Love in a Bottle Read Online Free Page A

scholar in, but to no avail. He heard them out, but in a manner that suggested he had never known what the words ‘wedding’, ‘bride’ or ‘happiness’ might mean.
    For all that, the old lady took good care of him. She set down a fresh, uncut loaf of bread before him, and a full mug of milk. It was St John’s Night, and she knew what she was doing. He fell to, but ate very strangely, not as a Hungarian would. He scrutinised the loaf from one side and then the other, and sniffed the milk cautiously before every sip, as if afraid that they were about to poison him. Meanwhile he spoke not a word, and looked to neither left nor right.
    Nor did he notice that there was someone who never stopped staring at him. It was his immediate neighbour, Ajándok. From the very first glance the little girl’s heart had taken pity on the wandering scholar—this poor, uncouth, abandoned vagrant with thorns clinging to his clothes from his wanderings in distant forests. Finding a creature beside her who seemed even more of an orphan than she felt herself to be, sad little Ajándok’s sorrow began to dissolve, and her kindly heart longed to comfort him.
    The scholar finally noticed her when she leant over to him to put some sugar in his milk. His first response was to cover the mug with his hand in terror; but then he acquiesced, and even thanked her.
    â€œNo one ever puts sugar in my milk,” he observed plaintively . “I always have it without. But sugar is very good, if you can get it.”
    â€œBut if you want it, why don’t you ask?”
    â€œMe, ask for sugar? I’m afraid that wouldn’t go down well with the master.”
    â€œBut when you find a good master, who looks kindly on you?”
    â€œI’ve met very few of those. I know I look like a scarecrow . But I don’t ask for much. All I want is a bite to eat and somewhere to lay my head. When people oblige I never thank them, and if they don’t they live to regret it. I just keep moving on—there are plenty of other villages and my legs are long. I never sit anywhere long enough to warm my seat.”
    Sensing the miller’s gaze fully upon him, he stopped.
    â€œSo where are you from, master scholar?” was the question . The scholar behaved as if he hadn’t heard.
    Soon enough, people lost interest in him, their thoughts full of their own happy plans.
    But Ajándok fussed around him even more devotedly , finding a cushion for him to sit on, as if he were a specially honoured guest, cutting his bread for him and pouring his milk into her own ornately decorated mug. He even managed to thank her, in his scarcely audible voice. She blushed at this display of magnanimity, and gazed at him with such a loving look that he reddened slightly in return—the faint glowing of embers beneath a layer of ash.
    â€œHave you come very far?” she suddenly asked, timidly.
    â€œI certainly have,” he replied. “Through seven forests, from the land of seven cities. In Transylvania I studied up to the thirteenth grade… I lived in a cave with twelve companions… a dark cave, with bears and owls… we were barely human ourselves… and the nights werebitter cold… Then we moved on… crossing over flimsy footbridges… carrying torches… up into the heart of the mountain.”
    His speech came in fragments, as if he wanted to drop the subject at every turn but was unable to withstand Ajándok’s loving gaze. “In the heart of the mountain we came upon a threshing wheel… we stopped before it, all thirteen of us… we knew one of us would have to die… either myself or one of the others… so we all climbed up and stood on it… and it started to turn… then suddenly, ‘Jaj!’—my best friend fell… he screamed at us as he lay there among the whirling blades… it was all up for him… But we survived…