Key stage 3 Read of the week
It may by well to explain here the meaning of an einstand. It is a peculiarly typical term used by the children of Budapest.
Whenever a brazenly fearless youngster discovers boys more timid than himself playing marbles or similar outdoor games, and desires to disrupt such games, he thunders: EINSTAND.
This ugly Teutonic word indicates that the physically stronger boy regards the marbles of the other to be his rightful look, and he is ready to employ force against all resistance.
EINSTAND, therefore, means a declaration of war.
It is likewise a terse and unmistakable way of proclaiming a state of siege; the right of force, of the fist, of brigandage.
Csele was first to speak up.
A shudder ran through the sensitive Csele as he said “An einstand, did you say?”
“Yes,” corroborated Nemecsek, his courage mounting at the realization of the deep effect produced by their information.
Then Geréb burst forth.
“We can’t put up with this any longer!
I have long been in favor of doing something about if, but Boka pulls a face at every suggestion.
If we do nothing, they are apt to give us a drubbing, too.”
Csónakos placed two fingers in his mouth to indicate that he was about to whistle with joy. He was ready to join every revolution.
But Boka grabbed his hand.
“Don’t deafen me,” he remonstrated. Then, in all seriousness, he asked the little blond: “How did it all happen?”
“The einstand, you mean?”
“Yes. When and where?”
“Yesterday afternoon in the museum.”
By “museum” was meant the lawn surrounding that public institution.
“Well then, suppose you tell us the whole story, exactly how everything happened.
We must know the truth, if we are to do anything about it…”
Nemecsek became excited at the thought of being the central character in an incident of great importance. Such distinction was rarely his lot. To most people little Nemecsek was thin air.
Like the figure one in arithmetics, he neither multiplied nor divided things. No one ever paid much attention to him.
He was an insignificant, lean and weak-kneed youngster. It was probably this very inferiority which made him an ideal victim. Now he began to tell his tale, and the rest of the boys put their heads together.
“It was like this”, he said. “After luncheon we went out to the museum. I mean Weisz, Richter, Kolnay, Barabás and myself. First we thought of playing baseball in Eszterházy Street, but the ball belongs to the boys of the Heal school and they wouldn’t give it to us. Then Barabás suggested that ‘we go to the museum to roll marbles against the wall.’ And all of us did play marbles against the wall. Everyone had a chance to roll a marble and the fellow whose ball struck one already rolled took the whole pot. The game had gone around several times. There must have been at least fifteen marbles at the wall, I think two of them were glassies. Suddenly we heard Richter yell: ‘That finishes it, here come the Pásztor boys’ The Pásztor boys were just coming around the corner, with hands stuck in their pockets and their heads down low.
They came so slowly that all of us got scared
What difference did it make that we were five against the two of them. They are strong enough to lick ten of us, and, anyway, there’s no use counting us as five because, in a pinch, Kolnay always runs away and so does Barabás.
There are only three of us, at best, I myself may decide to run away, too.
That leaves only two. But what good would it do if all five of us tried to run away. Those Pásztor boys are the best runners at the museum, they’d catch us in no time.
So, as I say, they kept coming nearer and nearer and had their eyes on the marbles all the time
Said I to Kolnay: “They seem to have taken a liking to our marbles”.
‘Weisz was the smartest of us because he had said right away: ‘They’re coming, all right. There’s einstand in the air!’
Honestly, I didn’t think they would hurt us, because we had never bothered them. In fact, at first they really didn’t do anything to us, they only watched the game.
Then Kolnay whispered to me ‘Let’s stop now’, and I said: ‘I should say not, not right after you’ve rolled a blank, it’s my turn’. If I win, we’ll stop.’
Meanwhile, Richter had to roll, but I saw his hand tremble with fear.
He kept one eye on the Pásztors and, of course, he missed. But the Pásztors did not budge. They only stood there with hands stuck into their pockets.
Then I rolled. It was a strike. That made me the winner of all the marbles. I was about to go over to gather them up, there must have been about thirty in all. Just then one of the Pásztor boys jumped in front of me.
It was the younger one, and he cried ‘EINSTAND’
I turned my head and saw Kolnay and Barabás beating it away. Weisz stood near the wall. He was very pale, Richter was deliberating what to do.
I tried to reason with them. I remember saying‘ ‘Excuse me, but you have no right to this.’ By this time, the older Pásztor had nearly finished picking up the marbles and putting them in his pocket.
The younger one grabbed the front of my jacket and shouted ‘Didn’t you hear me say EINSTAND’ After that, of course, I didn’t say another word.
Weisz began to bawl. Kolnay and Kende peeped back from around the corner of the museum to see what was happening. And the Pásztor boys picked up all the marbles. Then, without another murmur, they went away. That’s all.
“It’s unheard of!” said Geréb in indignation.
“It’s highway robbery!”
This was Csele’s opinion.
Csónakos blew another shrill blast to indicate that air was full of gunpowder.
Boka stood still, thinking hard.
Everyone was watching him.
All of them were anxious to know what Boka would have to say about these grievances; they had been in the air for months, and Boka had consistently refused to take them seriously.
But on this occasion, the glaring injustice of it, as related by Nemecsek, moved Boka too.
Quietly he said: “Right now I think we ought to go to eat. This afternoon we’ll be meeting on the grund. There we will talk things over. I am convinced now that it is an impossible situation!”
This declaration seemed to please all of them. Boka appeared in a very sympathetic light. The boys looked at him with affection.
They were thrilled by the sight of his agacious little head, his glittering black eyes, which at that moment were aglow with a militant blaze.
They would have liked to kiss Boka for having, at last, shared their indignation.
Again they wended their way homeward.
There was cheeriness in the tolling of a bell somewhere in the Joseph District, the sun shone at its brightest and everything seemed filled with joy.
These boys were on the threshold of great deeds. The desire to do things Burned strong within them; all of them lived in anticipation of the next move.
For, once Boka had declared that something must be done, something surely would be done!
On and on they went toward Űllői Avenue. Csómakos and Nemecsek fell behind.
When Boka turned to say something to them, both of them were standing at a basement window of the tobacco factory which was thickly coated with fine tobacco dust.
“Snuff!” cried Csónakos boisterously, blew his lusty whistle and stuffed his nose full of the yellow dust.
Nemecsek, the little monkey, laughed heartily. He, too, put a frail hand on the pane and sniffed at the tip of a finger.
Amid recurring sneezes, the two of them passed through Köztelek Street, elated at their discovery.
Csónakos fairly boomed as he sneezed, like the roar of a cannon. The little fellow merely snuffled like a guinea-poh when annoyed.
And so they sneezed and snuffled, laughed and romped. For at that moment the sum of their happiness was great indeed; they forgot even that which Boka himself, quiet and serious Boka, had declared to be something unheard of.
Fatelessness by Imre Kertész
I didn't go to school today. Or rather, I did go, but only to ask my class teacher's permission to take the day off. I also handed him the letter in which, referring to "family reasons," my father requested that I be excused. He asked what the "family reason" might be. I told him my father had been called up for labor service; after that he didn't raise a further peep against it.
I didn't head home but to our shop. Father had said they would wait for me there. He added that I should hurry as well because he might need me. In actual fact, that was partly why he had asked me to be let off school. Or else so that "he might have me there on his last day before being separated from home," since he said that too, though admittedly some other time. He said it to my mother, as I recall, when he phoned her this morning. Today is a Thursday, as it happens, and on Thursdays and Sundays my afternoons, strictly speaking, belong to my mother. Still, Father informed her: "I can't let you have young Gyuri today," and then went on to give that as the reason. Though maybe it wasn't like that after all. I was rather sleepy this morning on account of last night's air-raid warning, so perhaps I don't remember it clearly. I am quite sure, though, that he said it-if not to Mother, then to someone else.
I too spoke a few words to Mother, though I no longer remember what. I think she may have been annoyed with me because I was obliged to be a little short with her, what with Father being there: after all, today it is his wishes I have to consider. When I was about to set off from the house, even my stepmother had a few private words with me in the hall, just between the two of us. She said she hoped that, on what was such a sad day for us, "she could count on my behaving appropriately." I had no clue what I could say to that, so I said nothing. She may have misinterpreted my silence, however, because she went straight on to say something along the lines that she had no wish to offend my sensibilities with those words of advice, which, she was well aware, were quite unnecessary. She had no doubt that with me being a big boy, now in my fifteenth year, I was quite capable of grasping for myself the gravity of the blow that had been inflicted on us, as she put it. I nodded. I could see she was content to leave it at that. She even moved a hand in my direction, and I half feared that she might perhaps be wanting to hug me. She didn't do so in the end, just let out a deep sigh, with a long, tremulous release of breath. I noticed her eyes moistening as well. It was awkward. After that, I was allowed to go.
I covered the stretch between school and our shop on foot. It was a clear, balmy morning, considering it was still just early spring. I was about to unbutton myself but then had second thoughts: it was possible that, light as the head breeze was, my coat lapel might flap back and cover up my yellow star, which would not have been in conformity with the regulations. There were by now a few things I had to be more on my guard against. Our cellar timber store is nearby, on a side street. A steep stairway leads down into the gloom. I found my father and stepmother in the office, a glass cage lit up like an aquarium, right at the foot of the steps. Also with them was Mr. Süt›o, whom I have known from the time he entered our employment as a bookkeeper and as manager of the other, outdoor lumberyard that he has in fact already purchased from us since then. At least that's what they say, because Mr. Süt›o, given that he is completely aboveboard regarding his race, does not wear a yellow star, so the whole thing is actually just a kind of business dodge, as I understand it, enabling him to look after our property there, and then again so we don't have to do entirely without an income in the meanwhile.
That had a bit to do with why I greeted him differently from the way I used to do, for after all he has, in a sense, risen to a higher status than us; my father and stepmother too were clearly more deferential toward him. Though he, for his part, sticks all the more stubbornly to addressing my father as "boss" and my stepmother as "my dear lady," as if nothing had happened, never failing to plant a kiss on her hand while he is at it. He welcomed me as well in his old, jocular tone, oblivious to my yellow star. After that, I stood where I was, by the door, while they picked up where they had left off on my arrival. As I saw it, I must have interrupted them right in the middle of some discussion. I did not understand at first what they were talking about. I even closed my eyes for a second because they were still a bit dazzled from the sunlight up on the street. Meanwhile my father said something, and by the time I opened them, there was Mr. Süto. Yellowish red light-spots were dancing like bursting pustules all over his round, brownish-skinned features, with the pencil moustache and the tiny gap between his two broad, white front teeth. The next sentence was again spoken by my father, with something about "goods" that "it would be best" if Mr. Süto "were to take with him right away." Mr. Süt›o had no objection, whereupon my father took out from a desk drawer a small package wrapped in tissue paper and tied up with string. Only then did I see what goods they were actually talking about, since I immediately recognized the package from its flat shape: it contained a box. In the box were our more precious jewels and such; indeed, I rather fancy that it was precisely on my account that they had called them "goods," lest I recognize them. Mr. Süt›o at once thrust it into his briefcase. After that, however, a minor dispute sprang up between them, because Mr. Süto took out his fountain pen, with the aim of giving my father a "receipt for the goods" no matter what. He dug in his heels for a fair while, even though my father told him "don't be childish," and "there's no need for that sort of thing between the two of us." I noticed that pleased Mr. Süt›o to no end. He said so too: "I'm well aware that you trust me, boss, but in real life there is a right and proper way of doing things." He even appealed to my stepmother for her assistance: "Isn't that so, my dear lady?" With a wan smile, though, she merely said something to the effect that she left it entirely up to the men how the matter was best arranged.
The whole thing was beginning to bore me slightly by the time he eventually tucked the fountain pen away after all, at which they started to chew over the matter of the stockroom here, and what they should do with all the planks of wood in it. I heard my father urging the need for haste, before the authorities "might get round to laying their hands on the business," asking Mr. Süt›o to give my stepmother the benefit of his business experience and expertise over this. Turning toward my stepmother, Mr. Süt›o at once declared, "It goes without saying, dear madam. We shall be in constant contact in any case over the settling of the accounts." I think he was speaking about the premises that were now in his hands. After an age, he at last began to take leave. He took a long time over his glum-faced shaking of my father's hand. He nevertheless ventured that "long speeches have no place at a moment like this," and so he wished to say just one word of farewell to my father, namely, "See you again soon, boss." My father replied with a quick, wry smile, "Let's hope so, Mr. Süt›o." At the same time, my stepmother opened her handbag, pulled out a handkerchief, and straightaway dabbed at her eyes. Strange noises welled up in her throat. There was a hush; the situation was really embarrassing, since I had a feeling that I too ought to do something. But with the whole scene taking me by surprise, nothing sensible occurred to me. I could see that the thing was also making Mr. Süt›o uneasy: "My dear lady," he said, "you mustn't. Really not." He looked a tiny bit alarmed. He bowed and virtually fixed his lips to my stepmother's hand to perform his usual hand-kiss. He then at once scurried for the door, barely giving me time to jump out of his way. He even forgot to say good-bye to me. We could still hear his heavy tread on the stairs for a while once he had gone.
After something of a pause, my father said, "Well then, at least that's out of the way." At that, my stepmother, her voice still a bit husky, asked whether it wouldn't have been better if my father had accepted that receipt from Mr. Süt›o all the same. My father, though, replied that a receipt like that had no "practical value" at all, besides which it would be even more hazardous to conceal it than the box itself. He explained to her that now "we have to stake everything on a single card," which was to have complete confidence in Mr. Süt›o, particularly since right now we had no alternative any-way. My stepmother fell quiet at that, and then she remarked that my father might be right, but all the same she would feel safer "with a receipt in her hand." On the other hand, she was unable to give a satisfactory explanation as to why. At that point, my father urged that they make a start on the job at hand since, as he put it, time was pressing. He wanted to turn the business accounts over to her so that she would be able to find her way around them even in his absence, and so the business need not come to a standstill because he was in a labor camp. In the meantime he exchanged a few fleeting words with me as well. He asked if being let off school had gone smoothly, and so forth. In the end, he told me to sit down and keep quiet until he and my stepmother had done what they had to do with the books.
That, however, took an age. I tried to be patient for a bit, striving to think of Father, and more specifically the fact that he would be going tomorrow and, quite probably, I would not see him for a long time after that; but after a while I grew weary with that notion and then, seeing as how there was nothing else I could do for my father, I began to get bored. Even having to sit around became a drag, so simply for the sake of a change I stood up to take a drink of water from the tap. They said nothing. Later on, I also made my way to the back, between the planks, in order to pee. On returning, I washed my hands at the rusty, tiled sink, then unpacked my morning snack from my school satchel, ate that, and finally took another drink from the tap. They still said nothing. I sat back in my place. After that, I got terribly bored for another absolute age.
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