Read Iza's Ballad for Free Online Page B

When he looked up again it was at the old woman, not at Iza.
    ‘Mama,’ he said, ‘you are likely to be very much alone from now. If you like I can move back in.’
    ‘That’s very kind of you,’ answered Iza, her voice not mocking but full of gratitude. ‘You really are very kind, but we’ve already found a solution. Mama will come to Pest with me.’
    It was the first time they had looked each other in the eye. Antal’s look was enquiring, Iza gazed back. The old woman understood neither the question nor the answer. When she was a child and her parents were alive, it was her mother and father who ruled; it was as if she were a child among adults again – hopeful yet afraid.
    ‘That would work too,’ Antal answered. He tapped the ash off the cigarette.
    The old woman mumbled something, clambered to her feet and took a step towards Antal, feeling that she should understand, embrace him, or at least say something to him – it was a big thing, his offer. But she couldn’t say anything because Iza gripped her arm and the movement confused her, prevented her from speaking. She didn’t understand what they wanted of her, what she should do, and was afraid that if she became too emotional, too nice, Iza might get cross.
    Antal did not repeat the invitation. He smiled, bade her goodbye and was already heading for the door. Iza reached for the shawl and wrapped it about herself to see him out and close the gate after him.
    Antal was halfway through it when he stopped again. ‘Give me the picture of the mill, mama. Papa said that if he died Lidia should have it. I’ll take it to her.’
    Iza opened her mouth to say something but shrugged and went to the bedroom. The old woman took hold of the chair back because once again she felt her legs giving way. If he died . . . What did he mean, ‘if he died’? Vince’s understanding was that he had a bad heart and that he should build himself up, that’s why he went to the clinic, the injections were there to give him strength as he slept. Vince had no idea he was dying. How could he think such a thing? And why should he give Lidia the picture of the mill, that bad photograph of the village he was born in, with the river, the Karikás, running through it, the riverbank with some old mill in the background. That picture had always hung above Vince’s bed, next to the picture of the angel that watched over his dreams. Why did he give it to Lidia? When?
    Iza fetched the black-framed picture and now that she was under the light she took a last look at it, as if it were the first time. The photograph was of a river with something like a lock, a tiny waterfall with a wooden building crouched over it. In the foreground there were bushes and a few barefoot children. Unidentifiable faces, a faded early century photograph. The river was the colour of coffee. She wrapped it in newspaper and handed it to Antal.
    The old woman started weeping. She felt this new weight was heavier than the rest of the day put together. She stood helpless, pulling at the bottom of her cardigan. It was the second time that day Lidia had crossed her path, this meeting more mysterious, more bitter than the last. Feeling this helped decide whether to kiss Antal or not: she didn’t have the strength. Captain was sniffing around the top of the table, standing on two legs as if he understood what was happening.
    She heard the door open and close, looked at the carpet and wiped her eyes. Iza returned quickly and that too seemed somehow unnatural because before Antal married her he could barely leave the house: sometimes they’d have to wait for as long as half an hour for Iza to come back in. Now it seemed they had nothing more to say to each other. The girl picked up Captain and put him out in the yard, then turned the key in the hall door and came over to her. As if aware that she needed consolation, she put her hand on her head in the way priests did, as a form of blessing. Then she went over to the window