Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

Sometimes Silvia lies in bed, wondering how to get away from Rácz. She knows that the stoker would never come and fetch her. She is not afraid that one day he might kick the door in, grab her by the arm and drag her back to his place in the Hotel Ambassador. Silvia is afraid of herself. She knows that she will never be able to resist money. Money is what she prizes most: it’s never let her down. That’s how it is and always has been, ever since as a schoolgirl she let older boys touch her for five crowns, so as to top up the modest pocket money her parents gave her. There wasn’t much to touch then, but the boys were excited just by the idea of being allowed to touch her. And today she has made it all the way here. Swan Lake isn’t going to happen. Rácz really doesn’t have to come looking for her. Rácz will calmly and coolly wait for her to come of her own accord. Rácz will wait with a smile.

* * *

One night Rácz wakes up on his bench. He can hear a quiet rustling. He lies for a while, listening, and then he gets up, grabs a poker and goes after the noise. Ever since he’s kept money and goods in his cubbyhole, he’s been careful. He’s had bars put in everywhere; Ďula found a welder. When he enters the dark corridor, two unknown fat men rush him. The fight doesn’t last long. The panting intruders stand no chance against the fast-moving, square-cut stoker who fights viciously and mercilessly in defence of his property. He punches both fat men to the ground. They are stretched out on the floor with their eyes closed. He ties them up tightly with telephone wire and with an enormous effort drags them to the boiler-room. There he gets a better look at them. He knows their faces: they’re gypsies from the mall. He slaps them harshly to bring them back to life. They stop pretending to be dead and look at him out of the corner of their eyes. The stoker begins with an interrogation. He menaces them with a white-hot poker. What were they looking for here?

One of the gypsies licks his lips. They’re good gypsies, they were coming back from the Ambassador bar and lost their way. They got lost.

Yes, they somehow got confused, the other gypsy joins in. Where are they anyway?

Rácz pulls the poker from the furnace and casually runs it over the gypsy’s leather jacket. The leather scorches and smokes.

“Ouch, what are you doing?” the gypsy shouts. A smell of burning fills the boiler-room.

“It won’t hurt the jacket,” says Rácz. “But it’ll hurt you.”

Yes, they came to steal, Berki admits. They’d heard that the stoker was hiding a lot of money, gold, jewellery, and other nice useful things. Berki had no idea what had got into them. But now that they’d confessed honestly, the stoker ought to let them go.

Who told them that Rácz had gold and foreign currency hidden away? Rácz is livid.

Unfortunately, they can’t answer that question. Nobody told them. Everyone says so, though. Everybody respects Rácz. They all consider him a rich and powerful man. They’re all for him. Berki can’t understand how they, the gypsies, could ever have done such a thing.

Šípoš, the other gypsy, says that the only thing he can say in his defence is that he has a swinish character.

Both gypsies start to swear that they’ll never steal again as long as they live. They’ll even give up hustling. They’ll both find work as soon as he lets them go and will start to live an honest life. Berki will even go to night school as well as work.

They fall silent under the threat of the poker. Rácz sadistically enjoys their fear. He is touchy about his property and the wealth that he has acquired with his brains and hands. He knows how to step up his activity and increase his wealth. The boiler-room is too small for him. He has to rise to the surface of the earth and penetrate the circles round the Hotel Ambassador. Stoking is now a hindrance to him. Rácz needs to find someone to do the work for him. By hook or by crook.

Both gypsies agree enthusiastically. What he says makes sense. When they find out that Rácz has chosen them to do his work, they panic. Šípoš has bad lungs and kidneys. He’s not allowed to lift heavy objects. Berki has problems with his head and spine. He often has fits. Especially when working.

Rácz screams at them. He lifts his poker. The gypsies fall silent. They agree. Why doesn’t kind sir let them go? They’ll say goodbye to their wives and children, pack their things and come back in no time at all. Rácz snorts menacingly. Do the gypsies take Rácz for a fool? Could he wait? No! No tearful scenes, goodbyes, etcetera! They’ll stay here from right now. They’ll get a quick training course, and off to work. If they break anything, or forget anything, Rácz will torture them to death with a red-hot iron. For them he will invent tortures that nobody has ever thought of. They’d better not play games with him, or they’ll take whole days to die. Their howls and groans of pain will be heard in the hotel!

The gypsies are afraid of pain. They’re quiet now.

Rácz knows that none of their clansmen will look for them. They won’t be missed by anyone. Everybody will think that they got homesick and took off eastwards, to see relatives in a gypsy camp, to guzzle wood alcohol and sit with their hats on at a table in the middle of a busy camp. Gypsies know all about that. Their clansmen in that camp won’t help them; they’d never guess that Berki and Šípoš were being held prisoner less than a hundred yards from the mall.

Rácz promises them a little pocket money, if they obey. He unties them. The gypsies stand and rub their wrists. They’re afraid of the explosive stoker; he can easily overcome them. They’re clumsy and sluggish. They shouldn’t have eaten so much. Rácz doesn’t waste time. He immediately starts training his slaves intensively. The valves must not be touched. They are only to stoke the furnaces. The pressure must not go over fifteen bars. “This far, look.” Rácz will come every day to check on them. He’ll bring them food in the morning. It will have to last till the next day. But the gypsies needn’t worry, there will be enough, and it will taste good. The lavatory’s at the end of the hall. Maybe they’ll lose a bit of weight, which would be good for them. They’d better not try to escape. There are bars everywhere. The chimney is narrow.

Rácz shows them how to stoke and how to remove the ash. He’s proud of his ingenuity. Rácz is smart: fixing things like this! Only now, when the stinking boiler-room is no longer hanging round his neck, only now can he show what he’s made of. A whimsical mood comes over him. He shouts rebukes at the gypsies and the next instant smiles benevolently at them. He shakes his fist at them and the next minute offers them spirits. Scotch. There is only a drop left, the gypsies can keep it. He lets them know: if they obey Rácz, he’ll treat them fairly. If they try to screw him, they’ll never get out of here.

It’s dawn. Rácz is no longer sleepy. He pulls his suitcase out and slowly packs items of everyday use. The gypsies mutter unhappily and fearfully. They find the shovels too heavy. The wheels of the wheelbarrow squeak unbearably.

* * *

Rácz moves into the hotel first thing in the morning. The receptionist gives him a suite with a river view. Rácz likes it there. The bed is soft and smells clean. Rácz lies down, but keeps his feet, still shod in work boots, on the carpet. After a moment’s relaxation, he takes off his dungarees, which are covered in coal dust. He takes a shower. Then he puts on new clothes that he’s brought from downstairs. He has a loose-fitting, fashionably loud orange and green tracksuit. The jacket has AMERICAN FOOTBALL printed on the back. The fabric is shiny and nice to touch. The leather-laced Adidas that reach halfway up his calves smell seductively new. They’re a couple of sizes too big, but the Italian who gave them to him in exchange for heating told him it was fashionable to wear oversize shoes. That’s fashion for you. Rácz gets up and goes to the mirror. The hair on his spherical head has grown a bit. His big ears have a disturbing effect. He presses them to his head with both hands. He listens to the sound of his blood for a moment. It occurs to him that just six months ago he was still driving a tractor over his native fields. Old Kišš should see Rácz now. For a moment he feels he hates the butcher, his daughter and all.