Temptation

  I could see that the truth wasn’t going to help, so I decided to lie.

  “They told me to. There’s lots of English guests and I can’t talk to them.”

  My mother’s expression, along with her whole viewpoint, changed at once.

  “That’s different,” she said forgivingly. “How much is it?”

  “Two twenty.”

  “That’s a lot,” she sighed, “but we’ll get it together somehow.”

  I knew that was more than just talk. My mother was a dutiful member of her class and considered an order from her social superiors to be absolutely final, especially in such a “big job” as mine. The next day, I looked on the English book the way a groom looks at his bride-to-be after the engagement. A few more weeks, I thought, and you’ll be mine. Decent food, it seems, will fatten up your hopes as well. At the time, I felt I would eventually get everything I wanted.

  I put on weight, I gained in strength and eventually my cough, too, subsided. I would swing the heaviest suitcases, which three months previously I could barely move, onto my back so easily that the adults just stood and stared. The lanky porter who’d called us good-for-nothings when we’d first come to the hotel once said to me anxiously:

  “Put that down, for goodness’ sake, you’ll break your back!”

  “Not me!” I said, gave him a mischievous wink, and headed off cheerfully with the suitcase on my back.

  “You’re very strong,” he said and felt my arm. “By God! Where d’you get them muscles?”

  “Runs in the family. My father can lift a grown man with one hand.”

  “Your father?” the porter said, looking at me in surprise. “I thought your father was dead.”

  I blushed, but a moment later regained my balance because all that meat, it seems, helps your sang froid as well.

  “ ’Course he isn’t. We just thought that because we hadn’t heard from him for so long.”

  “Where was he, then?”

  “In America,” I lied. “My old man’s a sailor. He’s seen quite a bit of the world.”

  “Looks like you’re pretty proud of him.”

  As far as that went, I wasn’t so desperately proud of him, but it was true enough that I did like to boast that I had a father at all.

  “The way I see it,” I said with pious condescension, “anyone that’s got a father at all ought to be pleased about it.”

  “Too true,” the porter nodded. “If only my own son saw it that way.”

  My strength soon became legendary in the hotel, and news of it even reached the Major. He once watched me heaving a wardrobe trunk onto my back, and his Fascist heart swelled with pride like a pig’s bladder.

  “A cadet!” he explained excitedly to the staff who’d gathered round to watch. “You can see for yourself the benefits of a military upbringing. That’s the kind of young men we make in the cadets!”

  Oh sure, I thought—as far as the cadets were concerned I could have coughed my lungs out long ago, but I didn’t say anything, because poor children learn early on not to make a fuss. But I was pleased with the praise, because if you don’t get praise very often, you’ll take anything, even the praise of someone you despise.

  Slowly, my confidence returned. I was once more jealous of my rep, and wouldn’t stand for the bellboys being “uppity”. If needs be I told them just where to get off and what they could go and do if they didn’t like it. In the end, they got the message, because they realized that my fists were fast and I had no fear of going up against older boys as well. No one dared mess around with me, and I knew full well why: I was the old Béla again—a rooster perched atop his dust heap.

  •

  I hadn’t seen Her Excellency since. She had appeared, like a fairy godmother, set my life on course, and disappeared back into the mysterious fairy-tale world that to me was the life of the rich.

  In the morning, when I brought Cesar back, she was still sleeping, and in the afternoon when I went once more to fetch the dog, I found her already out. On these occasions, I would be alone in her suite and everything went smoothly. But the mornings were dangerous. Exfix had made me swear, for the love of God, not to wake Her Excellency, and I knew well enough from the horror stories the boys told what to expect if I did.

  But that was not the only thing that made me uneasy in the mornings. There was something else besides. Something I couldn’t quite put into words, something that lived for a very long time only in the depths of my unconscious. My heart always fluttered when I opened the door to the suite to let Cesar in. These were dark, adventurous moments. There, beyond the entranceway, everything was a mystery. A woman was sleeping inside, a beautiful and terrible woman, and I occasionally felt that waking her was not the only thing I was afraid of.

  Yes, there was something else besides. In the afternoon, when we came back from our walks and there was no one home, I had to lock Cesar in the bathroom, and the bathroom opened off her bedroom. I was always seized by a strange excitement when I set foot in there. It was the same as all the other bedrooms in the hotel, and yet it was completely different. I didn’t know why, but it reminded me of another bedroom, 508, where one night someone had strangled an old lady. I had been in that room a few hours after the act to bring the detectives paper and pens. They’d taken the body away by then, but had otherwise left everything just the way it was when the perpetrator had left the room. Despite that—and this was what surprised me most—the room showed absolutely no sign of the murder. It, too, was just the same as the other bedrooms in the hotel, and yet different, completely different. The sun shone through the window, but the room was heavy with the night before, the murder. The furnishings surrounded the detectives like silent, petrified accomplices who knew all but were saying nothing.

  Her furniture looked at me the same way. The maid hadn’t yet been and here, too, everything was just the same as when the perpetrator had left. The unmade bed shone white in the semi-darkness and on it, like a beautiful female cadaver, lay her nightgown. As soon as I entered, my eyes fell on the gown and from then on, I couldn’t take them off it. I didn’t dare touch it for the longest time. I looked at it as if I was afraid that it was only playing dead and might telephone the manager at any moment.

  One day, however, I couldn’t resist the temptation. I locked the front door, left the key in the lock, ran back into the bedroom and picked up the gown. It was a salmon-pink, lacy silk nightgown and it exuded a quite extraordinary scent. That bitter perfume I knew so well from the lift was mixed with an altogether different scent that drove me absolutely wild.

  I reached under the gown. I could see my hand through the thin layer of silk as if I was seeing it through a layer of salmon-pink glass, a magical, enchanted glass whose touch was as soft and warm as her body itself. In the mornings, whenever I came into the suite, I seemed to see her in this gown through the closed doors, and it was an image I couldn’t shake off the whole of the rest of the day—it sometimes even haunted me in my sleep.

  One night, I dreamt that András, the previous András, whom I had never seen, sneaked into the suite before me as I was bringing Cesar home. I only saw his back as he disappeared in the darkened entrance hall, and he didn’t notice me following him. We went through a great many rooms, up and down stairs, and then all at once we were in her bedroom. I couldn’t see the room because it was completely dark, but I knew right away that it was her bedroom. András, the previous András, went straight over to the bed and they, too, began whispering, panting, and groaning like my mother and father on that first night together. I wanted to get closer, but I couldn’t move: my whole body had turned to stone. I just stood there in the dark and listened tensely, with bated breath. I wanted to know what they were whispering, but I couldn’t understand them at all. The words caught fire in their mouths and floated—black, unrecognizable in the silence—like falling ash. Then there was muffled laughter. It was her laughing in a strange, cooing voice, as if she were being tickled in a very unusual place, and I
suddenly awoke to what sixteen-year-old boys generally find in such situations.

  My fantasy began to pursue the beautiful, terrible woman’s “secret” more and more wildly. I was looking for something in that suite, but as to what, I couldn’t have said. I grew more daring by the day. I once lay in her bed and, trembling, laid my head in the hollow of her own head on the pillow.

  I looked through the other rooms as well. The most exciting was the bathroom. I was struck by the warm steam as I entered and her moist towel gave off that intoxicating smell. Not long before, she had been lying in that bath without so much as that thin silk gown on. A few drops of water glistened on the edge of it, and the walls were dewy with drops formed by the steam. That was what I saw, but as to what I fantasized, I’d best not say.

  Then there was that mysterious bidet. For the longest time, I didn’t know what it was for—I had only vague suspicions. I wanted to ask the boys, but I was afraid they’d laugh at me. In the end, I managed to solve the mystery with the help of my burgeoning English. I once overheard Mister Saccharine telling another clerk that they had no bidets in America, and that Americans—would you believe it—had no idea what they were for. Once, an American guest had asked him:

  “Is that to wash the baby in?”

  “No, madam,” Mister Saccharine apparently replied, “it’s to wash the baby out.”

  Yes, a boy learns quickly in a hotel like that. I now knew what it was for, and from then on I used to spend even longer in front of it. This, too, was like all the other bidets in the hotel, and yet different, completely different. It looked at me like that silent, petrified accomplice that knows everything and is saying nothing.

  I was afraid of this “mysterious” woman. I wanted to know her “secret”, but deep down, I was glad I didn’t actually see her. To that instinctive, inexplicable fear I had felt the first time I saw her in the lift, was now added another kind of fear, a sober and not at all unreasonable one. I was afraid I would end up the same way as the previous András.

  The boys, who were jealous of my privileged position, were forever making comments. Antal once said straight out:

  “You’d better watch out, Mr Still Waters. The other András thought it was all a bed of roses, too.”

  “Sour grapes!” I said casually, but without much effect.

  I was living in fear. My fear was heightened by seeing her at the beginning of February, and then not just once—as these things so often happen—but three times in the space of two weeks. It’s not as though anything happened. Nothing did. Twice, she had company, and merely smiled at me in parting—I couldn’t even have sworn that she actually recognized me. But when she was alone, she paused a moment.

  “How are you?” she asked with a strange little smile, and touched the tip of my nose playfully with her finger.

  That was all. After that, I didn’t see her again for weeks.

  But I only got really scared when Gyula was transferred to the night shift and Elemér took his place. He drew me aside in the changing room the very first morning.

  “I hear you’re the new András.”

  “Yes,” I replied, avoiding his gaze.

  Elemér looked around to make sure no one could hear, and quietly said:

  “Be careful with that woman.”

  I could feel myself blush, but there was no way Elemér could have seen that, because I was just doing up my shoelaces.

  “Why?” I asked, pretending not to know.

  Elemér was silent for a space.

  “Didn’t you hear what happened to the previous András?”

  “No,” I lied. “What happened to him?”

  It was now Elemér’s turn to blush.

  “Doesn’t matter. How’s she treat you?”

  “Who?” I said, though I knew precisely who.

  “That woman.”

  “She doesn’t treat me one way or the other. I never see her.”

  Elemér gave me a searching glance.

  “How’s that?”

  “Like I said. In the morning, when I take the dog back up, she’s still asleep, and in the afternoons she’s never in.”

  “A good thing, too,” Elemér mumbled, and then added meaningfully: “The less you have to do with her, the better.”

  That was all I needed! I was now so terrified of the woman that I almost literally ran away from her. I thought of starving, and of the six-hour walks, and I repeated to myself what Elemér had said: “The less you have to do with her, the better.”

  And for a while, I did manage to avoid her. But then something happened and everything changed.

  •

  Exfix left one evening, and the following morning no one brought down the dog. Around noon, the head porter called me over.

  “Go up to 205,” he said. “Her Excellency phoned for you.”

  “Her Excellency?” I repeated dimly, and in my fright I just stood there in front of the Santa Claus-like head porter as if waiting for an explanation—or perhaps a miracle that would preclude me having to go up to 205.

  “Well, what you waiting for?” he snapped. “Get going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My heart was in my mouth as I knocked. At first, I knocked softly, then louder, but there was no answer. I took out my key, as was the protocol, and opened the door. The entrance hall was dark, and it was as if the whole suite were still sleeping. I felt my way to the door of the salon, not daring to put on the lights, and knocked again. Still no answer. I knocked another two or three times, and then opened the door. There was no one in the salon either, but the door of the bedroom stood open. Soft sounds of conversation filtered out. I was unbelievably relieved: she wasn’t alone. I was also incredibly disappointed.

  She was talking to a woman. It must have been a private discussion, a personal, girls’ chat. Occasionally, they would giggle like accomplices, mysteriously and ambiguously, the way these women sometimes would when they were alone. Apparently, they hadn’t heard me come in. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t knock, since the door was open, but I didn’t dare go in. Eventually, I gave a cough.

  “András,” she called, “is that you?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “Come in.”

  I went in, clicked my heels together smartly and, though it was well past noon, I said good morning, the way you’re meant to.

  The woman with her was Whitewash. The two women were still lying in bed—they were just having breakfast. The covers only came up to their waists, and it seemed to me, as my gaze moved over them, that you could see their breasts through their silk nightgowns. At that time, I didn’t know that in Hungary, upper-class ladies took so little notice of their male servants as men that they sometimes walked around half naked in front of them. I thought it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, because I didn’t dare have a proper look.

  Cesar ran over to me as soon as I came in.

  “Take him out,” she said. “The poor thing’s not been down since yesterday.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied, and leant down to the dog to attach his lead.

  When I was standing back up, my gaze accidentally fell on her. As she leant over her plate peeling her egg, her nightgown fell open at the front, and I could no longer delude myself—it was not just my imagination playing tricks on me. This was reality: a most wonderful, gorgeous reality. You could see her breasts through her nightgown as it fell forward, those legendary, beautiful breasts about which the boys had talked so much, and over which I had so often secretly lingered.

  The blood rushed to my head. I grabbed Cesar’s lead as a prelude to leaving the room, but she called after me.

  “András!” she said in that high, slightly sing-song voice, a strange little half-smile playing around her lips.

  I could tell she’d seen it all. My face must have been red as a beetroot and that was clearly not all she’d noticed. But she did not pull up the covers. She just looked at me with that strange little smile, and the way she was
looking at me reminded me once more of Manci.

  “Um . . .” she said lightly, absent-mindedly. “Hand me my purse. It’s on the chest of drawers.”

  I handed it to her. I didn’t dare so much as glance at her, but I could feel her watching me the while. She took a pengő from her purse and handed it to me. I don’t know if I even thanked her in my confusion. All I remember is that afterwards, she smiled at me once more and, as was her wont, brushed the tip of my nose with her finger.

  When I turned to leave, I heard Whitewash’s voice. She was speaking English, very softly. She said:

  “What a handsome boy!”

  “Isn’t he?” the lady replied, and then said something else I didn’t understand, and then they both laughed, like two partners in crime, mysteriously and ambiguously.

  I emerged from the suite as if I’d been drunk. I stopped in front of the first mirror and looked at myself. What a handsome boy!—the phrase echoed inside me. And then the other voice, high and slightly sing-song. Isn’t he?

  I was blind drunk. When I reached Országház tér, I was suddenly struck by the thought that Whitewash might have left and she was lying there in bed alone, in her see-through nightgown, and then I no longer cared, no longer cared about anything at all. I grabbed Cesar’s lead and ran back.

  She wasn’t at home. She must have just left—her cigarette was still smoking on the nightstand. The bathroom was warm and steamy, and you could see her footprint on the little pink carpet in front of the bath. The bedroom, with its closed shutters, was full of yellow half-light, and her nightgown lay, exposed, on the unmade bed. I threw myself upon it, half crazed, clutching and kissing it, and the bed as well, and what had happened before, in my sleep, now happened again.

  The next day was my day off. I wandered the streets hazily and seemed forever to see her in her salmon-pink nightie with her breasts peeping through as she leant over her plate; she could see that I could see and just looked at me with that Manci-like look in her eyes, not pulling up the covers. I could barely wait for the next morning, but then I was in for a nasty surprise. Exfix had arrived in the evening, and it was he who brought down the dog.