Some months before this he had gotten really ill. Some sort of a fever took hold of him. He was carrying water from the well to boil for the sea crops, and he collapsed midway. He was already running a fever that day, but in the bustle of work nobody noticed, and he didn’t complain. After he collapsed, his eyes rolled back, his hair was soaked in sweat. We lifted him up off the ground and laid him in one of the bathtubs where we were planning to boil water for the crops. We filled the tub with cold water, then later, when his fever lowered a bit, we took him back to his bed at the Halász family’s house. I was told to stay by his side and change the compress on his forehead every once in a while. The adults wanted to get back to work as soon as possible. The processing of the crops cannot be interrupted, or else the whole batch will be ruined.

I kept bringing him fresh compresses all day, wiping his sweaty forehead with a damp towel. In the afternoon Aunt Juli, an old lady who lived on the street, checked in on us, bringing fresh water and some food as well.

‘Is Karcsi going to die?’ I asked her.

Right by her mouth there was a huge mole with soft hairs sticking out of it like antennae. Her face reminded me of a rotten apple, and every time I looked at her it made me terrified of getting old.

‘I don’t know, son. Either he will or he will not.’

‘Shouldn’t we take him to a hospital?’

‘We are processing, son. You know we can’t.’

Then she left.

In the evening Karcsi started to speak. He was having fever dreams. At first I couldn’t understand him. He muttered random words, turning his head from one side to the other on the soaked pillow.

Then he opened his eyes and looked right at me. His pupils were dilated, his eyes unnaturally dark. Some kind of colorless secretion flowed from his nose; I wanted to wipe it away, but I was afraid to disturb him. He sat up in bed, but without leaning on his arms; it looked like someone was pulling him up by a string. I didn’t dare to move. I feared that if I moved I would cut the strings holding his body up, and he would fall back dead instantly.

‘Mom?’ Karcsi asked in the voice of a child. The voice was totally unlike his, and yet I could hear a younger version of him in it. I felt my heart paining for him. I think this was the moment when I first understood his loss, and the façade he had been hiding behind ever since. The façade of a tough kid suffering from a terrible tragedy.

I didn’t know what to say.

‘Mom?’ he asked again.