Windows
Installing custom made doors and windows, that’s how I make my living. I do most of my service in concrete housing estate buildings, as during the socialist era there wasn’t a single standard size door installed there. I assume what happened was that they would rather fit the walls to the doors that were being projected and then diligently produced by the billion as per the 5-year plan of the economic deficiency. Another assumption says the doors had been produced on the order of another socialist and friendly country, with a different standard that was theirs and then the order was cancelled for some reason. This other country might have been China. No way I can know for sure, but let’s not exclude the possibility. So, as I just said, I work mainly at housing estates, but now and then I do get to more upper class places. Like to the Lake Balaton, more precisely to Balatonbükkmakk where one can find the residence of the prime minister. The summer residence, that is, where the Orbán family tend to spend their summer vacation with children, grandmommy and granddaddy, with close and remote kins, and even with friends. I live in Pilispitypang. I visited Balatonbükkmakk because Capitain Bókay, an undoubted supporter of Ferenc Gyurcsány, took me for one, too. Never before had it occured to me to consider my relation to Ferenc Gyurcsány, in fact, I wasn’t even aware that I was the supporter of somebody. So what happened? President of the Civil Alliance of Pilispitypang invited an ambitious university student, preparing to follow a political carreer, by the name of Borisz Bókay to one of their meetings, asking him to give a speech on the filthy actions by FIDESZ. The guy presented himself as chairman of some left youth national organisation. The organisation’s arch objective was to lead Hungary back to the road of Ethical and Democratic Priciples from which FIDESZ – having assumed governing power – diverted it. One of the Ethical and Democratic Principles was the immediate and drastic decrease of the incomes tax. This part was stormily applauded.
As I sat here listening to the guy I was having the impression that he wasn’t more interested in politics than I was. He seemed tired, his gaze wandered dreamingly around the room, and it was quite obvious he wished he’d been somewhere else. He was making efforts to sound stern, deliberate and focused, but he wasn’t more successful with it than any reporter of a commercial TV station. There was only one thing that was interesting that he mentioned, when he described he had uncounted times been sailing and playing football with members of the Orbán family. He ardently stated it was merely the lie of the paid right propaganda that Orbán was a good football player. Reality was that he wasn’t better at it than a muslim at sausage stuffing. And that the football academy at Felcsút, founded by him was a hoax.
Borisz Bókay’s parents had come to the meeting from Balatonbükkmakk to hear their son talk. The father was apparently very proud of his son. Bókay senior wore a meticulously trimmed beard and – what still is a mistery to me – a navy uniform, or something like that. Blue jacket with gold buttons, white trousers and a round cap with a shield. In one hand he was holding a pipe that he didn’t light even when he went in front of the building in the break. He was stocky, with a sunburnt face and big, taggy ears with clumps of hair sticking out from them. His face was of a man in good mood and friendly. I was reminded of a very satisfied brown bear, although bears always seem to be very satisfied with everything. An officer of the national security told me later that the Orbáns referred to Mr. Bókay as Yogi Bear. Fact is, they are neighbours in Balatonbükkmakk.
There was nothing resembling a bear about Mrs Bókay. She was taller than him, graceful and quick. She was clearly annoyed by the meeting, the crowd, but most of all by her husband applauding each sentence by their son. The young fellow described Orbán Viktor and his adventurer, greedy and corrupt kind in all ways imaginable. When his lecture was over Endre Czeffer, owner of the Pilispitypang Area Chemicals and Facilities Shop Network rose to speak. I needed to talk with Mr. Czeffer about doors, that’s how I had come here. Czeffer was a conservative, and a supporter of Orbán, so he had a few well chosen words for the kid. He started off by saying that a little left liberal bud like he was, who has the guts to declaim in front of potted fatty haired hippies and rastafaries at the Global Marijuana March legalisation picnic, had better not utter a word about ethics, even if he washed and dressed himself in suits since then. And this was the least of it. Borisz was not upset, he was simply embarrassed. But his father’s mind went boiling indeed, his brown face turned red, stood up, and responded with vulgarites similar to Czeffer’s. He couldn’t care less for his wife pulling at the sleeve of his jacket all the time.
What had been called for as a civilian meeting was thus concluded and the stirred crowd began to spread. I walked to Czeffer so that we could at last have some words about the door I had sold him. This was an incredibly distasteful, overdecorated door, for which he himself had picked encravings, colours and motifs from the manufacturer’s website. And the most expensive I have ever sold to somebody, over twohundred-thousand forints. Czeffer had insisted on installing it himself, sparing six-thousand on the service. He’d made a mess of the job: the casing was off as well from the horizontal as from the vertical, so the door could not close, and while attempting to have it un-installed again, he had damaged the casing and completely beat off the plaster around the door. His living room was painted in a custom blend of orange that was impossible to reproduce, so he came to the conclusion that the door was defect and wanted us to bear costs of both a replacement and of completely repainting the room. The debate with Bókay senior left him bittered and he was pouring all the anger intended for Mr. Bókay at me. I couldn’t really keep my calm, so in a somewhat raised voiced I explained him again that he was responsible for the damage and that he should piss off. And I turned and left him. Bókay senior took the scene as if I had been defending his son, him and the complete left side in general. He caught me before I reached the exit, shook my hand and made no doubt about our comradship. And asked me to call him captain. I didn’t feel like it, so I didn’t.
- What’s your trade, man? – he asked me.
Having answered him, he immediately replied that he had long been considering a complete renewal of all doors and windows of his thousand-fourhundred-squaremeter house in Balatonbükkmakk. Not an insignificant assignement with sixtyfour doors and fortyfour oversized windows. He was referring to this house as his lakeside bungalow. And asked if I would bother paying a visit there and plan out the work.
- Alright, Captain! - I said keen on establishing a good relationship. – Do you happen to be at the navy?
- No. However, I have an uncle who used to be CEO of MAHART in the old regime.
- So you did service at one of the yachts on the Balaton maybe… perhaps with the lakepolice?
- Do you mean the private fleet of the Orbáns? ’Cause that’s how they should be called these days. They’ve got no other things to do in their stinking, smoke exhausting motorboats than circulating all day in front of the Orbán residence. Well, no! I was chairman of the Balatonbükkmakk Yacht Club in ninetysix. Got the name stuck on me since then.
His wife, Klára, released a small sigh. Quite like when the steam is about to stream through the pipe of a teacan. Not a whistle, but a hiss. I thought she was made desparate by the comic of the situation, until later I learned the reason for her expression was that the Captain had been doing nothing since ninetysix. Ever since then all he was doing was critcizing the prime minister of Hungary, whoever it might have been in that position. As it was, for example cursing Viktor Orbán and his party. But most of all Viktor Orbán.
So I drove my van to Balatonbükkmakk in the middle of summer. Unfortunatelly, the Orbán family also intended to spend that weekend there and took the occasion to host illustrious politicians from within and outside Hungary’s borders. Parallel to this there was a sympathy demonstration organized in support of the government. On the road I saw cars decorated with the party’s colours and flag by the hundred. The convoy of cars reached to Akarattya and I was heavily sweating in my van that lacked air conditioning. It took me four hours to get to Balatonbükkmakk from there, had my cooler boil over four times and passed six secret service controll points. Volunteers were distributing mineral water in bottles with FIDESZ logo and badges. Hundreds of cyclists and runners passed me by. I was furious and pittied myself for me as such an ordinary guy having to be stuck in that kind of jam. But then I recognized Tibor Navracsics in the car crawling ahead of me. He must have missed the convoy of the big shots. Once, as we were standing still, a man stopped by his car and shouted at the politician who was touched by the difficulties and staring somewhat bluntly,
- Why putting up this hypocratic show, crawling with the folk? Do you think we are taken by this crap of demagog demonstration?! A..hole!
And he spat on the state owned windscreen. At another instance we got stalled for so long that both of us got out of our cars to stretch a bit. I grabbed the opportunity to inquire and asked what perspective Hungary had. He responded by saying that now, with the reassuring backing of the two thirds authorisation, FIDESZ had a firm grip on the stearing of the country and everything would be alright. What else could he have said to a guy in overalls?
Finally we made it to Balatonbükkmakk after all. The orange banner over the road said: Hungarian Civil Picnic. Szekfű street, where the Bókays were staying (and what was in fact the promenade lining the port) was restricted by the police and by the secret service, so they wouldn’t let me enter. I called the Captain and asked how I could get in without being shot by the secret service. He asked for the registration number of my van and told me he was calling me back soon. The lakeside bars and restaurants were queing in close reach. It was already late afternoon so I decided to make up for the missed lunch. I was looking for a barbecue or fried fish, although I was aware that one needed hound dogs to find a trace of such things these days at the lake Balaton. I passed a goffries shop, hamburgers and a McDonalds and finally decided in favour of pizza. All pizzas, but even the drinks were named after FIDESZ politicians and members of the Orbán family. Pizza salame-pepperoni was Lajos Kósa’s pizza, ice-coffe was favourite of Annamária Szalai. I ate a Viktor Orbán and drank an Anikó Lévai.
The Captain rang me and I was admitted. The Polish Minister of Culture drove in ahead of me. The port was left behind, to the right it was the Lake Balaton, to the left cottages and residences. The Bókay „bungalow” was immediate neighbour to the residence of the prime minister. The gate of the latter was guarded by guys of huge stature in black suits and with telecoms in their ears, all stern, suspicious and cold staring warriors. They kept their unsmiling eyes on me while I was getting out of the van.
The Bókay house seemed huge indeed, both in its width, and in its height as well. There were porches lining all four sides. From one of the second floor balconies a huge Ferenc Gyurcsány portrait was gazing at the prime minister’s residence. The picture was surrounded by spotlights and by the translucent pipe of a running light. Red indicator lights where the eyes were! To my obvious astonishment the Captain winked an eye and said:
- A little reminder, so that they don’t feel so bloody reassured!
Who lives off of the work by his own hands is better be cautious with the well to-do, because you never know. In line with this principle I am usually humble and restrained at such places. I planned to make the measurements of all that was to be measured, to make the choice of doors and windows off the catalogue or the web, and to leave quickly. But the Captain was treating me with the attention due for an important guest. He offered me to sit down, ordered the maid to bring refreshments, invited me to dinner, and he even told me to spend the night and the next day there, and how about a trip with the yacht, eh? As we were almost into the evening by now and it takes hours to measure all these windows I accepted the invitation and postponed the work for the next day. We were seated out on the porch, but not on the one facing the lake and the port, but on the opposite side of the building with a view on the backroad. The convoy of cars was still crawling and the police were diverting the mass into the nearby streets, government supporters and onlookers alike.
- See those dumb asses? – the Captain asked. – They are disappointed. They thought there was gonna be barbecue with the Orbáns, they would be invited to yachting, and to play football with the new Megastar starlets and with the state spokesman. After all they elected them.But they don’t get to see even just the chimneys on the Orbáns’ house. What they can get of the prospering promises is what they can eat of the bloody expensive Viktor Orbán pizza at the port.
At this moment a helicopter flew overhead and landed somewhere in the yard next door.
- Who may that be? – wondered Klára
- Benedict the XVIth! – responded the Captain. – At least!
He jumped to his feet and was gone, and when he returned he held a big bowl in his hands full of Ferenc Gyurcsány badges. He ordered the maid to go out on to the other side of the cordon and into the crowd to distribute them. There was terror in the eyes of the girl but she did what she was told. I felt pitty for her. But then I saw how many are accepting the badges. Sure, they were disappoined, they had been hurt. Just outside the fence, in the street where folks were allowed to move freely a few cyclists stopped and asked the Captain if they could rest a while on his lawn. They were unhappy, too, and said Viktor Orbán, but at least his spokesman were owing them gratitude for having ridden the bicycles so far to get here.
- Sure, make yourselves comfortable! – waved the Captain a royal gesture and added that they would get icy refreshments if they would only pin on the Gyurcsány badges.
They did.
- Goddam FIDESZ! - murmurred the Captain.
I decided to chat with him a bit for the sake of keeping the business.
- Your son at that meeting surely made good points on them, I bet!
- Father’s son – declared the Captain with satisfaction, and his wife did the teacan hiss again.
- And where is your son now?
- Gone swimming. He’ll back soon unless one of these Felcsút gangsters behead him with their windsurfs.
We walked to the porch facing the Balaton to catch a glimps of Bókay junior swimming in the bay. We could only see two police motorboats sending private boats and yachts of gaping civilians away from the Orbáns’ piece of lakeside.
- They act like they owned the whole Balaton and the lakepolice, too! – the Captain mumbled.
A small paddle boat was passing close to the shore. As they neared us, their words were conveyed to us by the water and we could clearly hear as the boy with the paddles said to the girl:
- No, that’s not the prime minister’s residence, although everybody thinks so. Hell it’s big, isn’t it! And how ugly it is. Look at those plasterworks! And stone lions at the gates! You piss yourself!
- And where do they get all the money from?
- Not by working, so much is certain. The old chap is always sitting there on the porch drinking, and money is just flowing in to him like that.
The Captain was boiling with fury, and I was immersed in taking a very close look at the glas in my hand.
The Captain’s mobile phone started ringing. The distant splashes of the paddles and the misterious rustling of the willows accompanied the hurting melody of Für Elise. The Captain looked at the display, and before he answered the call he turned to me:
- It’s Karcsi Szomor, boss of the guards. They always get him to call me when there’s some stupid crap. I am putting it on the loudspeaker so you can hear how shameless stateofficers have become since FIDESZ…
He raised the phone to his ear.
- This is the lowsiest secret service I have ever known. They are more pushing than a band of gipsies. Have I told you that in the old regime, my father used to fish at the end of the pier together with firt secretary of the Central Committee of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party, János Kádár?
- Yes, sir, you have, several times, in fact, and I would be glad to listen to this very exciting story again, but your son…
- János Kádár insisted on putting the bait on his hook himself, but didn’t insist on a navy fleet staying in front of him! The sky wasn’t dark from flying formats and the flowers in front of my house were not stepped on by followers of the first secretary…
- Sir! – Károly Szomor inserted politely -, your son was caught climbing onto the prime minister’s private yacht .
- …back then there were no motorboats parading back and forth, there oil wasn’t spilled in the water, fish were not dying…
- Sir, did you hear what I said? Your son…
- Of course, I did! You said he touched the yacht of a fellow member of the club. Goodness me! A dryland rat like you are might consider this as a great offense, but amongst water people it is absolutely ordinary to hold on to a yacht for a little rest while swimming without being shot by the security staff.
- There was no shooting, sir, but anybody attempting to near the prime minister without having been invited or scheduled for in advance has to be removed, if needed by exerting excess force.
- What?! Orbán had my son removed by force?!
- No, sir, the prime minister was not on the yacht.
- Then a member of his family?
- No, there wasn’t a single member of the Orbán family on the yacht, but let me mention that it is not their, but my and my staff’s competence to…
- There was nobody on that shittanker?
- There was. Three members of the government were having a discussion in the hulk when they heard steps of Borisz from above.
- Three members of the government? I’ll never again let my son go swimming without a harpoon. I hope he had enough time to open the bottom valves before he was beaten up.
- Very funny, indeed, sir!
Károly Szomor seemed to be losing selfcontrol.
- Are you sure it was my son?
- He wore a Gyurcsány badge on his swimming shorts.
- Do you have any objection to his political views?
- I was only mentioning this to prove it was him. I am not the least concerned with anybody’s political views as I have explained to you several times. And I have explained to you equally many times that I was in charge of guarding every prime minister’s security since nineteen-eightynine, regardless of him being right or left. As much as I am concerned they could have well been anarchists! And I will do the same in the future, as I do everything in my power to safeguard the lives of those who unexpectedly and disregarding all rules and regulations appear in the vicinity of the prime minister! Thus I am officially warning your son that he should stop using the prime minister’s yacht as lovenest!
- Lovenest? What do you mean?
- Sir! Borisz have used every yacht in the port for that, and he chose the Tóbiás today, in the belief that there would be nobody onboard.
The Captain kept silent for a moment.
- Mr. Szomor! My son has introduced every girl he ever courted to his parents without the least bit of shame.
- You’ll have the chance to meet her in a second. She happens to be with Borisz and we are releasing them through the gate at this moment. I suppose he’ll walk straight home, wearing only swimming shorts.
The Captain now realised he was beaten. He was literarly broken. His voice got soft.
- Can you tell me who she is?
- Her name is Ildikó Orbán, sir. She’s recently arrived from Felcsút, and she is a niece of 4th grade to the prime minister.
Ten seconds later the young couple was standing there, and Borisz declared they were in love and were going to marry.
It was a sad, on the other hand happy and loving dinner. I had a sqeezing pain in my heart whenever a looked at the beautiful, nice and smart Ildikó, while I was also moved by their desperate and naive love that filled my heart with harmony. The constant stress was gone from Klára’s face, her features smoothed and the ageless beauty was just unstoppably pouring out of her. She seemed happy, and I suspected this was first occasion in a very long time. The Captain raised the topic of politics only once.
- Well,… I don’t know… ehm… would you feel like giving speeches…throughout the country… or… well…
- I don’t think I stay in politics any longer, Dad!
The Captain took a long look at the piece of meet on the tip of his fork.
- That’s what I thought – he said at last, took the bit in his mouth and started chewing at it intensly.
The loving couple went for an evening sailing. This time they took the Bókay yacht that was called Éliás. The Captain, his wife and I sat out on the porch for an evening wine sipping. On the side facing the lake. It was getting dark, the distant buzz of families on vacation ceased, and the cyclists on the lawn went asleep. Somebody nearby was playing a guitar with heartbreaking slowness and passion. The maid asked the Captain if she should have switched on the spotlights and running light around the Gyurcsány picture.
- We’d better leave it tonight, Margit – he answered deeply in his thoughts.
- Yes, sir!
- Well, not why you would think! – he turned to us. – I am not stopping to support him. I just think he can have his rest tonight.
As if the wine, the soft Balaton evening and the slow guitar melody had turned the Captain even more talkative than he usually was.
- Let Hope of the Country rest tonight. Everybody knows who he is anyway. But who am I?!
- You’re a lovable man! – Klára replied.
The words didn’t come patheticly from her lips at all. The Captain carried on:
- Now that the lights of Ferkó are dimmed and my son is engaged to an Orbán girl, I am nothing more than what that kid in the boat said I was. An old chap boosing on his porch while money is flowing in on itself.
- You’re a smart man with a perspective and handsome, too. And you’re still young! – Klára insisted.
- Bullshit! I need to get a job.
Klára’s voice was trapped by happiness.
- That… that’s great, darling! You’re making me happy! And either this way or that, I will always love you. But you know it is difficult for a woman to respect a man who does nothing in the world.
As if everything had smoothed out in a single moment between and around them.
Sounds of nearing steps were closing in from the promenade. The Captain stood up, took a couple of steps in the direction and was gazing into the dark. Two dark silhouettes stopped at the gate, with another two not far behind.One of the two at the gate cleared his throat. As he began to talk I recognised the voice of the prime minister.
- Good evening, Captain! I was wondering if there is something wrong with the Gyurcsány picture?
- No, there’s nothing wrong with it! – the Captain responded hospitally.
- Then why aren’t the lights on?
- I wasn’t in the mood today.
- This is Mr. Sarkozy senior beside me, father of the French ministerpresident, and would very much like to see it.
- Mr. Prime Minister, just a moment, please! Margit!
In a short while the Gyurcsány picture was flooded with light and its eyes were flashing red. It shed light on the entire yard, all the way until the residence of the prime minister and even on a bit of the promenade.
- Thank you, Captain! – the prime minister said -, and would you mind keeping it on, please!
- I beg your pardon, mister? – the Captain asked shocked.
The dark silhouettes started walking on on the promenade, and the prime minister responded while walking away:
- It’s easier to find my way home.
Adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut’s „The Hyannis Port story” from 1963.
Zsolt Berta
Backtranslation from Hungarian to English by Tamás Kocsis.
