Flight Without End

XXVI

At Madame G.’s Tunda was able to meet the intimate friend of a great poet, together with other individuals.

The ladies sat with their hats on; an older lady did not remove her gloves. She accepted a small pastry with her leather fingers, inserted it between carmined lips, chewed it with porcelain teeth; whether her palate was real remained dubious. But it was not she, but the friend of the great poet, who attracted attention.

The poet’s friend, a Hungarian, had acclimatized himself in Paris as he once had in Budapest. The Hungarian accent with which he sang in French would have offended the sensitive ears of the French, had he not portrayed in these melodies episodes from the life of his great literary friend. Also, the Hungarian was a cultural peddler and polyglot from birth. He could even make his living at it; for he translated Molnar, Anatole France, Proust and Wells — each into the language required for the occasion, and fashionable comedies into all languages alike. He was known in the press gallery of the League of Nations at Geneva, as well as in the offices of the Berlin Revuetheater, theatrical agents and the editorial staffs of all the literary supplements of the great continental newspapers.

He spoke like a flute. It was wonderful how his delicate throat was able to further the interests of his Hungarian friends at the League for Human Rights. He did, in fact, accomplish a lot of good, not from any innate helpfulness but because he was compelled by his connections to be obliging.

It happened that he and Tunda left Madame G.’s house at the same time. He was one of those Middle European men who take the person they are conversing with by the arm and stand still or stop talking at every street-corner. They fall silent if the other withdraws his arm, just as an electric light goes out if the plug is pulled out of the wall.

‘Do you know M. de V.?’ he asked.

‘Not very well,’ replied Tunda.

‘What a capable man! Imagine, he has just got back from America. A trip round the world is nothing to him. He’s seen half the world already anyway. And it doesn’t cost him a penny. He’s always employed by some rich or at least influential man. As a secretary or —’

He waited a long minute, then said: ‘It’s all over with Madame G.’

He released Tunda’s arm and stood facing him as if expecting something extraordinary.

Instead Tunda said nothing.

‘But I dare say you knew that?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Then you’re not interested in the gentleman?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Then let’s go and have some coffee.’

And they went to have some coffee.