György Dragomán

Prince

(Short Story)

 

When Misi got home soon after dawn, Alina, his big sister, was waiting for him outside by the hole knocked through the brick wall, and she poked a finger at the cardboard box he was carrying. "So, what did you bring? And where did you leave the motorbike?" Misi just gave a wave of the hand before folding back the top of the box. Alina looked inside, but as soon as she saw the puppy nestled in soft strips of towel, she slammed shut the box, almost causing Misi to drop it, and the sudden movement must have scared the tiny dog, for it gave a yelp. Misi turned to go in toward the small building that used to be the caretaker's quarters, which is where they lived, but Alina blocked his way. "It's best you take this mutt right back where you got it, you hear?" she said, furiously shaking her head. "We don't need no dog around here."
Misi looked at Alina's face, at the rock-hard wrinkles rage had etched onto its side. "What do you know?" he said. "Just don't you go saying a thing, I mean, remember the stuff you said when I decided we should come here to live, you cursed me up and down, and then I turned out to be right after all, didn't I? We've got it good here, don't we? We're living in a real mansion, aren't we?" He tried going by his big sister, but once again she blocked his path. "Mansion? What mansion? This is place is a wreck, you hear, a wreck."
Stooping a bit, Misi shoved Alina out of his way with his shoulder. "There's plenty of room for us here," he said, stepping past her. "Us and the kid, you and Balázs. So don't you go saying a thing."
Alina turned toward him. "You're not going in there, you hear? You're not going in until you tell me what you gave for it. What kind of a dog is this, anyway? It's

not even a real dog, it's not even as big as a rat. Why'd you go bringing it here, huh? Go on, what did you give for it."
The puppy stirred in the box. Misi could feel rage moving up into his throat. "What did I give?" he asked, knowing he too would be shouting any moment now. "That lousy motorbike," he finally said, taking a deep breath but not shouting after all. "Now just shut up. Okay? Shut up!"
Alina didn't shut up. "You've gone nuts!" she declared. "Hear that, Misi? Nuts." Misi didn't say a thing back, he just kept going, carrying the cardboard box and muttering to himself, "What do you know, this here's pedigree, with best-of-breed parents, those lousy wheels weren't worth a damn anyway, I did a good deal, I did." Meanwhile he stepped along the cemented-over one-time park, one of the basketball poles was still standing, and then he stepped onto the rag rug at the entrance to the caretaker's quarters and through the cold, butterscented kitchen, taking the cardboard box straight into the smaller of the two rooms. Linda and Li'liván were still asleep, and as usual, Li'liván wasn't on the old cot, which he hadn't liked ever since Alina told him orphans used to sleep on these cots for years and years, back when the mansion hadn't yet completely fallen apart, and not even after Misi painted it green did he want to sleep on it.
Without stopping by the window to roll up the heavy wooden blinds, Misi went by the little bed and began by putting down the box on the floor in front of the bed, on the cheap bright rug, and then he took the pedigree and the picture from the inside pocket of his sports coat and the leash from an outside pocket, putting all this on the stool by Li'liván's clothes. Only then did he go over to the blinds, only then did he grasp the thick canvas strap, only then did he give it a yank-ever since he put in a tractor-axle-bearing into the wall mechanism the week before, the strap didn't get stuck anymore. As he kept tugging, the blind creaked its way up with shrillness outdone only by Misi as he now began shouting, "Up you get, Li'liván, up you get! And happy birthday! Happy birthday with many returns, a whole heap of returns. Grow up big, my son, big and strong."
Linda sprang up at once and then so too did Li'liván, but without saying a thing: he only stared down at the cardboard box, which bore an illustration of the television it once held. Looking up at Misi, he asked, "What's in there? Is it really a real TV?" Pointing at the box, Misi replied, "It's much better than a TV. Take a look, Li'liván. It's a surprise. I brought it for you." Li'liván now climbed out of bed, his hair tousled and his eyes still full of sleep, but he went over to that box all the same, opening it up and peering inside before suddenly crying out, "Ah! It'll bite!" As he jumped right back into bed and disappeared under the blanket beside Linda, the box fell over, and out climbed a little white dog.
Linda now sat up in bed and looked at Misi. "Have you gone crazy? You know full well Li'liván's been scared of dogs ever since being chased by that boxer. Out on the street, it's over to the other side if he sees one. So why'd you go bringing a dog home?" All the shouting drew Alina into the room along with Balázs, and there they all stood looking at the puppy. Balázs was the first to speak. "Just what kind of a dog is this supposed to be?" he asked. Misi took the pedigree from the stool and handed it to him. "You'd know if you could read," he said. "It's a toy poodle, best of breed. We'll be taking it to shows, we will."
Pointing a finger to her forehead, Alina announced, "Like I said, he's nuts." Then she looked at Misi. "You've gone nuts, kid brother, you must've fallen off your motorbike and gone nuts. What do we need a dog around here for? Especially one like this, that ain't even a real dog?"
Li'liván began crying under the blanket, and Linda caressed him. "Now don't you cry," she said. "The mice aren't thirsty now, so they don't need your tears, you hear?" But Li'liván kept it up as he buried his face in the pillow so only his black hair was visible, which is what Linda now stroked. "All right already, don't be sad," she said, "I'll make you a nice lángos for breakfast." Then she looked at Misi. "That's it? That's really what you brought your son for his fifth birthday?"

...

 

György Dragomán
was born in Transylvania, Romania, where he spent his childhood until he moved to Hungary in 1988. He has published two novels, A pusztítás könyve (Genesis Undone, 2003) and A fehér király (The White King, 2005, forthcoming Doubleday UK, Houghton Mifflin, USA). This short story was written for a reading organised by the magazine Beszélő, where all the stories responded to the untitled photos of Lenke Szilágyi. The photographer has exhibited her work many times in and outside Hungary, and has published two albums to date.