“I am ashamed to speak of these things,” the man grumbled, “but, with your leave, that son of a bitch used to explain aloud there in the market place how children were produced. He also said that one need not obey one’s parents. He also said that it did not matter if girls went wrong, it was only the priests who pretended that it was a sin. No more need to worry about bastards, the State would look after them.” He pushed his hat back on his head and expectorated violently. “Damn his eyes! No more God, no more honour! Here in the boarding school he said the same thing as in the market place. He encouraged the little misses to make love freely with the boys. He had pictures to show them how it was done. The headmistress just wept and wrung her hands. At last she did for herself.” The cart rattled. Something seemed to shake within me too. I looked down and saw the road through the hole in the bottom: the earth receded rapidly under the cart. When I looked up at last the town was no longer in sight. I had left the execution ground. Rain now began to fall anew, but I did not heed it, for a fresh breeze was blowing over the fields, and those whom I met, peasants on carts or on foot, were different from those in town. A village came in view, a house, a garden full of flowers. The cart entered the yard of Iklad, and a girl came running towards me from the corridor: “They are not at home! Since they have been taken to Aszód they have not been allowed to come home.” I was very cold and very tired: “Might I stay here a little—till the train for Balassagyarmat comes?” “Please don’t!” exclaimed the frightened girl. “We are expecting the Communists every minute. They are coming to requisition things.” “Of course, it does not matter....” And I thought of the heavy clang with which the gate of Berczel had closed behind me. All gates were closed as this one now. “Let us go,” I said to the coachman. By this time the girl had recovered her senses. “You might go to the house of the railway guard, and wait for the train there. Uncle Nagy, the guard, is a kind man, he’ll let you.” And she added something about bringing me some dinner when the Communists were gone. Under centenarian trees, on the other side of the road, the guard’s house was hidden beside the roadway. A fowl-house, a little stack of wood, a garden with quaint little flower-beds.... A tall elderly man, dressed in the blouse of the railway guards, came towards me. He touched his cap and asked me what I wanted. The office was closed, the train would not arrive till five.... So he was going to send me away too.... I felt again how tired I was, wet to the bone, and ravenously hungry. I spoke slowly, so as to gain time and to be able to stay for a little longer under a roof, out of the rain, and also to nurse my hopes a little. But the man did not send me away. He shrugged his shoulders: “Of course you are welcome to stay here if you like. But you won’t find it over comfortable.”