Peter Pišt'anek - Rivers of Babylon

Lenka smiles. “Certainly,” she says. She’s sure that one day Rácz will find a girl like that. She takes the glass of champagne and drinks. She likes it. She doesn’t object when Rácz tops up her glass, touching her shoulder.

Rácz’s chat-up is beginning to make Urban want to throw up. Who is that oaf pretending to be? What sort of idiotic theatre act is this? Is the stoker getting back at Urban by seducing his girl? But Urban is convinced that sooner or later he will be rewarded for his helpfulness and patience and will have Lenka. Why else would he spend so much time with her? And what was she saying just now? Like brother and sister! The silly pseudo-intellectual goose! As if she hadn’t noticed the way Urban looked at her, how eagerly his entire body reacted to every single accidental contact with hers.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks Lenka. Lenka takes her eyes off Rácz’s face. “No,” she says, “I don’t feel like it. I’m fine sitting here.” Urban pours himself champagne and downs it in one.

“Don’t you have anything stronger?” he asks the stoker.

“Go to the bar and order anything you like. Tell them to put it on my tab,” he adds.

Urban gets up. He can still pay for a couple of shorts. He turns round and heads for the door. Rácz intercepts him outside the lounge.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, his arms spread wide. “You’re my guest, so the drinks are on me. At least, don’t insult me!” Rácz is smiling. “Are you angry because I’m chatting to her? She’s not your girlfriend. If she was, I wouldn’t even look at her. For Rácz, a friend’s girl is off limits. Rácz doesn’t need them.” Rácz grabs Urban by the shoulder and with a broad gesture shows him the interior of the restaurant, the band and the dance floor in the middle of the room. “Look,” he says, “there are plenty of women here. Pick one up and have fun. Eat, drink, and put it on Rácz’s tab! I can afford it. Just don’t act the insulted lover!” Rácz lets him go and pushes him back into the room. “She’s not your girlfriend, or your sister,” he says. “And I like her. She came with you, but she doesn’t belong to you.”

Urban waves his hand dismissively. “All right,” he says, and backs down. Wanda the Trucker grins at him from the bar. Her long indigo-black legs are crossed, and she sends him a signal that is hard to resist.

“Somebody over there’s waving at you,” Rácz tells him. “Go for her and have something nice.” The stoker checks his watch. “Welcome in the New Year,” he suggests. He invited her only for Urban’s sake.

Rácz returns to the lounge. He pours Lenka and himself champagne. “Urban’s a nice lad,” he says. He smiles. “We’ve known each other quite some time. He’s been a bit on edge lately. It’s his work. Don’t you know what he does?” The stoker is surprised. “How shall I put it?”

Lenka listens with growing horror and disgust.

“It would disgust me, too,” Rácz adds finally. “You need to have a strong stomach for that.” Rácz is a respectable businessman. Sometimes he bends the law, true, but only because the laws are still too strict. As soon as things change, Rácz will have no reason to get round the law. Where would we be if everyone observed idiotic laws and regulations? We’d still be climbing trees. Rácz looks at his watch: a few minutes to twelve. He looks at Lenka. “Lenka,” he says. “May I call you Lenka?”

Lenka smiles. “Yes.”

“Do you trust me?” Rácz asks.

“I don’t understand,” Lenka admits.

Rácz is embarrassed. It’ll soon be midnight, New Year. Rácz would like to invite Lenka to see the fireworks high up, where the view is great, from the window of his suite. It’s right on the top floor. He’d like to know if she’d come up with him, or does she think he’s just like Video Urban?

Lenka shakes her head. No, she knows Rácz is different. She’d like to see the fireworks.

“Lift for the boss!” shouts the receptionist, when he sees the stoker and Lenka leave the restaurant and walk back towards the lifts. Rácz is carrying a bottle of chilled sparkling wine and two tall glasses. They get into the lift. They are quiet on the way up. Rácz assesses Lenka with his steely eyes.

“Well, this is where I live,” says Rácz, opening the door to his suite and turning on the light. Lenka looks around the living room. Rácz draws the curtain. “I think we ought to turn the light off,” he notes. “Do you mind, Lenka?”

Lenka says she doesn’t. Soon it’s midnight. Through the walls of the hotel come the thunderous roar of champagne corks popping and shouts from the restaurant and bar. Rácz with a practised move uncorks the bottle and fills both glasses with white champagne foam. They clink glasses. Rácz turns the light off. Across the river the fireworks start to explode. Bright points of light soar up into the black sky, are reflected on the surface of the river, and then go out.

“It’s so beautiful,” says Lenka.

“Do you like it?” asks Rácz.

“Yes,” says Lenka.

“So this is where you live?” Lenka asks, when the fireworks end and the stoker turns on the light.

“Yes,” says Rácz. “More champagne?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” says Lenka, “but just a little.”

Rácz thinks for a while whether to say it or not, but can’t resist. “One day all this hotel will belong to me,” he declares firmly, but a little shyly.

“Really?” Lenka asks.

“Yes,” says Rácz. Lenka will soon see. Rácz will buy it — everything, lock, stock, and barrel!

“But a hotel like this costs a lot of money,” remarks Lenka, feeling the champagne going to her head.

“Money’s no problem,” Rácz states. Rácz has plenty of money. He’s no third-rate hustler like Video Urban.

“Shouldn’t we go downstairs?” asks Lenka.

“Of course!” Rácz says, and collects himself. He stops fussing around looking for his wallet.

“I’d like to go home now,” Lenka admits in the lobby. From the open doors of the restaurant comes a monotonous mix of music, conversation, yelling, and clinking of glasses.

“So soon?” asks the stoker. “We haven’t even managed to have a good talk. I never showed you how everyone here does what I tell them.” Rácz is clearly disappointed.

Lenka smiles wearily. “Thank you for a very pleasant evening,” she says. “And thanks for the fireworks.”

Rácz waves his arm. “It’s nothing, my pleasure entirely. I’ll call you a taxi,” he offers.

Lenka demurs: no, it is not too far for her to walk home. She thanks him again.

Rácz won’t take no for an answer. The streets are full of strange people. The taxi will take her right to where she lives, Rácz promises. There’ll be no danger. Rácz orders the liveried porter, “A taxi for the lady! Right away!”

The stoker sees Lenka to the cloakroom and helps her with her coat. They both leave the hotel. The night is freezing cold. The taxi pulls up noiselessly and waits.

“Will we see each other again?” asks Rácz.

Lenka smiles. “I don’t know.”

“I’d be glad to see you,” says Rácz. He loses heart.

Lenka takes a piece of paper and a Chinese fountain pen from her handbag. She writes a few digits. “This is my phone number,” she tells him. “Call me some time. Maybe I’ll have some free time.” She gives him the piece of paper.

“Yes,” says Rácz. He will certainly phone. He folds the paper several times and reverently puts it in his breast pocket.

Lenka suddenly realises that Rácz has been standing out there wearing only a light dinner jacket. “You’ll catch cold,” she says. “You ought to go inside.”

“What? A cold?” The stoker laughs. He has experienced far colder weather. On military manœuvres. In Boletice and Jince. Everyone was going mad, but Rácz was laughing. Rácz takes off his dinner jacket and unbuttons his shirt before Lenka can object. He shouts, “Look! Rácz can take it; he’s a man! Cold doesn’t bother Rácz! When he is out with a girl like Lenka, he doesn’t even care if it is a hundred below! Rácz is all on fire anyway!”