Temptation

by Janos Szekely

  I didn’t hear the rest. All I could think about was that from now on, I would have to spend all my time with Elemér, and the thought was unbearable. I quickly went up to the office in the hope that it was just hearsay, but there I found out it was anything but. They really had put me in reception, and half an hour later I was standing beside Elemér without the slightest hope of escape.

  We were standing by the column nearest the door, the one the Major called “No. 1” in his decrees and orders of the day. For, being a dyed-in-the wool soldier, he had assigned numbers to each of the marble columns in the lobby, the way you numbered strategic outposts on a military map. Each column had its strategic purpose. No. 1 was for the “reservists”, those boys who happened to be without a specific task. We had to stand in a perfectly straight line precisely a foot apart, wearing white gloves no matter what the season, in our regulation “kit”, at regulation ease, with regulation smiles. Every time a guest or a higher-up came past, we had to snap to attention, nod, ratchet up the smile and click our heels together. We were forbidden to sit or talk, but we managed to get round the latter prohibition. We perfected the art of talking without moving our lips to such an extent that anyone more than ten feet away couldn’t see a thing.

  Elemér was on solitary sentry duty at No. 1 when I arrived.

  “Hi,” I whispered without moving my jaw.

  “Hi,” he whispered back.

  We didn’t look at each other; that was forbidden, too. We used to get round that prohibition, too, but in this instance, we both kept to it. There was a long pause. We stood in silence. Opposite where I was standing a fireplace stuck out of the wall; there was a clock on the mantelpiece. I watched the hypnotic swing of the pendulum and counted mechanically in my head, the way I used to do to get to sleep on uneasy nights. I must have been knee-deep in numbers when Elemér poked me in the ribs.

  “Mussolini!” he whispered.

  Attention, nod, ratcheted smile, heels. The Major walked past.

  “Since when do you call him that?”

  “Oh, it’s been a while. Good, no?”

  “Brilliant.”

  The conversation once more ran dry. The lobby was pleasantly cool, but I was soon nonetheless covered in beads of sweat. It must have been about nine. The early risers had already left, the late ones were still in bed. There were only four or five guests hanging around the lobby; the thick carpet swallowed the sound of their steps. Occasionally, a phone would ring, but then there was silence once more. The clock’s pendulum swung with a maddening monotony. It felt like ants were crawling on my nerves.

  I sneaked a glance at Elemér. He looked calm. His unflappable calm had always irritated me, but now I downright detested him for it. It was as if he were made of wood, I thought, wood and paper, stuffed with ideals. His head was full of printer’s ink, and ink ran in his veins. He didn’t cry and he didn’t laugh. He had a heart of wood. He was invulnerable. Others suffered, worried, churned themselves up, while he just stood there calmly, pokerfaced, as if he’d found the philosopher’s stone, as if nothing bad in life could ever touch him. The Major hated him, all his superiors did, and he knew it and didn’t care a damn. As if he found it natural. He didn’t pretend to feel sorry for himself and he didn’t ask for any favours. And yet it was always him they called whenever a complex problem arose; he was the first bellboy ever to stand in for the head porter.

  No, it just didn’t make any sense, Antal was right. The other boys bent over backwards so the bigwigs would notice them, while he behaved with them like a vending machine. Money in, work out. He never had a kind word for them, never a smile. He took their orders with an icy, almost standoffish silence, but executed them just as quietly. He always found a solution even to the most intractable of problems, he knew everything, and knew how everything worked, though he wasn’t the least bit interested in his job. How did he do it, then? What gave him the strength and perseverance, what gave him that unbearable, hideous calm? I hated him for his calm; I hated him so much I could have strangled him.

  He spoke. He said:

  “I thought about you a lot.”

  He said it neutrally, with no emphasis, the way someone else might say, it’s raining, or the sun’s out. It was a dispassionate, factual statement, but I knew that the sun really would be out if he said it was, and a shy little pleasure took flight within me.

  “Me too,” I said, so greedily I felt ashamed afterwards.

  Attention, nod, ratcheted smile, heels. All new guests. Hardly a familiar face.

  “What are the new boys like?” I asked, my mouth all dry.

  “Oh,” he said, “just like the old ones. There’s one who’s got his head screwed on. Working class, fifteen, thirsting for knowledge, full of zeal. Oh well,” he added, his voice suddenly dipping. “I suppose they’ll get to him, too.”

  Him too, I repeated to myself. Him too.

  “What’s his name?”

  “The new boy’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Laci.”

  “Is he interested,” I swallowed hard, “in the movement?”

  “Very.”

  “Are you teaching him?”

  “Yes.”

  “So,” I said, and swallowed hard again, “so you mean you’re friends?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t make friends that easily. Did you make any friends?”

  “No, me neither.”

  He looked at me. It was the first time he’d looked at me. I felt myself blush.

  “I don’t look so good, eh?” I said awkwardly. “It’s all those nights . . . um . . . I haven’t been feeling too good this past while.”

  The regulation smile faded from Elemér’s lips.

  “You’ll get over it, Béla,” he said simply and seriously, and I knew he wasn’t talking about my exhaustion.

  Suddenly, everything between us was as it had been before, when we’d walked the little winding streets of Buda together, putting the world to rights. We were back to the old tone, the old feeling; we were back wandering along under the flower-filled windows, our steps echoing gaily on the old cobblestones, with someone playing the piano in a little one-storey yellow house. “Für Elise” . . . One day, maybe we really will walk those streets again together, I thought, and everything will be fine.

  We conversed quietly. It all seemed so simple for half an hour. And then the Constable’s car pulled up to the main entrance.

  Suddenly, I tensed up all over. What if he takes me aside, the way he did in the bar? Elemér would know right away that—

  Attention, nod, ratcheted smile, heels.

  No, the Constable did not take me aside. He came storming in as always, looked around hastily, playing the busy doctor. When he passed me, he handed me a suitcase and gestured for me to follow him. He walked ahead with quick, long steps, his wooden leg creaking strangely. I could feel Elemér watching me.

  His batman followed us with two heavy suitcases.

  “Go ahead,” the Constable instructed him when we reached the staff area. The hound-faced man executed the order in silence. He never asked, he never talked, but I always had the feeling that he knew all.

  We were near the kitchen. The steamy air was heavy with the smell of cooking, the rough oily walls sweating, and the bare, wire-clad light bulbs dewy with steam. The Constable stopped suddenly.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” he snapped at me quietly.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t found out anything,” I mumbled.

  “I see!” That was all he said, but I could see the rest in his yellow eyes that never stopped blinking. He gave a me a dirty and suspicious look, his jaw working tensely under his taut skin. “I see,” he repeated. “So what have you been up to, then?”

  I shrugged innocently.

  “I need some time, Doctor.”

  “I asked you what you’ve been up to!”

  “I . . . um . . . I was observing.”

  “And?”

  “And I haven’t fo
und out anything yet,” I repeated, floundering.

  “I see,” he said once more, and suddenly raised his voice. “Well, just you watch out I don’t find out something!”

  My knees began to shake. I pictured the short, broad-shouldered, bowler-hatted man propped on his walking stick and waiting . . . for whom? What do they want from me? What right did this man have to threaten me? Why was I afraid of him? Elemér would probably say: I’m no stooge. Why didn’t I say that? He’d find out sooner or later, anyway.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, I’ll . . . I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  The “Doctor” did not reply. He just stood there looking at me and then snatched the suitcase out of my hand.

  “You’d better watch out,” he growled softly. Then he turned on his heels, and I was alone.

  I don’t know how long I stood there in the corridor—it must have been quite a while. All at once, I heard steps. It was only then I noticed I was smoking—I hadn’t even realized I’d lit up. I quickly hid the cigarette in my hand and rushed into the bathroom.

  I sucked the smoke in greedily. You’d better watch out! You’d better watch out! You’d better watch out! . . . These four words repeated themselves mechanically in my brain, like a broken record in my head. I couldn’t think. I finished the cigarette and slinked back to No. 1 column.

  “No sign of a tip, I suppose,” Elemér whispered.

  “Fat chance with him,” I waved dismissively.

  Elemér’s face turned angry.

  “Damn snitch!” he grumbled. “What right does he have to make us carry his suitcases, I’d like to know.”

  He spoke unsuspecting, and I could see he didn’t know; but instead of feeling relieved, my heart grew heavy. I was unbelievably ashamed. What a filthy rag I am! I thought, disgusted, and suddenly felt that I could no longer be silent, that no matter what the consequences I would have to tell him everything, to the last detail, right now.

  “Elemér!” I whispered in agitation.

  He looked at me.

  “Yes?”

  “I want to tell you something.”

  I must have looked pretty upset, and I think Elemér could see straight away what the matter was. The clock’s pendulum seemed to swing faster, and the air around us grew hot.

  “Yes,” he said, and now he, too, seemed agitated, “go on, Béla.”

  Just then, the bell pinged in reception for a boy.

  “Elemér!” cried the head porter, and he of course had to go.

  They sent him to the Customs Office. He only got back in the afternoon, and by the time we were together again, it was evening.

  “What did you want to tell me?” he asked as soon as we were alone, but by then, the question was in vain.

  The moment had passed, and I had come to my senses.

  “Do you know,” I said, with forced cheer, “I can’t remember any more. Can’t have been important.”

  Elemér gave me a strange look, but said nothing. He said nothing, the way only he could, and never mentioned anything about it again.

  •

  The days limped slowly, painfully on. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday . . . It had been almost a week since I’d slipped that desperate note into her hand, and nothing. She passed No. 1 column several times a day. I saw her and couldn’t speak to her; I didn’t even know if she’d noticed me.

  I only spoke to her once, a few words, and that was thanks to Cesar. Whenever he saw me, he would yank his lead out of her hand and literally jump all over me. He put his two front paws up on my shoulders and licked me, whining and trembling, wherever he could reach. His excitement was contagious. If only I could walk him again, then I could go up to room 205 four times a day, and . . .

  “Cesar!” she cried, but the dog paid her no attention.

  In the end, I had to drag him over to her. It was noon, there were a lot of people coming and going all around. I stood there, desperate and beseeching, but what could I have said?

  “May I take Cesar for a walk?” I asked innocently.

  “No,” she replied. “He’s coming with me.”

  She was not unfriendly, but she wasn’t friendly, either. She wasn’t anything. She was a Countess talking to a bellboy, and at that moment it seemed unbelievable even to me that there was anything more between us than that.

  After that, we had a few more of these short conversations. Twice a day, a boy went up to get Cesar and take him for his walk. The head porter would send whoever was available, but would somehow always forget about me. Whenever Cesar saw me, he would run right over, barking and snapping when they tried to drag him away. But in the end there was nothing he could do, either. We were just dogs, the both of us, and there was no use our complaining about our fate.

  The days went by and nothing happened. My life was merely waiting, and sometimes, I no longer even knew what for. I got filthy drunk each night, but even so could sleep only three or four hours.

  My nerves began to give in. Peasant boys weren’t made for this. Just as strong, primitive tribes will often succumb to certain diseases that weaker and more dissolute peoples hardly even notice, a big, strong peasant boy could break under the emotional strain of something that effete city dandies would get over in a week or two. I, too, was on the high road to breaking point. I was all over the place and I was eating myself up inside. I wanted at any cost to understand something you can’t understand with peasant logic, I saw mysteries where others saw only the most mundane facts, and it took me weeks and weeks to realize what everyone around me already knew.

  •

  It started with a box of Amneris. One evening at the end of June, the head porter said:

  “Take a box of Amneris up to 302.”

  Room 302 was Franciska’s German’s room. He’d already been there when I joined the hotel, and he’d always been—for us—room 302.

  Now, it was a young woman who opened the door. She didn’t let me in, just stuck her hand out through the gap for the cigarettes. She was a pretty, attractive woman, and I could see that she was half naked. I didn’t understand. Had the German switched to women?

  “What’s up with Franciska’s fiancé?” I asked Antal right away, for he was on duty at No. 1 column when I got back to the lobby.

  Antal looked at me slightly dumbfounded, then looked away again.

  “He moved,” he replied curtly.

  “Back to Germany?”

  “No, to the Hungária.”

  “The Hungária?” I asked, surprised. “Come on. He didn’t ditch Franciska, did he?”

  “Didn’t you know?” he asked in an odd voice.

  “No,” I said, and I was suddenly seized by a strange anxiety. “Why?” I asked. “What happened?”

  Antal blushed.

  “Um . . . I don’t know.”

  He hummed and hawed, growing more and more embarrassed. I kept asking him, but in vain—he ended up claiming he didn’t know any more.

  It was this lie that helped me realize the truth. It didn’t come by degrees, built up on the basis of logical conclusions, but all at once, like a flash, devoid of all reason. Suddenly, I could hear Franciska’s voice clearly telling me, casually, shrugging, up on Gellért Hill: “Some people are born that way, and some people just do it. I just do it.” I could even see the little gesture with which he accompanied his words, and the debauched little smile that appeared on his face. “Why shouldn’t I do it, if it’s to my advantage? . . . Eventually, I’ll get married, and . . .”

  That night, I couldn’t sleep, even with the pálinka. I pictured her in the dark, lying naked in bed, with Franciska beside her. My tamest thought was to strangle them both tomorrow, but come the morning, my thoughts had gone to the other extreme. My previous assumption seemed completely impossible . . . Her and Franciska? It’s ridiculous! I’ve gone mad, I thought, and all this is just some horrible figment of my diseased imagination. But then at night, I saw them in bed once more: as close and as clear as only the terrible magnifying lens
of jealousy can present things when you’re lying alone at night in the dark, thinking of a woman who is no longer alone.

  One day, I decided I’d had enough of the uncertainty. It happened quite unexpectedly. I was telephoning for a guest when I happened to spot her through the glass of the booth. She was alone, and I saw her get in the lift. It was evening—I still remember clearly, it was a quarter to seven. I looked at the electric clock. In two minutes, she would be in her room, I thought, maximum three. I’ll give her another two, that’s five. Five times sixty is three hundred. I started counting.

  Right then, I simply couldn’t understand why I hadn’t telephoned her before. She had forbidden me to, it’s true, but this was something else, this was life or death, and she knew it—I’d told her so in my note. Two hundred and fifty-two, two hundred and fifty-three, two hundred and fifty-four . . . Yes, she’s bound to understand.

  But will she? Or should I leave it? Should I sleep on it?

  The telephone rang for a long time. I was just about to hang up when she suddenly spoke:

  “Hello. Who is it?”

  “Béla,” I said excitedly.

  “Who?”

  “Béla,” I repeated, and that was when I remembered that she didn’t even know my real name. “András,” I corrected myself.

  Her voice suddenly changed.

  “What?!” she growled. “So it’s false names now, is it?”

  “Please, I . . .” I stuttered, “I . . . my . . .”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Didn’t I tell you never to phone?” she screamed. “If you ever dare disturb me again, by telephone, or any other way, then . . .”

  “Please . . . I beg you . . .”

  “ . . . then you’ve no one to blame but yourself for the consequences. Do you understand?”

  “Please,” I begged, “please just hear me out . . . I—”

  “Understand?” she repeated, harsh and threatening, and then there was a soft click on the line.

  It was over. The connection was broken. The receiver was silent and there was an eerie silence in me, too.