Péter Nyulász: Helka – The Shadows of Hemlock Valley
A silent, grey-bearded old man in a densely woven dark cloak sat up at the front on the driver’s box, holding the reins. He was frowning as he scanned the forest for the slightest movement: the ominous whispering of the leaves; the chill sigh of the hills; the ring of the pebbles as they rolled down the steep rocks.– For Halloween, an excerpt from the storybook Helka.
30 October 2019
1. A Flood at Ravine Castle
'Pancakes!'
'Rice pudding!'
'Pancakes!'
'Rice pudding!'
Deep in the woods, a sort of rickety covered wagon was jolting along. It wasn't following a road as such, just a wide, dry watercourse. It was pulled by an ageing grey horse, which placed its hooves gingerly among the wet stones. While in the half-light of the woods it was barely visible, hearing it presented no problem at all. The loud creaks of the cart, the dry branches cracking under the wheels and the argument going on under the canvas cover could be heard for miles. This was the combined effect:
(Creak, crunch, crack)
'Pancakes!'
(Crack, crunch, creak)
'Rice pudding!'
A silent, grey-bearded old man in a densely woven dark cloak sat up at the front on the driver's box, holding the reins. From under his wide-brimmed hat, his long grizzled hair streamed out over his shoulders. He was frowning as he scanned the forest for the slightest movement: the ominous whispering of the leaves; the chill sigh of the hills; the ring of the pebbles as they rolled down the steep rocks.
He held his breath tensely if a kestrel screamed or a wild boar grunted somewhere nearby. He was able to hear even the rustle made by tiny goblins' feet and the swish of witches as they passed.
That is to say, as a rule he could; just now, of course, there was no chance.
At the back of the cart, four short elf-legs were swinging. The owners of these legs were not in the least concerned by the woodland noises. Nor were they bothered that the swaying of the wagon was bouncing them up and down on their bottoms. They just dangled their legs out of the back and became more insistent,
'Pancakes!'
'Rice pudding!'
Oh, and of course: crunch, creak, crack – until with one last bump, they turned at last out of the bed of the stream and on to a road. This made no difference to the elves, who kept on with their cheerful shouting match.
'You two don't stop, don't you?' growled the old man at them over his shoulder.
'We're only trying to guess what there'll be for lunch at this “boiling session,”' they cried excitedly.
'Royal procession' the old man corrected them. Then, with a sigh, he went on,
'And where's that going to be then?'
'Where, Kamor? Here in the Forest?
'A long way from here. At the end of the headland.'
'Which headland?'
'The one where Helka lives.'
'And who's this Helka?' came yet another question from behind.
The old man rolled his eyes, and heaved another sigh.
'A splendidly beautiful princess, but I've told you all this before.'
'Tell us one more time!' begged the elves.
'This'll be the fourth time. Are you sure?'
'But we're so bored with travelling. We've been bouncing along for days.'
'That's precisely why you'd have done better to have stayed at home.'
'Then why didn't you leave us there?'
'How can you ask that Tramini? You of all people? The entire house practically floated away...'
'It was Furmint's idea to make the stream run into the house,' retorted the elf.
That much was true. Originally the plan had been that only the old man would go, but given what had happened, he'd thought it best if the two elves came with him.
Kamor's home was not an ordinary one. Though at first glance it appeared to be no more than a quaint little woodland cottage, it was in fact a veritable fortress, cunningly concealed from mortal eyes. It stood at the base of a steep white cliff, accessible only via a dark ravine. No roads went near it, and it was hidden even from the eyes of passing birds by the branches of a mighty oak tree which stood in the clearing, so tall it almost reached the sky. It was impossible for anyone who hadn't been shown the way to find it. No-one could even stumble on it by chance, as Kamor's magic spells also played their part in protecting it from discovery.
Once, there had been the opening to a cave here, but the passages had fallen in thousands of years earlier, and now only the first chamber remained intact. Kamor had built his house right on top of this. There was a trapdoor in the kitchen floor, with a set of steps leading down to the rocky cavern. It made a roomy cellar, reaching for a long way under the cliff, and was, naturally, equipped with a chimney.
A narrow stovepipe connected it to the top of the cliff, and in the chimney place sat a gigantic cauldron, in which there was nearly always something boiling and bubbling. All around along the walls and up to the ceiling were shelves stacked full with labelled boxes, glass phials, and books thick with all the learning, wisdom and wizardry of the world.
Outside, a few metres above the little house, a fast-flowing stream gushed out from deep in the mountainside. It fell, white and foamy, and rushed down the ravine, where the pounding of the waterfall could still be heard. From its source, the water flowed along a trough made of wooden boards to a waterwheel mounted on the wall of the house. A section of this trough could be turned either to direct the water onto the top of the wheel, or back into the streambed, depending on need.
Opposite the house, the ancient oak spread out over a large area of the clearing, its branches stretching up to the sky and maybe even touching it. The tree's broad canopy kept the clearing in shadowy half-light even on the hottest day. Leaning up against the trunk was Kamor's barn, which was home to Cuha the grey horse. The covered wagon also generally stood under the wood-shingle roof.
On that particular day, however, Kamor had brought the horse and cart over to the side of the house at first light, so as to have it closer when it came to loading up the empty sacks and the great trunk containing a week's provisions. After that, he had gone down to the rock chamber to lay out everything required for his mistletoe potion.
He had barely made a start when he heard the drumming of feet, followed by a clattering and then, with a loud bang, the trapdoor above him slammed shut. Lastly, there was a 'click' and he found himself locked in below the floor.
Kamor began to shout to be let out, but to no avail. What was more, water now began to come in! At first, it just dripped in between the boards of the trapdoor, then it started to pour in and before long the floor was flooded. Inexorably, the water level began to rise.
Who else but the two elves could be behind this muddle? What had happened was that Tramini, on waking, had looked out of the window and seen at once that Cuha and the wagon were not in the barn.
'Furmint, Furmint, wake up!', he had shouted and had begun to shake his brother, who was still sleeping peacefully. 'Kamor's already gone!' he announced excitedly.
Furmint had stretched sleepily, blinking and struggling to grasp what was going on. Only slowly did he realise that he wasn't dreaming, though he'd still have preferred to have been.
'He has, has he? So what? I thought the house must be burning down at the very least, 'he grumbled, then flopped back onto the bed and turned to the wall. Tramini, however, wasn't going to leave it at that.
'But Kamor said we shouldn't laze about all day. We've got to collect brushwood by the time he gets back.'
'Right, but we do actually have a whole week to do it,' mumbled Furmint.
'Yes, but we won't get anything done if you lie there snoring till noon. And if you think I'm doing your work too, you've got another thing coming!'
Furmint gave no reply to this, just turned back to the wall and pulled the blanket up over his head.
'You're as lazy as a toad at the bottom of a well. Come on, time to go for a wash!'
'I for one am not going down to the stream. The only way I'm washing is if the stream comes in here to me,' he muttered from under the cover.
Tramini didn't need telling twice. He threw on some clothes and dashed out of the house, straight to the moveable section of the wooden trough. He climbed up onto the supports, pulled out the wooden pin, then grasped the rope which controlled the moving section. He pulled and pulled with all his might, until it was directed at the bedroom window. He secured the rope, then made for the shutoff gate. He'd watched the wizard open it a million times. He only wanted to let a little water through – just enough to splash that lazybones Furmint out of bed.
'If you want a stream running into your bed, that's just what you'll get!' he thought to himself, but he hadn't reckoned with the force of the water as compared to his own strength. Though he'd only opened the gate a crack, the torrent that surged through knocked it aside with such force that Tramini, who'd been holding the handle, was flung in a great arc, all the way to the haystack by the barn.
By this time of course, Furmint had come haring down the stairs. The poor creature didn't know what had hit him. He'd been just comfortably settling back into sleep when, with a mighty gushing and rushing, the newly liberated stream had washed him out of his bed. Thinking at first that Tramini was sloshing a bucket of water onto him, he'd scrambled to his feet, furious, but he'd been amazed to see neither bucket nor Tramini. The water, it turned out, was flowing in through the window. Standing dripping in the middle of the room, it seemed to him there was only one possible course of action: to run. He dashed off, as fast as his legs could carry him. Only, when he was nearly at the foot of the stairs, he slipped on the last step, his ankles got tangled up together and he tumbled and somersaulted into the open trapdoor. This then fell shut with a loud bang, and with such force that the bolt slid home. Luckily the elf wasn't badly bruised. He got up, and not sparing a thought for the trapdoor, made for the garden.
Once there, he stood staring around him, somewhat mystified by what he saw: the trough tied up to the wall; the stream running into the house; no sign of Tramini. For lack of a better idea, he ran over to the shutoff gate, intending to turn it back and stop the water. He braced his two hands and his two feet against it, but couldn't get it to budge.
Meanwhile, Tramini had clambered out of the bottom of the haystack. It took him also a moment or two to grasp what had happened. As a first move, he brushed the wisps of hay off himself, and then, guessing that Furmint wouldn't be too happy about how he'd woken him up, he set off at a leisurely pace towards the house. It was when he saw that water was coming out of it that he began to suspect that the situation was more serious, and suffering a tirade of abuse from Furmint was going to be the least of his troubles. Only at this point did he notice his brother struggling with the gate. He ran over to help him, hoping to salvage what he could of the situation.
Even their combined efforts were not sufficient to prevail against the force of the stream. The two elves climbed into the trough, thinking to block it with their bodies. They pushed and tugged at the gate, but again and again their feet slipped out from under them, and they slid under the water. Undaunted, they struggled manfully to prevent further disaster, but all their efforts came to nothing.
Exhausted and panting, they could think of nothing but the fact that this was the end; the rock chamber under the house must be entirely under water by this time, and the priceless books and magical ingredients completely spoiled. Kamor would have their guts for garters, when he came home. If, that is, they hadn't drowned by then.
They had no idea that not only had Kamor not gone away, he was in fact up to his neck in the very same water. They had a nasty fright, therefore, when they found themselves grabbed by two strong hands and lifted out of the trough.
It was Kamor.
He set the elves down on the ground at a safe distance from the water, then, still not uttering a word, he stood in front of them. The old man and the two elves regarded each other in silence. Tramini and Furmint didn't dare open their mouths, and Kamor wasn't in the mood for conversation. Instead, he went and closed the gate and turned the moveable section back to its proper position.
The elves instantly began to whisper to each other.
'Look! He was here all the time.' Furmint had worked it out . 'And you had to go ahead and organise this whole hoo-ha!'
'I had to?' retorted Tramini. 'You're the one who wanted to have a wash in bed!'
'All right then, I've just had a brilliant idea. You can be the one to explain this whole thing to Kamor!'
Explanations were the last thing Kamor was interested in, however. He'd gone into the house to take stock of the damage. The elves' room in the attic and the whole area around the staircase were in a terrible state. Everything was completely soaked. While, in large part, the kitchen had escaped damage, that was really only thanks to the fact that most of the water had gone down into the rock cellar.
The wizard came back out to the two rascals, bringing towels.
'Dry yourselves off, then get to work! You'll both need a bucket,' he said in a voice that made it clear he would brook no opposition. They obeyed him, albeit with a bad grace. Going together to open the trapdoor, a sorry sight met their eyes. Only two steps remained dry, below that all that could be seen were countless objects bobbing on the water.
'Are you really angry with us?' a chastened Tramini asked the old wizard.
'I'm more sad,' replied Kamor. 'Very sad.'
In fact he was angry, and not a little, but at himself. “What made me think I could go off and leave the elves by themselves?”
He kept these thoughts to himself, saying only to the elves, 'Anger won't get us anywhere. We've got a job to do; fishing everything out of the water and getting it dry.'
'Then why don't you do it then, Kamor? You're such a clever wizard, you could put it all right in no time. After all, you got through the locked trapdoor ...'
'Through the locked trapdoor....' murmured Kamor. 'You really have no idea how I got out?'
'By magic, how else!? You said the words of a spell, and came out through the wall,' asserted Tramini, but as he spoke, his voice trailed off; the old man was frowning at him severely.
'Tramini! I'm not a fairy, or a witch, or a goblin, nor even an elf. I'm a man. It's true that I'm well-acquainted with the secrets of charms, and which to use for what purpose. It's also true that I know how to make special potions. I have learned how to use a magic wand, but first and foremost, I've learned how to use my head!'
Kamor tapped that part of his anatomy.
'I hope you'll eventually learn to do so too. At the present moment, however, here everything's swimming about by our feet.'
Kamor paused. He'd had to admit that the elves couldn't be left alone, but he didn't want them to become too dispirited, as there was no knowing what they might do.
He made an effort, therefore, to adopt the friendliest expression he could muster, and continued,' I need your help, and when we're finished, as a reward, you can both come with me to collect mistletoe.'
He pondered a little after that, because he would have preferred to keep his plans a secret from the elves. In the end, he decided he would extend his offer to them.
'What's more, when we've got the mistletoe, you can come with me to Helka's coronation and see her royal procession.'
At that, the elves at last rolled up their sleeves and without another word, got to work. They were driven to some extent by guilt, but more by the chance of going with Kamor after all. They lowered their buckets and carried out the water, while Kamor laid the wet things out in a safe place.
With all the to-ing and fro-ing, it escaped their attention that a small box was being carried off by the stream. The box bumped quietly over the stones, the little rapids and the bigger waterfalls. Not stopping to bid farewell, it sped away from Ravine Castle.
It took them what was left of the day to empty the cellar of water and dry out its contents. Kamor and the elves got to bed only late in the evening, so they could only set off on their journey the next day.
All things considered, it wasn't surprising that when Tramini asked his question up on the back of the bucking wagon, Kamor was a bit short with him.
'It makes not the slightest bit of difference whose idea it was, and who put it into action. Everything got sopping wet, and goodness only knows what would have happened, if I'd actually gone and left you by yourselves!'
'But then, why didn't you want to take us with you?,' Furmint pressed.
“Why indeed?” thought Kamor, but not wanting to say it out loud, he said instead, 'Because gathering mistletoe has become a long and arduous job since that confounded witch set her crows free to help themselves to it. My only mistake was to believe that you were big enough by now.'
'But elves don't grow any bigger than this!'
'Hmm,' sighed Kamor. 'You may be both up to my waist now, but you've still got plenty to learn. I would never have thought I couldn't leave elves of a hundred years old in charge of a little house in the middle of the woods.'
'Ninety-nine,' said Furmint.
'Ninety-eight,' said Tramini.
Kamor, for reasons best known to himself, declined to answer this, merely heaving an even heavier sigh.
Cuha stepped calmly along the road, and the wheels crunched peacefully over the fine gravel. They were at the farthest point of their loop, close to the edge of the woods, at the beginning of the headland. If they were to continue on this road for another hour and a half, they would be able to see the tip of the tallest spire of the Many-Towered Castle. Kamor, of course, kept this to himself. Here the forest was still dense, and he wanted to turn towards home on a secret path before they reached the shore.
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves.
The elves looked up, and stared into space for no more than a minute before Tramini, in pure mischief, burst out 'Pancakes!'
Furmint lost no time in cheekily retorting, 'Rice pudding...'
'All right, all right,' said Kamor, giving in. 'I'll give it another try.'
The elves immediately settled down on their backs, and, gazing at the canvas above them, listened to the old man.
'Helka's grandfather, who was a knight renowned far and wide, built a castle with many towers on the tip of the headland...' the wizard began his story once again, though the two elves weren't really interested in the story, especially on the fourth hearing. They got up on their elbows, and, as the steady murmur of the story floated past their ears, lazily watched how the leafy branches that bent over the road filtered the sunlight and turned it a light green. They peeked at the plants growing by the roadside: the purple-tufted thistles, the dark spread of the burdock leaves, the tiny bright red globes of the wild strawberries...
Tramini suddenly laid his finger on Furmint's lips, to make sure he didn't call out, and whispered eagerly into his ear, 'Strawberries! Come on, let's jump down!'
Furmint squinted ahead. The view in front was completely blocked by Kamor's back, and his story-telling was flowing on in a monotone, '.... and when the deceitful, snake-haired fairy of the lake cursed them...'
Furmint shuddered.
'Brr, just hearing it is horrible!' He came to a decision, and nodded to Tramini. Together, they slipped down from the wagon, which proceeded to draw away from them, creaking as it went, then slowly disappeared round a wide bend.
About the translator
Anna Bentley has lived in Budapest since 2000 and began translating Hungarian literature in 2015. Her translation of Ervin Lázár's well-loved children's book Arnica, the Duck Princess was published by Pushkin Children's Press in 2019. In June she graduated with 'outstanding' from the Literary Translation Program at the Balassi Institute, Budapest, for which she translated four stories by György Dragomán. Several of her prose and poetry translations have appeared in the online journal Hungarian Literature Online. Her translation of an excerpt from Natália Szeifert's latest novel About Sedatives was included in this year's collection of translations published by the Hungarian Translators' House. Mostly recently she was working on 20th Century Women's Literature: The Hungarian Case by Anna Menyhért to be published by Brill.
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