We waited patiently for hours. Noon passed. The secretary looked at her watch and said aggressively: “Too late, come to-morrow!”
“But here is my coal-permit! I got it in April.” The spirit of rebellion rose in me. I felt for the others too, for all of us who waited there, Hungarians, who no longer had any voice in anything.
The coal merchant, the secretary, both were Jews. These people have usurped every office and they put off from one day to another what is due to us, or throw it at our heads as if it were a charity. To-morrow! With clenched fists I went the next day, and the day after.... Patient women, weeping old grannies, pushing, angry men. The coal merchant crossed the ante-room quickly, and imploring voices tried to catch his attention. But he answered back like a dictator deciding a question of grace: “Wait your turn!”
Again I went, and befurred and bejewelled women came down as I went up, gloating over their success. I heard what they said—they had got what they wanted; and everywhere it is the same. With the impotence of a subdued race we go away empty-handed, and there is no place where we can assert our rights. They have the power, and they laugh in our faces.
And the coal in our cellar has been used up and we live in unwarmed rooms.
December 2nd.
The morning was still dark when the ringing of a bell broke in upon my dreams. It worried me, floated over my head like the buzzing of a bluebottle, stopped, and started again. I woke.
It was the telephone in the ante-room.
“The farmer? Oh yes, near our villa! Last night burglars entered the villa ... my sister’s too! I understand....”