When the lures were ready, the men went to the shed and collected the chains. They checked the links meticulously once more to make sure all were well oiled. When they were satisfied, they walked up to the pits, dragging the chains behind them.

The women attached the bait to the ends of the chains; Mama checked each of them one by one, then nodded. The chains reminded Emese of fishing lines, and they worked very much on the same principle. Silence reigned above the pits as if a funeral were taking place.

‘Let them come!’ exclaimed Gergő, throwing a lure into each pit. Two meters of the five-meter-long chains disappeared into the depths, then Gergő laid the remaining length on the ground. The men covered the pits with earth. The smell of manure filled the air.

After this, the women placed mirrors on the ground, right where the chains disappeared into the earth. The extended family and the guests sat around the mirrors and waited. Someone brought along a portable radio tuned to an oldies station. The men smoked and waited. The women carried beer, water, and homemade dumplings to the picnic tables.

Erzsébet brought out a manual drill from the shed; after making sure it was working properly, she placed it on the table beside the dumplings.

Night fell. The men lit lanterns.

Hugó asked Gergő for a cigarette. He didn’t smoke, but at that moment he felt that such a manly activity required this manly gesture. Unlike Emese, he coughed when taking a puff.

‘Now? Is it now that they take the bait?’ he whispered to Gergő.

‘In a way, yes. They bite on it. But not like fish do.’

The song ‘Beautiful Life’ by Ace of Base started on the radio.

‘I know,’ Hugó said. ‘Because in fact they don’t really exist until they take the bait, right?’

Gergő ruminated on the words.

‘You’re right,’ he said finally. ‘They don’t exist, but their elements, their pieces, are already there. That’s why we feed the land all year round. The bait only makes them come together. It lures them into life.’

Emese sat down beside the radio; when all the other kids were sent to bed she had managed to get her parents to let her stay. She wanted to see what happened; they had already ruined her summer with this trip, she at least wanted to see everything.

The radio droned on, airing a program called ‘Hit Parade’: they started with a Wings song, then a rock standard by local band Edda, and then Blondie. It happened during the second chorus of ‘Heart of Glass’; Emese felt like she had been punched, she had to hold on to the edge of the table to keep from falling. Her nose started bleeding. From the radio there was nothing but static for a few seconds before Blondie emerged again from the noise.

‘It’s a catch,’ someone said in the dark, and that very moment a mirror broke.