I’m cold. That’s what I wake up to at seven in the morning. My nose is freezing, I duck under the covers. Mardi Gras is the day after tomorrow, there’s no way I can bear it. Dear parents, we ask you to avoid violent costumes, Marvel characters, Star Wars characters, pirates, et cetera. The older one wants to be a mermaid, the little one a parrot. I’m going to talk them both out of it. Cat or dog. That’s easy, you only have to make a tail and ears. We thank you for regularly supporting our class with cleaning supplies. We ask you not to bring any liquid soap, however we are out of napkins, and we are running low on toilet paper. We await your pledges for sweets and drinks. With thanks, Elvira néni. The cold is making me shiver, but I have no desire to get out of bed.
An email from Terike. Terike is Péter’s godmother, a gray-haired woman who always has a smile in her eyes, as well as a grating, squeaky voice. After my mother-in-law passed away, she often looked after the kids. A short message, she’s been thinking about us a lot, and at the end are three paragraphs about Saint Rita and an intercessory prayer. All I know about Saint Rita is that she was stung by wasps as an infant but did not cry. My grandmother always gave us a little booklet about our patron saint at Christmas, along with the year’s horoscope. My cousins are Protestant and my mother leans toward Buddhism, so I’m the only one who read them. She’s the patron saint of hopeless situations, Terike writes. Second paragraph, the patron saint of impossible situations. So, the situation is not only hopeless but impossible. In Spain, she’s the patron saint of those suffering marital issues. She was born in Italy in 1381. It didn’t matter that she wanted to be a nun, her parents had already betrothed her as a child to a rich man of a rather difficult temperament. Rita showed heroic patience. She acquiesced, trusting God to change her husband. Terike’s instructions are clear.
Greetings, glorious Saint Rita. I kneel before you in strong faith, relying on your sympathy and love to help me in my great need. I pray that you intercede on my behalf so that I may have strength to bear life’s hardships, and I ask you to protect me from every difficulty. Amen. Dear Rita, I am in trouble, please help.
I’m even colder now. I wrap the kids in a thick blanket. The little one opens her eyes. It’s still early, I whisper, and stroke her hair. She turns onto her other side. I look at the thermostat, 16°C. My father must have turned it down again. I squeeze my hands into fists. It’s what I do when I’d give anything to strike the kids. When they really get on my nerves, I lock myself in the bathroom and count to ten, then twenty. That’s what Father Lajos advised me to do last year when I was still going to church. I confess to the Almighty God and to you, my spiritual father, that since my last confession I have committed the following sins. I wanted to hit my children. Grab their heads and shove them into the wall. Maybe that’s not exactly how I said it. Either way, Father Lajos suggested that next time I should leave the room, go into the bathroom, and lock the door. I should imagine, in detail, what I would have done to them and how I would have felt afterward. At the end, I should thank my Heavenly Father that I locked myself in there.
The thermostat in the entryway says it’s 21°C, but the radiators are cold. So my father didn’t turn down the heat. He’s sitting in the kitchen wrapped in a throw blanket, drinking his morning coffee. There’s no heat? He shakes his head. Like an old dog who knows he’s in trouble. I forgot to pay an earlier bill, they shut off the gas. When are they turning it back on? In a couple of days. I take a deep breath and say nothing, clench my hands into fists. Are we going sledding today? he asks. We already went twice last week. It snowed all night, the kids will be thrilled, we can go after breakfast. I’m not going. I’m cold. Then you’re better off getting out and moving around, believe me! The costumes aren’t ready. Are you in a bad mood, or what? I didn’t get the job. Why, what did they say? Leave it. Come on, we’ll get some fresh air, a little sledding, it’ll be fun. I’m Skyping Andi this morning. Where is she living again, London? Lisbon. And how is she? Good. I leave the kitchen. I could be nicer to my father.
After breakfast, I wave at the kids from the living room, and they immediately make a fuss that I’m not going with them. I put on stockings, then sweatpants, a black turtleneck, a zippered jacket, and some thick socks. With tea in hand, I curl up on the couch. Andi calls. I want to talk about the job search, but I end up telling her about Terike and Saint Rita.
You’re seriously thinking about changing the world and Péter? What, is that not a solution? I reply. Listen, Rita was married off at eleven and had her first child at twelve. Twelve. Her husband didn’t just have a difficult temperament, he was a monster. He drank, gambled, raped women, and beat her. And it doesn’t matter that he changed, his old enemies killed him. If you ask me, the poor woman must have been relieved. And here’s the twist, really the most important part: Rita publicly refused a vendetta at his funeral. She wouldn’t ask her sons to avenge him, even though that wasn’t just normal for the time, it was expected. And that was her act of faith, not that she put up with being beaten for years.
Andi was five when her grandmother christened her in secret. Her parents wouldn’t speak to the woman for a year afterward, and they wouldn’t even let Andi near her. Then they calmed down. While Andi didn’t exactly become religious, she often attended mass with her grandmother. Once she even went on a church retreat. Her grandmother was named Rita, that’s why she knows so much about the saint, like, for example, that she wasn’t stung by wasps, she was surrounded by bees, and they didn’t sting her, they fed her honey.
Sorry, what did you say? I ask. That it’s pretty wild to pray for the death of your own children so they won’t avenge their father and go to hell. They died? That same year. Supposedly of natural causes, dysentery or something like that. I would say that’s a little suspicious, but whatever. Her prayers were answered. And then once everyone died, parents, husband, children, she joined the monastery. She gets a stigma on her forehead, it gets infected, starts to smell, they separate her off, and she spends the rest of her life in her sickbed. Is that what God wants for you?
Listen, I start calmly. I was an idiot too. Selfish, stupid, careless. And? she asks sharply. You want to tell me that you deserved it? You weren’t careful enough, that’s why he was right to beat you? He didn’t hit me. Okay, fine, he just tried to strangle you. I look at the curtains. They’re lace, perhaps knitted by my grandmother. Or my great-grandmother. Or one of my grandfather’s siblings? It could have even been one of my great-grandfather’s siblings. I should wash them. It’ll be quick, I’ll pull back the couch, ladder, wash cycle, I’ll hang them wet, I won’t even have to iron them. The whole room will smell nice.
I talked to Péter, I say to break the silence. My voice quivers. He’s been writing me every couple of days, and then he called me yesterday, or the day before. I answered. I felt like we’d cooled down enough. Actually maybe it was yesterday, I don’t really know. It was completely normal. Wonderful, Andi says. I know what she’s thinking, but I don’t react. He asked about the kids, about the job search. He sent money. He’s past that turbulent period, he wants to meet. What did you say? Only in public. Good thinking. He didn’t argue, we’ll do everything the way I want it. When are you going to meet him? Tonight. Where? Szimpla. Okay, but tell your dad to have his phone near him. And stay in public. Andi, calm down. Péter’s not some wild beast, you don’t have to demonize him! Andi sighs. You know, he apologized. Wonderful, what for? What do you mean what for? I answer. What did he apologize for? Well, everything. What do you mean, everything? Oh, come on, he apologized for everything. Well, it’s easy to apologize for everything. He said—I start with strained calm—that he’s sorry if he hurt me. Silence. If he hurt you? Because he’s not sure he did? I’m sorry I hurt you, that’s what he said, all right? He didn’t say if. We’re silent. If he apologizes for having threatened and choked you, then we can talk about forgiveness. You never liked him. That’s not true. I remember, from the very beginning, you’d fight him no matter what he did. Did he strangle you or not? Andi’s tone is hard, determined. But I cheated, I say.
After we hang up, I sit motionless for a long time. I think back to last year’s class reunion. Please just come. That’s what I’d thought in the bathtub. I shaved, read the kids a bedtime story, we prayed. Dear God, please don’t let the children wake from the creaking floorboards so I can get out of here quickly. God heard my prayers, I was grateful. I said goodbye to Péter. Wow, you cleaned up nice. I had to tread carefully on the icy streets, I didn’t want to fall. He wasn’t there when I arrived. I was in a bad mood, Andi even asked me what was wrong. I’m tired. I have two, yes, they’re very sweet. My husband is a huge help. Do you take them swimming? Do you buy soft-soled shoes? You have a beautiful family. Do you still draw? When are you having a third? The door opened, Iván walked in. He’d put on weight. We drank Unicum, he asked me how I was doing, I said everything’s great, then we took another shot, how’s married life, it’s excellent, to which he said, you don’t seem happy, and I said I am, we danced, he wrapped his arms around me, for years, I’ve been thinking of only you, he said, and I said, I’m not happy. He pushed me against the wall, he wanted to kiss me. I said no. Or at least, not here. I went home. Péter had fallen asleep in front of the TV, I didn’t wake him. I wrapped the kids in blankets. Maybe there’s still a way out, I thought. The next day he wrote. Let’s meet.
The snow is coming down again. It’s falling still sounds prettier. The snow is falling. The neighbors are building a snowman, they seem happy. Did we seem happy building snowmen? Did we even make one? Péter loves winter. And what would happen if I went back to him? We wouldn’t touch each other, we’d just stroke the fat snowman. Everyone breaks up, we could start over. Maybe it would be better. I could love winter, I could love Péter again. I look at the clock, they’ll be back from sledding soon, and they’ll be hungry. I cook spaghetti with meatballs.
__________________________________
Excerpted from Deep Breath, copyright © 2025 by Rita Halász, translated by Kris Herbert. Reprinted by permission of Catapult.
