Debts of Honor | Page 6

and told
us that mother was even worse than she had been; the sight of us would
only aggravate her illness; so it would be good for us to remain in our
room.
Our grandmother arrived two hours after us. Her arrival was the signal
for a universal whispering among the domestics, as if they would make
ready for something extraordinary which the whole world must not
know. Then we sat down to dinner quite unexpectedly, far earlier than
usual. No one could eat; we only gazed at each course in turn. After
dinner my brother in his turn began to hold a whispered conference
with grandmother. As far as I could gather from the few words I caught,
they were discussing whether he should take his gun with him or not.
Lorand wished to take it, but grandmother objected. Finally, however,
they agreed that he should take gun and cartridges, but should not load
the weapon until he saw a necessity for it.
In the mean while I staggered about from room to room. It seemed as if
everybody had considerations of more importance than that of looking
after me.
In the afternoon, however, when I saw my brother making him ready
for a journey, despair seized hold of me:
"Take me with you."
"Why, you don't even know where I am going."
"I don't mind; I will go anywhere, only take me with you; for I cannot
remain all by myself."
"Well, I will ask grandmother."
My brother exchanged a few words with my grandmother, and then
came back to me.

"You may come with me. Take your stick and coat."
He slung his gun on his shoulder and took his dog with him.
Once again this thought agonized me afresh: "Father is dead, and we go
for an afternoon's shooting, with grandmother's consent as if nothing
had happened."
We went down through the gardens, all along the loam-pits; my brother
seemed to be choosing a route where we should meet with no one. He
kept the dog on the leash to prevent its wandering away. We went a
long way, roaming among maize-fields and shrubs, without the idea
once occurring to Lorand to take the gun down from his shoulder. He
kept his eyes continually on the ground, and would always silence the
dog, when the animal scented game.
Meantime we had left the village far behind us. I was already quite
tired out, and yet I did not utter a syllable to suggest our returning. I
would rather have gone to the end of the world than return home.
It was already twilight when we reached a small poplar wood. Here my
brother suggested a little rest. We sat down side by side on the trunk of
a felled tree. Lorand offered me some cakes he had brought in his
wallet for me. How it pained me that he thought I wanted anything to
eat. Then he threw the cake to the hound. The hound picked it up and,
disappearing behind the bushes, we heard him scratch on the ground as
he buried it. Not even he wanted to eat. Next we watched the sunset.
Our village church-tower was already invisible, so far had we wandered,
and yet I did not ask whether we should return.
The weather became suddenly gloomy; only after sunset did the clouds
open, that the dying sun might radiate the heavens with its
storm-burdened red fire. The wind suddenly rose. I remarked to my
brother that an ugly wind was blowing, and he answered that it was
good for us. How this great wind could be good for us, I was unable to
discover.
When later the heavens gradually changed from fire red to purple, from

purple to gray, from gray to black, Lorand loaded his gun, and let the
hound loose. He took my hand. I must now say not a single word, but
remain motionless. In this way we waited long that boisterous night.
I racked my brain to discover the reason why we were there.
On a sudden our hound began to whine in the distance--such a whine as
I had never yet heard.
Some minutes later he came reeling back to us; whimpering and
whining, he leaped up at us, licked our hands, and then raced off again.
"Now let us go," said Lorand, shouldering his gun.
Hurriedly we followed the hound's track, and soon came out upon the
high-road.
In the gloom a hay-cart drawn by four oxen, was quietly making its
way to its destination.
"God be praised!" said the old farm-laborer, as he recognized my
brother.
"For ever and ever."
After a slight pause my brother asked him if there was anything wrong?
"You needn't fear, it will be all right."
Thereupon we quietly sauntered along