Strangers in Budapest

by Jessica Keener

  “That would be good,” Annie said, making an effort to sound enthusiastic. She didn’t know why Dave would ask her. Probably his way of trying to include her.

  Stephen raised his eyebrows. “You look skeptical.”

  “Not really.” She shrugged. He was an observant one. She wanted to be hopeful about this lead, but a shadow in her heart dulled her feelings. This whole endeavor was proving far more difficult than Will or she had anticipated. She had arrived with her own foolish belief that they could come here, leaping across an ocean, and just make things happen without experiencing delays or duress. So American of them. She put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath as if something were pressing against her.

  “Well, I’m happy to help out. Sweet-looking kid,” Stephen said.

  They all looked at Leo sucking on his bottle, his eyes closed, oblivious to all but milk and sleep.

  “He is. Thanks. What about you? Do you have children?”

  “No. No. No.” He shook his head as if such a thing were completely out of the question.

  “Not easy being a mother here,” Dave said to Annie. “Took my wife a year to settle in, but she did. You’ll see.”

  Annie appreciated Dave’s effort to keep things positive. But she knew that working for the large utility company meant Dave got paid an American salary and it wouldn’t matter if he succeeded here or not. Corporate types like Dave got perks for transferring overseas: their rent, health insurance, travel expenses, and cars paid for by the parent company. Not so for Will. He was on his own, and so was she.

  “It’s a complicated city,” Annie said.

  “It’s a lot of things,” Will said.

  “It’s not what Americans think,” Stephen said. “We Hungarians are hardier, more intelligent, than Americans understand.” He shrugged. “Of course, I speak the language. That makes all the difference in how you experience it here. I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.” He opened his palms as an invitation to believe and trust his perspective.

  “Will manages to speak pretty well—for an American,” she said. “I only speak a few words and phrases.”

  “I’m terrible at languages, I don’t even try,” Dave said. “Hungarian? Forget it.”

  Stephen shook his head again.

  “It’s like everything else. You have to put the time in to learn it,” Will said.

  “Americans don’t put in the time,” Stephen said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Dave said, pretending to look offended.

  “Oh, I don’t mean to sound critical of Americans,” Stephen said, tossing his bangs, and lifting his head back to put Dave at ease, but Annie could see that he was withholding something.

  “Would you like to sit down and join us?” she said. She was curious to hear more, to learn what it was like for Stephen to be back here. Maybe he could offer some tips. Tell her about how the Gypsies lived.

  “No, no. Thank you,” Dave said. “We’ll let you two enjoy your family time. Stephen and I need to finish up. Good to meet you, Annie.”

  Stephen hesitated, took a business card from his shirt pocket, and slid it on the table toward her.

  “If you need a translator or assistance for anything, here’s my number.” He held his hand out for her to shake and they shook hands once again. “Don’t hesitate to call. I mean that.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two men returned to their table and Annie slipped Leo’s bottle from his mouth. As expected, he’d fallen into his deep afternoon sleep.

  Will sat down opposite her and began to eat the food that had just arrived.

  “Stephen’s an interesting guy,” Annie said.

  “He was definitely interested in you.”

  She shrugged. “They’re both nice. How is General Electric doing here? Are they making a profit?”

  “They got in early. Some other big companies are here. Alcoa took over a plant. They’re investing big dollars. Dave’s a decent man.”

  “Yes. He seems so. Stephen could be a great help to you, don’t you think? He’s fluent. How long have you known him?”

  “Met him today.”

  “Oh, he acted as if he knew you longer.”

  “I think that’s his way. Maybe Dave told him about me.”

  “Dave has financial security. It makes a difference,” Annie said.

  Will focused on scooping up a forkful of pasta, but she could see he was frustrated by her comment.

  “Look, Dave’s got a good attitude,” Will said. “I think he’s that way and that’s probably part of why he’s been successful at GE. He fits in. Doesn’t make waves.”

  “What you’re doing is harder,” she said.

  Entrepreneurs like Will did not have the financial security that Dave enjoyed. It was a sticking point for her. Will might insist it didn’t matter to him, but she knew it did. Golden handcuffs. Retirement plans. Then again, entrepreneurs had the hope of making huge profits, much greater than what Dave earned, plus the creativity to make their own decisions. She’d accepted this as part of the risk and reward of starting a new venture. It was part of the freedom, too. Will was his own boss and he liked that. But she didn’t feel as confident about his prospects anymore.

  She was committed to being with their son this year—had quit her job at the shelter two weeks before Leo was born—and to giving Will a chance at his venture, but Hungarians, it turned out, weren’t easy in business. They took their time—time that Americans couldn’t fathom. Hungarians changed their minds at the last minute, sabotaging deals at the eleventh hour. Recently, the Budapest Reporter featured a story about a hotel deal that had fallen through. Why had that happened? The Hungarians had upped the purchase price when they learned of others’ interest in the property. The buyers got upset and backed out. She was beginning to wonder who, indeed, was making a big killing here in Eastern Europe?

  Finally, she said, “I wonder what deals are going on right now. Do you think anyone is successful here?” She scanned the room abuzz with loud American chatter.

  Will laughed. “Sure, Annie. We need to give it more time.”

  One thing she did know, everyone was talking huge amounts of money. Here, money was like confetti. Everyone had an idea. Losses or gains, tax write-offs? What did it matter? It was all a game, pieces of paper falling out of the sky. It created a sense of unreality, a kind of money high. Part of the circus mentality. But it wasn’t just here in Eastern Europe. Back home, before they’d left, stories of instant millionaires and billionaires had begun to show up on the front pages of newspapers and the living-arts sections in the Sunday magazines. The new rich. Their amazing McMansions decorated by high-priced designers. Instant antiquity. Private jets. Palm Beach and the islands. It was all blather and banter. Eastern Europe was America’s new corporate pet. But what if it all crashed? Then what?

  She finished her pasta and said, “Is Stephen on GE’s payroll, too?”

  “No. Independent contractor.”

  “He could be useful. Have you thought about taking him with you when you meet with the mayors?”

  “He’s expensive. A day trip adds up. I’m sure he’s useful. You don’t need to worry about me. Focus on yourself. I know I’ve said this many times, but try to meet some of the American women living here. They’re smart, well intentioned.”

  “I know they are.”

  From the first days, Will had urged her to join one of the expat groups like the International Women’s Association. Still, she resisted because she wanted to immerse herself in the country’s culture.

  “I didn’t come here to live an American way of life.” She pushed her plate away.

  “I’m not asking you to do that.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  From day one, she had been determined to mimic what those Berlitz language courses did, immerse herself in the strange sounds around her the way Leo did.

  The waitress came by and refilled their water glasses. Annie reached for Will’s hand and knit her
fingers through his.

  “Maybe I could help the Gypsies?” Annie watched the surge of pedestrians passing by, wondering where the two girls had gone. Across the street, ornate stone buildings with elaborate rooftops loomed over the sidewalks, simultaneously breathtaking and depressing, their gray facades still pitted with bullet holes from World War II. It made her heart leap, then sag, with the thought of all that carnage.

  “What would you do with the Gypsies?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what they need. I’d have to find out.”

  Will scraped the remains of his lunch. “The expat community might know where to steer you.”

  “True.”

  The idea appealed to her. Maybe the Gypsies would lead to something new, something unexpected. Hadn’t she come here to learn something different about herself? Get off her well-worn path of safety. She resolved to do something.

  “Those buildings,” she said, pointing across the street. “It’s a shame what’s happened to them.” She took another exaggerated breath. “Bullet holes everywhere. There’s no escaping the past in this country. No wonder Hungary has the world’s highest suicide rate.”

  Will put his fork down and crumpled his paper napkin. “What can I do to help you get out of your funk?”

  “Ignore me?”

  Will laughed. “I don’t think I can do that!”

  At the far end of the room, she saw Dave talking with Stephen, who like some person with a sixth sense turned his head and smiled at her. Embarrassed, she looked away. She could ask Stephen about the Gypsy population. Surely he would know. She could do something meaningful in the community while Will figured out his work situation.

  They had been here eight full months—plenty of leads but no closed deals. Week after week, Will attended meetings, joined the American Businesses in Hungary group. A few dozen corporate types, like Dave from General Electric, plus entrepreneurs like Will, got together for coffee and networking at the Hilton up on Castle Hill. One man from Illinois had started a T-shirt business. Someone from Florida had opened a laundry. A couple from New Jersey ran a New York – style deli.

  Maybe her mother was right to ask, why Hungary? Eight months ago Annie had come here with arms outstretched, eager to take in whatever this new Old World wanted to show her. The architecture offered so much grandeur rising from the city’s renaissance in the 1870s, and again in the 1920s, but the buildings looked downtrodden, their facades soot-covered, pockmarked by decades of neglect. Splendid arched doorways were chipped and weather worn, no money for repair.

  What did this country offer her? Maybe she was no different from Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz trying to get to Emerald City, then, once there, realizing the glittering city wasn’t so shiny after all. Budapest was covered in a century of grime. Annie had followed the yellow-brick road, and now she couldn’t help but wonder if the Wizard—in this case, the promise of making money, the promise of change—was actually a false god.

  “You can’t save an entire country, Will.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looked at her in a way that let her know she was making an unfair and unfounded statement.

  “What I want to do with phones is one piece of a much larger global shift,” he said. “I’m a small part of that. You know that.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I thought it would be easier.”

  “Me, too. Patience. Dave’s been here two years. We have to change our expectations.”

  “To what? No expectations?”

  They both laughed, releasing tension. She leaned toward Will and placed her hand on top of his on the table. “I think countries are like families. Hungarians don’t want Americans barging in and taking over like the Russians did, like the Germans did, like the Americans are trying to do.”

  “Hungarians don’t expect things to go well because they have a long history of failing.”

  “Like my family,” she said, slumping, feeling sad.

  “Come on. We made a choice, remember?” Will gathered both her hands in his, and in that moment she was grateful for his love.

  The waitress returned to refill their water glasses and placed the bill on the table. Annie noted how the other Americans at Luigi’s were smiling away, their white teeth advertisements of good health and cheer—so unlike Hungarians’ more serious, subdued expressions. She pulled her husband closer, kissing him.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  “Yep.”

  She looked at Leo still sleeping, not a worry on his sweet face, and felt a stab of emptiness, the missing element of grandparents not here to enjoy and dote on him. Again, she heard her mother’s incredulousness: You’re going now? With a new baby?

  Certainly Leo didn’t care, but Annie was glad to be far, far away from the adoption agency and that meddling social worker who presumed he could intrude in their lives at any time. With that thought, she felt a renewed sense of sympathy with Hungarians trying to forge a new way of life.

  Will stood and reached into his pocket for his wallet, then patted his hips, front and back. “My wallet,” he said. “Do you have it? I had it with me.” Will checked his pockets again, then looked in the pocket of the jogger.

  “Slow down. Don’t panic,” she said. “It’s somewhere.”

  “No. No. I distinctly remember taking the wallet with me because I didn’t want to leave all that cash at the apartment.”

  “How much cash?” She rechecked the jogger pocket, digging her fingers past an extra diaper and wipes for Leo, starting to feel Will’s concern.

  “Nine hundred dollars.” He patted his pockets. “I bumped into two men when I was walking toward the phone booth. I didn’t think anything at the time. You saw how crowded it was.”

  “Yes. But I wasn’t paying attention because of those horrible skinheads. What did the men look like?”

  “They stole it. They took my wallet. They set me up.”

  Six

  He awakened on the sofa and looked up at the white ceiling until his mind focused and made sense of the room. The ceiling had crackles in the dull paint. Sylvia would be appalled. His pajama top was soaked through, the towel he placed underneath his back damp and stale with sweat. He looked down at his feet and wiggled them. All intact. He remembered the day. It was August. Sunday. 1995. Day seven. He wasn’t crazy. It was like the old days when he traveled to Europe for work, moving in and out of small hotels, getting the packing down to a science of saving space. He was a good traveler. His whole life he’d learned to adjust to hotel rooms. First things first—he’d find the emergency exit. Sometimes it was down a long hall. Here on the second floor, he’d go out the kitchen window to a fire escape if he had to. The building had an elevator and that wide set of stairs.

  He sat up, a slow movement of sliding his legs around to the floor. There was an adjustment time. You got the lay of the place. This was no different. He had his dictionary, the one with common phrases. His daughter Nan, born practical, her years as a nurse second nature to her, asking, How will you communicate your needs, Dad? You don’t speak the language. But he knew how it worked. They had good doctors here. He did his research. So did she. He still had his old contacts in medicine. She had her current contacts. Hungary was a smart population. Smart and poor. That was all.

  “Hungarians are intelligent. The medicine is good,” he told her. “You know that.”

  “But they don’t have money for equipment,” she said. “Promise to call me every day. Every. Day. Will you?”

  “Yes. I can do that. I promise.”

  He finished the glass of water and refilled it from a pitcher on the floor, thinking back fifty-two years. Just about this time in August and just as brutally hot in Alabama, where he went for boot camp. He took that train from New York that day. Said good-bye to Sylvia and his parents. What a crazy thing, to get engaged and then go off to war. Youth is stupid and brave.

  Was he brave now? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t as stupid
. He had his backup plan. He had the number for a cab, the new hotel downtown with air-conditioning. He had options. Choices. A way out. A way to survive. The war taught him that. Until you put yourself to the test, you can’t know what you’re capable of. That was the attraction of war. Caves, jungles, woods. Hills. He sat taller, pushing the cushion behind his lower back, surprised by the comfort of it. The bottom cushion, a single long orange mattress, was good and hard, good for his back. The human body knew how to manage these basics. He had learned that because he made it through the war.

  He reached for his cell phone on the floor, where it had dropped from his hand. He promised he would call Nan. Thousands of years the race had survived this heat. Humans were animals. Worse than animals. He’d seen it all in the war. For now, he would shower, put on some fresh clothes, and study the map. Having settled on a plan, he perked up.

  Edward shuffled to the kitchen and refilled the water pitcher, pouring himself another glass and returning to the sofa and the fan. It took a few minutes to settle back into a pool of solitude to nurse his source of pain. But there it was. His older daughter’s death certificate said accidental overdose, but he knew that was wrong. Deborah took painkillers for her multiple sclerosis. Of course she did. She didn’t want to die. She was a fighter. It was her lousy husband who killed her with too many pills. Seven months ago. Edward grew more certain of this fact each day. He went over it again. One month after they buried her in Boston, the lousy scum moved to Budapest. Said he wanted to return to his Hungarian roots.

  Bullshit. Edward didn’t believe a word of it. Van Howard wanted to disappear. He came here thinking he could live like a king with his daughter’s insurance money—ten times a king with the exchange rate—and Edward had no doubt he would. American money went far in this country.

  Edward pressed into the couch, his shirt still wet. If he could weep, he would. Instead, his heart held back. At seventy-six years old, he still had a chance to make things right, even if the rest of his life had gone wrong.

  The cell phone rang—there on the table. It would be Nan, his younger daughter and only remaining family, calling from the States. Nan lived north of Boston. The phone vibrated a third time. He fumbled for it.