Sunflower by Gyula Krudy Read Free Book Online

lines set heads a-wagging in quiet amazement, as if they were tall tales told by a far-flung traveler.
    Andor Álmos-Dreamer never declared his love for Miss Eveline. Their affinity had always been taken for granted like a childhood friendship that survives throughout a lifetime, serene, questioned by no one. It was as natural as the mating of birds, the springtime rut of domestic animals and the white blossoms of an orchard, as easy as the East wind that heralds spring and sets the reeds in motion, dries up the floods and caresses the grass with a benevolent hand.
    â€œAre you feeling miserable again?” asked the horseman, having dismounted, brushed the snow from his shoulder, and kissed the girl’s cool forehead.
    Teardrops showed in Eveline’s eyes as she fixed her placid gaze on Andor, as on a trustworthy elder brother.
    â€œI’ve been thinking of him again...that creep.”
    Andor’s handwave was gruff:
    â€œYou should winter here. Stay the whole year even. Hideaway will cure you. Poor girl, you seem so miserable. This is the only place where you can find your former self. I won’t even ask what happened. I’m sure something must weigh heavily on your mind if you left the city in the middle of the season. Please understand...I’m not interested in hearing about young Master Kálmán or any other man about town. I just won’t let you leave before you are fully healed.”
    Eveline’s smile was hopeful, evoking childhood Christmas bells and carolers. It was wintertime. They would go sledding...and skating in the bright high noon sun on the frozen Tisza flats...and there would be a pig-sticking...The mailman would deliver books still smelling of snow, frozen magazines and Christmas supplements somewhat the worse for the wear after the long journey, and together they would browse through these...They could look over the scrawled accounts kept by her bailiff...Talk about their dead parents, and old friends who had passed on, women who had danced away their lives, and the mysteries of the City. The watchdogs would bark nonstop—perhaps it is the Grim Reaper himself flying above the landscape, passing over the blizzard-wrapped old manor house where pillows exude the faint scent of floral cachets and the dream book offers the right solution to one’s dreams. Check the calendar, what day is it? The fragrance of Yuletide and New Year’s season creates those reveries of an ever-hopeful childhood, when faded schoolbooks that we had practically absorbed by heart, and stern old schoolmasters who seem menacing even when viewed through the spectacles of dream still provided us with a gossamer film of happy expectation...that had absolutely nothing to do with the life to come.
    Eveline grasped her friend’s bony hand:
    â€œToo often you’ve let me go like a child sent off to a distant land. Will you please not do that again? Who knows if I’d ever come back...”
    Andor Álmos-Dreamer caressed the girl’s hair.
    â€œYou are a dear creature, and I know you haven’t a mean bone in your body. I’ve always felt easy about you even when I didn’t see you for a long time. Your heart is noble because you never had to deal with demeaning, low things. Your soul is pristine because you were never troubled by woeful need, dream-depriving cares, or sinful thoughts whispered by poverty in your ear. You are gracious and peaceable, like a young woman who at eveningtime kneels in front of the fireplace and sinks into reverie lulled by the swirl of snowflakes. But those dream chevaliers, lovers mounted on steeds, soaring over rooftops on swallows’ wings, they all vanish without a trace when the lamps are lit. The morning and daylight are sober, serene and delightful like fresh water. The winter sky hereabouts is mostly gray, just like our lives. But it also happens to be as warm as rabbit fur. I’m not worried about you, my sweet angel.