Dedicated to Andrew my best friend and talented writer, who else. The idea of this story comes from Andrew's story with the same title. It belongs to him.
My Holliday in Eastern Europe Chapter 1
Having swung between the narrow seats and lingering through the free magazines for eight hours, I finally arrived at Ferihegyi Airport, Budapest. No air crash, nor hijacking; everything ran smoothly for a traveler. Checking the luggage and passport may be interesting only if there was nothing to be checked. The frozen face of the customs officer was worth studying a little. The spacious hall and hundreds of strange people's faces were just like an old rebroadcast movie. The lead-gray autumn was already waiting outside and greeting me with her cold draft. Alas, the sullen autumn, the first Hungarian I met.
Holidays, are of no pity. said by Eugenio Montale. My holiday might be so.
Soon I was taxiing on the asphalt of Budapest. The taxi was an old one but still comfortable with an old man who barely spoke anything on the road. The zeal provoked by the prophets of traveling was cooling down while the wind was blowing through the car window. Outside it was a gray-toned monochrome. The sky, the buildings, the people all revolved in an atmosphere of gray. I smelt something, a strange smell, and the smell of timeworn things that were stored in lofts for decades; the smell of the city Budapest. The car ran so fast that I couldn't actually capture any view of this city. Soon I was in the Liszt Hotel.
Liszt was a good name. But the city was full of Liszts. The museums, the streets, the hotels were Liszt, Liszt, and again Liszt on the map. But at least it's not very expensive and was probably the best choice for an ambitious traveler with little money like me. The room was warm inside. As soon as I threw myself on the soft bed I didn't want to move. While lying lazily on the bed, I looked around the room. Every hotel was alike. I thought if I had stayed in the room for one day, I would have forgotten that I had already arrived in Hungry. There was one TV set at the corner. I turned it on. The monotonous voice came from the box. It was a troublesome ghost. And it didn't leave you a single minute of peace, no matter if I was in my home, or in this Eastern European country, which is thousands of kilometers away. They would break their little heart over and over again just so as to add one more disc to their selling record. Nonsense.
The sky was getting darker. It was around 5:30. Looking out from the window, people were moving in every direction. There were doctors, engineers, professors, plumbers, milkmen, robbers and thieves in the river of humans. There might have been another pair of eyes staring back while I was peering out through the window. It was a strange feeling, he was a part of your sight and you his. Nobody noticed his position in others' lives; they were even unaware of their own. This accidental encounter may sometimes connect two glances together; and sometimes it happened, and then disappeared into the air. How many people would fall in love at first sight? Too many stories try to persuade us that it is true. Maybe we just passed it nearby for so many times.
I decided to start my trip exploring old Budapest. There was a rent-a-car service listed in the phone book. I picked up the phone and dialed the number. Just a few minutes later, a car arrived at the front of the hotel. It was almost a new one. A man checked my license and handed me the key, took the money, wished me a good trip then left as soon as possible. I was surprised by his efficiency and economical use of time. I was a bit of afraid that whether the people in this city were all as busy as this rushing businessman who left me no impression but a almost blank card with phone number.
Sitting with this new companion, I looked around. Who had rented this car before? I am curious about its somewhat brief history. What had happened at the back seat? Maybe there was a murder. I could imagine the picture of a corpse lying there and the bloody smell permeating in the tiny space. Oh my god! Was I paranoid? I started the car and left the hotel. But my head had refused to stop thinking about the back seat. Or there might be a romantic and frenetic lovemaking. Young boys with their hands and legs twisted. I could see as if it was happening right there. It became smelly with the odor of boys' bodies.
Stop! I knew it was time to take control of my crazy mind, which was full of sexual fancy. Maybe I should see a doctor and let him force me to speak out every word I keep at the back of my mind from the reach of anybody and enjoyed only with myself and mark me as a patient, a serious one. Or maybe I should confess in the dark room at the corner of the cathedral, admit a sin and kill it with the power given from a holy black man who declared he knew and did nothing about it while telling you it was wrong. My head ran faster than the car. I stopped it and went out for a change. I was just beside the River Danube.
The river flowed in silence. The dark blue water was under my feet, running forwards. It carried thousands of stories of happiness or sorrow that happened at her bank to some place far away. But it remained calm and peaceful. Crudely calm and peaceful, I would say. It didn't cry for anybody, nor did it cheer for anything. It cared naught but for its daily journey to the sea. It was fast asleep. Nobody can wake it up from its beautiful dream. The Danube had been so for thousands of years, during which a hundred times as many men were born, grew up, fell in love and died with its humming. Only gods, if there were any above the clouds, could be the friends of the river. Humans were so flimsy.
The dark night had fallen and lit up the street-lamps. Faint orange light painted everything with the same color. The city was like an old faded photograph. The old buildings were standing like wounded veterans of the World War. No skyscrapers would knock into your sight and break down the harmony of old-time memories. The stars were flickering in the sky and lights were glittering in the window. It was not substantial, but notes from Strauss' Blue Danube echoed in the air. I went back to `my' car, my temperate companion and started off.
I watched out at the side of the street. There was something written between the lines of the brochure. I was driving on a broad road. There were fewer people there; only huge buildings blocking my view of the night. It was a beauteous night, calm and free. I thought of Wordsworth and drove to the Dunakorz where stands the statue of Sandor Pet?fi and where beauty is an item that can be bought with a few dollars. Pretty eyes were a good reason to pay 100 dollar and sexy lips for 50; muscular body for 100 and a smooth one equals that. It is what we call civilization that makes the trade as eloquent as possible. I saw a group of young people, boys in black leather jackets and girls in finery. But the clothes were not right for the ruthless wind of the autumn in Budapest. They were walking up and down the street, trying to keep warm together and do their `work' at the same time, hoping to catch someone's eyes peering out from the cars running by. They sometimes stopped, leaned to the wall and talked with the others for a while. It was another way to kill the time. I saw different kinds of smiles on their faces. They were beautiful but only for business, not for joy, not for fun, not for anybody they knew. It's like the smile you see on the face of waiters in a restaurant. But their smile was still different; I saw the feeling hide behind it. Wrath and sorrow were the same background color of them. It was the bitter smile of Budapest. They were inharmonic to this somewhat gorgeous street as a stroke of gray on a colorful painting. What had happened to them and who threw them from warm bedrooms onto this cold street? I didn't know.
A car stopped; an ordinary Benz. A man pointed to a boy among them and opened the door for him and sped off as the boy disappeared into the dark backseat. They watched as their friend left and continued walking. Then I saw another boy. He was different from his friends in the ragged jacket and looked very usual. He followed them in silence and occasionally glanced at the street. Most of time he just hung his head and kicked anything he could find on the side. He was not fit for the job, I think. And he was not very handsome but he was cute enough. His friend stopped him and told him something. His face apparently blushed and then he raised his head a little. I suddenly felt I was attracted. Was it desire that urged me? It was not right but I did want something. I drove the car slowly by the curb. Their eyes were staring at me, or rather at my car. Now I thought it was worth that money to rent this one. I stopped and a girl came up to me. She spoke Hungarian. I didn't understand at all. But I thought it might work if I did as the man. So I pointed at the boy and said ?Him?. The girl was surprised a little and dissatisfied. Her exotic smile didn't have much effect this time. She turned around and shouted: ?Zoltan!? I thought it must be his name. He hesitated and slowly went up to the girl. His friends patted him on the shoulder and some of them whistled with a strange look. It certainly slowed down his pace. The girl whispered something to him in Hungarian. I didn't pay much attention to it and opened the door. He finally got in and closed the door. "Do you know English?" I suddenly realized the trouble in language.
"Yes," he said. Great, I thought. It may be a requirement for this job' as there were not many Hungarians who could afford such a service'. I started the care and drove away from the loitering young people.
"Where are we going to?" he asked with a bit uneasiness and looked back at his friends.
"To my hotel. Will it be OK?" I was just thinking if the doorkeeper would let me in. I searched my wallet and handed him a one-hundred-dollar, equal to 298,700 Forint if I didn't mistake the exchange rate.
"It's too much." He looked a bit happier when he saw the money but he didn't accept.
I didn't know whether it would be too much or not enough. I was not familiar with the 'market'. But it seemed so. In some countries in southern Africa where the annual income is 65 dollar or so, 100 dollars might feed a whole village. And it might save the life of a refugee of former Yugoslavia for one more day in the restless flames of war. And it might be too much for a lad who had to sell his body for bread or something else only God knew. But it was not too much for another lad at his age who sat comfortably in the car and looked for some extra excitement in an Eastern Europe holiday. It might become a bunch of postcards that were forgotten to be mailed or a pile of unusual souvenirs that would find their place in the dusty storage room, and it may became the price of a boy who was no different from me in any way -- I felt guilty. But it's a cash trade. I bought it for one night, only one night then all is over. Who cared that much? Would the man care in his old Benz? I decided to do it.
"No, no, keep it. It's all right." I replied, stared at him and quickly looked sideway as his eyes met mine. It's certainly not a good idea to talk about the weather. So I asked what his name was to start the conversation. Was it really important to know who he was? But it's not the same as when you buy something from the supermarket.
"Zoltan. Zoltan Reiner," he replied
Well, so he was Zoltan, and Reiner... more than I expected to know. ?So did you want to eat something?? I hadn't eaten anything since I got off the plane and began to feel a little Hungary. Oh, not Hungary but hungry, for food and desire.
"Yes." He didn't object to this delay of the business.
I saw a McDonalds at the side of the street. It was placed in such a funny position between two buildings decorated with the communism sign that luckily hadn't been destroyed ten years ago. It was like a big octopus stretching its tentacles everywhere, I thought. This wonderful memorial to the success of the bourgeoisie sold everything with a cheap, American-style philosophy. But it was not wise to find some small inn that had real Hungarian food and robbers and thieves. Besides, I am not a gastronome. A hamburger and some French fries with a big Coca-Cola would comfort my stomach.
"What about McDonalds?" I asked him.
"Okay," he agreed. I stopped the car and we went in. He didn't speak much and quickly finished his meal. So did I. Then we drove on.
"Could you stop here?" he looked backwards and asked when we crossing a street.
"Certainly." I agreed although I was afraid that he would disappear with the 100 dollars.
He opened the door and ran directly to a girl who stood there playing a violin. Mozart, perhaps... I guess. He handed the girl the note. And there was a shocked look on her face. She laughed and jumped around, kicking away the cup in front of him with some coins in it. She seemed to be much more excited than he. Was he her brother? I didn't hear what they were saying since it was too far away. But the girl sometimes looked here. Staring at her eyes, I suddenly felt guilty and a need to hide myself. It didn't last long. He helped the girl pack the violin and whispered something to her and then he kissed her on the forehead and ran back.
I didn't ask him who the girl was. I believed it would not be a good question. His face seemed a little brighter. I could even see a smile, which was lacking on the people's faces who stood by the side of the road as he had. In a few minutes, we arrived at the hotel.
The doorkeeper didn't give me too much trouble as long as I gave him a proper amount of tip. But he stared at Zoltan and mumbled in Hungarian.
I brought him to my room. We sat on the chairs and for quite a while we were just sitting there. I thought he was thinking about how to make a start, much like me. No put-your-hand-on-his-thigh trick. ?Silence like a cancer grows.? But I got a chance to take a more careful look at him. He wore a brown leather jacket, some low-quality made-in-China stuff that was everywhere in the markets of Hungary.
And a white T-shirt inside. There was a ?Just do it? in red on the shirt. Interesting words, I thought, just do it and don't care so much about the gods if there would be one or more in the sky far from here or the damn dogma that makes a typical good kid. If you want to survive with countable forint in Hungary, you have to do it for bread, for a hot bath and for a place to stay in for a few days if the customer would be so kind as to let you stay away from the cold wind blowing in the street outside for a couple of days. Then just do it.
He had a pair of light green eyes and brownish yellow hair. So what should I write about his appearance other than these boring descriptions of eyes and hair? He was not the porn star that could be described as sexy or charming. But he was cute regardless. I even planned how to kiss the rosy lips that curved nervously.
Some places of his old blue jeans had already turned white. I didn't see the `obvious bulge' which would appear many times on a single page of the gay magazines. He was not tall and seemed a little thin, no doubt because he went without lots of junk food that empties the wallet of rich kids and finally turns into a good reason to get on a diet. And his tennis shoes were not better...
When I was about to a survey his shoes, he asked, ?Could I take a bath??
So everything would run on the track, I thought. It seemed to be a sign, a suggestion. And I just let him go ahead. I could hear the sound of water. I was thinking about his body, how the water traveled down from the curves of his flesh. Such imagination simply aroused me and my cheeks became hotter and redder. The music of water soon stopped, perhaps soon was not a good adverb. I guessed it was probably ten minutes but too soon to `get down to business' for me. I leaned forward and was curious about how he would come out. With a bathrobe actually covering nothing which was so common a scene in the videotapes that should be hidden somewhere under your bed? Perhaps.
But he did not. He was fully dressed. What a pity! He washed his hair as well now he seemed a little `moisture'. He sat back. After a few minutes of playing with the cloth of his T-shirt, he said: ? So, let's start.? His voice was almost too faint to be heard. But I suddenly didn't know how to reply. It was my target of, wasn't it? It was what I had dreamt of even before I got on the plane, right? I was trying to find a proper word.
But he already had the hands on his jacket. He stood up and took off his jacket quickly, like getting rid of something horrible. His face was very red and he didn't look at me at that moment. But he hesitated when he grabbed his T-shirt. Then he finally made up his mind to pull it over his head. I have to admire his smooth chest. His jeans followed, but the underwear was not so easy-going. He looked at me through the corner of his eyes. I had no idea of how to respond; I regained the feeling of looking at the porn magazines displayed in the shop window when I was much younger. It was a feeling both exciting and shocking. Then he turned his body a little and took the final step.
He didn't know where to put his hands and so he let them move nervously on his body. He sat on the bed and waited, keeping his eyes staring at the floor. I walked over and sat beside him. I couldn't move my eyes away from his body. I put my hands on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body. He turned his head and directly faced me, hands resting on his thigh. I was afraid of his eyes, which were too innocent to stare at. I held my breath not because of orgasm but some feeling of shame. He was like an angel, who was drawn by Satan to his Hell, like an orphan of dignity from Heaven. I couldn't lay my hands on his body; they would spoil the untouched natural sanctity. It was not the feeling that the wood-made god on the altar could impress me. I don't know. Maybe it's fair, maybe, but not right. I saw no love's flame was glowing in his eyes; I saw no passion in his eyes, which were simply staring at a stranger. He even didn't know who I am. So what's the meaning of lovemaking? Was it just to satisfy the animal desire? Then why not do it yourself? It did the same work, didn't it? Or do we just take our pleasure in another's sorrow? In another's loss? Maybe we sometimes have to prove to ourselves our ability as man, or as a male beast inside the costume of civilization? How could I see the lad before my eyes as a product marked with price? Every man was created equal, if I remember this sentence right, but Jefferson was wrong. I am here, fully dressed. He is here too, but nude. Only this seemed ridiculous enough. But I already have my erection, naturally. Was it a shame? Were sexual fondness and wet dreams sins even if they were so natural that they couldn't be control?
He sighed. I think I heard it come from the deepest corner of his heart, full of unhappy experience and disappointment in life. Is life a beautiful thing when you have to sell your body for a piece of bread and without knowing where you will stay tomorrow night? People didn't have to stay on the street to wait for some one no matter how bad looking and old he was. They do not have to shake in the chilly autumn of Budapest. They do not have to make their living by a way they hate. So they didn't give a shit. Life was sunny for them but rainy for this lad.
I moved closer. He lay on the bed and closed his eyes, waiting. I kissed his forehead lightly. Oscar Wilde came to my mind. What does a boy's body look like in his aesthetic eyes? And how did his finders trace down the smooth skin of some rent boy in his luxury room in London with his lover, Lord Douglas? Desire, in the end, was a malady, or madness, or both, as he said in De Profundis. Should I take pleasure in what pleases me, forgetting that every little action of the common days and that therefore what one has done in the secret chamber one has someday to cry out loud on the housetop and allow the pleasure to dominate me? What an amazing scene it was in Wilde's lustful eyes. Would his hands gently massage the chest of a young boy, as naked as the body lying here? He would circle on his belly then go down to the secret black forest... But I just like to look at this moment, to behold all of him by my hungry eyes. I couldn't help to touch the pink and fresh nipples. I touched, and it felt like reading a book of mystery I never knew. Ecstasy was the right mood and I did get into it. Yet I was looking at a far, distant land that I couldn't land on. If anything is sacred, a human's body is sacred. I should worship it, as well as I should worship the god who is sacred. Sex is not among the saints. Is sex dirty? Only if it's done right. Could I caress this boy with my hands trembling with the embedded excited hope that could not be claimed, the ones that may end with terrible disgrace yet the most instinct flowing of humanity.
He opened his eyes and reached out for my hands that were uncontrollable. He pressed one to his chest. I felt his heartbeats... a little quick. I gazed at his eyes. They were kind, only kind no more, no ardor inside. He tried to take off my overcoat with the other hand...
A thought suddenly flashed in my mind. Love and sex, if they were not one, they should be nothing. I was to choose one. What's the difference between vanity and vanity? It would be a loss of nothing gained. Enough sex had I, but love seldom shone upon my mind. Maybe my choice would be right.
I held his hands and smiled at him, then slowly stood up from the bed. He was confused and reclined upon the pillow.
"Just stop here. You can get dressed. Would you like something to drink?" I found a bottle of Coca-Cola and asked. Wine would not be proper. Its redness was only a stupid infatuation.
"But, did I do something wrong?" He stammered, a little worried
"No, no, you did nothing wrong, I am just not in that mood." It was an excuse indeed.
"Could you take me to my home?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, of course I can." I was a little disappointed that he would leave so soon. I regretted it. Maybe I should have taken him in my arms and tasted him by licking his sweetness. Then? Handle his scrotum in my palm and hold his shaft, bring it to climax -- and take the final step: enter him, explore the secret garden and plant my seed there. At last, say goodbye and forget it entirely.
He was putting his clothes back on. Now I understand Albert Einstein's great theory of relativity. The time seemed shortened when he redressed himself and quickened when he took them off. It was piteous to watch his body disappeare into the ugly clothes.
We walked out of the room in silence. I looked at my watch. It was just eleven.
I drove the car and he told me which way to take. The road got narrower and narrower. The street-lamps disappeared upon turning. There was absolute darkness. With the light of the headlight, I could see various people passing. Their eyes were glowing like a cat's -- a black cat's.
We stopped at a building. It was a very old one. He asked me to wait for a while. I consented. Perhaps my brain didn't work right at that moment. Maybe he planned to rob me. In such a place nobody could hear my screams, and even if they heard, they wouldn't help a foreign tourist as foolish and `rich' as me. Then he knocked at the window.
I opened the door and he handed me one hundred dollars, the same note as I had given him.
"We didn't do it, so here's the money..." he explained.
I looked at him curiously. It was interesting that the money lost its magic power over man, especially in this country where it was a rare commodity. And I saw, too, the girl I saw in the evening, standing at the back of the window and looked at me with a questioning face.
I put the money back into his pocket and said: "No, keep it. But promise to be at my hotel tomorrow. You remember the room, right?"
He hesitated, and then said, "Okay, I promise."
I could see from the rear-view mirror that he stood there, watching; watching until my car was too far away. He must have been wondering about me. A stupid foreigner with eccentric mind, I bet it's what he was thinking.
I was in the hotel again. A long and relaxing bath washed off the discomfort of the cold. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't know what I was doing today. Maybe a wise man would come into my dream and tell me. But I wanted to sleep.