‘What if it dies before the harvest?’ Andrea asked, but Erzsébet just shook her head.

‘They never die,’ she said. Andrea shivered and changed the subject quickly.

‘How is life in the countryside?’ she asked. ‘Living in harmony with nature?’

Erzsébet shrugged. ‘We have lived this way our entire life. We live well. Nowadays there’s a high demand for our organic products. Gergő never stops complaining, but that’s just how he is. If we work hard we harvest well, and that’s all that matters. We usually harvest six to eight of them a season, good quality too, and that’s enough to live on after the sale. We get nice tax breaks, local and EU too, for keeping up the traditions.’

The soft bodies began heating up under Andrea’s hands, as if they were tiny bombs about to explode. Erzsébet went on. ‘Last year we added the guesthouse. Now we have to wake earlier to provide for guests, clean up after them, guide them through the harvest. That’s additional work, you see. When there are no tourists around, we’re still here. We have to nurture the snails and the earth all year. That’s the soul of it, the earth. It has to be well fed.’

Silence reigned, and Andrea realized she hadn’t said hmm and nodded, hadn’t properly signaled her attention. She looked into Erzsébet’s eyes to make up for it. ‘Don’t you have any of them at the house?’ she finally asked. ‘I haven’t seen any. Wouldn’t they make your life easier?’

Erzsébet shook her head.

‘We only produce them,’ she said. ‘We don’t need anything but what we already have.’

Andrea smiled at the thought; how beautiful such a life must be, with no need for anything but the will and eagerness to work and two strong, healthy hands to work with. It was satisfying work, she imagined; at the end of each day a sense of completion awaited.

Andrea heard the door creak. Someone entered the house, and Erzsébet broke into a smile.

‘Mama is here,’ she said. ‘She’s forgotten more about harvesting than we’ll ever know.’

Boiled snail oil has a strong smell, therefore it is usually heated in the summer kitchen in old pots. While the oil is cooking, the immediate family shares a light lunch before the extended family arrives to carry out the evening tasks.

The immediate family now shared a table with their guests. Andrea and Hugó sat with Gergő and Erzsébet, while Emese sat with the hosts’ own children, Feri and his sister, Nóra. Nóra’s outfit was from H&M; glittery tops were in fashion at the moment, her clothes lit up the table. She was maybe a year older than Emese, and Emese felt an immediate connection with her.

The lunch was schnitzel with rice and peas. Mama’s cooking, the only thing she ever actually cooked. Andrea ate with a smile on her face, but she knew she would put a finger down her throat to make herself throw up later on; the oil-soaked schnitzel was too much for her stomach, and she felt like she was eating snails. Hugó contently filled himself up with the food like it was the best thing he had ever had.