Home Game

by Endre Farkas

  “That’s propaganda,” she said. She took them out and placed them behind her.

  “Are you bringing in American money?” she asked as she continued to rummage through the suitcases.

  “No,” he said, almost too quickly.

  She studied him for a moment and then waved him on his way.

  When he got to the other side, he had a knot in his stomach and hands were clenched.

  Two men walked over to him. “I’m Robert Luxton. I’m the cultural attaché from the Canadian Embassy. This is Mr. Nemes. He is your group’s interpreter and information officer while the team is in Budapest.” They shook hands.

  “They took the records I brought for my cousin. She said that it was capitalist propaganda. They’re just rock-and-roll records.”

  “That’s capitalist propaganda,” said Mr. Nemes, a small wiry man about his father’s age.

  Tommy was puzzled.

  “I will explain later,” Mr. Luxton said.

  “Welcome to the People’s Republic of Hungary,” Mr. Nemes addressed the team. “We are very pleased to have you visit our beautiful country. I know that you,” he turned to Tommy, “are also the captain. There are reporters waiting outside and they are anxious to ask you questions. I know that you speak Hungarian but I ask you to wait for me to translate the questions and you will answer in English. Then I will translate it into Hungarian.”

  Before their departure, Tommy and Coach Hus had been called into the Canadian consulate, where they were advised on the proper way to behave. They told Tommy that because he was originally from Hungary, there would be extra attention on him. They informed him not to talk to anyone except those vetted by the information officer.

  Tommy had never been interviewed before, except by Mr. Papp, who had interviewed him for the Hungarian paper. But Tommy didn’t consider him a real reporter. Here in Hungary there were real photographers and a television crew.

  “First we will have a group photograph,” Mr. Nemes told them. “Please line up, two rows. The first row on the knees, please, with the captain in the middle. And the comrade coach here beside the end.”

  Tommy signalled Speedy and Schmutz, Luigi, Derek and Archie to the front. “No,” Mr. Nemes said, pointing to Archie, “to the back, please.”

  “No. Here in the front.” Coach Hus spoke quietly but firmly. “He is the assistant captain.” He signalled Archie to kneel between Speedy and Tommy.

  After the pictures, Mr. Nemes addressed them. “The Hungarian People’s Socialist Republic is very pleased to welcome you, the Canadian university soccer champions of Canada, to Hungary. We are very pleased that Canada accepted our invitation, our gift to the Canadian people on their one-hundredth birthday. We hope that your stay will be a pleasant one and that you will see the history, a thousand years old, the beauty of our country, and the hospitality of our people. We look forward to watching you participate in two friendly games against our university champions, first in Debrecen and then in Budapest. We want to especially welcome you, Wolfstein Tamás, back to your motherland.” He faced the cameras and reporters and said that Tommy would now say a few words.

  Although he was nervous, he was able to repeat without faltering what the consulate sent him to memorize. “We are very happy and pleased to be here. We would like to thank the people of Hungary for inviting us. We are eager to learn, and to improve our game and skills.”

  A reporter put up his hand. The way he did it, two fingers up, the rest curled in, reminded Tommy of being back in grade one. If you didn’t do it that way you would be struck with a ruler.

  “How do you feel being back in your motherland?”

  Though he understood, he waited for Mr. Nemes to translate, as instructed. It gave him time to calm his nerves.

  “I am very happy to be back in Hungary.”

  Another reporter raised his hand. “You have a cousin, Gábor Földember, playing for Debrecen. How do you feel about playing against him?”

  His responses sounded like time delays. “I am looking forward to meeting my cousin after a long absence. I heard he is very good. We will try our very best.”

  “Do you think you will win?”

  He would have loved to say what Puskás said on being asked that question by a British reporter when they arrived to play England in ’53. In his self-assured way Puskás told reporters that they didn’t come all this way to lose. But Tommy was just hoping that the Internationals weren’t going to get creamed. He looked at his teammates.

  “These games are not about winning or losing but doing your best and getting better. It is about sportsmanship. We have a very good team, so we will try our hardest and hope to play well against your best.”

  Schmutz gave him the thumbs-up.

  “Where were you born? Are you going to visit your hometown?”

  “I was born in Hajdubékes. It is near Debrecen. Yes, I will visit my relatives there.”

  “Do you remember any friends from there?”

  “I remember one we called Carrot and another who I knew as Frog.”

  “Tamás says that he remembers,” Mr. Nemes translated, “a friend whose nickname was Carrot.” The reporters chuckled. “He is looking forward to meeting him and others. Now we will have a few words from the cultural attaché of Canada, Mr. Luxton.”

  He first addressed the team in English. “We are proud of your achievement and wish you the best of luck. You in your diversity are excellent representatives of the spirit of Canada.” He then switched into perfect Hungarian and addressed Mr. Nemes and the reporters. “On behalf of the Canadian government and its people, we want to thank The Hungarian People’s Socialist Republic for their kind invitation and this gift on the Centenary anniversary of Canada. Thank you.”

  “Thank you and that will be all. They had a long flight and we will take them to their hostel.” Mr. Nemes said.

  “Tomi! Tomi!” A voice called out. A boy about his age but taller was waving and running toward him.

  “Gabi!” he shouted back. Though he hadn’t really kept in touch, other than through occasional lines his parents made him write in their letters, the brotherly bond that was built over the seven years they lived together suddenly overwhelmed him. They embraced and cried. Cameras flashed.

  Mr. Nemes spoke sternly to Gabi. “You will have time to meet when it’s time.” Gabi stepped back. “Emma-mama says welcome home,” Gabi said before turning and making his way through the crowd of reporters. Tommy silently watched him go. He didn’t like this growing helpless feeling.

  Unlike in Montreal, which was always a tangle of traffic, the two-lane highway from the airport was almost deserted. Back home Tommy’s father was always honking at the car ahead to move so he could hurry and make his delivery. “Hurry! Hurry!” was the motto in Montreal. Here there were only a few trucks, buses and the occasional tiny car that looked half the size of his father’s Chevy Impala. On either side of the highway large fields of corn and hay spread as far as he could see.

  The farmland gave way to a huge, walled-in, barbed-wire compound. “More soldiers,” Speedy said, pointing to the ones standing at attention in towers and at gates. Tommy glimpsed tanks and cannons in the compound. He remembered that when he was young one of his favourite things to make was tanks. Gabi taught him how by using a small matchbox and a single match with its red tip sticking out of it. They used to collect matchboxes and have tank battles.

  Colourful billboards of muscular men and rosy-cheeked women greeted them on the outskirts of Budapest. Staring proudly into a bright red sun, they praised socialism and urged higher productivity.

  “Hey, Hungary has Scouts also!” Derek pointed to the posters of cherubic children in white shirts, blue shorts and red bandanas, waving flags.

  “They’re called Young Pioneers,” Tommy said. “I remember wanting to be one.”

  “Let me put it to you th
is way. You can’t start indoctrination too early, eh?” Archie chimed in. “It’s the way to make socialism work. And in communist countries, you had to join. If your parents didn’t want you to join, then they were considered reactionaries and would be watched more than others.”

  Tommy didn’t know if his parents were for it or not. All he remembered was wanting to wear the uniform and march in parades.

  “The Nazis did the same thing,” Derek said.

  A big sign announced Budapest. Uniform grey concrete apartment buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, like soldiers at attention. It didn’t resemble the postcards that his parents sometimes received from his relatives.

  When they entered the city core, colour returned. Though the buildings were somewhat dilapidated, with their faded colours, missing stucco and cracks, they had a certain shabby elegance.

  The bus snaked along the Pest-side road of the Danube that divided Buda and Pest. He had expected it to be much wider. The St. Lawrence was wider at its narrowest point than the Danube at its widest. Buda, on the other side, was hilly. With a statue on the tallest point, it reminded him of the cross on Mount Royal

  “Look! A castle!” Kostas shouted.

  “This really is the Old World,” Schmutz said. “Imagine, kings, queens and knights once lived there. It’s like Copenhagen.”

  The Pest side was crowded with cathedrals, statues and three-to five-storey Baroque-style apartments. Tommy had the feeling that he had entered a vaguely familiar past.

  Finally, they arrived at the university dorms on the other side of Budapest. Tommy was exhausted. Unlike Speedy and Schmutz, he hadn’t been able to sleep on the eight-hour flight. Every time the plane hit turbulence or veered slightly, he tensed. And when his ears blocked, he panicked about not hearing the engine. Even though the time zone change made it noon in Hungary, he just wanted to sleep.

  They gathered in the common room, where Mr. Nemes addressed them. “You will stay here for three days. Then you will take a train to Debrecen and you will play there. And then you will come back in the People’s stadium. We will give you tour of the beauty of Budapest after tomorrow. Breakfast in the cafeteria is at seven thirty o’clock, dinner is at twelve o’clock and supper is at eighteen o’clock.”

  “Where is the soccer field?” Coach Hus asked.

  “It is behind the Science building. The university guide will take you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Nemes. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to speak to the team and the coach about some of the protocols,” Mr. Luxton said.

  “Certainly. Good day, Mr. Luxton. And goodbye, gentlemen.” Mr. Nemes nodded curtly and left.

  Mr. Luxton closed the door of the common room and signalled for the boys to sit. “Okay, I just want to give you some basic guidelines about how to behave here. I know that Coach Hus informed you, but I want to make sure there is no misunderstanding. First things first, do not wander off on your own! Not only do most Hungarians not speak English, but you could wander into areas where you are not allowed, and the police can arrest you just like that.” He snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “If someone wants to speak to you or ask you to take a letter to a relative or friend back in Canada, smile, say ‘nem,’ which means ‘no,’ and walk away. Always make sure that you have your passport with you. Do not, and I can’t stress this enough, travel without it. Always carry it in an inside pocket. Do not give it to anyone except officials and make sure to ask for it back. On campus, you have to give it to the dorm administrator, who will keep it in a safe. I don’t want to scare you but be aware that it is most likely that you as individuals and as a team will be watched. It is normal to have foreigners watched. You, Tommy, especially. Does anyone have any questions?”

  “Are the rooms bugged?” Schmutz joked.

  “Probably.”

  A silence fell over the boys.

  “Why did they take away my albums?” Tommy asked.

  Mr. Luxton stood as if he were a professor lecturing a class.

  “This may be a bit difficult for you boys who live in a democracy to understand. Here they believe that Western culture is decadent and therefore dangerous. They believe that the West promotes all the wrong values and they want to prevent the promiscuous behavior that rock and roll promotes.”

  “‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ is capitalist propaganda?” Derek asked.

  The boys laughed.

  “This is a very serious issue for them,” Mr. Luxton said firmly.

  “Why did they want Archie in the back of the picture?” Luigi wanted to know.

  “Because I’m black.”

  The boys fell silent. “Hungary is a monocultural society,” Mr. Luxton said. “They aren’t used to diversity. Now, I have to go. Coach Hus knows how to get in touch with me. I’ll be at the game. Good luck. Tommy, may I have a word with you in private, please?”

  They stepped outside. Mr. Luxton glanced up and down the corridor to make sure it was clear. “Tommy, as I said, you, especially, will be watched, so you have to be extra careful about what you say and do.”

  Tommy spoke in the same quiet voice as Mr. Luxton. “Can you tell me why Mr. Nemes didn’t want me to talk to my cousin? Is it because he’s playing for Debrecen?”

  “No. Here they want to control everything that happens. Gabi broke that order and Mr. Nemes was worried that someone would see that he didn’t have control and report him.”

  “I thought he was the one watching us.”

  “Yes, but there is probably someone watching him as well.”

  38

  Needle-like pain was shooting through Tommy’s ankle all the way up to his hip. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand. He massaged his thigh. The man in the dark suit had light blue eyes. They were other-worldly, cold. There was no compassion in them, even though he was smiling.

  “You attempted to rape a Hungarian woman.”

  Tommy didn’t understand. “I’m sorry but I don’t know what the word ‘rape’ means.”

  “It means that you violated a woman,” Chief Barna said. Tommy still didn’t understand. “You forcibly had sex with her.”

  “What? No!” Tommy shouted.

  The man in the dark suit glared at him.

  “What’s this got to do with Szeles?”

  “We have proof, a recording of you planning the rape. And witnesses.”

  “I didn’t touch her. I just gave her some money. She invited me to her place. I didn’t go.”

  “You sent your friend to invite her back to your room. He told her that you had nylons that you wanted to give her as a friendly gesture. When she was in your room the two of you attempted to rape her. She screamed; the concierge called the police. When they arrived you attempted to bribe the officers.”

  “That’s not true. I swear. That’s not how it happened.”

  39

  Speedy was wandering around their room, looking into lamps, behind pictures and under the beds. “What are you doing?” Tommy asked.

  Speedy put his finger to his lips and began to hum the theme from From Russia With Love.

  Tommy smiled. “Speedy, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” he said as they unpacked.

  “Why did Marianne do what she did at the airport?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know. Kiss me like that.”

  “Because she likes you, dumbass.” Speedy twirled his finger beside his temple. “Because my sister is loca.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Do you think your parents are mad?”

  “Probably. But I think she wanted us out of the way to deal with them. She’s crazy, like a fox.”

  “And you?”

  “And me what?”

  “What changed your mind about me dating your sister?”

  “I was angry at being tricked and lied to by you. You were my f
riend and you lied to me, all that time you were pretending to know nothing. That pissed me off. I trusted you. I also reacted with the passion of my culture. But I’m also a science guy, which is all about logic. That part of me understood why you lied, and Marianne told me that she asked you to keep it a secret. I kept pushing my emotional side to come up with valid reasons to hate you. I couldn’t.”

  Tommy didn’t say anything.

  “Also, I didn’t like losing.”

  “I’m glad you don’t like losing.”

  “Sí.” They shook hands.

  The instant his head hit the pillow Speedy was out. Tommy tried to sleep but even though he was exhausted, he couldn’t. Maybe it was the time change. Maybe it was because his headache had returned. Or because of a churning in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t calm. Was it caused by his parents’ anxiety, flying, his encounter at the airport, seeing the tanks and soldiers? He rubbed his scar to ease the pressure. He thought of Marianne. Breathe, baby, breathe, he heard her say.

  He sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes and imagined her lifting her palm up, raising it as if conducting a symphony of air into her lungs, pausing for a moment, then, turning her palm downward, lowering it as if pressing it out. She did this before she performed. Before Tommy knew it, Coach Hus was knocking on his door.

  “Wake up, you prima donnas!”

  Their practice started slow, to get the kinks out. Slow laps, easy stretches, soft passes to get their accuracy back and easy shots at Derek to warm him up. In the afternoon he pushed them with one-on-one, two-on-one, three-on-ones, total soccer and ended with a spirited pickup game. Tommy felt good. The headache was gone, the churning was gone, and the game was coming back to life.

  After supper they gathered around the TV in the lounge to watch themselves. When the images of the team came on, everybody hooted and cheered. Tommy wished his father could see it. How he would love to see his son on Hungarian national TV, playing soccer in Hungary. He remembered summer evenings when he and Gabi worked out with the town team. They would practise moves that the team’s coach, he still couldn’t remember his name, showed them. Tommy wondered what had become of him. He felt so proud when the coach told him and Gabi that he expected to see them on the youth national team in a few years. In a strange way, his prediction had come true.