Chapter 48

“That was the last of Rossi’s letters, probably the last he had written his friend. Sitting beside Helen on the bus back to Budapest, I refolded the pages with care and took her hand for just a second. ‘Helen,’ I said hesitantly, because I felt one of us, at least, must say it aloud. ‘You are descended from Vlad Dracula.’ She looked at me, and then out the bus window, and I thought I saw on her face that she herself did not know how to feel about this, but that it made all the blood in her veins suddenly writhe and coil.”

“When Helen and I stepped off the bus in Budapest, it was nearly evening already, but I realized with a feeling of shock that we had left this bus station the same day, that very morning. I felt I had lived a couple of years since that moment. Rossi’s letters rested safely in my briefcase and their contents filled my head with poignant images; I could see a reflection of them in Helen’s eyes, too. She kept one hand tucked around my arm, as if the revelations of the day had shaken her confidence. I wanted to put my whole arm around her, to embrace and kiss her in the street, to tell her I would never leave her and that Rossi never should have-never should have left her mother, that is. I contented myself with pressing her hand firmly to my side, and letting her guide us back to the hotel.

“At the moment we reached the lobby, I had again the feeling that we’d been away a long time-how strange it was that these unfamiliar places were starting to seem familiar to me within a couple of days, I thought. There was a note for Helen from her aunt, which she read eagerly. ‘I thought so. She wants us to have dinner with her this evening, here in the hotel. She will tell us her good-byes then, I suppose.’

“‘Will you tell her?’

“‘About the letters? Probably. I always tell Éva everything, sooner or later.’ I wondered if she had told her anything about me that I did not know, and suppressed the idea.

“We had scant time to wash and dress in our rooms before supper-I changed into the cleaner of two dirty shirts and shaved over the elaborate basin-and when I came downstairs again Éva was already there, although Helen was not. Éva stood at the front window, her back to me, her face toward the street and the fading evening light. Seen this way she had less of the formidable alertness and intensity of her public demeanor; her back in its dark green jacket was relaxed, even a little stooped. Turning suddenly, she saved me the trouble of deciding whether or not to call out to her, and I saw worry in her face before her wonderful smile dawned in my direction. She hurried forward to shake my hand, I to kiss hers. We did not exchange a word, but for all that we could have been old friends meeting after a separation of months or years.

“A moment later Helen appeared, to my relief, and she translated us into the dining room, with its glossy white cloths and ugly china. Aunt Éva ordered for all of us, as before, and I sat back, tired, while they spoke together for a few minutes. They seemed at first to be exchanging affectionate jokes, but soon Éva’s face clouded and I saw her pick up her fork and twirl it somberly between thumb and forefinger. Then she whispered something to Helen that made Helen’s brow knit, too.

“‘What’s wrong?’ I asked uneasily. I had already had my fill of secrets and mysteries.

“‘My aunt has made a discovery.’ Helen lowered her voice, although few of the diners around us could have known English. ‘Something that may be unpleasant for us.’

“‘What?’

“Éva nodded and spoke again, again very quietly, and Helen’s brow furrowed deep. ‘This is bad,’ she said in a whisper. ‘My aunt has been questioned about you-about us. She told me she received a visit this afternoon from a police detective whom she has known for a long time. He apologized and said it was only their routine, but he interrogated her about your presence in Hungary, your interests, and our-our relationship. My aunt is very clever in these matters, and when she questioned him in return, he managed to reveal that he had been-how do you say?-put on the case by Géza József.’ Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible murmur.

“‘Géza!’ I stared at her.

“‘I told you he is a nuisance. He tried to question me at the conference, too, but I ignored him. Apparently that made him angrier than I had guessed.’ She paused. ‘My aunt says he is a member of the secret police and can be quite dangerous to us. They do not like the liberal reforms of the government and are trying to keep the old ways.’

“Something in her tone made me ask, ‘Did you already know this? What his position is?’

“She nodded guiltily. ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

“I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to know, but the idea of our being pursued by the handsome giant was certainly distasteful to me. ‘What does he want?’

“‘He apparently feels you are involved in more than historical research. He believes you have come here looking for something else.’

“‘He’s right,’ I pointed out in a low voice.

“‘He is determined to find out what it is. I am sure he knows where we went today-I hope he will not question my mother, too. My aunt turned the detective away from the-the scent as well as she could, but now she is worried.’

“‘Does your aunt know what-whom-I’m looking for?’

“Helen was silent for a moment, and when she raised her eyes there was something like a plea in them.

“‘Yes. I thought she might be able to help us somehow.’

“‘Does she have any advice?’

“‘She only says it’s a good thing we are leaving Hungary tomorrow. She warned us not to talk with any strangers as we depart.’

“‘Of course,’ I said angrily. ‘Maybe József would like to study Dracula documents with us at the airport.’

“‘Please.’ Her voice was a bare whisper. ‘Don’t joke about this, Paul. It can be very serious. If I ever want to return here -’

“I subsided into a shamed silence. I hadn’t meant it as a joke, only as an expression of exasperation. The waiter was bringing dessert-pastries and coffee that Aunt Éva urged on us with motherly concern, as if by fattening us a little she could guard us from the world’s evils. While we ate, Helen told her aunt about Rossi’s letters, and Éva nodded slowly, attentive, but said nothing. When our cups were empty, she turned deliberately to me, and Helen translated with downcast eyes.

“‘My dear young man,’ Éva said, pressing my hand just as her sister had done earlier in the day. ‘I do not know if we will ever see each other again, but it is my hope that we will. In the meantime, look after my beloved niece, or at least let her look after you’-she gave Helen a sly glance, which Helen apparently pretended not to see-‘and be certain that you both return safely to your studies. Helen has told me about your mission, and it is a worthy one, but if you do not accomplish it soon, you must return home with the knowledge that you did everything that you could. Then you must go on with your life, my friend, because you are young and it is in front of you.’ She patted her lips with her napkin and rose. At the door to the hotel she silently embraced Helen and leaned forward to kiss me on each cheek. She was grave, and no tears glistened in her eyes, but I saw on her face a deep, still sorrow. The elegant car was waiting. My last glimpse of her was her sober wave from its back window.

“For a few seconds, Helen seemed unable to speak. She turned toward me, turned away. Then she rallied and looked at me decisively. ‘Come, Paul. This is our final hour of freedom in Budapest. Tomorrow we will have to hurry to the airport. I want to go for a walk.’

“‘A walk?’ I said. ‘What about the secret police and their interest in me?’

“‘They want to know what you know, not to stab you in a dark alley. And don’t be vain,’ she said, smiling. ‘They are just as interested in me as in you. We will stay in well-lit places, along the main street, but I wish you to see the city one more time.’