Chapter Text
The grass was frosty, the weather was bitter. "A quarter to eleven." Viktor looked at the time on his wristwatch, and just a moment later he had already forgotten what it said. His feet were tapping the ground impatiently, as he stood alone outside the gate, waiting for the guest. It was only November, but the weather required him to put on his father's thick greatcoat. Finally, three figures could be seen in the distance. "He's not alone? This is just what I needed. Of course he invited them." he thought, and rolled his eyes, then pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket to light one. He blew out large clouds of smoke and walked around in circles, waiting for the men. Their laughter could be heard from afar, along with the clinking of some kind of bottles. One of them —upon seeing Viktor in front of the house — ran up to greet him first.
— Oh, my Vityka! You've grown so big! How's your mother? — Attila hugged his nephew with a broad smile. He reeked of booze.
— I don’t know. She's never been better, I guess. — Viktor tried to turn his face away from his uncle.
— Right…she's married to that slob now, isn't she? Did she not come? I told your father that woman wasn't worth it.
— She said she’d try to come tomorrow. —Viktor said, stepping into the yard, his uncle and one of his friends after him.
— It doesn’t matter. Why are you so…so stiff? — The man patted Viktor’s shoulder, gesturing wildly towards his body to show what he meant. His breath was visible in the frost. The young man took a big step back and just shrugged his shoulders— Eighteen is a big number, isn’t it? Well then, we have to celebrate it properly, son! It was only because of you that I invited Miska and Zoli here to celebrate. There’s pálinka, there’s beer, Misi will bring it in a minute. There he is, you see him? Hurry up, we’re freezing over here! — Attila turned towards the man and shouted in his direction. Misi was indeed there, but one of his feet got stuck in the mud. — Well, well. We also drank a little wine, it's true. Why don't you go help Misi? You see how much he's struggling, even from such light work.
Viktor ran back to the gate, took the beer from the man and this way it didn't take long until they reached the house. Just then the grandmother lit the fire under the stove. The kitchen was small, and smelled like cooked cabbage and smoke. They greeted each other with great joy.
—What took you so long, son? —asked Berta firmly, grabbing the young man's arm. Viktor would've responded, but she cut him off before he could say anything — you surely were freezing, weren't you? I told you to not go outside so soon.
— Yes, I was a little cold — he sighed in annoyance —but leave me be now. — Berta was about to continue, but upon hearing her grandsons words, she just shook her head in disapproval and let go of him. After that she pulled Attila aside to entrust him with something, then the men entered the bedroom one by one. Viktor came last.
With big sighs and groans, they all settled down around the small coffee table. They sat wherever they found a place for themselves. One on a stool, another on an ottoman, the rest on the bed. There were at least ten full bottles of beer on the floor, and a bottle of pálinka, because Attila didn't like even numbers.
— So Viktorka, have you played rummy yet? Of course you have! — Attila put his arms around the young man, who immediately tried to get out of his hold — Only seven rounds. Lay down your hand, that's all that matters. But you play well, you know how it goes. I know you do! Well, deal the cards. — the man leaned back on the wall and started sipping his beer happily. He really had brought a lot, because he just came from the pub. When he heard that the pub had beer, he gathered all his swing-top bottles and made sure to have tapped as much as he could. "So this is the proper celebration?" Viktor thought, looking around his company with a disgusted frown on his face.
— Here's my bet, gentlemen: whoever loses, buries the dead cat. — Attila announced. "The dead cat? The cats dead?" Viktor repeated the sentence in his head, and for the first time today, his expressions showed not disgust but concern towards his beloved cat. He thought about asking if he heard Attila right, but Zoli don’t give him a chance.
— Why, though? I don't know, but it sounds kinda stupid to me. I need my money back. Y'all owe me about 30 forints each.
—Oh, shut up. — Misi silenced him with a quick jab.
Usually they played with money indeed, but right now most of them didn't mind the unusual wager, all that mattered was that they could drink and play. Viktor was well aware of that, still he gave in. He only glared at the smelly drunkards until they offered him a glass too.
— Take it, chug it down. Today's special. — Zoli handed Viktor a bottle. He popped it open and sniffed it. At first he just sipped it, savored it, and after that, it didn't take much encouragement for the whole bottle to be emptied.
As the bottles emptied, the hours went by. It must have been around one in the morning, and the rooster had even started crowing early. They were almost at the end of the seventh round. Why did it take so long? Only God knows. They all sat there languidly, mumbling words to each other, waiting for their turn. Zoli was humming some unknown song. He must have spent it during the game. There was barely any beer left, only half a bottle maybe. Attila watched his cards intently, then his eyes widened, and suddenly he shot up from his chair in excitement.
— What's wrong with you? — Zoli asked, stopped chriping and yawned loudly. Attila just waved his hand dismissively.
— What isn't?— murmured Misi.
— Son, ya' have a six of hearts? — Attila asked, barely containing himself.
— Wait — Viktor held his head, it began aching from thinking alone — there is…there is one. — He threw the card in the middle, a little confused.
— Look, he did throw it!— Attila immediately picked it up and slammed all his cards on the table. — Bless your heart, son ! — Suddenly all three men started laughing loudly, Attila almost fell off his stool. Misi couldn’t breathe anymore, and Zoli scratched his head laughing, then downed his last few swigs of beer. Only Viktor looked at them in confusion, and tried to laugh a little.
— You really are drunk, ain't ya'? — he pushed his nephew with his shoulder — Well, my boy, get to work, cause' you’re digging the grave. The cat's over there by the barrel. What ya' lookin' so sluggish for? Take the spade. You'll be just fine. — Attila said hoarsely, patting the boy on the shoulder, who had laid his head on his arm from exhaustion.
— What cat? — he asked in a barely audible voice.
— What's the matter? Don say the beers got to ya! Here, drink some pálinka! What, you cant stand it? Eh, I'm kidding. All right, get going then.
Viktor stood up from the stool, almost falling backwards, he got awfully dizzy right away. The adults fell asleep one by one, some on the bed, some on the floor. By the time Viktor passed his grandmothers room, nausea almost overtook him. He stumbled out into the yard, but it was pitch black outside. The air was cool, it stung his face, but it did him good. He accidentally kicked the small table in the pavilion before he reached the barrel, then he almost fell on the ridiculously short steps and had to hold on to the sewer pipe. The cat really was lying there, motionless.
— Oh Gus… you bastard — Viktor muttered before its corpse, filled. Filled with grief and surprisingly barely any disgust, he grabbed the cat by its two hind legs. "Mama didn't even tell me you wanted to die, you rascal." Now he suddenly became angry at the cat, but what else could he do, he went on. He threw it forward on the ground, and took the spade from beside the barn. He lowered his head onto the spade's handle to rest, and sighed. Then and there, almost everything he had eaten and drunk today came out. "Holy" He pulled himself together and got to work. He dug into the ground mindlessly like a machine, before he hit something hard.
— These damn rocks are everywhere. Gus, my dear, you see, even the ground resents me. — He slammed the spade into the ground again, hard, but now it seemed to make a different sound: a clink. He looked into the hole and poked it again. It clinked again. — "The hell?" — he wondered. While squatting, he fell on his rear, then crawled forward and knelt down to look into the hole. He just looked around for a while, then got muddy up to his elbows, and pulled out the bottle. He smoothed the mud off of it. "It's something pickled," he thought. "Why would anyone bury pickled food?"
Quickly — as fast as he could without falling — he ran to the outside tap to wash the jar, to see if it wasn't pickles or jam after all. He washed it, shook it. "Oh well? something's rattling." The lid was pretty rusty, but it didn't hold Viktor back for long. The jar opened with a loud snap, revealing the contents of it. "Damn it, I can't see shit." It wasn't even close to dawn. The only other light source was in the house, and he couldn't take it inside because the adults were there. He especially didn't feel like getting up. "Those assholes will surely confiscate it." So he put it down next to the tap and left it there.
He held his head in frustration, smudging dirt all over it. He walked listlessly back to the pit. His foot got caught in the spade, and he fell to his knees. There he knelt in front of the corpse, frowning. And now, looking at the dark figure of his cat, tears started to form in his eyes. He poked the cats side. It didn't move. It's body was hard and cold. "Damn… you really are gone, arent you?" Big drops of tears fell from his warm face onto the ground. Finally, he threw himself down into the cold mud next to the cat, hugging it, whimpering, and a minute later he fell asleep.