Haggopian and Other Stories

Business in the tiny village could hardly be said to be booming. Even in the middle of the season, gone now along with the summer, Szolyhaza would be well off the map and out of reach of the ordinary tourist. It had been too late in the day to change their minds, however, and so they had booked into the solitary inn, the largest building in the village, an ancient stone edifice of at least five and a half centuries.

And then the surprise. For the proprietor, Herr Debrec, spoke near-perfect English; their room was light and airy with large windows and a balcony (Julia was delighted at the absence of a television set and the inevitable “Kultur” programs); and later, when they came down for a late-evening meal, the food was indeed wonderful!

There was something Harry had wanted to ask Herr Debrec that first evening, but sheer enjoyment of the atmosphere in the little dining-room—the candlelight, the friendly clinking of glasses coming through to them from the bar, the warm fire burning bright in an old brick hearth, not to mention the food itself and the warm red local wine—had driven it from his mind. Now, as he parked the car in the tiny courtyard, it came back to him. Julia had returned it to mind with her headache and the talk of ill-rumoured Stregoicavar and the Black Stone on the hillside.

It had to do with a church—at least Harry suspected it was or had been a church, though it might just as easily have been a castle or ancient watchtower—sighted on the other side of the hills beyond gaunt autumn woods. He had seen it limned almost as a silhouette against the hills as they had covered the last few miles to Szolyhaza from Kecskemét. There had been little enough time to study the distant building before the road veered and the car climbed up through a shallow pass, but nevertheless Harry had been left with a feeling of—well, almost of déjà vu—or perhaps presentiment. The picture of sombre ruins had brooded obscurely in his mind’s eye until Herr Debrec’s excellent meal and luxurious bed, welcome after many hours of driving on the poor country roads, had shut the vision out.

• • •

Over the midday meal, when Herr Debrec entered the dining room to replenish their glasses, Harry mentioned the old ruined church, saying he intended to drive out after lunch and have a closer look at it.

“That place, mein Herr? No, I should not advise it.”

“Oh?” Julia looked up from her meal. “It’s dangerous, is it?”

“Dangerous?”

“In poor repair—on the point of collapsing on someone?”

“No, no. Not that I am aware of, but—” he shrugged half-apologetically.

“Yes, go on,” Harry prompted him.

Debrec shrugged again, his short fat body seeming to wobble uncertainly. He slicked back his prematurely greying hair and tried to smile. “It is…very old, that place. Much older than my inn. It has seen many bad times, and perhaps something of those times still—how do you say it?—yes, ‘adheres’ to it.”

“It’s haunted?” Julia suddenly clapped her hands, causing Harry to start.

“No, not that—but then again—” the Hungarian shook his head, fumbling with the lapels of his jacket. He was obviously finding the conversation very uncomfortable.

“But you must explain yourself, Herr Debrec,” Harry demanded. “You’ve got us completely fascinated.”

“There is…a dweller,” the man finally answered. “An old man—a holy man, some say, but I don’t believe it—who looks after…things.”

“A caretaker, you mean?” Julia asked.

“A keeper, madam, yes. He terms himself a ‘monk’, I think, the last of his sect. I have my doubts.”

“Doubts?” Harry repeated, becoming exasperated. “But what about?”

“Herr, I cannot explain,” Debrec fluttered his hands. “But still I advise you, do not go there. It is not a good place.”

“Now wait a min—” Harry began, but Debrec cut him off.

“If you insist on going, then at least be warned: do not touch…anything. Now I have many duties. Please to excuse me.” He hurried from the room.

Left alone they gazed silently at each other for a moment. Then Harry cocked an eyebrow and said: “Well?”

“Well, we have nothing else to do this afternoon, have we?” she asked.

“No, but—oh, I don’t know,” he faltered, frowning. “I’m half inclined to heed his warning.”

“But why? Don’t tell me you’re superstitious, Harry?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that—oh, I have this feeling, that’s all.”

She looked astounded. “Why, Harry, I really don’t know which one of you is trying hardest to have me on: you or Debrec!” She tightened her mouth and nodded determinedly. “That settles it then. We will go and have a look at the ruins, and damnation to all these old wives’ tales!”