Zoltán was showboating at the wheel. His cousin Pavel was sitting next to him, laughing. Evidently Vilmos was a no-show. Perhaps he had stayed behind in the vineyards? At this time of year there was plenty of work to do. Above the River Tisza, the sun had given way to thick charcoal-gray clouds driven by winds from the Russian plains. The air was more breathable now, much to Elisabeth’s delight. She unbuttoned the collar of her silk blouse. The backseat clearly didn’t have enough room for both couples. But as it happened, Consuela was tired. More to the point, she was drunk and therefore excused from any visit. Benjamin wouldn’t have minded taking a nap himself. There wasn’t enough time, though, and Zoltán made it clear that he had arranged everything with his relatives. Pavel didn’t look much older than his cousin, but they hardly resembled each other. Pavel had coal-gray eyes, cropped chestnut hair, a handshake that could reduce a person’s fingers to crushed grapes, and rather crude mannerisms.
