Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

Urban shows up as well. “Well, how is it going? Did you get your camera? Sit down, why stand?”

“Thanks, I’ll stand,” Urban mutters. He has the camera.

“And what are you going to do with it?” asks Rácz.

“All kinds of things,” says Urban. “Make money on weddings, christenings, graduations. Do you realise how much money people are willing to spend to see their own boring mugs?”

Rácz shrugs. No, Rácz has never been interested in that sort of nonsense. Still, he’d like to know how much Urban spent on that toy. Why won’t Urban sit down?

Urban sits down with an expression of pain on his face.

“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” says Rácz. “Must be a week, at least. How much did you fork out on that new toy?”

“A lot,” says Urban. Here, Urban could easily sell it for fifty thousand. But in Germany you could buy it for a month’s salary. Even less.

“And how much did you pay for it?” asks Rácz.

“Enough,” Urban says evasively.

“Just asking.” Rácz backs off; he’s not really that interested. It’s Urban’s business. As long as it was worth it.

Urban has some Austrian schillings.

“How many?” asks Rácz.

“A thousand.” “I’ll give you twenty-eight hundred,” Rácz offers. Urban agrees. “See how times change,” Rácz laughs, counting the cash. “A month ago you’d have been buying from me. That’s life. One day up, next day down,” Rácz philosophizes. A sentimental mood comes over him. He grows sad. He summons the waiter and to cheer himself up orders Ďula a litre of cold water and a huge fried schnitzel.

Closing time is four in the morning. Rácz and Silvia take the lift upstairs to the stoker’s suite. Sometimes, when Rácz is too busy, he asks Ďula in and, while taking his shoes off, tells him what to do the next day. Ďula has plenty of spare time. He’s single and also lives in the hotel. He would even sleep with Rácz for that kind of money. Sometimes Rácz is tired and falls asleep the moment he hits the bed. Then Silvia undresses him and covers him up. This is not out of love; if Rácz got cold, he might catch pneumonia and die, and Silvia’s source of income would dry up. Now things have gone so far that the whole economy around the Hotel Ambassador would crash. The foreign exchange rate would drop sharply, or rise vertiginously, the price of gold would change, and so on. That is why Silvia covers the exhausted Rácz. The experienced prostitute realises that when so much power is concentrated in a single person’s hands, he becomes irreplaceable. And she doesn’t want to screw in hotel rooms and parked cars any more. She’s used to a comfortable and peaceful life now. She wallows in bed in the morning. Rácz has been up for a long time and Silvia can hear his imperious voice in the corridors when she opens her eyes. She has breakfast in bed. Sometimes she watches a video, and sometimes satellite TV. She prefers MTV, a pop music station. Rácz is allergic to MTV. If he happens to come into the suite when MTV is on, he angrily turns it off. He switches over to Eurosport. He can stand motionless, watching a rough wrestling match for hours. He knows all the fighters by name. His favourite is Hulk Hogan. Rácz sometimes grabs Ďula and tries out wrestling holds on him. Ďula often remains on the floor without moving, his eyes glazed over. Silvia has to revive him with a spray from the soda water bottle.

“Oh, you really let me have it this time, boss!” Ďula shouts with servile cheerfulness, feeling the back of his neck and getting off the floor. “You could easily go and join those guys on TV! You could have beaten them all! Ha, ha, ha! You’re so strong!”

Rácz is proud of his strength. A life of luxury hasn’t yet managed to soften his muscles steeled by years of hard work. Rácz could floor the lot of them! He demonstrates it: with one punch he knocks the stuffing out of the door and then punches through it. Silvia and Ďula applaud.

When Rácz and Ďula leave, Silvia reads magazines. Sometimes she gets bored and goes shopping. She even takes Edita along, so that she has someone to envy the money Rácz gives her. Sometimes she buys her a trifle and secretly enjoys it when Edita gets resentful. “You could have gone down to the boiler-room instead of me when we were freezing cold,” Silvia teases her. She knows that this isn’t true; the square-cut stoker had noticed her long before he got the idea of shutting the valves and began his dazzling career. When they get home from shopping, Edita stops sulking. Her nostrils flare in anticipation. Silvia lies down on the couch in the living room of the suite and lets Edita take her boots, fur coat, sweater, panties, everything off. Naked as a tapeworm and with a domineering look in her cold eyes, she lets herself be caressed and excited. Edita also undresses. She puts her lips, swollen with excitement, over Silvia’s moist and open crotch.

“Ow!” Silvia hisses and, with her lips angrily clenched, she slaps Edita on the cheek. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she says, frightened, then embraces her friend. With gentle caresses she tries to erase the red mark her five fingers have left on Edita’s face.

* * *

“You should apologize to the boss, like I told you last time,” Ďula advises the manager during one of his inspections of the icy office. “He might forgive you.”

“Me apologize?” The manager leaps up and his ski trousers swish. “On my knees? Never!”

“I don’t care,” says Ďula calmly, chewing a piece of American gum. “It’s too late now anyway. It’d do bugger-all for you. I just wanted to get you worked up. You’re so funny when you get upset. It’s all your own doing. Nobody else is to blame. You were acting the strong man, but you didn’t have what it takes. Why bark, when you can’t bite?” Ďula turns up the collar of his leather jacket and sits down next to the red-hot embers of a fire in the middle of the office. “Look at me,” he tells the manager. “I managed to adapt. I want an easy good life. But you just won’t take advice. You could have had peace and quiet by now. The boss would have let you keep your job. You could have had tons of money. The boss isn’t mean.”

“Boss! Boss! Boss!” The manager gets livid. “Not so long ago you were kissing my arse.”

“You can’t criticize me!” Ďula shoots back and gets up. “Look at yourself and look at me. I just want to live! And when I try to help you, you insult me!”

“I don’t need help!” The manager shouts and bursts into tears. Ďula shrugs and leaves. The manager gets out of his tent and sits at his desk. He wonders if his former driver might possibly be right. But not on his knees! He desperately thinks what he can do to save himself. Maybe no one can help him now. Rácz is adamant, vengeful, and vicious.

The manager reaches for his accordion, picks it up and draws the air in. Ever since he flung it at the window, only the bass notes have been working. Deep plaintive notes are heard in the cold office. The manager plays a romantic melody and tears flow down his cheeks. His wife and her lover are probably sitting down to Sunday dinner now. The table is set and the kitchen smells of food: a schnitzel, potatoes and cucumber salad. Or beef in cream sauce. Yes, the manager’s wife is a good cook. Her lover will lick his chops. The manager can’t remember when he last ate, it’s been so long. His stock of packet soups and tins has long run out. He’s drunk all his tea. Someone must have taken the fuse out of the fuse box, as there’s no power in the office. The toilet is locked. The door handle has been removed. Fortunately, the water is still running in his sink. Nobody has turned it off. The manager lets it drip a bit so that the pipes don’t freeze. He can urinate in the sink. For anything more he has to wait until night. Then he goes to relieve himself furtively in the dark courtyard in front of the boiler-room. But for the last few days he’s been spared that ordeal. He’s not eating. He drinks boiled water and imagines it’s tea. The used tea bags in the skip are no good, as the waiters use them three times in a row. They bring a guest a cup of tea with the teabag already in it. They throw them out when there’s nothing at all left in them. The manager’s stomach is now used to being empty. He can contentedly ponder various dishes and is not likely to go mad with hunger.