by Grace, K D
A joke? A mistake?
But, coinciding with my grasping of the rose, came a calling of my name.
‘Ruby!’
Oh God. I scrambled to my feet and hung over the balcony, unbrushed hair falling over my face. ‘János! What the bloody hell …?’
He stood in front of the band, arms spread wide, face upturned. ‘Gypsy concert! I arrange for you.’
‘I thought you meant …’ I broke off, shaking my head. The people in the street below beamed up at me and waved. ‘I’m going inside.’
‘No, no.’ János took a long run across the street and then leapt so that he hung off the balcony of the flat below.
‘What are you doing?’ I screamed in alarm. It really looked as if he meant to climb up to my second storey window. ‘You’ll fall.’
‘Me? No.’ The crowd were going wild, cheering and whistling, clapping along with the increasingly feverish music.
I watched as János hauled himself up, feet braced against the shutters of the ground floor window then gained purchase on the balcony below.
He stood gripping the handrail, grinning up at me, pretending to lose his grasp for a second so that I (and the crowd) screamed, before lifting himself up higher.
For a moment he stood, precariously, on the handrail, holding on to nothing, needing to keep his balance for that moment when he lunged at the foot of my balcony. His fingers met my toes. I crouched down, ready to slap him the minute he was out of danger. What a stupid, foolish thing to do.
And yet, underneath all the sensible disapproval, there was a guilty undercurrent of thrill. He was trying to impress me with some old-fashioned swashbuckle. It was so corny it worked.
He only needed to pull himself up the bars, monkey-like, then swing over the handrail to where I stood, arms folded and brow dark, waiting for him.
‘You damn fool,’ I greeted him.
‘Hey, that’s not right,’ he protested. ‘The crowd want a kiss from us.’
‘The crowd can bugger off.’
I escaped inside the flat, tempted to shut the balcony door in his face, but it was, after all, his balcony door, so I resisted the urge.
‘Where is the romance in your soul?’ he complained, following me into the living room.
‘This is the most embarrassing thing ever!’ I exclaimed, wringing my hands in his face. ‘Oh my God! Bloody violins, your Spiderman act, me looking like Wurzel Gummidge … argh!’
‘What is Wurzel Gummidge?’
‘A scarecrow.’
‘What is scarecrow?’
‘Oh.’ I ran out of exasperated words and tugged at my hair in frustration. ‘Never mind.’
‘I am thinking a scarecrow must be a very beautiful thing. Even when it’s angry.’
Don’t let him disarm you with charm.
But the remark took a fair bit of the wind out of my sails and I laughed self-consciously. ‘Oh, rubbish. You think you can get round me with sweet words. I’m not that much of a pushover.’
‘I would never push you over. And I don’t understand why you are angry. I do this things for you – nice things. You don’t like?’
He looked genuinely hurt and confused. I melted and sat down on the sofa, giving him the signal to sit beside me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, annoyance subsiding. ‘I’m sure you meant well. It was just, kind of, a shock. And weird. I didn’t know how to react. I’m not used to this kind of thing.’
‘Men do not treat you in romantic way? Is this a British problem?’
I laughed again. ‘Maybe. But János, I thought I’d explained that I’m not looking for romance.’
‘You don’t look for romance, but it finds you. I don’t know why you hide from it.’
‘I’ve told you why. I’m not cut out for it.’
‘I cannot ever agree with you.’
‘Then we’ll have to agree to disagree.’
János sighed. ‘I paid those gypsies.’
‘Where the hell did you find them?’
‘They work in my uncle’s restaurant. Some of them worked in mine, when I had my place. They are great guys, great musicians. You don’t like their music?’
‘Oh yes, I do. It’s very powerful – kind of melancholy but joyful at the same time. Makes you want to dance and drink pálinka.’
János cheered up at that. ‘Hey, that’s what we can do tonight. Come on, I take you for dinner at my uncle’s place. He will treat you like princess.’
I put a hand on his arm. ‘That sounds nice. But look. It’s not a date, OK? It’s not a romantic thing. I like you a lot, but we can only be friends.’
János patted the hand on his arm, shook his head. ‘You say that, Ruby, but you don’t believe it.’
‘Stop it or I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Go and get ready. Or we can go now. I don’t mind.’
Go out in this crumpled dress and bedhead hair? I thought not.
Twenty minutes later, I was walking along a smart Budapest street on the arm of a handsome Hungarian man, wearing my best Zara maxi dress and the only pair of heels I possessed. The sun was setting, the beautiful people were out in force, and a sense of the moment being perfect, an ideal tableau in a distinctly non-ideal life, struck me forcibly.
If only life could always be like this.
We took a sharp right turn into a doorway and down a flight of steps.
János led me into a giant cellar bar and restaurant with a dance floor in the centre and a stage for the musicians, some of whom I recognised from earlier on. A few couples swirled and twirled about to the music while others ate, drank or watched.
‘János!’ The man behind the bar, presumably the famous uncle, strolled up to greet us, speaking affable words of Hungarian before taking his nephew in a bear-like embrace and slapping him on the back.
They appeared to confabulate on the subject of me and my identity, then the uncle spoke to me directly.
‘English, hey? I have many English in here. You be careful of János, right, he is a man for the ladies, do you say?’
‘A ladies’ man,’ I translated, smiling uncomfortably. ‘Oh, we’re just friends.’
The uncle guffawed at that and moved back towards the bar, winking. ‘If you say so,’ he said.
‘God,’ I muttered between gritted teeth while a waiter showed us to a table with a great view of the dancers. ‘Everyone in Budapest thinks we’re a couple.’
The impish grins on the faces of some of the gypsy violinists gave the same message. Almost immediately, one of them detached himself from the group and wandered over to us, playing directly behind my left shoulder.
It was a little unnerving.
‘If you tip him, he goes away,’ János mentioned, handing over a handful of forints.
‘So what should I eat?’ I frowned at the menu, unable to make much sense of it. ‘Goulash?’
‘Goulash is good Hungarian dish, but is actually soup, not what you English think. Customers often surprised when they order.’
‘Oh, really? I’ll try it anyway. I’d like to see how different it is.’
‘I order some wine. Maybe a bottle of red Tokaj?’
‘That’ll be another new experience.’
‘Good.’ He nodded formally. He seemed to have backed off a bit. Was he offended? He spent a long time silently perusing the menu while I watched the dancers.
‘You like dancing?’ he asked abruptly once the orders had been given.
‘I’m not very good at it.’
‘You don’t do it enough then. Come.’ He stood and offered his hand, stiff and unsmiling as an officer of the Prussian military.
Reluctantly I took it, letting him lead me into the heart of the dance.
As soon as our bodies were on the floor, he unbent and he clasped me to him so swiftly and efficiently that all my breath escaped from me. Before I had a chance to gather it up, we were joined at the hip and striking out around the perimeters of the room. I had no idea what the dance was, or o
f any of its moves, but he somehow galloped me through it all, knowing exactly when to twirl me under his arm or spin me round. I felt like a doll, malleable and dependent on his will for my own movement. It was alarming. It was amazing. I wanted to do it forever.
The music, loud and insistent, chivvied us on into ever faster and more furious motion. I spun and weaved, sidestepped and hip-swayed until my face glowed and my chest heaved. I began to laugh and I couldn’t stop.
János was so skilled and so strong and so wonderfully in tune with the music that I was bewitched, captivated, overwhelmed. His hand on my hip was like magic, bending my feet to their will. Our clasped fingers melted into each other. The tune went into a final frenzy then ended before I was ready.
I collapsed against János, delirious with laughter, our hearts bumping against each other as he held me.
He patted my hip and let go. ‘The food is here,’ he told me.
It took me a few minutes of winding down before I was ready to take a sip of the rich red wine the waiter had poured for me.
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That was … wow.’
‘So you like dancing.’
‘I like that kind of dancing. I mean, I couldn’t have done it without you. I wouldn’t have had a clue what to do.’
He wound some noodles around his fork. ‘You need a man in your life for some things,’ he said.
‘Oh, you can dance with friends.’
‘Not the same. Not like that. We dance like that because there is more than friendship.’
‘Oh, János …’
‘You know it’s true. Passion makes the dance …’ He waggled his hands, looking for the words. ‘Come alive. No passion, a dance is dead.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. Lots of professional dance partners aren’t lovers.’
‘Professional is not the same.’
‘Neither is this goulash. You were right about that.’
Deft subject-changing, I think you’ll agree. I diverted János away from his slightly sulky insistence that I wanted him and into a conversation about the different ways of using and preserving paprika.
Conversation over the meal and the rather heavy wine remained light, though there was plenty of smouldering from János over the red chequered tablecloth.
We danced again, but the combination of lots of food and befuddling wine rendered me somewhat less graceful, though no less elated.
Uncle Imre wished us a good evening and waived the bill, sending us out into the warm night with his blessing.
‘I love your uncle’s place,’ I told János, letting him put an arm around my shoulder and lead my somewhat woozy feet across the road. ‘So cool.’
‘Ah, no, it’s not cool. If you like cool, I can show you.’
‘Yeah? Where are we going next?’
‘I take you to a kert. They are the coolest places in town.’
‘What are they?’
‘Come on. There’s one near here. I show you.’
From the outside, it looked like a regular trendy bar, neon-lit with large light-filled windows that revealed groups of hipsters at tables.
Once you passed through the bouncer-heavy door, though, you made a startling realisation.
The bar was not a bar. It was an open courtyard with trees growing in amongst the cobbles and various art installations on the floors and walls.
‘Oh wow.’ I gazed at a collection of vintage bicycles hanging precariously over the barman’s head. ‘This is very … different.’
‘Is popular in Budapest now, fashionable. I think of opening such a bar myself.’
‘You need to find an old courtyard.’
‘There are many. Also a fashion is ruin bars – in old buildings, falling down almost.’
‘I suppose the ground rent wouldn’t be much.’
‘No, but in a year, they get knocked down, new shopping mall takes over.’ He shrugged and nodded at the bartender before ordering something typically unidentifiable. We retired to the courtyard with two small glasses of something that looked treacly and vile.
‘What is this?’ I took a sniff. It smelled herbal and a bit tannic and a lot undrinkable.
‘Unicum. Is strong to clear your head.’
‘Clear my head? I think it might do the opposite.’
Somewhere amidst the Tokaj fug in my brain, a thought occurred to me. ‘Hey.’ I leant forward, jabbing him semi-accurately in the upper arm. ‘You aren’t trying to get me drunk are you? So you can take advantage of me?’
A part of me wanted him to say yes. A part of me wanted to answer, ‘OK, go ahead.’
But his moustache bristled and he sat back, studiedly casual. ‘I try to show you Hungarian culture is all.’
Hmm, he was a pricklier character than I thought in some ways. He seemed to lurch from full-on seducer to cool customer and back again without ever giving any indication which mode he was in. It reminded me of why I found men and relationships irritating, so I simply raised my eyebrows and took a sip of the noxious beverage.
‘Christ,’ I spluttered. ‘That’s foul. It’s like some Victorian medicine that’s been left in a cabinet since 1862.’
His frozen demeanour relaxed and he grinned with amusement. ‘It is not your taste? OK, I get you something else. Pálinka? Beer? Wine?’
‘Anything.’
He came back from the bar with another bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Tell me what you like,’ he said, pouring the rich red liquid.
‘Haven’t we had that conversation?’
‘No, what you like in a man.’
‘I don’t want a man.’
Apart from you.
‘No, but if a man fell down to the Earth who was perfect, what is he like?’
A bit like you.
‘Oh, you know, I don’t think I’ve given it much thought.’
‘You think about it now. Tell me.’
‘I used to have a list and Dave ticked all the boxes. My list was: caring, sensible, ambitious, good with money, loyal, faithful, optimistic, steady.’
The look of disgust on János’ face made me laugh. ‘What?’
‘This is business partner you describe. Not lover. What about, I don’t know, what about he make you laugh? English always talk about your sense of humour, I think. You don’t want that?’
I pondered. There hadn’t ever been a lot of laughs in our household, now I came to think of it. ‘I suppose it would be a nice extra.’
‘Extra? What about he is good lover? That is extra also?’
‘I don’t … really know.’
‘What about he is loving? He will do anything for you?’
‘Oh, Dave was loving. In his way. He wouldn’t have fought a fire-breathing dragon or anything but …’
‘I will fight a dragon. I will do that for my woman.’ János’ fist banged down on the table.
I blinked. ‘And what about this woman? What would she be like?’
He put his head on one side and looked at me for long enough to make me shiver and take refuge in my drink.
‘I don’t know this Dave,’ he said at length. ‘He is not like me. I am maybe opposite personality. Before you give up, before you forget about men, don’t you want to try a different personality? How do you know if you don’t want it, if you don’t try it?’
‘Do you think life is like that?’ I asked quietly. ‘A big experiment? Try everything once? It’s not like that for me. I have feelings. I have a heart and I can’t risk having it broken.’
‘Oh, you see, now we have it. You are afraid. Afraid of love.’
‘Have you ever been in love?’
‘Oh yes, of course.’
‘Lots of times, I bet. Love ‘em and leave ’em. I bet you’re that type.’ My speech was starting to slur. I’d drained the fishbowl-sized wine glass far too quickly.
‘I love three women in my life,’ he said, indignant at my labelling of him. ‘One is my mother. One is my first love when we are at school. One is my wife.’
&n
bsp; ‘What? You’re married?’
‘She leaves me when my business fails. I am alone now.’
‘Oh, shit, I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you.’ I felt absurd drunken tears prick the corner of my eyes. Poor János, losing his investment and his love all at the same time. I wanted to hug him, stroke his unruly hair, hold him close to me. ‘Do you have children?’
‘I want them, but she say she is too young. She is model, very beautiful. She is in America now. Anyway, we don’t talk about me. I’m not the one who is giving up on life. I still have hope and passion. What about you?’
‘I have my self-respect and a healthy bank balance.’ I laughed miserably. ‘Wow. Rock and roll. So, if you’ve only loved two women – apart from your mother – does that mean you’ve only slept with two women?’
He shook his head, twinkling his eyes at me. ‘Maybe one or two more,’ he conceded.
‘Jodie for one.’
‘And you?’
‘Two. Dave and this guy I was obsessed with in college. He let me down. Really badly. Really broke my heart.’ Oh God, to my utter horror, I was crying, properly. ‘It’s the wine,’ I said hastily as he made a move towards me. ‘Too much wine. Let’s have another glass.’
‘You are already drunk.’
‘Let’s dance again!’
Sometime during our conversation, a 60s covers band had struck up at the far side of the bar. A few people were shuffling in a hipsterish manner around the cobbles.
I tried to pull János up. He seemed reluctant, but he stood and grabbed hold of me, keeping me from swaying too much.
The music was loud and distorted, people’s faces whizzed past and the starry sky above whirled and loomed. I felt horribly sick. I was going to have to sit down.
‘Got to … sit … down.’
And that was where the evening ended.
Chapter Four
Something was throbbing, horribly, behind my left eyebrow and I needed a drink more than I had ever needed anything in my life.
Once my eyes unglued themselves I noticed, with a huge surge of gratitude, that a large glass of water stood on the nightstand.
Priority number one dealt with, other needs peeked out from behind it, layers and layers of them. The need for pain relief. The need to go back to sleep. The need to dispel the vile taste at the back of my throat. The need to know who had taken off my high heels and put me into bed … oh.