Strangers in Budapest

by Jessica Keener

Annie knew exactly what Will meant.

  “Not what it seems on the surface,” Will said.

  “Igen,” Agnes said. “Like Americans’ smile, yes?”

  “That hurts, Agnes,” Bernardo said. “You don’t like my smile?”

  “Persze. I am sorry for my joke.”

  “Didn’t you say Stephen lived on the river?” Annie said, feeling panicked that Edward, after all his talk, was mistaken and just plain wrong.

  “Do not worry,” Agnes said. “We park in back because it is safer. You will see the river from inside these buildings.”

  “Look at those art nouveau structures,” Will said as Agnes backed into a parking space on the side street. “The architectural movement swept across Europe around 1900 and erupted in Budapest during the building boom of the 1920s.”

  “Erupted?” Bernardo said. “That’s choice.”

  “Pretty incredible to look at. See those ornate roofs and facades?” Will said, pointing. “Proof of better days.”

  “Yes. This is the Budapesht story,” Agnes said. “You have studied it right, Will. I am impressed. This is true of many of our buildings. But this is changing.” Agnes shut the motor off. “We are here.”

  “Is this Molnar we’re parked on?” Annie asked Agnes. The dimly lit road was narrow, more like an alleyway, behind the buildings.

  “Yes. I write it down for you.”

  Everyone got out and waited on the sidewalk until Agnes joined them, handing Annie a slip of paper with Stephen’s address.

  “Thank you.”

  “Who is this person we’re seeing?” Eileen asked Annie. The two women walked a few steps behind the others.

  “Someone your husband is thinking of hiring.”

  “Do you know him? I have a million questions. Not tonight, though. How about tomorrow for lunch? Just the two of us. Can you meet me at the hotel? Bring Leo if you don’t have someone to watch him. That’s another thing. Babysitters. How’s the baby doing?”

  “Perfect. He’s a joy. We have a wonderful babysitter. I’ll be happy to meet you at your hotel.”

  “That’s a relief. I need to know about everything—schools, housing, and if my husband is out of his mind.” She let out a big laugh.

  “Absolutely. I’ll give you names and places to contact. It’s not that complicated.”

  Ahead of them Agnes tripped on an uneven stone. Bernardo grabbed Agnes’s elbow, then slipped his arm around her waist to help her regain her balance.

  Eileen rolled her eyes at Annie and whispered to her: “Business as usual.”

  In the old days at Fendix, Annie liked pairing up with Eileen because of her candor and humor. Eileen let people know that she wasn’t blind to her husband’s flirtations. In that regard, she commanded respect from the other wives. But Annie wondered if Eileen knew how far he took those flirtations, like the woman he danced with at Club Z.

  “Mysterious-looking place,” Bernardo said, taking his hand from Agnes’s arm and turning to wait for Eileen.

  They passed underneath a twenty-foot arched doorway, then crossed a brick courtyard of a five-story building.

  “This place makes me feel like a hobbit,” Eileen said, laughing.

  “What is hobbit?” Agnes asked.

  “A small imaginary person,” Eileen said.

  “You Americans have interesting ideas,” Agnes said.

  The grand-size building had faded from years of neglect. The Budapest story, Annie thought. In a far corner, Annie noted the typical cluster of garbage cans and a few discarded ceramic pots of wilted plants, as if someone had tried but failed to get some greenery going.

  Inside the building, a caged elevator hung from ropes dangling in the elevator’s industrial-size open shaft. Will pushed the elevator call button.

  “These old things make me nervous,” Eileen said.

  “It’s an old future,” Bernardo said, relishing the phrase once again.

  “You don’t worry,” Agnes said, lighting up a cigarette. “It is not a problem.”

  “Made it through the war. Made it through ’56. It’ll be fine,” Will said.

  “Nineteen fifty-six. Nem good,” Agnes said. “I wasn’t born then. But it was terrible.”

  “How ’bout we lighten up this conversation a bit,” Bernardo said. “We all know Hungarians suffered. So did the Jews, right, Will? But we have to live a little, enjoy ourselves.” Bernardo put his arm around Eileen and squeezed her.

  “Yes, that is the American way,” Agnes said, walking into the elevator. “Top floor.”

  “Bernardo’s way,” Eileen said, throwing a look at the ceiling.

  In the elevator, the cage rose slowly up the shaft, shuddering each time it passed another floor. Will stood across from Annie and gave her an affirming look, the warmth in his eyes returning.

  “It’s a good location, yes?” Agnes said. “A lot of people would like to live here on the Duna. Stephen is lucky. There is a lottery system for these buildings. But it is for Hungarians. Stephen must know someone.”

  “He paid cash,” Bernardo said.

  “His parents are Hungarian. That probably helped him,” Annie said, bothered by the mention of cash, knowing full well where his cash had come from. Was she really going to a murderer’s flat? Was Edward wrong? Losing a daughter and a wife could drive anyone over the edge. Edward told her the death certificate said death by asphyxiation and multiple sclerosis. It could have been an accidental death, a terrible convergence of circumstances. Again, her thoughts tangled in the same contradictions of dreary facts.

  When the door opened at the top, they filed out and headed down a hallway lit by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. The women’s heels clattered, echoing in the stale air. Stephen must have heard them.

  “Found it all right?” Stephen said, poking his head out the door at the end of the hallway. He immediately caught Annie’s eye and smiled, then he turned to Agnes, greeting her in Hungarian. Agnes said something back to him and gave him a kiss.

  “Just fine,” Annie said. She thought Stephen looked handsome and was once again drawn in by his laid-back demeanor. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

  “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to return your call. I was running around doing errands. It’s 9 Molnar—.”

  “Thanks. Agnes gave it to me in the car,” she said. Stephen’s breath smelled of cigarettes and wine. He was dressed in brown pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and sandals—his usual outfit, which worked for him, creating a casual confidence that remained appealing to her, except for his sandals, which bared his long, tanned toes and now struck her as boldly sexual.

  “Good. Welcome, everyone,” Stephen said, showing them in.

  They entered a large but unfurnished living room. Across the room, floor-to-ceiling French doors opened onto a balcony and a startling view across the river to a white statue perched atop a cliff. The statue was flooded in footlights.

  “Whoa, man, you underplayed the location,” Bernardo said. “Imagine this place in Boston, Back Bay, overlooking the Charles? Jesus, man. You got a million-dollar view.”

  “Maybe more,” Will said.

  “For you Americans, yes,” Agnes said. “Not for us.”

  “That’s Gellért Hill,” Stephen said, pointing. “I’m sure you know it, Will.”

  “Tallest hill in Buda,” Will said.

  Agnes looked startled, her eyes widening. “Will, I am impressed. You know a lot about my country.”

  “This place is impressive,” Eileen said, crossing the large room. “Loving these herringbone floors.”

  “All the floors are like this here,” Annie said. “These are especially nice.”

  “Where’s the Bull’s Blood?” Bernardo said, his voice clapping the air.

  “It’s all right here,” Stephen said, leading them to a small table set up with crystal glasses, bottles of Bull’s Blood, and pálinka—which the mayor had served Annie and Will—and Unicum, another Hungarian specialty
liqueur.

  “Shall we have some pálinka?” Stephen said, handing out a round of shot glasses filled with the clear, strong liquor.

  “Egészségünkre!” Stephen said, throwing back a shot.

  Bernardo and Will followed, emptying their glasses.

  “What is that you say?” Bernardo said. “Eggs and shakes?”

  “Egészségünkre! To our health!”

  Eileen drained her glass. “Got to keep up with the boys,” she said, grinning at Annie, who sipped slowly. The liquid was numbing her tongue.

  “Bernardo?” Stephen said, tipping the bottle of pálinka as an invitation to refill his glass.

  “Put her in and then let’s have some of your Bull’s Blood.”

  “What’s Bull’s Blood?” Eileen said.

  “It is our famous wine. Egri Bikavér means ‘bull’s blood,’ ” Agnes said.

  “Eger is the region where it’s made,” Will said. “There’s a legend that says the wine gives you the strength of a bull.”

  “That’s right,” Agnes said. “Tell us the legend, Will.”

  “Some say the story dates back to an event that happened in the sixteenth century when a small band of Hungarian troops drank the local red wine and successfully fought back a large Turkish army.”

  “That’s because we are a determined people,” Agnes said.

  “Yes, we are,” Stephen said, guiding a glass of Bull’s Blood into Annie’s hand and taking her now-empty glass of pálinka.

  “To Hungary. Egészségünkre!” Stephen said.

  “And that unbelievable view,” Bernardo said, drinking up.

  They all headed onto the balcony to take in the full view. “You lucked out, man,” Bernardo said.

  “I was just reading about that statue,” Will said, stepping onto the balcony next to Annie, who leaned against the wrought-iron railing to survey a grid of small streets leading to the river. It was a long way down and she pulled back, thinking of her brother.

  “The statue’s forty meters tall,” Will said.

  “Yes, I never get tired of her,” Stephen said, joining the two men.

  “Will, you are our history book tonight, yes?” Agnes said.

  Bernardo guffawed, nodding. “Come on Eileen, join us.”

  “There’s not enough room,” Eileen said.

  “Crowd in. Come on.”

  “What’s the statue commemorating?” Annie asked. She stood wedged between Bernardo and Will, who put his arm around her.

  “It is about the Soviet victory in Budapest,” Agnes said, standing behind Annie.

  Across the river and up the steep hill, the statue of a female flooded in foot lights held a palm leaf over her head like an offering to the heavens. In the night sky, two tiny stars appeared above the statue’s head. Annie thought of the Bem József statue, how its arm was raised to the sky, too. She wondered if Greg were trying to go upward when he jumped. That was the odd thing about people’s desires when they dove off buildings and bridges.

  “We don’t see this as victory,” Agnes continued. “It is another occupation for us. The Russian occupation. We are always occupied. Now it’s you, the Americans, who are trying.”

  “Sorry about that,” Annie said.

  Agnes smiled. “It is a joke. I love Americans.”

  The panoramic view from the balcony was mesmerizing. The river’s dark face sparkled, reflecting the glittering lights on the Elizabeth Bridge, the one they had just crossed, and parallel to the quiet side street below, cars sped along the Duna leaving trails of red and white lights.

  “The Russians liberated the Hungarians from the Germans in World War II,” Will said. “But it wasn’t freedom. Essentially, they went from one enslavement to another.”

  Annie felt dreamy, entranced by the view of the hill that staged these historic events. She gripped the thin iron railing and lifted her chin to catch a breeze from the river.

  “What you can’t see from here,” Will said, “is the statue of St. Gellért for whom this hill is named.” He pointed to the side of the hill. “It’s below, behind there.”

  “Okay. Now I’m doubly impressed,” Bernardo said.

  “You know a lot,” Stephen said, refilling everyone’s glasses with more Bull’s Blood.

  “He likes his history,” Annie said.

  “Tell us more,” Eileen said.

  “Gellért was a Benedictine monk during the time of King Stephen I—he became a bishop in 1030. In 1046, he died a martyr. The Hungarian pagans threw him off the cliff or stoned him to death.”

  “Oh Lord,” Eileen said. “Gruesome.”

  “Yes. Very sad,” Agnes said.

  “You look at the hill now and it seems unbelievable,” Annie said, leaving the balcony to take in the rest of the apartment. The apartment was large for Budapest: three rooms, including the long, spacious living room on one end, sparsely furnished with a couch and two wooden chairs; an alcove kitchen; and a bedroom with a double bed at the other end.

  “Folks, we need to celebrate the moment,” Bernardo said. “You’ve got a damn nice place here, Stephen.”

  “It’s really lovely,” Annie said to Stephen, who had stepped back inside to join her. “How did you luck into it?” She guessed the ceilings were fourteen feet high.

  “Not luck, Annie. You know I haven’t been lucky. Right place. Right circumstances.” He looked at her as if inviting her into his confessional, the one they had shared on the sidewalk and later at Bem József statue, before returning to the task of uncorking two more bottles of Egri Bikavér.

  She took his bait, and said, “My husband told me about your wife. I’m so sorry.”

  Stephen smiled without light, but Annie noticed a subtle change in his face, as if he had disappeared for a moment. The thought that he could be hiding something stabbed her in the chest. Why hadn’t he told her about the death of his wife?

  “I haven’t been able to talk about it,” Stephen said, as if he had heard her thoughts. “It’s too fresh. Truth is, I’m here because of her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wanted to fulfill my—it doesn’t matter anymore.” He bowed his head and moved away to rejoin the others. Annie felt awkward and followed him, hoping he might tell her more.

  “You see that,” Agnes said, pointing diagonally across the river, the cigarette burning between her fingers. “That is the Gellért spa.”

  “I’d love to go to a spa,” Eileen said.

  “That one is the most famous one,” Agnes said. “The queen of Netherlands stayed here on her wedding night. Now you are in Budapest, you must try it.”

  “I’m game,” Bernardo said, draping his arm around Agnes. “You want to set it up for us?”

  “He’s always game,” Eileen said, walking over to Bernardo, who removed his arm from Agnes and kissed Eileen hard on the lips. “I hear they swim naked there,” he whispered to her so everyone could hear.

  “Even better,” Eileen said.

  Annie drifted away from their banter. Eileen knew how to hold her own with Bernardo, but Annie still thought Bernardo was flaunting Agnes as if to say, If you don’t move here, this is what’s waiting for me. Annie moved around the apartment, sipping Bull’s Blood, doing her best to admire the ceiling height and crown molding that had remained intact. Should she call Edward now, while everyone was laughing and chatting? There must be something here that would tell her who Stephen truly was, some indisputable clue. She thought of her brother, Greg, and wondered where he would be now, if he had lived. What city, what transient construction job, would he have found to keep him on the run? She glanced back at Stephen, who caught her eye and gave her a wistful smile, acknowledging this new disclosure of his dead wife between them. She felt sorry for him again—losing his wife, his father—and then she heard Edward’s gravelly voice warning—be careful, be careful—echoing in her mind.

  Everyone turned to the sound of knocking on Stephen’s door.

  “My neighbors. Marta and her gra
ndmother, Olga,” Stephen said, ushering two women into the living room. “I thought you would enjoy meeting them.”

  The younger one, Marta, greeted Stephen with a kiss on his lips. “Szia,” she said, using the familiar, colloquial greeting that sounded like “see ya.” Annie thought it so typical of Hungary to adopt a greeting for hello that sounded like good-bye in America. It was yet another example of opposites embedded deep in the Hungarian psyche, where losers were winners and winners never won.

  Marta appeared to be in her twenties—Stephen’s girlfriend, Annie presumed. Both women had angular chins and bony frames. The elderly Olga wore a pink scarf around her neck that brightened the whole room, like a flag, Annie thought. Marta looked starved, her eyes blackened with eyeliner, her thin lips dark as Bull’s Blood. Stephen went back to the kitchen to get more glasses.

  “Marta is quite talented,” Stephen said as he came back out. He handed glasses of Bull’s Blood to the party newcomers. Annie wondered: Can you leave a country and become someone you are not?

  He wants to get you on his side, she remembered Edward telling her.

  Olga turned to Marta and spoke rapidly, then pointed a long, shaky finger at Annie and Eileen.

  “I show you my jewelry? Maybe you American womens will like it?” Marta said. “I sell you.”

  “I love jewelry,” Eileen said.

  “Stephen, you get points for this,” Bernardo said.

  Stephen nodded, standing behind Marta, whispering something to her in Hungarian.

  “I don’t speak good English,” Marta said. She kept shifting back and forth on her slim, long legs, glancing at Stephen for reassurance. He put his hand on one of her hips to reassure her. Marta was so thin her collarbone stood out, yet she exuded sensuality in her leotard-like miniskirt and blouse, with her small breasts, her ballerina’s posture.

  Annie felt a wave of claustrophobia crushing her head—too many glasses of wine on an empty stomach. What was she doing? Did Stephen plan on serving something more to eat, or did he intend for everyone to get flat-out drunk? She had a sudden need to splash water on her face. Turning, she headed down a short hall, searching for the washroom. In Hungary, this would be a room separate from the toilet room. It was the same in their flat. She thought it an odd arrangement when they first moved here, but now she preferred it over the American design.