Skylark by Deszö Kosztolányi

Author:Deszö Kosztolányi
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781590174029
Publisher: New York Review of Books
Published: 2012-05-21T09:29:35+00:00

VIII

in which is contained the full text of Skylark's letter

Ákos was just about to set out from home the following afternoon when he met the postman at the gate. A registered letter had arrived.

Skylark. He immediately recognised the pointed, spidery lettering which reminded him of gothic script and also of his mother's hand.

He opened the letter there in the street. At any other time he'd have used his penknife for this purpose, for he believed in order in all matters, however small. But now he ripped the envelope open with his fingers, and with such excitement that he tore the letter too, both in the middle and on one side. He had to piece the fragments back together.

Oblivious to the passers-by, who bumped into him and stared after him as he went, he eagerly read the letter syllable by syllable. The words marched across the page in exemplary, solid lines. The writing was clear, but on this occasion Skylark had used a pencil, a particularly hard pencil that scored the paper with faint, unshaded lines like scratches made by a needle. By the time Ákos had fully deciphered the text, he had reached the park.

Here he put the letter into his pocket and walked on with his hands behind his back. Afternoon strollers lingered in the bare and withered park, where only a handful of hawthorn and rosebushes still managed to survive. The lawn was parched yellow from the heat, strewn with rubbish and scattered sheets of newspaper. Ákos sat down on a bench and spread the letter over his knees.

Skylark's spelling was impeccable and she wrote in the clear, orderly Hungarian she had been taught at the Ladies’ College. Her style, however, was a little wooden. As soon as she took a pen in her hand, her mode of expression changed and she fell under the spell of textbook composition. At such times she could always see her former teacher, the strict Mrs Janecz, standing before her in a starched white collar and black tie. She became so terrified of making mistakes that she chose words she'd never dream of using in everyday conversation.

Her writing lost any appearance of naturalness and took on a tone more elevated and enthusiastic than she intended.

Ákos reread the long letter in which his daughter gave a detailed account of all that had happened so far.

Thus:

Tarkő Plain 4 September 1899

Monday evening, half past six o'clock

My dear, sweet parents,

Forgive me for not having written to you earlier, but I have until this moment been so very busy with all the many joys of life in the plains, and my hospitable relations have provided so very much for my entertainment, that it is only now I have been able to find time for correspondence.

I have been searching for a pen for days.

Yesterday I found the only one in the house on Uncle Béla's desk, but even this was rusty and the inkwell had, in the great heat, run completely dry. Cousin Berci at last placed this pencil at my disposal.

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