Chapter 3 indirectly emphasizes the dire consequences of István’s early life, as his decision to join the army is a natural progression from his failure to find work due to his criminal record. As he returns to Hungary five years later, invisibly and psychologically wounded by the trauma of war, his halting return further cements his sense of alienation and his symptoms of post-traumatic stress. He reflects that the events of the war “have no reality here” (83), and this perception isolates him within his own trauma. These dynamics transform his celebratory night out in Budapest into a drug-fueled attempt to overcome his pervasive emotional numbness, and his hollow sexual encounter further underscores his detachment from the world around him. 

Back at home, István’s struggles continue with his unwillingness to articulate his trauma to his mother, and this reluctance stems from his belief “that she wouldn’t understand something important about it” (85). With his stubborn silence, he creates an unbridgeable chasm between him and the only person who is emotionally invested in his well-being. Yet rather than expounding upon István’s psychological landscape, the author conveys the protagonist’s distress through vivid but dryly delivered physical descriptions, as when István impulsively punches his bedroom door, breaking his hand. By leaving the implications of this action unspoken, the author paradoxically increases the impact of the scene, and it is clear that István’s act of self-destructive violence is a visceral manifestation of his pain and powerlessness. This injury allows the narrative to examine the subtle, insidious aftermath of conflict on the individual psyche.

A parallel conflict arises in István’s reliance upon traditional manifestations of Masculinity as a Defense Against Powerlessness. For example, he resorts to a grim air of stoicism in order to compensate for his lack of direction in life. While the army provided him with a rigid structure and defined his masculinity by controlled aggression and duty, this framework collapses in the civilian world, which operates on much more nebulous standards. Notably, the returning soldiers’ night in Budapest is a performance of hyper-masculinity fueled by drugs, conquest, and casual sex, but this display ultimately fails to provide any genuine sense of control. Faced with the monotony of a dead-end job at the winery, István is stripped of the purpose he had as a soldier, and his violent outburst is an attempt to reclaim agency through the only means he feels he has left: physical force. This sense of inadequacy is amplified during his hospital visit, where the attending physician is a former schoolmate whose success represents a different model of masculinity, deepening István’s sense of being left behind. In this light, his journey into private security in Chapter 4 marks a transition to a new form of performative masculinity, one in which his physical presence and capacity for violence are sought and commodified, offering him a new sense of self-worth and structure.

However, as he laboriously seeks entrance to a new social class and rebuilds his identity upon superficial indicators, this upward turn in István’s fortunes soon makes it clear that he is succumbing to The Illusion of Social Mobility. When Mervyn instructs him on how to dress and behave, an implicit comparison is drawn between the wealthy English man and the neighbor who once groomed a 15-year-old István to fulfill her sexual desires. While the premises of the two relationships are entirely different, both characters take an interest in István only so that they can benefit personally from molding his behavior as they see fit. And in both cases, István’s listless acquiescence to their coaching demonstrates that at his very core, he lacks an essential element of self-awareness that would otherwise enable him to take control of his own life’s trajectory.

Thus, even these early attempts to rise in society foreshadow the fact that István’s good fortune is forever a precarious thing, as it may vanish at any moment once he ceases to be useful to those who choose to raise him up. Mervyn’s “grooming” brings about a transformation that is explicitly based upon appearance. Thanks to his new outward flourishes, István gains entry into spaces from which his previous identity would have excluded him, but the narrative suggests that his social mobility is superficial at best. Rather than changing who he is, István has merely disguised his origins, and as a result, he continues to view the world through a detached sense of unreality.

The relationship between István and Mervyn exemplifies The Transactional Nature of Human Relationships, where apparent generosity is underpinned by calculated self-interest. Although István’s initial act of saving Mervyn is one of spontaneous decency, Mervyn immediately reframes their connection within a commercial context and asserts a considerable degree of control over the protagonist. Most notably, he lends István money for the training course and clothing but structures the deal so that he receives 20% of István’s future earnings. These arrangements make it clear that Mervyn is a shrewd businessman who recognizes an opportunity to exploit István’s physical capabilities and malleable personality. Likewise, István willingly enters this contract because he is desperate for an escape, and in essence, his decision to work for Mervyn is fueled by the same impulse that made him join the army. Thus, these developments show that the arc of his life has been indelibly altered by the first instance of “grooming” to which he was subjected as a teenager.