Adam and Evelyn (18 page)

“No wonder, now that everybody’s running away from them. They’re tickled pink if somebody says they want to go back. Wait and see, once you’re home, just how nice they are to you. For twenty years now they’ve forbidden you to sing the words to their own national anthem.”

“Good God, I don’t want to go back!” Katja said.

“I didn’t mean you.”

“And then all at once that smell. Suddenly it seemed I’d been away for years.”

Adam laughed and then had to cough. “I could sell my provisional travel pass. To the highest bidder.”

“Nobody can ever take you seriously, Adam.”

“Just wait. I bet there’s a pack of people who’d be interested. Like those guys who were counting out their dollar bills for everybody to see. If I asked them—”

“That was Michael!” Katja jumped up and ran outside.

“Do me a favor, Evi? On the way back, sit up front with me?”

“But you’ll have to put that thing out.”

Adam laid the cigar in the ashtray and looked around for the waiter.

Katja appeared at the door.

“We need to come outside, he’s got something he has to say to us, something’s happened.”

“Bad?”

“I don’t think so.”

Evelyn followed Katja. Adam took the cigar from the ashtray, puffed until it was glowing again, and walked to the counter. He watched the waiter’s ballpoint move across the pad, and then stared at the amount, underlined twice. He counted out the currency and laid it on the bill with a soft “Viszontlátásra.” The waiter thanked him with a slight bow.

As he reached the door Adam took another puff on his cigar and blew the smoke into the milky blue September sky.

“He’s arranged pleasant quarters for you in the embassy, has he?” Adam asked, as Katja and Evelyn finally stopped hugging.

“Make all the jokes you want, but in a few days the border will be open,” Michael said. “That’s certain.”

“As certain as immortality.”

“They’re opening the border!” Michael said.

“Bull,” Adam said. “Who’s been telling you fairy tales?”

“It may not suit you, but in a couple of days—”

“Why shouldn’t it suit me? I may actually make some money on my travel pass.”

“From here on, I’m footing the bill for everything,” Michael said. “And this evening we’re going to live it up.”

Adam blew one little cloud of smoke after another into the air and led the way to the car. He unlocked it and opened the doors from inside. Michael held the door open first for Katja, then for Evelyn.

“Can I sit up front?” Evelyn asked.

Michael nodded and stepped aside so she could get in.

It took them three-quarters of an hour to find their way out of Budapest. Adam had given Evelyn the map, but she very quickly fell asleep. And Katja had closed her eyes too. Only Michael was sitting up and staring out the window as if not to miss a detail.

They left the autobahn at Székesfehérvár. In Veszprém Adam didn’t take the exit for Balatonfüred, but instead, hoping to see something of the landscape, drove parallel to the north shore of the lake in the direction of Tapolca. But only a few kilometers beyond the bypass around Veszprém, the motor had started to stutter—and now at last it fell silent. Suddenly everyone was wide awake.

“No problem,” Adam said, letting the car roll onto the shoulder, “it’s just the spark plugs.”

He took out the tools stored in the trunk, released the hood, and smiled. He reminded Evelyn of a magician about to begin his act. He raised the hood. He had shown her a couple of times before how to pull the plug caps, unscrew the plugs, and clean them with a wire brush. But when Evelyn got out of the car, she saw that he wasn’t doing anything, just standing there with his hands on the fender and his eyes closed.

“Adam,” she said softly. “Is something wrong?”

IT WAS EARLY
afternoon before Adam could finally be persuaded not to undertake further repairs of his own and to be towed instead. Evelyn and Katja were able to get several cars to stop. But either they were not going to Lake Balaton or didn’t have towing gear or gave them some explanation they couldn’t understand. Finally Evelyn and Katja hitched a ride to the next village and called the Angyals.

Around five o’clock Herr Angyal stepped out of his white Trabant. Stretched out on a blanket beside the road, Michael and the two women had nodded off. “Cylinder-head gasket,” Adam called to Herr Angyal as he was pulling a large bowl from the passenger side. After Evelyn had taken over the potato salad, Herr Angyal pushed his glasses up on his forehead and bent down over the engine. Katja handed out utensils and plates, and Michael poured white wine from a large bottle. But neither Adam nor Herr Angyal would join in the picnic.

When they had finally got the towline attached to the Wartburg, they wiped their hands off on the grass and sat down with the others. Adam ate his potato salad straight from the bowl and popped the few remaining meatballs into his mouth.

“Do you think your car can handle us all?” Michael asked.

“We could hitchhike,” Katja said.

“You all get in with him,” Adam said. “Two long honks mean stop. Two short ones—you’re going too fast.”

“Three shorts,” Michael said as he stood up, “you’re passing us.” He reached out a hand to Adam, who held his out and let himself be pulled to his feet.

Once they were all in the Trabant, Herr Angyal rolled down his window, pushed his glasses back into place like goggles, and held his arm up as he slowly pulled away.

“What an incredible racket,” Michael said. “You get to hear the whole works all at once.”

Katja turned around and waved to Adam, who, however, was concentrating on glancing back and forth between the Trabant’s rear end and his own rearview mirror.

“It did feel as if I was in a fairy tale,” Michael said. “I can’t begin to describe how happy I am. When he told me I didn’t need to worry, it’ll all be over in a few days—I’m so glad I don’t have to leave you behind alone.” Michael turned around halfway and laid a hand on Evelyn’s knee. “It really is like a fairy tale, isn’t it?”

“Please,” Evelyn said. “Keep your eyes on the road.”

“I won’t believe it until I’m across,” Katja said.

“You can lay money on it. Normally you can’t get zilch out of an embassy staff. So that when they voluntarily open their mouths and—”

“Maybe they were just trying to get rid of you,” Katja said.

“The Hungarians have signed the international refugee convention and canceled their agreement with your lunkheads—they won’t repatriate anybody back to the GDR. That’s what they told me. And in Bavaria they’re opening up one camp after the next. They’re expecting a huge stampede. And that’s not just in tabloids like
Bild
.”

“And we can just drive right across?” Katja asked.

“We’re blasting off as soon as the border’s open, and we’ll take you along.”

“You can let me out in Munich.”

“You can always come with us to Hamburg. That way you two could work on the red tape together—practical, wouldn’t you say?”

“I really wasn’t planning to go to Hamburg.”

“Just for a couple of days. At my place you could have a room all to yourself.”

“I don’t know how Evelyn feels about that. Maybe you two might want—”

“No, think how fantastic that’d be for Evelyn. Just imagine, you both could head out together, to the harbor, the fish market, the Alster lakes, the museums—that’d be much more fun than all alone. And on weekends we’ll do stuff, we’ll take little trips—”

Michael had turned around so far that Herr Angyal had to give him a tap and point to the rearview mirror.

“So now sit up straight,” Evelyn said.

“And what if it is just a fairy tale?” Katja asked.

“They knew what they were talking about.”

Herr Angyal flipped his sun visor down. The sun sat atop the road and looked as if it were searing a hole in the horizon.

“If you want, Katja, you can move in with us, with the Angyals, there’s still an empty bed in my room,” Evelyn said.

“You mean I can do it, just like that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“It’ll be funny not to see Adam in the rearview mirror anymore,” Michael said and turned to look back through the rear window.

Evelyn and Katja turned around too. Adam appeared to be intently focused on the tow line and the Trabant’s brake lights. They could make out two vertical lines between his eyebrows. He blinked a lot.

“He should put his sun visor down,” Katja said, turning around again and fishing the Rubik’s Cube from her purse.

“Yes, he should,” Evelyn said and signaled Adam to do it. But he didn’t notice her.

“LET THAT BE, PLEASE,”
Frau Angyal said, edging Evelyn away when she started to clear the breakfast things from the table. “Off to the hills, everybody! Adam, please, the weather’s supposed to be lovely.”

“We used to make the climb a lot,” Pepi said, “it’s such a beautiful spot.”

No one thought of anything better to say. And even Michael and Katja, who were once again sitting in front of the television, vanished to their rooms like obedient children. Adam took the loafers that he hadn’t worn since early summer out of the trunk and exchanged his sandals for them.

They had to wait for Pepi, who was searching for her rucksack. Frau Angyal had made tea and, despite protests, some sandwiches too.

It was so quiet you could hear every car and every moped for miles around. Only the occasional cries and shouts of children drifted up from the lake. Sometimes there was what sounded like the pop of a gun in the distance.

“Poor starlings,” Evelyn said.

Just as the church bells began chiming, Pepi appeared with her rucksack, which she was unwilling to hand over to either Adam or Michael.

They walked down to the end of the driveway and turned left, along
Római út, as if heading for the lake. But at Saint Anne’s Chapel they turned left again.

“I never noticed that before,” Adam said. He had stopped in front of the chapel.

“Noticed what?” Michael asked.

“Why, there—1798!” Adam pointed to the date above the door. “Everybody stand underneath it. Come on, we haven’t taken any pictures. Misha and Evi on the left and right, you two in the middle.”

Nobody objected to Adam’s directions. He took his time and kept changing the stop.

“When I say ‘Go,’ then you start walking, you take one step forward.”

“Why?” Michael asked.

“Believe him, it’s a great effect, really,” Evelyn said.

“Go!” Adam said and pressed the shutter release. And now one more.”

All four resumed their position under “Anno Domini 1798.”

“And—Go!” Adam shouted. “Very good!”

“Now you.” Evelyn took the camera from his hand. “Katja on the outside, you next to her,” she said.

Adam flinched as he touched Michael’s arm, which lay on Pepi’s shoulder. He cautiously put his arm around Pepi’s waist.

“That doesn’t work,” Evelyn said. “Just stand there.”

“And Go!” Adam commanded. They took a step ahead one more time. And then Pepi led the way up the path, which meandered past vineyards and open plots, till it joined the upper road. From there they soon turned off again, following signs for the Róza-Szegedy House. “This is definitely older than two hundred years,” Pepi said as they stood before it.

A dozen people were waiting for the restaurant terrace across the way to open.

“We’ll come here later for lunch,” Michael said. “I have to invite you all at least once.”

Here the woods began. They moved along the stony path Indian file, Pepi and her rucksack in the lead, behind her Evelyn, with Michael bringing up the rear.

After about fifteen minutes the path grew less steep and led across the higher vineyards.

“Are they harvesting yet?” Michael asked. They heard voices and the plop of grapes landing in plastic buckets.

“Those are Zweigelt grapes,” Pepi said.

Once the owner of the vineyard recognized Pepi, he cut off a few clusters and, holding them between thumb and index finger, offered them one by one across the fence, where the Germans accepted them in their cupped hands. As they walked they ate the small sweet grapes.

The day was once again as warm as in August. Before them sailboats crisscrossed the lake and the bay below. Along the edge of the path lay overripe plums, wasps buzzing around them. Coming to a narrow stone stairway, they climbed up and rested on a bench hewn out of the rocks and giving off a damp coolness. From there it wasn’t far to a stone cross from 1857, whose metal Jesus had been painted with an emphasis on dripping blood. Not far from it a waste barrel filled to overflowing formed a little mound of trash.

They sat down on rocks farther down from the cross and five to ten feet back from the precipice. The region on the far southern shore of Lake Balaton was flat except for two hills. The sun was mirrored on the water, where clouds traced more definite shadows than over the land. But they never seemed to move. The vineyards below were textured, hatched surfaces, smoke marked a couple of fires. A lark hung in the air at eye level.

The thermos of tea was passed around, Pepi doled out the wrapped sandwiches. Adam spread his sweat-soaked shirt on the warm rock and took a couple of pictures.

“Down there we’ll have grilled catfish with a garlic-wine sauce,” Michael said.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” Katja asked.

Michael nodded and pushed a slice of apple into his mouth.

“I thought you were going to wait for us.”

“Would like nothing better, but that’s a no-go.”

“They lied to you, they just wanted to get rid of us.”

“I promise you, it’s no fairy tale.”

“I can’t take this any longer,” Katja said. “Can’t you stow me in your trunk?”

“I don’t have a trunk.”

“Then under some blankets or bags, it’ll work. They’re not checking anymore. And even if they do, they’ll let us through.”

“Believe me, it’s just a matter of a couple more days.”

“You wouldn’t be risking anything,” Katja said.

“And how do you picture it? Should I say I hadn’t noticed you’d crept in back there?”