Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

“Yes,” says Rácz, “it was me. I didn’t recognize your brother, Mr. Kišš. If I had, I’d have given him a discount.”

Kišš still can’t believe it. Ďula has to confirm that his boss, Rácz, is the most powerful man around the Hotel Ambassador. Everybody has to do what he says. Even when Kišš finally believes him, he still incredulously shakes his head. He carefully puts the cognac in his bureau. He’ll drink it later. He won’t let anyone else have a single drop. He puts a half-empty bottle of pear brandy on the table and pours drinks. They drink. Rácz, used to cognac and fine Scotch, starts to cough.

“You must be wondering how your pig, cow, and horse are doing,” Kišš remarks.

Rácz is not in the least interested: he’s forgotten that he’d given the butcher his animals to look after. He finally gets up and follows the old man into the barn and the pig pen.

“They get good fodder,” says Kišš. “They’re warm here, too.” They didn’t have it so good at Rácz’s old place. The horse does best of all. The butcher regularly puts on riding breeches and boots and gallops like the wind over the fields. Riding is healthy, and it looks good. “The gentry used to ride,” explains Kišš. Kišš belongs to the local gentry. He knows that a riding horse would be more appropriate, but it couldn’t take his bloated body.

Rácz’s horse is a giant draught gelding: it can carry Kišš. Finally, Kišš concedes, Rácz is now one of the family, too. He too belongs to the local gentry. Kišš has heard a lot about Rácz from his brother. None of them had ever done so well. Rácz will come back to the village and will sit at the gentry’s table. Kišš will be proud of him, his future son-in-law. They’ll go everywhere together and Kišš will introduce him to everyone. “This is Rácz, my son-in-law.”

Rácz is now utterly bored with this. He lets the fat butcher blether on in the dark humid pigsty. He goes into the yard and hungrily breathes in fresh air. When old Kišš joins him outside, he tells him: “Well, big deal: if it makes you happy, keep the horse.” Kišš trembles with joy. “And as for the pig,” Rácz adds, “we have to butcher it.”

“When,” asks Kišš.

“Why not now?” says Rácz. “We’ll invite all the family and friends for the evening. Let everyone see I’m here.”

“Good idea,” says Kišš. “Right away. I’ll just call in some people to help. You can go to the house. Keep Eržika happy. We’ll manage all right. Off you go.”

The news of Rácz’s arrival spreads through the village. Soon Uncle Endre shows up.

“Why didn’t you drop by?” he asks Rácz. “You know where I live.”

Rácz says nothing. He shrugs. Kišš saves the situation.

“No need to get so worked up,” says the butcher. “We kept him here, as a matter of fact. The boy wanted to go, but I said, ‘Don’t, he’ll come here anyway.’ Don’t take offence, Endre, now we’re as good as family.”

They drink pear brandy. Endre softens.

“I just wanted…” he mumbles.

“Will you help us?” Kišš asks, pointing to the pig that had been let out to get the blood circulating. The pig grunts and digs its snout into the frozen ground. It can sense that something is not quite right.

* * *

Rácz sits in the living room, looking at his hands. Eržika sits in a chair opposite him, blushing and looking at the carpet. In a corner at the back of the room Mrs. Kišš sits in an armchair, smiling slyly, knitting. The window looks out onto the courtyard. The glass is covered with hoar-frost. Kišš, Endre and a couple of neighbours can be seen vainly trying to catch the pig.

“So, tell us,” Mrs. Kišš addresses Rácz, “what’s city life like?”

Rácz shrugs, and looks at Eržika. “Fine,” he says.

“They say everyone does as you say,” she remarks.

“They do,” he agrees.

Silence reigns again, interrupted only by the clicking of Mrs Kišš’s knitting needles and the shouting from the yard.

“Bugger,” Ďula curses, when the pig bites him.

“And how about the city girls?” Mrs. Kišš asks. “Are they beautiful?”

Eržika blushes. Rácz shrugs.

“I don’t know.” Rácz doesn’t get time to look at girls.

Mrs. Kišš nods with satisfaction and goes on clicking her needles.

The living room is filled with the desperate squealing of the captured pig. The men, frozen stiff, are yelling.

“And what about you, Eržika?” Mrs. Kišš turns to her daughter. “Don’t you want to ask him about anything? Aren’t you interested?” Eržika blushes deep red. “And where do you live?” Mrs. Kišš asks. “Is there a dormitory?”

Rácz coughs and fidgets. Rácz lives right in the hotel.

“Isn’t that expensive?” Mrs. Kišš asks.

“No,” Rácz shakes his head. “It’s free.”

“So it’s like a dormitory,” says Mrs. Kišš.

“Sort of,” Rácz concedes after momentary consideration.

Rácz’s pig darts under the window, cheerfully dragging the rope tied round its neck.

“Up the Virgin Mary’s cunt!” Kišš curses in Hungarian, running and stumbling in the snow.

“And who do you live with?” Mrs. Kišš asks. “Do you have a room-mate?”

Rácz shakes his head. No, Rácz lives alone.

“Good heavens!” Mrs. Kišš says when the clock strikes half past ten. “They’ll be repeating yesterday’s soap opera. Eržika, turn on the television!”

Rácz’s pig decides to sell its life dearly. It escapes to the other side of the yard and crawls under a tool-shed. When the men try to push it out with bean-poles, it squeals and runs away, taking the tool-shed with it for a few metres. The moving tool-shed gets Rácz so interested in the action that he presses his face to the window.

The soap opera shows a scene in a kitchen. A man explains to a woman that he can’t marry her. The actress cries hysterically.

“Did you miss me?” Rácz asks Eržika barely audibly.

Eržika shrugs. She doesn’t know. She’s watching the soap opera. Mrs. Kišš’s needles click. The pig squeals desperately. The men, tired and cold, curse. The frantic actress whimpers.

* * *

In the evening, the Kišš house is crowded with people. It’s packed and noisy. Kišš drags in a demijohn of pear brandy. Everybody has to drink it. Rácz gets boisterous. They seat Eržika next to him. Everyone looks them over with amiable smiles and insinuating insolence mirrored in their faces. The rough, badly distilled spirits tighten Rácz’s mouth into a grimace. He gets up.

“Where’s my driver?” he asks.

They all fall silent, overawed. Ďula, covered in muck, runs in from the kitchen, with a chunk of meat stuck on his fork.

“Have you been drinking?” Rácz asks him.

Everybody turns and looks at Ďula.

“No,” says Ďula. People look at Rácz.

“Are you sure?” Rácz responds in a stern voice.

“Honest to God!” Ďula affirms.

“Then you’ll go to the tavern and buy supplies.” The stoker orders three boxes of sparkling wine, three cases of red and three cases of white wine. “And get a couple of cases of Coke. And three cartons of Marlboros. Got it?”

Ďula nods and starts to looks for the minibus keys. Kišš protests with insulted dignity. Kišš can afford to treat his guests himself. Rácz, his future son-in-law, need not spend his money.

Rácz dismisses the objection. Rácz is richer and it’s his celebration. It’s his party , as they say in the city. He’s come back home after a long absence. He’s come back a success. Rácz will treat his kith and kin. “And that’s settled.”

“And where’s the tavern?” Ďula interrupts, embarrassed.