Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

“OK, I see,” says the manager sadly and gets up.

On the stairs more footsteps can be heard. “Are you there, chief?” a woman’s voice asks. The household goods shop manageress comes down. “Chief, it’s cold,” she says to Rácz. “The girls are shivering, poor souls. Can’t something be done about it?”

“Why come to me about it?” Rácz ask with ill-disguised joy at his new title of chief. “Tell the manager. Why me? I’m just a stoker.”

The car parts manager throws his head back in a gesture of contempt. “The manager! When Mr. Donáth was here, we always came here, if something went wrong.” Rácz is confused. He did not foresee things turning out this way. Now there is no going back. He explains the situation to the woman in a few brief sentences. He’d like to help. Of course, he can’t be blamed for the mess Donáth left. It seems to him that stupid old Donáth timed things so that after his departure they’d all start to break down. Anyway, he assures his visitors, it is not that cold yet. What are they going to do when it really starts to freeze? The visitors are dumbfounded. Rácz gets up. He is stocky, a head smaller than either of his visitors, but now he seems like a father to them. Rácz is wondering. Maybe communal services should be called in. They’re equipped to handle this. But they won’t come earlier than a month or two. The visitors are even more hunched with despair. Communal services work all round the city, Rácz stresses. And here, there is a lot of work to do. Everything has to be closed off, the water has to be drained, and so on.

“What was all that talk that everything would be in working order?” the car parts manager complained.

“Well, I didn’t make any promises,” says Rácz, “and Donáth didn’t give a toss. He could promise anything.”

“Right,” says the household goods manageress. “But couldn’t you help us? Maybe you’d only have to poke the pipes clear.” Rácz shrugs. “It might work. But it’s a terrible job draining the water and then pushing the wire through the muck. There’s no guarantee.”

“That’s all right,” she says quickly. “Just give it a try! We’ll have gone crazy from cold by the time those communal services come.”

Rácz clears his throats. “I’m a bit limited in what I can do,” he declares, scrutinizing his visitors’ faces. “Besides it’s not in my job description. It’s an extra.”

The car parts manager makes the first move. Yesterday he had a delivery of several Škoda windscreens, he admits shyly. If the chief is willing, he could bring him a couple. They’re very sought-after and the chief could easily sell them profitably, even if he himself doesn’t have a Škoda himself. Rácz shrugs again. He’s not bothered. The manager quickly leaves to get them, as long as he gets the heating back. He runs up the stairs and bangs the door. Rácz has nothing against the idea. He sits down at the table and massages his sleepy face. Then he looks at the table and sighs. He fixes his gaze on a piece of cheese. He takes a slice and puts it in his mouth. While he chews, he looks at the household goods manageress and tries to imagine her naked.

“It’s quite hot in here,” she remarks when they are alone. “Could you give me a glass of soda?” Rácz jumps up while chewing, but realises he has an erection and sits down again. His mouth full, he lifts his eyebrows and waves his penknife about. “What, you don’t have a soda bottle?” She is astonished. “But that can be sorted, chief. We happen to have put some aside for good friends, the glass ones, of course. They’re so hard to get nowadays. I’ll bring you one, and some gas cartridges. You’ll be able to make your own soda water in this heat, as much as you want. You’ll see how easy it is to work.” Rácz doesn’t drink soda, he never has. He drinks beer, but he shrugs nevertheless. While he swallows the cheese, she runs off, as if kicked up the backside.

Rácz is alone again. The manager does not show up. Instead, Video Urban comes down. Without further ado he sits at the table. “Anything interesting?” he asks Rácz. Rácz nods with his mouth full, swallowing a huge piece with his eyes wide open and the knife lifted high. When he finished, he wipes the knife on his dungarees, closes it and puts it into his pocket. Then he gets up, goes to his cubbyhole, running his tongue round his mouth for remnants of cheese. He pulls down the suitcase and from behind the lining takes out the seven hundred marks that he had found.

“Seven hundred marks,” says Urban when Rácz puts it on the table, which is covered with newspaper.

“How much might that be worth?” Rácz asks.

“Where did you get it?”

“I found it,” Rácz admits.

“Where?” Urban is amazed.

“It was in front of the hotel; in one of the big flower tubs.”

“When?” Urban inquires.

“The day I arrived.”

“Was it the day they raided the currency dealers?”

“How would I know?” Rácz laughs.

“Obviously,” Urban nods, “the raid. I ran downstairs, too. That money belongs to some currency dealer. He hid it in the flower tub so they wouldn’t find it on him. He meant to come back later for it. That’s clear.”

“So?” says Rácz. “Finders keepers. It’s mine now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Video Urban warns him. “When the dealers find out the money is here, they’ll skin you alive. Seven hundred marks is no joke, it’s a nice little stash.”

“How much,” Rácz tries to pin him down.

Urban tries to back down. “Well, it’s not that much, you know, but still…”

“How much?” Rácz insists.

Urban stalls. “I don’t know. I’d give you seven thousand. You want it? Right here and now, cash in hand.”

“Seven thousand?” Rácz sits down in amazement. “That’s not bad,” he thinks. “I’d make up the money I’ve lost because of the manager’s fine.” On the other hand, he’s noticed Urban’s nervousness and a flash of greed in his eyes. Peasant wisdom demands that he wait. “I’ll think about it,” he promises Urban.

“I’ll give you ten thousand!” Urban bids and as proof, shows him a huge wallet stuffed with banknotes.

Now Rácz is quite sure. This city slicker has been trying to fleece him. So he tells him evasively: “Forget it, I’ll think about it. It’s not that simple.”

“As you wish,” Video Urban says and puts his wallet away. “But when the dealers find out who’s got their money, you’re screwed.”

“And who’s going to tell them?” asks Rácz.

“Not me,” Urban stresses, but they have their own people everywhere. “They’re a mafia.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” says Rácz.

“So you’re not selling?” Urban doesn’t give up.

“I told you I’d think about it,” declares Rácz. “If you’re right, I’m screwed anyway, so it’s all the same to me. When I’m ready to sell, I’ll tell you,” he assures him.

“As you wish,” Urban gives up. “I hope you don’t regret it.”

“We’ll see who gets screwed,” Rácz thinks when he’s alone again in the boiler-room.

But he’s not alone for long. Soon the household goods manageress is back. She has a big grin on her face. “You’d never get hold of these, they’re so hard to find.” She puts two crates of soda bottles on the table.

The car parts manager arrives very promptly with his two windscreens. Out of breath with the effort, he looks for somewhere to put down his load. “You’ll make a fifty-per-cent profit on this easily, chief,” he assures Rácz. They both stand there, waiting. Hope shines in their panting faces.

To calm them down, Rácz gets up and lazily gets his tools together.