“‘Hugh got a book,’ I whispered, shamelessly breaking the Englishman’s confidence.
“Helen stared, but without comprehension. ‘Hugh?’
“I nodded quickly at our companion, and he stared at us. Then Helen’s jaw dropped. Hugh stared at her in turn. ‘Did she also -?’
“‘No,’ I whispered. ‘She’s helping me. This is Miss Helen Rossi, anthropologist.’
“Hugh shook her hand with brusque warmth, still staring. But Professor Sándor had turned back and was waiting for us, and there was nothing we could do but follow him. Helen and Hugh stayed as close to my side as if we’d been a flock of sheep.
“The lecture room was already beginning to fill, and I took a place in the front row, pulling my notes from my briefcase with a hand that didn’t quite tremble. Professor Sándor and his assistant were fiddling with the microphone again, and it occurred to me that perhaps the audience wouldn’t be able to hear me, in which case I had little to worry about. All too soon, however, the equipment was working and the kind professor was introducing me, bobbing his white head enthusiastically over some notes. He outlined once again my remarkable credentials, described the prestige of my university in the United States, and congratulated the conference on the rare treat of hearing me, all in English this time, probably for my benefit. I realized suddenly that I had no interpreter to render my dog-eared lecture notes into German while I spoke, and this idea gave me a burst of confidence as I stood to face my trial.
“‘Good afternoon, colleagues, fellow historians,’ I began, and then, feeling that was pompous, put down my notes. ‘Thank you for giving me the honor of speaking to you today. I would like to talk with you about the period of Ottoman incursion into Transylvania and Wallachia, two principalities that are well known to you as part of the current nation of Romania.’ The sea of thoughtful faces looked fixedly at me, and I wondered if I detected a sudden tension in the room. Transylvania, for Hungarian historians, as for many other Hungarians, was touchy material. ‘As you know, the Ottoman Empire held territories across Eastern Europe for more than five hundred years, administering them from a secure base after its conquest of ancient Constantinople in 1453. The Empire was successful in its invasions of a dozen countries, but there were a few areas it never managed to completely subdue, many of them mountainous pockets of Eastern Europe ’s backwoods, whose topography and natives both defied conquest. One of these areas was Transylvania.’
“I went on like this, partly from my notes and partly from memory, experiencing now and then a wave of scholarly panic; I didn’t know the material well yet, although Helen’s lessons about it were vividly etched in my mind. After this introduction, I gave a brief overview of Ottoman trade routes in the region and then described the various princes and nobles who had attempted to repulse the Ottoman incursion. I included Vlad Dracula among them, as casually as I could, because Helen and I had agreed that to leave him out of the talk altogether might appear suspicious to any historian who knew of his importance as a destroyer of Ottoman armies. It must have cost me more than I’d thought it would to utter that name in front of a crowd of strangers, because as I began to describe his impalement of twenty thousand Turkish soldiers, my hand flew out a little too suddenly and I knocked over my glass of water.
“‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ I exclaimed, glancing miserably out at a mass of sympathetic faces-sympathetic with the exception of two. Helen looked pale and tense, and Géza Jószef was leaning a little forward, unsmiling, as if he took the keenest interest in my blunder. The blue-shirted student and Professor Sándor both rushed to my rescue with their handkerchiefs, and after a second I was able to proceed, which I did with all the dignity I could muster. I pointed out that although the Turks had eventually overcome Vlad Dracula and many of his comrades-I thought I should work the word in somewhere-uprisings of this sort had persisted over generations until one local revolution after another toppled the Empire. It was the local nature of these uprisings, with their ability to fade back into their own terrain after each attack, that had ultimately undermined the great Ottoman machine.
“I had meant to end more eloquently than this, but it seemed to please the crowd, and there was ringing applause. To my surprise, I had finished. Nothing terrible had occurred. Helen slumped back, visibly relieved, and Professor Sándor came beaming up to shake my hand. Looking around, I noted Éva in the back, clapping away with her lovely smile very wide. Something was amiss in the room, however, and after a minute I realized that Géza’s stately form had vanished. I couldn’t recall his slipping out, but perhaps the end of my lecture had been too dull for him.
“As soon as I was done, everyone stood up and began to talk in a babble of languages. Three or four of the Hungarian historians came over to shake my hand and congratulate me. Professor Sándor was radiant. ‘Excellent!’ he cried. ‘I am full of pleasure to know you understand so well our Transylvanian history in America.’ I wondered what he would have thought if he’d known I’d learned everything in my lecture from one of his colleagues, seated at a restaurant table in Istanbul.
“Éva came up and gave me her hand, too. I wasn’t sure whether to kiss or shake it, but finally decided on the latter. She looked if anything taller and more imposing today in the midst of this gathering of men in shabby suits. She had on a dark green dress and heavy gold earrings, and her hair, curling under a little green hat, had changed from magenta to black overnight.
“Helen came over to talk with her, too, and I noticed how formal they were with each other in this gathering; it was hard to believe Helen had run to her arms the night before. Helen translated her aunt’s congratulations for me: ‘Very nice work, young man. I could see by everyone’s faces that you managed to offend no one, so probably you didn’t say very much. But you stand up straight at the podium and look your audience in the eye-that will take you far.’ Aunt Éva tempered these remarks with her dazzling, even-toothed smile. ‘Now I must get home to do some chores there, but I will see you at dinner tomorrow night. We can dine at your hotel.’ I hadn’t known we were going to have dinner with her again, but I was glad to hear it. ‘I am so sorry I cannot make you a really good dinner at home, as I would like to,’ she told me. ‘But when I explain that I am under construction like the rest of Budapest, I am sure you will understand. I could not have a visitor see my dining room in such a mess.’ Her smile was thoroughly distracting, but I managed to glean two pieces of information from this speech-one, that in this city of (presumably) tiny apartments, she had a dining room; and two, that whether or not it was a mess, she was too wary to serve dinner to a strange American there. ‘I must have a little conference with my niece. Helen can come to me tonight, if you can spare her.’ Helen translated all this with guilty exactness.
“‘Of course,’ I said, returning Aunt Éva’s smile. ‘I am sure you have a lot to discuss after a long separation. And I think I will have dinner plans myself.’ My eye was already searching out Hugh James’s tweed jacket in the crowd.
“‘Very well.’ She offered her hand again, and this time I kissed it like a true Hungarian, the first time I had ever kissed a woman’s hand, and Aunt Éva departed.
“This break was followed by a talk in French on peasant revolts in France in the early modern period, and by further performances in German and Hungarian. I listened to them seated in the back again, next to Helen, enjoying my anonymity. When the Russian researcher on the Baltic States left the podium, Helen assured me in a low voice that we had been there long enough and could leave. ‘The library is open for another hour. Let’s slip out now.’