Henryk opened his eyes. A blonde though graying woman with a broad face was staring down at him, a metal watering-can in her hand. She smiled as if he were an old acquaintance.

"Excuse me, but ..." Henryk sat up.

"Biro?" the woman repeated, with a beatific smile. "Joska Biro!"

Henryk cleared his throat. He noticed, now, that the grave on which he lay was the resting place of Mihaly Biro and his wife, mourned eternally by their adoring sons and daughters. He stood up and shamefacedly dusted himself down.

"Oh, it's such a long time since we've seen you in these parts!" the woman said, shaking him vigorously by the hand.

"Actually ..."

"Yes, I know how busy it must be in Pecel too."

"In Pecel?"

"Or have you moved on?"

Henryk found it more and more difficult to own up. But he was spared this, as the woman unexpectedly gave a shriek: "Oh no, what am I saying? You're not Joska Biro at all, you're the other one, his friend, who stayed just for the summer, ... little Vilmos ... Vilmos Csillag! What brings you to these parts?"

"You knew my dad? Vilmos Csillag was my dad ..."

"Heaven preserve us!" The woman clapped her hand to her face, which bore many signs of having worked in the fields. "Of course ... How could I have ... it's been so long! But it feels like it was yesterday."

Art is rarely able to surpass life. It was sheer chance that I lay down on a grave in Somogyvar Cemetery that turned out to be the final resting place of Mihaly Biro. Who would believe that just then there appears old Mrs. Paloznaki, maiden name agi Mandell, who was a childhood friend of Mihaly Biro's son. It was with these Biros that Papa stayed in the Fifties, because they offered country holidays to city children for payment, taking in as many as three or four at a time. agi Mandell said Papa was the only one to come back year after year.Absolutely incredible!I asked her to describe what sort of a child Papa was. She said delicate. He was reclusive, not as loud-mouthed as the village kids. She also recalls that the color of his eyes changed all the time, depending on his mood: sometimes it was gray, at others green, or even light brown. I thought I could detect that agi Mandell had a soft spot for Papa, but she denied it-she had fallen for Joska Biro ( ("head over heels," as she put it).I discovered that the Arrow Cross had taken Mihaly Biro because he was Jewish; he returned from one of the German Lagers and became a corn exchanger. Since their village did not have a mill of its own, the peasants would take the corn to Mihaly Biro, who would exchange it for flour using a complicated formula that factored in weight and quality; he would then take the corn to the nearest mill himself. That was how he made his living. Until serious illness ( (cancer) forced him to give up. After his death the children sold his house, which became the agricultural cooperative's nursery. Now it stands empty. Joska Biro became a stonemason and to the best of agi Mandell's knowledge he moved to Pecel forced him to give up. After his death the children sold his house, which became the agricultural cooperative's nursery. Now it stands empty. Joska Biro became a stonemason and to the best of agi Mandell's knowledge he moved to Pecel.My grandfather was supposedly in the Ministry of the Interior as a "backroom boy" ( (agi Mandell's phrase). The minister was Laszlo Rajk, who was hanged. What happened to my grandfather she does not know. I wrote down her address and the phone number of the bakery where she works in the office, and I gave her my details too.

Henryk spent several weeks in the village, during which agi Mandell invited him over for dinner more than once. Her roast pork was so succulent that Henryk had thirds, not just seconds. He was under the weather for days afterwards, but still considered that he had never in his life eaten anything so delicious.

The Somogyvamos estate had been sold to a distant kinsman of the Windisches, a Viennese business lady called Frau Rosa Windisch. She was approaching forty, but the turkey-like wattle under her chin made her seem much older. This not especially attractive part of her body she assiduously tried to conceal with chains of silver and gold and rows of pearls, which therefore constantly drew attention to it. Frau Rose Windisch spoke English with a dog-like bark and was never happy with anything. She strode up and down the half-ready building with eyebrows arched and head continually shaking: "I can't believe this!" Her intonation was a tribute to the meticulousness of the Berlitz method.

"What is it now that she can't believe?" Jeff asked Henryk, quietly.

"She'll let you know, don't worry."

Frau Rosa Windisch wanted to establish a stud-farm here, with a Gasthof for Austrian and German visitors, the main attraction to be daily horse-riding. She thought that the quality represented by the HEJED Co. did not come up to Western standards. But it soon turned out that hers did not either: her taste was that of the petty bourgeois Austrian, and she would have much preferred brand-new garden gnomes to the nineteenth-century reliefs that Jeff and his team were restoring with such care.

The three of them could hardly wait to be rid of the testy lady, and could not be bothered to take her on for retaining 10 percent of the contractually agreed price on the grounds of alleged shortcomings in quality.

"Good riddance!" said Jeff.

They left the estate in Henryk's Jeep. Stopping at the sign that marked the end of the village, they took great satisfaction jointly and severally in urinating on it.

Jeff and Doug took two weeks off and went on vacation to Malta. Henryk went into the office quite often-it now consisted of three interconnected rooms on the Bem Quay, by the Danube-and chatted with the office girls and the bookkeeper. Having no work, he realized how lonely he was. He tinkered with the "Papa et cetera" file. He gathered what information he had into a family tree on the computer, printed it out on the all-in-one used for photocopying the blueprints of the HEJED Co., and pinned it up on the wall of his flat.

I'll add to it, as and when I have something to add, he thought.

He often thought of Ann and even more often of Bond, James Bond. These were two rare examples of names that he remembered even in his dreams, perhaps because they often featured in them. He had to remind himself how lukewarm his feelings for Ann had become by the end. But Bond, James Bond, he loved unreservedly (the last person he embraced with the keenness he felt for this sheep-sized dog had been his mother). Bond, James Bond, generously tolerated this and would sometimes lick Henryk's face, his tongue rough, warm, and wet.

Maybe I should get myself a dog ... a big one.

In the absence of his two friends, however, he decided that what he needed was a two-legged friend. Though he was quite certain he was not interested in men, in his heart of hearts he was not quite so certain that he was interested in women. However intimate he came to be with Ann, they had never come close to that melting into one another he had read about in novels. He hadn't ever, so far, felt anything like that. Which was to say that he had never been in love. That, or the novelists were pulling a fast one.

His evenings would generally begin in restaurants and end in nightclubs, mostly in the ZanziBar, frequented by a lot of English-speakers, chiefly Brits, on account of the wide selection of beers on offer. Henryk never got drunk, but a couple of pints of Guinness loosened his limbs sufficiently for the stroll to his house, which was nearby. Dog-walkers often walked past, and Henryk would eye up the dogs no less than the women. The dogs would generally amble over to him, pressing and sniffing, their tails windscreen-wiping furiously, while he was always happy to hunker down and stroke their backs. He would inquire after the dog's name, age, breed, if the owner or walker was not in a hurry. His sieve-like memory instantly lost this information, so he would put the same questions to the same owner the next time they met. The bigger the dog, the more Henryk liked it. Not far away there lived a Great Dane that always made him melt inside. And he greeted the four black Labradors with the same joy every time; he already knew they were mother and three pups, the latter seven-month-old males who had already caught up with their mother in size.

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"What are they called?"

"They're still called Milady, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis," said the brunette holding the four leads not in her hand but wound around her neck.

"Sorry, but those are strange names."

"Haven't you read The Three Musketeers The Three Musketeers?"

"I'm American, we don't read books, we just watch TV all the time," said Henryk. He meant it as a joke. His pronunciation of the Magyar consonants brought a smile to the girl's lips. Henryk brought out his notebook with his list of recently learned Hungarian words, and started to write the names down: "Milady, Athos, Porthos ... what was the fourth one?"

"Aramis." The girl had faint freckles on her cheeks.

Henryk swallowed hard. "May I walk you home?"

"Easily done. I live right here. Ciao!" The girl herded the black Labradors through the gate. Henryk could not take his eyes off the muscular legs, hidden by her skirt to mid-calf.

The following evening he hung about that part of the road, in the hope of bumping into the girl and the dogs again, but in vain. The third day he decided he would wait around by the gate until they turned up. Ten minutes later the girl and the dogs came down. "Waiting for us?"

"How did you know?"

"Saw you from the window."

Henryk introduced himself. The girl's name was Maria Zenthe. Her hand shook Henryk's firmly. He asked if they could meet on purpose, as it were. Maria gave him a long look. "Difficult."

"Because of someone?"

"Yes." She pointed to the dogs. "Because of them." She explained that they could not be left alone for any length of time, as the pups would certainly trash the flat.

They were quickly on first-name terms. Henryk suggested a weekend trip north to the Danube Bend. Maria was hesitant: this number of dogs is too many for a car. Henryk insisted that there was plenty of room in the Cherokee Jeep.

They set out for Szentendre, towards the Danube Bend. The girl spread some old towels on the back seat and gave the dogs the signal "in you go!" and they obediently hopped in. Henryk could see in the rear-view mirror that they were looking around with faintly bored expressions, like Madison Avenue ladies in their limos.

Maria joked that she was a rag-and-bone woman. The bone referred to the dogs, but the rag was genuine: she designed, sewed, and wove carpets, curtains, wall-hangings, and cushions. She had recently graduated in applied arts. She was a native of Hodmezovasarhely and had come up to Budapest to take her degree. She had had a serious relationship and was now poring over its ruins. Milady had originally belonged to her ex, Jozsef, but she was so fond of Maria that after the split they agreed Milady would be hers. Jozsef was a sculptor in metal. They lived in his workshop-cum-flat. Maria could stay until she found a flat of her own and make a living, that was the agreement. Jozsef had meanwhile moved back to his mother's. Hardly had he removed himself from her life than Milady became pregnant and gave birth to eight pups from a father unknown, which Maria had seen only from a distance, a German Shepherd possibly, or a cross of some sort. When Jozsef heard of the mesalliance he seemed to turn on Milady. Since then he had taken no interest in her at all. The newborn pups had looked like little black rats; five she managed to give away, three remained with her. "I don't mind. I've grown very fond of them."

"I can see why," he said, the hot breath of the four dogs on his neck.

It was as they were passing the new estate at Bekasmegyer that there was the first sign of problems. Aramis started quietly to retch, his head and neck in spasm.

"Whoa!" said Maria. "Better stop, he's going to throw up."

Henryk, however, could not move over in time, and Aramis emptied the contents of his stomach on the seat and the car floor, with plenty left for Henryk's back. Maria was all profuse apology as she tried to limit the damage with Kleenex. As soon as they set off again, it was the turn of Porthos to vomit. And so it went on. The dogs threw up steadily, one after the other, and the inside of the Cherokee Jeep was pervaded by the acrid smell of the acid from the dogs' stomachs. Maria tried desperately to calm the dogs down, pleading with them and shouting at them by turns, but they just stared at her balefully, as if all their sad, dark pupils reflected the same thought: Sorry, but we have no choice but to submit to the call of nature.

Maria would gladly have turned back but Henryk said it was a shame to let this spoil their day. "Anyway, I don't think there can be anything left to bring up now."

In Szentendre and then in Visegrad they made quite a stir with the four black dogs. Henryk behaved as if he were the owner. They got back about ten in the evening, the dogs asleep on the back seat.

"Thanks for everything," said Maria. "Wait a moment. I'll just take the herd up and then I'll come down to help clean up the car."

"Come, come ... I'll see to it tomorrow. But do come back ... for at least an hour or so."

The four dogs stayed locked in the workshop until three in the morning and chewed up everything that they could sink their teeth into. Henryk saw Maria up to the flat. She surveyed the battlefield but did not despair. "Well, it's time for a spring-cleaning anyway."

Henryk stayed. When Jeff and Doug came back, he introduced Maria as his fiancee.

"Indeed?" Maria seemed dubious.

"I don't get it," said Jeff, thought Doug. Henryk repeated: "My fiancee."

"Are you sure about this?" asked Maria again.

"Congratulations!" said Doug, nodded Jeff.

Maria later pointed out that he might have discussed the matter with her first.

"Well ... I'm sorry. So what do you think?"

"Not so fast. First we have to get to know each other better."

"But I've got to know you already!"

Maria shook her head. "There are many things about me that you don't know. Important things."

"So tell me."

"I can't do it just like that. In due course. All in good time."

Henryk had to resign himself to a wait.

Dear Grammy, I'm still doing fine. The firm HEJED Co. continues to expand, but this time I want to write about something else. I think that perhaps this is my HEJEM, my place, forever.I have met someone, a girl, and if it were up to me we would get married tomorrow. I'd be delighted if you could meet her. Could you not come over again? Let me send you a ticket!

His grandmother telephoned at once. "I will come, but let's wait with this a little. Don't rush things. First you should really get to know each other well."

"That's what she said, too."

"Clever girl."

These were busy times for Maria. She was making wall-hangings, an insurance company having ordered four large ones. She sat at her loom from the crack of dawn and stopped only to take the dogs out the regulation three times a day. If Henryk wanted to see her, it was during these walks that he could do so. They went on the wider pavement of the upper quayside, following the frisky little herd and apologizing to the more easily frightened pedestrians.

"Tell me, do you believe in reincarnation?" asked Maria.

Henryk was at a loss. He had never asked himself this question and so had no answer. When he was small he had attended church, and his grandmother would certainly have liked him to become a proper white Anglo-Saxon Protestant, but as no one around him took God seriously, he too thought religion was just empty ceremonial which he gave up as soon as he could, just as he did the scouts.

Reincarnation was the cornerstone of Maria's view of the world. Death is also, simultaneously, birth or rebirth. After the decay of the body, the soul lingers on for about a century and a half, following various paths by way of purification; only after this can it begin its next life. Someone who was born a man in a previous life generally becomes a woman, and vice versa.

For Henryk the prospect that after his death his soul could have a second helping in another being was new, exciting and tempting; nevertheless, he found it difficult to believe.

"You don't have to believe it," said Maria. "When the time comes you will find it as natural as the fact that the sky is blue."

Henryk was not convinced that this would happen, much as he might long for it. In the course of further conversations he discovered that Maria shared the views of a German philosopher called Rudolf Steiner, who was well known at the beginning of the twentieth century. "He was a spiritual visionary. There are people possessed of the ability to see on a higher plane, that is to say, they can see things that others can't. They say you can be born with this ability, but it can also be achieved by self-education. In our time, the path of self-education is more common. Man today has lost his ability to see within. We possess what are called spiritual senses, but these cannot operate of themselves and have to be developed by the individual. I have many books on this; if you're interested, I can lend them to you."

The vast majority of the books were, however, in German. Henryk knew no foreign languages; he had English as his mother tongue and Hungarian as his father tongue.

Spiritual vision and self-education: so many unknown spheres. Just as hard to believe as reincarnation and at the same time just as attractive.

It turned out that Maria spoke English, German, and French very well, and even some Danish. A lover of opera, she could also manage some Italian.

It's true, thought Henryk, I really don't know her well.

"Why did you never go to college?" asked Maria.

"I came here instead. This is my university."

"Aha. So you didn't have the courage to take on a degree."

"That's not what I said."

"But it's true anyway, isn't it?"

Henryk thought about it a while and then admitted it was. "How did you know?"

"It's typical of Pisces."

"Pie seas?"

"The astrological sign. You are Pisces, aren't you?"

Henryk had no idea. Maria asked when he was born and when she heard the date, nodded: "Yes, that's Pisces."

Maria was well versed in the art of casting a horoscope, something she had learned from her grandmother. She cast one for everyone she came into contact with and who gave their permission.

"You ask for permission?"

"Of course. It's a very intimate matter. Things can be revealed that the natives ... the person concerned won't perhaps be happy about. Or they won't be happy that I'm the one to have revealed them. So ... can I cast yours?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the exact time of your birth? Hours and minutes. I need it for the ascendant."

"I've no idea."

He called his grandmother to ask, but Grammy did not know. "In those days we were not on smiling terms."

"Smiling terms?"