Parallel Stories: A Novel (21 page)

I just want to tell Uncle Józsi right away, he offered quickly, but did not explain what he wanted to tell his boss; instead, he approached the ticket-taker’s table with such cautious steps it was as if with his locomotion he was already revealing to her something very meaningful and particularly confidential.

He was afraid of this female. In the circumstances, of course, he pretended to seek her graces.

The luminous ticket taker, who each morning applied thick layers of baby cream to her face, did not even bother to look up from her crocheting. She could not be easily swept off her feet with this transparently mysterious behavior. The crochet pattern book lay on the table before her; she was counting the number of stitches on the appropriate diagram. Her fingers kept working fast, and the counting made her lips move too. Crocheting was not some thoughtless entertainment. She worked for marketers who took the merchandise to the countryside. When she reached a round number that was easy to remember, she quickly looked up.

Didn’t you see him go over to the steam, my dear Jani. He walked right in front of you. And you’re not allowed in there.

Is that right, the boy asked dumbly. I didn’t notice him going to the steam.

You probably fell asleep again, Jani. What are you doing again at night.

From the moment he laid eyes on her, the young man had hated this woman the way he hated his own mother. But now he couldn’t protest, he couldn’t say he hadn’t fallen asleep and did see the chief attendant go to the steam section. No matter how he hoped, how he tried to be smart, his lies never managed to cover over his other lies or never fitted together properly. A small error always managed to slip in, or something got stuck out of place and made him vulnerable. And this female seemed to get her kicks by constantly observing him. She was keeping an eye on everybody. To divert her irritating attention, he leaned across the table and lowered his voice to a whisper.

Will you look at what those three are doing there.

But the fat woman did not look where the new attendant wished her to look, and instead shot a sharp glance directly at him. As if to say slightingly, well, look at him, what drivel he’s unloading again.

And don’t bother me just now, Janika, she said aloud, you can see I’m counting.

She was indeed counting, her small narrow lips, painted bright red, were moving, though it would have taken no effort to leave off counting.

The truth was, she could see right through this young man and felt that if she did not set him straight, he might get her and the others into a lot of trouble. They had a hunch why he had been transferred here in such haste. Nobody had asked the management for a new attendant, and it didn’t help that the chief was dead set against hiring one. No parting excuse occurred now to the new attendant that would let him quietly retreat; he kept standing helplessly in front of the woman whose goal was exactly to have him stand like that. Let him stay here, with her. He shouldn’t be allowed to go to the cloakroom. Occasionally he still managed to go over there and help the two younger women; they too couldn’t stand the ticket taker, this Rózsika, for trying to lord it over them.

He did not understand this system at all. It seemed to him that in this establishment, this woman had more authority than the chief cabin attendant. And once he realized this, it was as though he were carried along by a warmer feeling for her, in addition to his hatred; maybe he should be closer to her. Sometimes one is ashamed of such strong feelings. Because he’d like to rub elbows with the powerful ones but without drawing attention to it, so people wouldn’t envy him for this little advantage. He wanted to make this woman understand his unusual position, which, come to think of it, meant an equality in their ranks. After all, he too had special assignments, giving him a more important role than his official position indicated.

If he were hindered, however, he wouldn’t be able to carry out his important task properly.

You people out there in Kispest, Janika, probably keep pigs too, said the woman unexpectedly when she stopped her counting. Make those tasty garlic sausages, don’t you.

Please, just take a look, Aunt Rózsika, over there, look what they’re doing, the young man insisted, and because of his impatience, he no longer whispered. Leaning all the way across the table, he spoke directly into the shiny face of the woman, who relentlessly went on crocheting.

And this was indeed one of those not too frequent moments when the three men unceremoniously abandoned themselves to the tenderness they felt for one another.

They knew exactly what they were doing. They were also aware of the limits in their mutual contact. For the outside observer, of course, all this had a disquieting effect.

André was still crouching in his barely gathered bathrobe, his hands holding Ágost’s knees, but he did not wish to inflict more pain. On the contrary, he was about to do something very pleasant. His eyes had welled up in his helpless anger, he wanted to stifle his sadistic emotions, beat back his fury. He had come up with the silly prank to get Ágost to be here with them instead of going to the Sports Baths with Gyöngyvér. Of course Viola hadn’t sent a message or arranged anything with them. She hadn’t because, though she came for a swim every morning with her husband, there was never more time than to say a quick good-morning and, on rare occasions, to exchange a few innocent, cheerful words. André was left with nothing but total humility. With the bowing of his head before the other man’s pain of unknown origin, which could be an illness, weakness of soul, blissful torment of a new love, or an unhappy old love, or something entirely different. And to bow his head even if he understood nothing and had to fathom, terrified, his own treacherous intentions.

André had a penchant for biting sarcasm that he found difficult to restrain when it came to Ágost, because he himself did not understand the whole business. He had no sense of humor, without which sadism really cannot be understood, neither one’s own nor anybody else’s. How was he to understand, on a more profound level, this peculiar torment, this depression; how to submerge in it, how to talk about it with the other, if he could not ward it off himself no matter what method he used. At the same time, he saw that the process was unstoppable; no personal sacrifice would bring it to a halt. Ágost was sinking, falling, and it would take long weeks before they could pull him back again from the depths.

At such times a crude stubbornness settled in his sensitive face; utter rejection. Maybe that was his true countenance. As if he regarded everything around him, people and objects, as worthless, disgusting and contemptible. His deep-set eyes narrowed completely. André looked at him with aversion; though Ágost was no longer fleeing from him, he knew he should surrender himself to this unknown and awful danger. No, maybe he should tear it apart, bite it off. Except there was no place to begin at, because the danger had no substance. He only knew what to do with things he could consider objects. And this was the characteristic he least liked in himself. This constant desire to act. For which the other two men often laughed at him, because all three of them had to remain at a reasonable distance from their own actions. But still. With his palms, he squeezed Ágost’s knees together again. He was struggling not to do anything violent, bad, or painful, and to allow no sarcasm to creep into what he was doing. Luckily, he couldn’t say a word. And like a supplicant who not only demonstrates humility but begs for mercy, he suddenly placed his forehead on the closed knees. He was not completely alone with this movement of his; Hans was also doing his job. With his large hand, he ruffled Ágost’s hair again, grabbed it and pulled it down until it reached the bowed head of André crouching before them. Ágost did not resist, he gave in, as if to say, go ahead, do it, it makes no difference to me one way or the other what you do. And when his forehead touched the top of André’s head, Hans added his own white-haired head to the other two.

His slightly wet, gray stubble had a light scent, while André’s thick dark hair had a powerful one. They remained like this for quite some time, with involuntarily closed eyes. They were enjoying, each in his own way, their warm breathing. In this too André was the strongest, he was practically panting. His breath was permeated with the raw scent of his gums, tongue, and palate. Hans instantly joined in the panting, taking over André’s rhythm, he played with it, enlarged it, clowned with it. As if to say to Ágost, you see, this one is really like an animal, but he still loves you. And with that, putting his other arm across André’s neck, he clasped and held the three of them together.

Hans’s breath had a sweet fragrance.

They were sitting at the end of the corridor in the darkness of their closed eyes, each in his own darkness.

In the illuminated hothouse silence, nothing could be heard for a long time save the wind and the splashing rain.

The only problem with these delicacies, Janika, piped up the fat woman near the entrance, slowly and softly, as if telling herself a story while crocheting, is that they have a strong smell. That’s the problem. And you can brush your teeth all you want. Of course, I also like it, there’s no better breakfast than head cheese; you can season it with a little vinegar, still it comes back from your stomach. The doctor says that one’s mouth stinks only because of bad teeth, but I say it stinks from the stomach too. And in places with high humidity, like here for instance, you can sense everything more strongly in the air.

She looked up for a second. She saw that the young man had misunderstood her, turned away, and was already becoming red from the neck up. She didn’t wait for the blush to overtake the young man completely because she wanted to spare him her own lustfully gloating look.

I don’t know how you people over in the Gellért did things, she continued, looking at her crocheting, but here we know what to do and we stick to the rules. Our guests are pretty keen on it too, you’ll see. They notice everything, and I mean everything, and they also have something to say about everything. If they’re convinced that the water in the men’s pool is at least two degrees warmer than it should be, then it’s two degrees warmer. Another might tell you that today it was colder. Warmer or colder, I let them say whatever they want. It’s all the same to me. If they want me to, I can take the water’s temperature ten times a day. You do it for them, show it to them, because you never know who is who. Later you’ll find out, believe me; you’ll know exactly who is who. Unfortunately, that’s the way it is, Janika. I’m only telling you; don’t argue with them. Well, will you look at this, you’ll say, it’s really colder, you’re right, and that makes them happy. Or they’re happy because it’s warmer. Just make sure you do things that keep them happy. You don’t have to let them do everything they want, but most things they want to do, you can let them. You, of course, don’t know it yet, you can’t have that much experience, on account of your age, but believe me, people are similar, very similar, but they’re also very different. Sometimes we play on how similar they are, sometimes on how different, you can’t learn more than this, Janika, not even from Uncle Józsi, believe me. She stopped for a moment, and since there was no response, neither questions nor objections, not a peep, she added almost apologetically, that’s right, Janika, there are many kinds of people, no end to the variety.

She wasn’t impatient.

She waited for him to process everything properly and when she looked up she noted happily that she had managed to sidetrack the young man for quite a time. The new attendant was standing before her, all red, nervously switching from one foot to the other, almost kicking them to the side, as if he couldn’t control himself or his limbs were about to fall off. Actually, she liked him. He was a pretty nice boy. She liked his wide peasant face, his protruding cheekbones, now in tremulous motion, his milky skin, his angrily knitted brows. She pitied him a little for being so shiftless.

Motherless. That’s what popped into her mind first, and afterward she could not get rid of this conclusion.

Well, why don’t you go about your business, Janika, she added firmly. Hose down your corridor; it’s getting to be ten o’clock already. The chief won’t wash it for you, I can assure you.

But this was too much for the new attendant, more than he could bear.

He weighed things for a second, and the richly bejeweled woman could see well on his face what he was struggling with, still he could no longer restrain his irritation.

Now don’t tell me, just don’t say that my mouth stinks, he said, fuming.

I didn’t say that, Janika, I didn’t say anything about your mouth, came the woman’s dignified severe reply, now why would I say such a nasty thing. But you probably eat head cheese or garlic sausage every morning, that I’m willing to bet you anything. I can even detect the red pepper. Maybe your little bride likes it, but it offends others. And take this as an honest remark, nothing else, and I made it straight to you.

So you people will tell me what I should eat for breakfast.

I won’t tell you what to have for breakfast, sonny, but if the chief took it into his head to tell you, well, that might not be such a good thing for you.

The new attendant felt himself shuddering because he would have liked to slap the large, shiny, calm face of this woman, or to kick over her table. This rotten woman had found out not only that he had a bride but also that he ate sausages for breakfast.

Which nobody in his right mind could comprehend or accept.

In the Lukács Baths, regardless of the season, cabin attendants always wore white linen pants and white sleeveless undershirts; only the bath masters wore short-sleeved white shirts. He now felt as if an icy wind had rushed at his bare shoulders, as when an icy wind clings to hot perspiration. But wind does not cling to anything. What happened, he asked himself, alarmed, what has this woman done to me; what’s happening to me here. Which did not necessarily refer to the place he was standing. The question grew large and loud, though in fact he couldn’t say a word. But he too, deeply disgusted, acknowledged the stinking smell of garlic. A dried-out, mute mouth, from which he could not disgorge the smell that nauseated him. He had cleaned up enough puke, pumped enough toilet bowls blocked with shit and toilet paper, and now it was as if all his experiences were pouring back into his mouth, as if he were retching them up from his stomach. Exactly the way this rotten woman had described it to him. He mustered out of the army six months ago and thought things would be better because in the army they were constantly fucking with him. He had to hose down and wash muddy corridors; in the laundry room, he was the one who had to stuff the shitty underpants into the machines, and they made him scrape all the soapy hair from the drains and gratings. If he didn’t hustle fast enough, his trainer cursed his whore mother and he had to take it, he had to take whatever they dished out. Still, he had never felt so humiliated, done with such cunning, as he did this time. No matter where he looked, he saw nothing but closed doors, and nothing had changed on the rotten woman’s smooth face. Then why am I feeling this rotten cold on my back. As if he could never break free of those motionless eyes; of the ridiculous eyebrows drawn on her shiny forehead; of the blood-red beads rattling on her neck, ears, and arms. No matter how scared he was, how much he cursed her, how he raged inside, this female saw it all, everything, because on him everybody could always see everything.