Hungarian Heritage Review, 1988 (17. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1988-01-01 / 1. szám
.................®lje ^literature oí ^Jtungar^ ===== PART IV: RESURRECTION IN MAKUCSKA Translated from the Hungarian of Deszbo Szabó by Stephen Sziarto. In the meantime hearts flamed and froze in the warweighted atmosphere of Makucska. Soldier and constable trod the village streets. War remained in a horrible threatening stage and pressed Makucska hearts like a slowly moving crushing steel wall. It would have been a thousand times better to have the war erupt; to have shooting and bayonet attacks; to have the bravery of wild commotion; to have howling liberated from tense throats; even to see the flow of warm blood. But it was impossible to start war with the resurrected. Impossible because — they smiled. They just stood there day and night without fear, without hatred. Just stood there — and calmly smiled. The smiling, motionless mass defeated the army of the living village more thoroughly than any manmade weapon. Smiles slew the murderous will of constable, soldier and village youth — they could not press the trigger. Increasing fever burdened the hearts of the village defenders. Soldiers began to complain openly. Unafraid, they were willing to do battle — if necessary. They wanted to be confronted with armed men. Men who could hate and be hated; men who challenged and were vindictive. But no mother’s son should be set to battle these happy, silently smiling people. Other wounds also seared the belabored souls of Makucska. Children whose parents, youths whose sweethearts, spouses whose counterparts were in the army of the resurrected spent restless nights in their beds. They felt the soft embraces of bygone days. The black tent of night enveloped restive slumberers whose restless lips murmured: “Dear Mother, thank God you returned”. . . “Flower of my life, it’s so good to embrace you again”. . . “Dear one, you won’t ever leave me again, will you_” The army of the resurrected surely and slowly penetrated the entrenched village through the shattered hearts of the orphans, the widowed and the lonely. The fox-clever village notary continued seeking a solution, a victory. On one occasion he sent a group of agents into the ranks of the resurrected to sell them war bonds. Even this failed to scare them back to their graves. Next he spread the rumor that the resurrected would be elected to membership in the Petőfi Literary Society. They still did not crawl back into the ground. Finally, he had the village boys and girls present Ferenc Herczeg’s play, “The Bridge,” to the resurrected from atop the church knoll. The resurrected remained motionless, not a single eyelid flickered. Their smiles were not eradicated. And the village suffered. Food no longer tasted good; sleep was elusive. Work, despite its being the middle of spring, came to a halt. Bodies lost weight, eyes lost their brilliance, lips became fever-chapped. The conquest of the resurrected broadened from day to day, like a deep valley lake swollen by secret springs hidden in the bosom of the earth. “This can’t go on like this. Something must be done,” said the village notary as he issued a call for the village leaders to meet in council. The military chiefs were in attendance too. “Sirs, if this continues,” said the village notary, “the living villagers will soon tumble into their graves, and the dead will calmly take our places. Thus far I have always been a proponent of seeking a peaceful solution, but now I realize that the time for action has arrived. We must bring an end to this intolerable situation.” Broadly and loudly, not unlike the rumbling Danube during spring, the Judge said, “Well, finally! the village notary has come to my threshold! I maintained from the very beginning that this matter could be settled only by bare knuckles. Who in the hell wants to go underground unless he has to? We must resort to coercion — that’s why we have fists, cudgels, pistols, machine guns and military might. Fight, fight and more —continued next page 26 HUNGARIAN HERITAGE REVIEW JANUARY 1988
