Free The Door by Magda Szabó Page A

She hadn't swept the leaves off the pavement; the rubbish bin wasn't outside the front door; she hadn't brought the finished laundry; the night before she hadn't been to babysit; she hadn't even done the shopping. I opened and closed that door non-stop. Viola howled, bared his teeth, refused to eat, and waited.
THE MURANO MIRROR
    It was late evening when Emerence finally turned up and took Viola for his walk. His cries of relief defied imagination. On their return, she tapped on my door and asked me if I would go home with her. There was something she had to discuss with me that she didn't want the master to hear. We could have gone into any of the rooms, but she insisted I go with her. So off the three of us went, Emerence, me, and Viola dancing along ahead of us. At that time of night there was no need to put him on a leash to stop him bounding up to other dogs and getting into fights. Once on the porch, Emerence offered me a seat at the table, which was covered with a spotless nylon cloth. I sat down, and was hit by the usual dense, heavy smell, a nauseating blend of chlorine, cleaning fluids and some sort of air freshener. The rest of the house was silent, and no lights shone in the windows. It wasn't yet the witching hour, and by day the thought would never have struck me, but now, with just the three of us on the porch, I suddenly began to sense something of the presence, or presences, that inhabited Emerence's home. Some sound was audible in the deep silence, a low, soft sound. Viola crouched down by the gap beneath the door and began to snuffle noisily. When he wanted to get in somewhere, he produced this special signal, rather like a human groan or heavy, painful breathing. It was an extraordinary evening however one looked at it, not harmonious, but filled rather with a sense of foreboding. In normal circumstances I tend not to analyse my situation, but I found myself reflecting that I knew almost nothing about Emerence, beyond her general mania and her deftly evasive answers to my questions.
    "Sometime in the next few days I'm having a visitor," she began. It was the voice of someone emerging from anaesthesia, speaking with the exaggerated precision of a wandering mind striving for clarity. "You know I never let anyone into my home, but I can't make this visitor sit where you are now. It's impossible."
    Experience had taught me never to cross-examine her, she'd only take fright and reveal even less. If she was expecting the sort of guest who couldn't be entertained on her porch, let alone taken inside, then it wasn't just anybody. Could it be the two golden-haired siblings who were burnt to cinders? But perhaps they never existed except as characters in a story. Or even God himself, in whom Emerence did not believe, because he had given her an evening gown instead of woollen cast-offs? This person must be even more important than either her "little brother Józsi's son" or the Lieutenant Colonel.
    "Would you allow me to entertain this person in your flat? Other people would gossip about it, but not you. We'd act as if the person was your guest. The master is out working that afternoon. If you ask him, he'll agree to anything. Will you do it? You know I'll make it up to you."
    I stared at her. "You want to receive a guest in our home?" The question was superfluous. Emerence had planned everything down to the last detail. Of course that was what she wanted.
    "But you must do all you can to make the person think I live there, with you. I'll bring everything, the cups, coffee, drinks. You won't have to provide anything, just the space. Say yes. I will repay you. By the time the master gets home, we'll be gone. Wednesday at four o'clock. Is that all right?"
    In the doorway Viola gave a deep sigh. Outside, it was drizzling softly. The international situation had been normalised for some years, so Emerence's guest could have been the French President himself without her fearing political consequences. The fact that she