Bela Kiss

Bela Kiss
by William LeQueux
I
In the early spring of 1912 a tall rather elegant man of exquisite manner, thin-faced, blacked-haired, with high cheek-bones and a countenance of almost Tartar type, arrived with his young and pretty wife from Budapest at the charming little summer resort of Czinkota, a few miles from the Hungarian capital. The place is much frequented by holiday folk on Sundays, it being a centre for excursions to Visegrad, Nagy-Moros and Budafok. The stranger, who was about forty years of age, was named Bela Kiss, his wife being about fifteen years younger. After searching the district for a house he eventually took a rather spacious one standing back in a large garden on the Matyasfold road, in a somewhat isolated position, and for a few months lived happily there, going into Budapest alone about once or twice a week. It afterwards transpired that he had been a tinsmith in a large way of business, but had retired.
The pair formed few friendships, for Kiss seemed a somewhat mystical person, and had often been heard to discuss psychic subjects with his wife. He was also something of an amateur astrologer and possessed many books upon the subject, while his wife had a small crystal globe into which she was fond of gazing. The pair seemed a most devoted couple, and went about together in the small and rather dilapidated car which the husband possessed, and in which he often went into Budapest.
The wife was extremely good-looking, and Kiss was apparently extremely jealous of her. Indeed, he forbade her to make any male acquaintances. She was a native of Zimony, on the Danube, in the extreme South of Hungary, a place long noted for its handsome female inhabitants. According to village gossip, however, little Madame Kiss had a friend in a certain Paul Bihari, an artist of Budapest, who sometimes spent the day with her wandering in the acacia woods and picnicking together during her husband's absence. The handsome young fellow was well known in the capital and especially at the Otthon Club, where Hungarian authors, artists and journalists assembled nightly.
II
Matters proceeded in this manner for nearly six months, Paul being a frequent visitor to the house, and the pair making many excursions to the beauty spots in the vicinity. One evening, however Bela Kiss on his return from Budapest found the house locked up. After waiting till near nightfall he broke open the door, and found lying upon the dining-table, a note from his wife saying that she had fled with her lover, and asking forgiveness. In a frenzy of anger he burnt the note, and then rushing to a neighbour named Littman, who lived in the vicinity and who was one of the few persons with whom he had formed a friendship, told him of the staggering blow he had received.
Next day all Czinkota was agog, knowing what had occurred. But it was only what they had long expected.
Crushed by his disillusionment, the heart-broken husband shut himself up and became almost a recluse. He drove sometimes to Budapest, but he had no servant and did his own cooking and looked after his few daily wants himself. In fact, he became a woman-hater and devoted his time to the study of psychometry and mysticism. His eccentricity now became the more marked, but as months wore on his health appeared to be failing until it was noticed that he had not been seen out for over a week, while the house appeared to be closed. Yet each night there appeared a light in his bedroom.
The neighbour in whom he had confided how his wife had deserted him began to wonder, so one day he called. The knock on the door's brought Bela, pale, half-clad and very feeble.
He told his friend that he had been ill in bed for some days. The friend at once suggested that he should have somebody to nurse him, and that the village doctor should be called. At first Kiss demurred, saying: "After all, if I die what matters? I have nothing to live for, now that my dear one has left me!"
The neighbour uttered comforting words, and eventually the Doctor visited him -- much against his will -- and an old woman from the village, named Kalman, was left in charge.
His eccentricity had, it seems increased to a marked degree. In one room there were laid out carefully upon the table the clothes and shoes that his wife had left behind, and into that room the invalid forbade the old woman to enter. For nearly three weeks the village woman was most assiduous, and carefully nursed him back to health, until at last he became quite well again. So he paid her and she left, leaving him to the dull, isolated life which he had lived