Bela Kiss

Bela Kiss
by William LeQueux
I
In the early spring of 1912 a tall rather elegant man of exquisite manner,
thin-faced, blacked-haired, with high cheek-bones and a countenance of
almost Tartar type, arrived with his young and pretty wife from
Budapest at the charming little summer resort of Czinkota, a few miles
from the Hungarian capital. The place is much frequented by holiday
folk on Sundays, it being a centre for excursions to Visegrad,
Nagy-Moros and Budafok. The stranger, who was about forty years of
age, was named Bela Kiss, his wife being about fifteen years younger.
After searching the district for a house he eventually took a rather
spacious one standing back in a large garden on the Matyasfold road, in
a somewhat isolated position, and for a few months lived happily there,
going into Budapest alone about once or twice a week. It afterwards
transpired that he had been a tinsmith in a large way of business, but
had retired.
The pair formed few friendships, for Kiss seemed a somewhat mystical
person, and had often been heard to discuss psychic subjects with his
wife. He was also something of an amateur astrologer and possessed
many books upon the subject, while his wife had a small crystal globe
into which she was fond of gazing. The pair seemed a most devoted
couple, and went about together in the small and rather dilapidated car
which the husband possessed, and in which he often went into
Budapest.
The wife was extremely good-looking, and Kiss was apparently
extremely jealous of her. Indeed, he forbade her to make any male
acquaintances. She was a native of Zimony, on the Danube, in the
extreme South of Hungary, a place long noted for its handsome female
inhabitants. According to village gossip, however, little Madame Kiss

had a friend in a certain Paul Bihari, an artist of Budapest, who
sometimes spent the day with her wandering in the acacia woods and
picnicking together during her husband's absence. The handsome
young fellow was well known in the capital and especially at the
Otthon Club, where Hungarian authors, artists and journalists
assembled nightly.
II
Matters proceeded in this manner for nearly six months, Paul being a
frequent visitor to the house, and the pair making many excursions to
the beauty spots in the vicinity. One evening, however Bela Kiss on his
return from Budapest found the house locked up. After waiting till near
nightfall he broke open the door, and found lying upon the dining-table,
a note from his wife saying that she had fled with her lover, and asking
forgiveness. In a frenzy of anger he burnt the note, and then rushing to
a neighbour named Littman, who lived in the vicinity and who was one
of the few persons with whom he had formed a friendship, told him of
the staggering blow he had received.
Next day all Czinkota was agog, knowing what had occurred. But it
was only what they had long expected.
Crushed by his disillusionment, the heart-broken husband shut himself
up and became almost a recluse. He drove sometimes to Budapest, but
he had no servant and did his own cooking and looked after his few
daily wants himself. In fact, he became a woman-hater and devoted his
time to the study of psychometry and mysticism. His eccentricity now
became the more marked, but as months wore on his health appeared to
be failing until it was noticed that he had not been seen out for over a
week, while the house appeared to be closed. Yet each night there
appeared a light in his bedroom.
The neighbour in whom he had confided how his wife had deserted him
began to wonder, so one day he called. The knock on the door's brought
Bela, pale, half-clad and very feeble.
He told his friend that he had been ill in bed for some days. The friend

at once suggested that he should have somebody to nurse him, and that
the village doctor should be called. At first Kiss demurred, saying:
"After all, if I die what matters? I have nothing to live for, now that my
dear one has left me!"
The neighbour uttered comforting words, and eventually the Doctor
visited him -- much against his will -- and an old woman from the
village, named Kalman, was left in charge.
His eccentricity had, it seems increased to a marked degree. In one
room there were laid out carefully upon the table the clothes and shoes
that his wife had left behind, and into that room the invalid forbade the
old woman to enter. For nearly three weeks the village woman was
most assiduous, and carefully nursed him back to health, until at last he
became quite well again. So he paid her and she left,