Alex Bell - The Ninth circle

But the silence of this shabby, grotty little hovel depresses me. So I took the metro to Heroes’ Square, huddled in the small carriages with other wet, disgruntled passengers who pushed and shoved at each other. Despite the rain, I longed to get out of the station with its damp, fetid smell of old rainwater and rotting leaves that had been blown in by the wind. But at the foot of the steps leading outside, I hesitated, realising for the first time that I hadn’t brought an umbrella with me.

I briefly considered turning back to my apartment. But the book of demons from the night before was still unsettling me. Especially what it said Gabriel had done… Not that I believed it for a moment, of course. But I still couldn’t throw off the vaguely worrying feeling that had descended on me since the night before. If I could only see Gabriel in association with something good, I felt that these fears would be allayed. The Millennium Celebrations of 1896 opened in Heroes’ Square and marked a high point in the development of Budapest. I wanted to see Gabriel associated with such a time of progress and hope, in order to dispel the bitter taste in my mouth that had been there since reading the book.

So I trudged up the stairs and out into the rain, not sure how far I’d have to go before I came across the Square. But as soon as I got to the top of the steps, I stopped and stared. Hosok Tere Metro Station is only just across the road from Heroes’ Square, and I could see even from there what an incredible sight the Millennium Monument was. I crossed the road, dodging cars to reach it. The place was deserted — not surprising as the rain had reached torrential levels, and water was inches deep in some places on the stone pavestones, reaching up to my ankles and soaking straight through my shoes and socks. Thunder rumbled dully in the distance as I walked closer to the monument. And as I stood there staring up at it, with icy rain running down my neck and dripping from my hair and the ends of my fingers, I was immensely grateful that I had, after all, ventured from my apartment on this foul-weathered day.

The monument consisted of a towering central column, with two colonnades curving round behind it. I hardly noticed War and Peace in their huge stone chariots, or the Hungarian heroes, leaders, statesmen and monarchs stood within the colonnades beneath, for the crowning glory of it all was the grand 120-feet-high Corinthian column at the centre, upon which Gabriel stood holding St Istvan’s crown in one hand and the apostolic cross in the other, great feathered wings spread behind him. I could feel all my unease and bad feeling from the night before melting away, to be replaced with this calm, deeply spiritual peace, even as rain cascaded down to the ground around me and storm clouds gathered in the sky overhead. It was almost as if the angel was talking to me. He knew that I was there, somehow; I was sure of it. He recognised me even if no one else did.

Water ran down my neck, soaking my shirt beneath my coat as I gazed up at the stone angel, surrounded by statues of Hungarian heroes instead of devils; presiding over an era of progress and advancement rather than bloody, violent war. It was so big; somehow I hadn’t been expecting the monument to tower over me like that. Gabriel himself must have been visible for miles around. Rain dripped from the great hooves and rolling eyes of the huge stone horses at the base of the column and the heroes all gazed down at me with expressions of grim nobility and an almost pained pride…

‘Happy looking bunch, aren’t they?’ a familiar voice remarked behind me, somehow clearly audible over the roar of the approaching storm. ‘It’s a serious business, heroism.’

I turned round sharply, wrenching my neck painfully, to face the man standing mere paces behind me; and then my mouth fell open, amazed at my good luck. ‘Stephomi?’

‘Hello, Gabriel,’ he replied. ‘Come to visit someone?’ He nodded towards the angelic statue. ‘I must say, you picked a fine day for it.’

‘I-’ I broke off for a moment, turned away from the monument and took a step closer towards him. I had to resist the urge to grab him in case he should slip through my fingers once again. ‘I lost your number,’ I said at last. ‘That’s why I didn’t-’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Stephomi interrupted, with a wave of his hand. ‘I see I’m not the only one stupid enough to come out in this weather without an umbrella. I wanted to see the monument too, but… Well, to hell with culture when it’s pissing it down like this. Do you want to go and have a drink somewhere?’

And that was how I met him again. Who would have believed it? We left the heroes to the rain and found a small sorozos just a short walk away from Heroes’ Square. It was unusually busy, full of others who had ducked in to avoid the bad weather, but luckily there were still some free tables at the back near the crackling fires. There were also warm, orange lamps giving the place a cheerful glow, and people talking animatedly over their drinks around us as barmaids edged through the throng with trays of beer balanced on the flats of their palms.

We each ordered a pint of barna and, as we had missed lunch, a dish of smoked knuckles as well as an order of pogacsa, made delicious with crackling, cheese and paprika. And then we talked, thankfully about neutral topics that I did not have to lie about. He almost seemed to be going out of his way not to ask me any personal questions this time, and I was grateful for that. Instead he seemed quite content to talk about himself, and I was more than happy to listen.

The time went quickly; in fact, I was amazed at just how fast the afternoon disappeared. Time moves much slower when I am here in my apartment by myself. At last, Stephomi glanced at his watch and my heart sank as he pointed out how late it was.

‘I’m sorry, Gabriel, we’ve been here for hours and I’ve hardly asked you anything about yourself. It’s one of the unspoken requirements of being a teacher, you know — you have to love the sound of your own voice. Why don’t we move on to a restaurant and you can do the talking this time?’

I hesitated, pushing down that familiar panic. I didn’t want to do the talking. I didn’t know enough about myself to be capable of talking for any great length of time. My name is Gabriel…? I mean, how long does that take to say? And he knew anyway, I had already told him so more than once. It occurred to me that perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to quit now while I was ahead.

‘Er… I’m not sure that I-’ I began.

‘Please, I insist. It’ll be my treat.’

The rush of panic increased. What if he asked me something I couldn’t answer? What if he asked me where I’d grown up or how many siblings I had or something? What if I panicked and ran away again? Get a grip… get a grip…

‘It’s the fish!’ I blurted out.

‘I’m sorry?’ Stephomi asked, looking taken aback.

‘Er… I’m supposed to be looking after someone’s fish,’ I mumbled, my hand automatically going to the fish food in my pocket. ‘I don’t mind, though!’ I added hurriedly. What was I doing? Urghh, why was I talking to him like this?

‘Someone else’s fish?’ Stephomi asked, looking puzzled.

‘Yes! They’re not mine. I just… it’s just a favour… until they get back from holiday-’

‘Gabriel,’ Stephomi said, mercifully cutting me off in mid-flow before any more damage could be done. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but sod the bloody fish. You can go and see them tomorrow; I’m sure they won’t starve overnight. And I can assure you that my conversation is much more stimulating than that of any fish…’ He paused. ‘Although, depending on how much I might have to drink, I can’t make any promises.’