Iza's Ballad by Magda Szabo

Author:Magda Szabo [Magda Szabó]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2014-07-08T04:00:00+00:00

2

ANTAL MATRICULATED, BUT only with a Merit, because his result in Hungarian Literature let him down; he never could write a literary essay. The organisation of material into a three-part format bored him and he had absolutely no interest in the nineteenth-century epic’s treatment of ancient national religions. Nevertheless the president of the exam board, one Professor Dekker – it being part of the school’s tradition to invite previously outstanding students to be president of the exam board – read everybody’s papers with a childlike intensity and picked out Antal’s as the only one to give a complete picture of the literary treatment of ancient national religions, albeit in the form of an index or academic bibliography. In the oral part of the exam he noted the student’s carefully measured, rather stiff manner of speaking, his sure grasp of every scientifically verifiable detail of the subject, and his reserved but polite reluctance either to enter into sentimental explanations or to paint vivid word pictures of historical tableaux. Antal hardly looked at him, having been absorbed by the preparation required and being preoccupied by other issues such as whether he would be admitted to the university, how much reduction he might expect in his student fees and whether Cato would succeed in securing him some much sought after university accommodation. It was a nice surprise to him, then, that after the results had been announced he was told that the president of the exam board had promised to support him. Dekker had heard the story of the tankard boy from the headmaster and also happened to be dean of the university that year, so when Antal appeared before him at the ceremonial welcome to new students, after the usual handshake he asked the boy to remain behind.

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t get involved in politics,’ said Dekker, examining his hands. He had unusually short fingers. They weren’t doctor’s hands, more the hands of a wrestler.

Antal looked him in the eye, then immediately looked away. Antal had a passionate interest in politics and knew nothing about Dekker yet.

‘Study and think,’ Dekker continued. ‘That’s not an order, it’s just a personal plea.’

Back at school, boarders were always discussing world affairs, including the subject of the local socialist youth movement. Antal thought the professor meant that he should not get involved in left-wing politics, so he simply stood there and looked at him without saying yes or no. Dekker told him he could go.

It didn’t take Antal long to orientate himself. In October, when he was asked to join the fascist student movement, he declined, saying he had too much to do, as most certainly he did: he had to look after himself now and couldn’t rely on cheap sales clothes or college charity. Dorozs was slipping away into the past: his grandparents were no longer alive and he didn’t have to support them, but the spartan mentality was his own and had little to do with having or not having a family to consider.

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