, it’s inevitable, but I hate it.”
“I know. The animals have a good life here, though.”
“Yes. My mother sees to it that even the cows and sheep are happy.”
“I have to go home,” she said.
“Let me take you,” he said.
“I’m not sure when I’m going, it will depend on the countess.”
“Natalia, I owe you an apology. I allowed myself to forget, for one thing, that you are our guest, and for another—I am almost old enough to be your father. I am, in any case, old enough to know better. I hope you can forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said.
They walked down to the castle and at the kitchen door met Guido, who was on his way to offer condolences to the countess. Magdolna made espresso and sliced the remains of the plum cake. Miklós poured cognac into glasses and offered Guido a cigarette. The countess returned from the stables. She sat at the table and said she would like a cigarette too; she felt the need of a stimulant. She said her horse had not succumbed to disease, as the vet said. Out of courtesy, Trajan had gone ahead of her to the next life, and he would wait for her there. “You get older, life gets smaller and smaller,” she said. “Any loss wears you out.” She looked at Guido, her eyes half-closed, holding the cigarette close to her face.
Miklós told Guido he had an appointment in a few days’ time in Rome to interview Mussolini. The Fascist leader had destroyed the free press in Italy but paradoxically courted the foreign press. “In return, he expects encomiums and favorable comparisons to Garibaldi, Napoleon, Bismarck. Which he can whistle for, as far as I’m concerned.” He asked Guido what his family in Italy thought of Mussolini. It went like this, Guido said: one-third of his family believed Mussolini to be a man of heroic dimensions, capable of restoring Italy’s economy and standing in the world; one-third detested Mussolini and called him a murderer and a phony; one-third never gave a thought to politics. Miklós asked in which third Guido placed himself. “Ah, that would be telling,” Guido said. He got up and pushed in his chair. “Again, my sincere condolences, dear lady,” he said, kissing Rozalia’s hand.
* * *
Before she left, Natalia gave Rozalia the small crystal horse she had bought at the arcade in Pest. Rozalia held it in the palm of her hand. It captured Trajan’s gallant and sprightly nature, particularly in his salad days, she said, and then gave Natalia a long look from beneath her waxen eyelids. “Why are you going, my dear child? Will you be back for the harvest? Promise me you’ll return in time for the opening of the school, or the children will think you don’t like them. What am I to do without you? I will be alone at night, and you know my heart can’t take it. If you stay, I’ll have the Green Room repainted. You can choose another color, anything you like. Is the bed too hard? I’ll replace it.”
Chapter Nine
As soon as she arrived home, Natalia saw that Zita not only had moved into the villa in Zehlendorf but also had commandeered almost every bit of space. Her books and papers littered every available surface and were piled on the floor beside her favorite chair in the living room. A photograph of her father had a prominent position on the mantelpiece, beside the ormolu clock, and her typewriter seemed a permanent fixture at one end of the dining room table, so that meals were often taken in its august presence. Worse, Benno now slept on Zita’s bed. “I enticed him, I’m afraid,” Zita said. “My feet get cold at night, a symptom of a vitamin deficiency, from Russia, in the revolution. And he is such a nice, plush cat, aren’t you, my darling?” She nestled her face in Benno’s fur and the cat purred. Traitor, Natalia thought. When she woke early in the morning, she went into Zita’s room and carried Benno back to her own bed. On many mornings, Zita was not in her bed at all, but had crossed the hall to Beatriz’s room, and the two of them were sitting up against the pillows and talking. Then Zita would exclaim that she was going to be late, and she’d rush around getting ready to catch the train to work.