Read Online Siege 13 by Tamas Dobozy - Free Book Online Page A

poppy, pumpkin, hemp seeds they sold for next to nothing outside sports stadiums, metro stations, public parks; and of course the whores, not only in Rákóczi Tér, but deeper in the district, like nothing I’d ever seen, lined along the tiny streets as if someone had measured out and marked exactly the spots where they should stand, less like the girls strolling and chatting at the intersections in Montreal, Toronto, Vancouver, than some regimental line called to attention, at most lifting a cigarette to their lips, sometimes extending a leg.
    Janka would come and go from the apartment where her mother and I lay in bed, never telling anyone where she was going, never asking permission, somehow always back in time for dinner, or for the bedtime story she brought up to me one time, a battered book that looked as if it had been pagedthrough every night for years, holes punched in the spine with a knife, held together by bits of string. It was about the wind—on each page either a boat blown along a lake, a kite through the sky, pigeons up to belfries, autumn leaves—and when I read it her eyes widened, as if she’d always imagined a different story, different words, to go with the pictures.
    I described it all to Anna over the phone, telling her I was in Bucharest, superimposing one set of streets over another, lying about Janka’s origins. When Anna said, “Well, I don’t know,” when she became vague, I told her about reading to the girl, about what her mother had done for a living, how quiet Janka was when not talking in perfect Hungarian about what her village in Erdély had been like before her father’s death (for a minute I thought of telling her he was killed by Romanians, but decided not to push it), which forced her mother to move to the city and sell herself. Her mother was arrested, put in jail, and Janka ended up in an orphanage. I hoped the pauses and slight reversals in my story made me sound breathless, excited, and I guess in a way I was, and not just because I was worried that Anna would catch me in the lie, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the story, or even with Janka, reasons that had come to me only after I’d picked up the phone and dialed our number hoping to catch Anna in a moment when she was surprised, receptive, wide open to the sound of my voice.
    â€œHm,” Anna said. “I don’t know . . . it’s because she’s five I guess. I don’t like the idea of her mother still being alive.” She paused. “I’m sorry I said that. It’s not very nice . . .”
    â€œAnna, I’ve come all the way out here to Romania. We’ve already talked about it.”
    â€œI know, I know. I said it might be a good idea. It felt like it at the time. What’s her name? Janka? She could go back once in a while to visit. We could pay for her mother to come see her sometimes . . .” She paused. “No, it’s nothing,” she sighed.
    â€œWe’re going to need more money,” I said. “There are some additional costs . . .” I had been expecting enthusiasm, and now I was looking for something to jolt her.
    â€œOh sure,” she said, after a quiet laugh.
    â€œSo I’ll go ahead?” I said.
    â€œYes, you go ahead,” she answered, faster now than before, as if she’d caught up to my excitement. “It’s what you’re there for!”
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    â€œThere was a sailor. I think this was in 1967 . . .”
    â€œListen, Judit, I’m trying to talk to you about something.”
    â€œJust a minute,” she smiled, taking the bottle out of my hands after I’d grabbed it, and unscrewing the cap. “The sailor wanted to build a boat so fast its hull would not touch the water. One night he got very drunk and built these wheels, they were like balloons, except with fins, and attached them to his car and drove it into the Tisza . . .”
    â€œWe need to