I Cycle Home - Yesterday

I cycle home in the rain. I am happy. I know that Line loves me. She asked me to go back home at the same time as her and Koloman.

But I don’t want to.

Go back to my country, why?

To become a factory worker again? There would be no Line in the factory, nor in the cafeteria.

She will be a lecturer at the university.

She won’t recognize me anymore.

She must stay here. She has to stay. With her husband, her child, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I know that she loves me. Therefore, she must stay.

Line will stay here with me. Married or not, child or not, no matter. We will live together.

We will work at the factory for a while, then I will publish some books, some poems, some novels, some stories, and we will be rich. We will no longer need to work, we will buy a house in the country. An older woman, someone kind and gentle, will cook and clean for us. We will write books, we will paint pictures.

Thus the days will pass.

We will have no need to run nor to wait for anything. We will wake up when we feel like it. We will go to bed when we like.

Only, Line doesn’t agree.

She is adamant about returning to our country. I don’t know why. There are so many other countries in the world!

If I too were to return to our country, I wouldn’t be able to prevent myself looking for my mother among all the whores in all the towns.

After our meeting yesterday evening, I was afraid of what Line would say. She is so unpredictable that I don’t know what to think.

The following morning, she gets on the bus and sits beside me, as usual. She is holding her little girl in her left arm, she slides her right hand into mine. I don’t ask any questions. We stay like this until we reach the factory.

The weather is fine. At midday, we eat, then we go for a walk in the park. We sit down on a bench. There is no one around, we don’t speak. In front of us, the monstrous factory building. Further away, a magnificent landscape like you only see on tourist brochures.

I place my hand on Line’s. She doesn’t pull it away. In a low voice, I recite one of the poems I wrote for her, in our native language.

“Who wrote it?”

“I did.”

“I think maybe you really do have some talent, Sandor.”

We have to go back to work. Our hands part. And I think that I will nevermore be able to live without Line’s hand in mine.

How can I keep her?

One evening, in my mailbox, I find a note from Eve:

“We have found another translator in the language of your country. You are therefore no longer indispensable to us. Nevertheless, I would still like to see you for a few minutes at my place, you know the address. Your green eyes bewitched me . . . and the rest as well. I will wait for you from eight o’clock onwards on Wednesday and Saturday evenings. Deepest best wishes. Eve.”

I don’t reply. In any case, I couldn’t make love to her now. Nor to Yolande. I can’t anymore.

“You don’t eat enough, Sandor. Don’t you like my cooking?”

“Your cooking is perfect, Yolande.”

“What’s wrong? You look like a starving cat. Your countrymen have made you completely ill.”

“Don’t worry about that, Yolande.”

I go to sleep on the sofa listening to music. Around midnight, Yolande shakes me:

“I’ll take you home, Sandor. Or do you want to sleep here?”

“Thanks, Yolande, I think I will sleep at my place. But don’t put yourself out, I’ll walk.”

I go home. I find Jean lying on the kitchen floor. Thinking that he is drunk, I shake him. He opens his eyes:

“I’m not dead?”

“Why would you be dead?”

“I turned the gas on.”

“The gas has been cut off for a week. I’ve stopped paying for it. And the electricity. That will be cut off soon. I spent too much money on linen, the bike, the flashlight, the binoculars . . . How did you get in?”

“It was open.”

“I must have forgotten to lock it. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to steal. Why did you want to die?”

“I received a letter. An anonymous letter. It said that I should never come back, because my wife has found another man and that I am only good for sending money. My wife is already pregnant by this other man. What will I do?”

“Either you go home and get your wife back or you stay here and forget about it.”

“But I love my wife! I love my children!”

“Then carry on sending them money.”

“Knowing that he will profit from it? What would you do in my place?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what to do in my place.”

“Yet you are someone who’s clever. Who could I get advice from?”

“From a priest, perhaps?”

“I’ve already tried. They don’t know about life. They tell us to resign ourselves. Pray and have faith. Have you got anything to eat?”

“No, nothing. I dined at Yolande’s. Come on, let’s go out.”

We go to our usual bar. There is hardly anyone there anymore. I offer to buy Jean a potato salad with the little money I have left.

When he has finished eating, he asks:

“Do I have to go back to the center?”

“Of course. Where else would you want to sleep?”

“At your place. In the small room, I’ll clear out the junk.”

“There is no more junk. I turned the small room into a child’s room to receive Line.”

“Line is going to come and live with you?”

“Yes, soon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but that’s no concern of yours. You can sleep in the small room, on the floor. Just for tonight, no longer.”

The bus arrives in the first village. As usual, the old woman takes the parcel of newspapers. Line gets on. She sits down next to me. She takes my hand in hers as she has done for weeks and, for the first time, she lays her head on my shoulder. We stay like this, without speaking, until we reach the factory. When we arrive, Line doesn’t move. I think she is asleep, I shake her gently. She falls from the seat. I take the child in my arms and I shout:

“Call an ambulance!”

We carry Line to the welfare worker at the factory and ring the hospital. A woman at the childcare center watches the little girl.

I get into the ambulance with Line. They ask me:

“Are you her husband?”

“Yes.”

I hold Line’s hands in mine, I try to warm them. On the way to the hospital, Line comes around.

“What happened, Sandor?”

“Nothing serious, Line. You fell.”

“Violette?”

“She’s being taken care of. Don’t worry.”

She asks again:

“But what have I got? I don’t hurt anywhere, I feel very well.”

“Nothing serious, I’m sure. Just a bit of a turn.”

We arrive at the hospital. They say to me:

“Go home. We will phone you.”

“I don’t have a telephone. I’ll wait here.”

They show me a door:

“Take a seat in this room.”

It is a small waiting room. There is only a young man there. He looks very nervous:

“I don’t want to see it. They are making me be there at the birth so that I can see how much my wife suffers. But if I see that, I will never be able to make love to her again.”

“You’re right. Don’t go.”

A little later, someone calls him:

“Come, it’s started.”

“No!”

He runs away. Through the window I can see him running across the gardens.

I wait for about another two hours, then a young doctor arrives, smiling:

“You can go home and rest easy. Your wife isn’t ill, she is pregnant, that’s all. She will probably be able to come home tomorrow. Come and fetch her at two o’clock.”

Yesterday, when I left the hospital, I didn’t go back to work. I walked around the streets of the town then, around eleven o’clock, I sat down in a park opposite the university.

Around midday, Koloman left the building accompanied by a young blonde girl. They walked in the park, I followed them. They sat down outside a café. It was already warm, it was spring. They ordered some food, they laughed.

Seeing Koloman with a young girl, I felt jealous. He had no right to deceive Line while she was at work. He had no right to take Line back home if he was capable of fooling around with other girls.

I also thought about Line holding my hand in hers every morning. The previous evening she will have made love with her husband, otherwise she wouldn’t be pregnant.

I get up, I go to Koloman’s table:

“Do you have a moment?”

He gets up, he looks flustered:

“What do you want, Sandor?”

“Line is in the hospital. She fainted this morning, on the bus.”

“Fainted?”

“Yes. I went with her to the hospital. They are expecting you there.”

“And the child?”

“A woman at the childcare center is looking after her until your wife comes back.”

“Thank you, Sandor. I will drop by the hospital shortly. After my classes.”

He is in no hurry. He finishes his meal in peace, then he returns to the university accompanied by the young girl.

I go back to the hospital. I run to the foot of Line’s bed:

“Your husband will come by soon, after his classes.”

“You sound very distant, Sandor.”

“I am cold, very cold. I am losing you. You are expecting a second child by Koloman.”

The next day, I have to take the bus, go to work.

In the evening, I pass by Line’s house to see if she has come back from the hospital. There is no light on in any of the rooms.

Three days later, Line is still not back. I don’t dare go to the hospital, I don’t dare visit Line. I am not her husband, I am nothing but a stranger to her. I have no ties to her other than the fact that I love her. Other than the fact that I am her brother, but that is something only I know.

On the fourth day, I phone the hospital. They tell me that Line is still there, that she won’t leave before the following Sunday.

On Saturday afternoon, I buy a bunch of flowers. I think about leaving them for Line at the reception desk, then I think about her husband, Koloman, and I give the flowers to a woman I pass in the street.

On Sunday, I spend the day outside the hospital, hiding behind the trees in the garden. Around four o’clock the welfare worker’s little car pulls up at the entrance. Shortly after, Line comes out of the hospital and gets in beside her.

Koloman hasn’t come to collect his wife.

In the evening, through the window, I see Koloman sitting as usual at the table in the front room. Line is taking care of the little girl in the other room.

On Monday morning, Line gets on the bus. She is thinner and paler than ever. She sits down next to me, she cries. She hangs on to my hands, my arm:

“Sandor, Sandor.”

I ask:

“Why did you stay so long at the hospital?”

I barely grasp the reply she whispers in my ear:

“I had an abortion, Sandor.”

I am silent. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know whether I am happy or sad. I hold Line very tight. She says:

“Because of you. All because of you. Koloman thought it was our child, yours and mine. Yet we have never made love.”

“No, Line, never. Did you want to keep the child?”

“Sandor, you can’t know what it feels like when you lose a child. It could have been a little boy. And Koloman forced me to get rid of him. I don’t love my husband anymore, Sandor, I detest him. I hate him. What’s more, I’m sure he has a girlfriend in town. He gets home later and later. We have decided that, as soon as we get back home, we will get a divorce.”

I say:

“Then let Koloman go back alone and stay with me. You can come and stay with me from this evening, with your little girl, everything is ready, the child’s room, our room, there is everything you need, even toys.”

“You have a child’s room at your place?”

“Yes, Line. I have been waiting for you for a long time. Later I will give you a little boy, Line. And as many other children as you want.”

“And we’ll put them in childcare while we work?”

“Why not? They will be happy there. They will have games, playmates, friends.”

“But no family. Here, they won’t have any family. No grandmother, no grandfather, no uncles, no aunts, no cousins.”

“Of course, you can’t have everything. When you leave your country, you have to adapt. But if you love me, you will accept it.”

“I love you, Sandor. But not enough to stay here.”

“If I came back home with you, would you marry me?”

“No, no, I’m sorry, Sandor, I don’t think so. How could I introduce you to my parents? This is Tobias, my husband, Esther’s son.”

“We will lie. They won’t recognize me.”

“Lie? All our lives? To my parents? To our children? To everyone? How dare you even suggest such things?”

I am at home alone. I look at the child’s room, the toys, the silk dressing gown I bought for Line.

There is nothing else to do. I have tried everything. Impotence is the worst feeling of all. I can only drink beer after beer, smoke cigarette after cigarette, sit without thoughts, without desires.

It is all over. Line will never come here. Soon, she will depart with a man she doesn’t love. I think that she will be unhappy, that she will never love another man but me.

Later, I go into the kitchen to get something to eat. I get some bacon out of the fridge. I grab a chopping board and a knife to cut the bacon.

I cut two slices, then I stop. I stare at the knife I am holding in my hand. I wipe it, I slip it into the inside pocket of my jacket. I get up, leave the house and get on my bike.

I pedal furiously. I know I am mad. I know this won’t solve anything, but I have to act, I have to do something. I have nothing left to lose and Koloman deserves to die.

He must be punished for forcing his wife to get rid of the child she was carrying, of which he was the father. I would have preferred the child to have been mine. But that wasn’t the case.

At eight o’clock in the evening, I am outside Line’s house. There is no light on in the front room. Line must be in the kitchen, or in the other room, with Violette.

The streets are empty. No passersby. I sit down on some steps, I wait.

Koloman arrives around eleven o’clock, on the last bus. I stand in front of his door and bar his way.

“What do you want, Sandor?”

“To punish you for what you made Line go through. It was your child, Koloman, not mine.”

He tries to push me away.

“Get lost, you moron.”

I take the knife out of my jacket and push it into his stomach. I can’t pull it out. Koloman wraps himself around the blade, collapses. I leave him lying there on the ground. I collect my bike. I flee, with the sound of dreadful screaming in my ears.

I am lying on my bed, I am waiting for the police. I have left the door open. So the night passes, I can’t sleep. Yet I am not afraid. Prison or factory, I don’t care. At least Line will be free of this disgusting person.

By morning, the police still haven’t arrived. It is Line who comes, around nine o’clock. It is the first time she has been to my place. She sits on the only chair.

I ask:

“Is he dead?”

“No. He is at the hospital. And as soon as he gets out, in a few days’ time, we will be leaving. The neighbors came running when they heard the cries, they called an ambulance. It is only a flesh wound.”

I say nothing. I think that I really must be quite incapable of killing anyone.

She continues:

“Koloman isn’t pressing charges. On one condition: that I let him have Violette after the divorce. I had to sign a piece of paper. He has stated he was attacked by an unknown assailant.”

“You shouldn’t have signed, Line. I don’t care if I go to prison.”

“I wanted to save you from prison, because I love you, Sandor. More than you love me. If you had really loved me, you would have gone away, far from here and forgotten me.”

“Not me, Line. I would never have forgotten you.”

“You would have met another woman.”

“She wouldn’t have been you, she wouldn’t have been Line.”

“My name is Caroline. Line is something you made up. All the women in your life are called Line.”

“No, only you. Since you have lost everything, stay here with me.”

“Still? I think you are mad, Sandor. You’ve brought me nothing but misfortune. You have destroyed my life. I have lost two children because ovf you. I don’t want to see you again. I want to live in the same country as my daughter. Goodbye, Tobias.”

She gets up. She goes out. She closes the door.

I didn’t tell her that I was her brother.

I didn’t tell her that I tried to kill our father.

As far as my life is concerned, I can sum it up in a few words: Line came, then she went away again.

In my head I still say to her:

“Even when we were children you were ugly and wicked. I thought I loved you. I was wrong. Oh, no, Line, I don’t love you. Not you, not anyone, not anything, not life.”