Bangkok Transit

2.

2.BUDAPEST, 1980

“I’ll be here to pick you up for dance class. You have English in the afternoon and rhythmic gymnastics in the evening, don’t forget,” said the woman with the teased, reddish-blond hair as she parted from the little girl; she was attractively dressed, though slightly provocative. “Then, afterwards, we’ll celebrate your Dad’s birthday. There’s a snack in your book bag,” she called.

The girl nodded, waved to her from the gate, and entered the three-story elementary school in the Óbuda district of Budapest. She had math first period. She hated mathematics; this semester they were learning sets and numeral systems, and she wouldn’t have understood a word of it if weren’t for Rose, her private teacher, who helped her with math assignments twice a week. She started yawning halfway through the period.

“Don’t fall asleep or she’ll pick on you again,” whispered Enikő, her deskmate, nudging her.

Enikő always dressed like a tomboy and had made it clear several times that she would have rather been born a boy.

Teri heeded the warning. She decided to prop her eyelids open with her fingers. Maybe that way she wouldn’t fall asleep.

Last night’s training had lasted longer than usual, and though she had changed back into her street clothes quickly, her mother had spent a long time discussing something with her coach. In the meantime, Teri sat on the bench waiting for them. She hadn’t gotten enough sleep because they’d stayed so long.

Next period was true horror: Russian class. Teri mostly hated this class because of the teacher. Otherwise, she had a good ear for languages and didn’t need extracurricular help with her homework.

“Zrastvuytye,” said the teacher, as she stepped into classroom 5B, and the kids chimed their greeting in unison:

“Ztrastvuytye, tovarish uchityelnitsa!”

Teri forgot to join in the greeting, and the teacher noticed immediately, turning to her jeeringly:

“Guten morgen, Fräulein Schmidt. I suppose German comes easier to you than Russian.”

Teri blushed. She was sick of Mrs. Piros constantly encouraging certain boys to taunt her by calling German shepherd, Heike, and Fräulein Schmidt. When she told her mother about what went on in school, she just waved it away dismissively and said:

“Just ignore them, honey. You can already speak German and soon you’ll be fluent in Russian and English too. Just think how jealous they’ll be when they see you on TV and in the papers!”

Teri had recently found an article in her mother’s favorite weekly magazine about the lives of female factory workers in Csepel. She’d read it and didn’t understand why her mother wanted someone to write such things about her. She didn’t want to be in the papers or on TV. All she wanted was for Mrs. Piros to leave her alone, along with the i***t boys led by Zoli Kiss, whose front tooth still hadn’t grown in, even though he’d lost all of his baby teeth last year.

“You should eat more. Your growth spurt has made you incredibly thin,” said her gym teacher, patting Teri’s head during recess. “And you’re pale. Are you getting enough rest?”

Teri didn’t answer. She looked at herself in the locker room mirror before gym class. Her mother had braided her flaxen-colored hair into a ponytail, and she saw dark circles under her blue eyes. She wasn’t hungry, but she thought that maybe her gym teacher was right. She took out her snack. It consisted of two crackers, a slice of ham, and thinly cut peppers. She ate a few bites, and then started changing. She liked gym class because she felt successful. She was always asked to demonstrate exercises which seemed too complex for the others.

That afternoon, before training, when her mother drove off in their yellow Wartburg car and Teri had finished waving her goodbye, the coach called the girl into her office.

“One day you will grow up to be a very beautiful girl. The boys will go nuts over you,” she began.

Teri looked at her, puzzled. Why was Mrs. Varga telling her this? The same Mrs. Varga whom the others called “Killer” behind her back.

“I’m sure you know that boys are especially keen on tall girls. You’ve got a pretty face: pouty lips, big, blue eyes, long lashes… And you’ll be tall. You’ve grown a lot over the past year. Did you notice how much taller you are than the others?” she said, gesturing towards the locker room.

Teri nodded. This was the second time in one day that someone had pointed out her height. She didn’t understand why. Her coach fell silent, arranged some training supplies on the shelf, and then continued:

“Well. You can excel in several branches of sports and in many things. You are among the best of your age group in rhythmic gymnastics. You won the Budapest Cup last year. But it won’t always be this way. You’re too tall, and this will hinder you from staying among the best,” the coach finally blurted out, without meeting the girl’s gaze. “I told the same thing to your mother, who asked me to give you time to prove yourself again. And I would gladly give you all the time in the world, but I don’t see the point in deluding you. You know too that you’re still growing, and in a few years you won’t be able to join the top ranks in rhythmic gymnastics anymore. The reason I’m telling you this is because I know you and your parents have your hearts set on you joining the national team, and I don’t want you to be disappointed. Right now, you’re free to choose another activity, like athletics, maybe high-jumping. Or ball sports. Anything. You’re only ten; you can still be part of the best. But not in rhythmic gymnastics. Or artistic gymnastics either. I find it pointless to torment you at training, or to see you suffering by constantly dieting and calorie-counting. Choose something else instead. Or take a little break,” she said, looking into the girl’s eyes now. “In a few years, you’ll be happy things turned out this way, happy to be a grown up, willowy girl not hurting so much from sports injuries.”

Teri dashed into the locker room. She didn’t know what to do; she struggled to hold back her tears. But a powerful feeling of responsibility triumphed. She changed into her leotard along with the others. That day, she performed better than ever during training.

The birthday celebration that evening didn’t go too well. Teri was tired and in a bad mood. After she helped her father blow out the candles on the cake, she burst into tears. Her father lifted her onto his lap.

“Let’s eat the cake together!” he said in German.

Teri turned her head away when her father jabbed the fork into a piece of cake and offered her the morsel.

“I told you not to force sweets on her. She has to maintain her weight.”

“But I’ll never be a champion!” the little girl exclaimed. “Coach said so. I grew too much.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed angrily.

“Just ignore what your coach says. You’re the best, and that’s how it always will be!”

“We can talk later, sweetheart, and you can tell me all about what’s making you sad,” her father said, hugging her. “But now you have to go to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

It can’t possibly hurt more than this, thought Anne. There’s no way it can be even more painful. But she knew that it would go on hurting, even more intensely than before, the anguish splintering her bones. The worst part was that she wouldn’t even feel the pain, because the suffering tearing her soul apart would be much worse. She had to remember, to re-live that which was unbelievable and heart-wrenching the first time around, a fact incomprehensible and senseless.

Everyone around her was filled with happy expectation. Already on the plane, she was annoyed by the smiles of all the exhilarated passengers ready for adventure. The reason she’d bought a business class ticket was because she felt averse to the proximity of others. She wanted to hide, to be alone… with her thoughts. But here on the flight to Bangkok, the memories overwhelmed her even more. Why did she even come back? What was it that had drawn her, chased her, and propelled her for long months until she arrived here? Why would she want to intensify the suffering when it was already unbearable?

She got into a taxi and didn’t haggle, though she knew that he would disapprove. She didn’t take off her dark sunglasses when she gave the driver the address of The Ambassador Hotel. The driver, of course, didn’t understand where she wanted to go. It was incomprehensible to her how Thai taxi drivers could handle all these foreign passengers if they couldn’t even understand what was being said to them. She pulled out the hotel’s card and shoved it under the driver’s nose. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Back then… yes, he had haggled, argued, gotten in and out of the taxi five times, unloaded and then reloaded the suitcases, until finally he and the driver had reached an agreement; he knew that the man would give in eventually. He had sat down next to the driver with a satisfied smile while the two of them arranged themselves in the back. Their first vacation together! Wintering in the tropics!

She started from her reverie when they arrived in front of the Ambassador. She paid the cabby and allowed the bellboy to carry her suitcase into the hotel lobby. As she headed towards the hotel entrance, she heard the screeching sounds. Birds. Parrots, she knew. One of the unique features of the Ambassador was the enormous bird house and the indoor tropical garden. How amused they had been by the parrots! Everything was so different then. So very different. Now, the cackling of the birds only seemed like an unbearable noise, and she felt nauseous from the upsurge of memories. Why did she even come here? What was the force that had summoned her?

“Are you nuts?” asked her husband, when she last spoke to him on the phone a few days earlier. “Why are you going back? Instead of starting a new life, you’re living in the past?”

His voice was angry, impassioned. Her husband – more like her ex-husband nowadays – didn’t understand her anymore, even though they used to have such an amazing relationship… before. But Anne knew that there was no longer anything binding them together.

“I have to go back so I can… end this and move on,” she said, and she hoped he didn’t notice her voice choking up. She didn’t want him upset too. “You can’t possibly understand this,” she added.

“No, I can’t. You’re just torturing yourself. Anne, I beg you, please come back to the present!”

“I can’t. Not right now. I have to go there. For months I’ve felt that I can’t take it anymore and that this is the only thing that can help me.”

“Do you want… do you feel like spending New Year’s Eve with me?” he asked after a long silence.

“No. It’s really nice of you, but there’s nothing to celebrate.”

“I didn’t want to celebrate. I just wanted to see you, to be together, and talk… whatever you’d like,” he said softly. Then, after a long, blaring silence, he added, “You know it’s not easy for me either. That I…”

“No!” her voice was tense. “Please don’t continue. Please… I’m going. I’m not doing New Year’s Eve. I’m packing up and flying away.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Where will you be staying?”

“The same place. The Ambassador. Then… later… I don’t know. Somewhere around there. You know…”

“Anne, instead of letting your wound to heal, you keep ripping open the scab. I honestly don’t understand you.”

“Happy New Year,” she said, and hung up.

She felt nothing more than cold, painful emptiness. But she didn’t cry then. Only when she pulled out her brand new, lightweight suitcase and started packing her clothes did the tears begin to fall.

Yes, she knew how the elevator worked. Yes, she knows which floor it’s on. Yes, she also knows what time breakfast ends and that there is a buffet dinner in the restaurant each evening. Yes, she’s familiar with the bar. She could hardly wait to get away from the receptionist. So she could finally be alone. There was a different story whirling in her head already.

Last time (last time? no, that was a different person living a different life) they had listened with interest to all the pampering options the hotel had to offer. They had barely dropped their luggage before they headed down for a swim. The sun was still shining, and there were only a few others by the pool. Her husband dove in while they waved to him from the deck. Her husband splashed them playfully, and they giggled loudly.

Now, she stood there in the room, ready to face her memories. She put on her bathing suit and headed down to the pool.

“Sir, book your excursions now!”

“Taxi? Sir?”

“Limousine, mister?”

“Cheap tours to the River Kwai!”

“Sir, explore Bangkok with us!”

“Change money, sir?”

Paul exchanged two hundred pounds, and from that moment on he felt dizzy from the commotion. The arrival terminal of the airport seemed to be full of representatives from every single travel agency and taxi enterprise in Thailand. He almost gave in to the coaxing of the first taxi company, but someone took hold of his arm. It was the gray-haired man from the plane, the man who had given him his business card back in Amsterdam.

“Don’t do it,” he growled. “Over there…” he nodded towards the exit.

Paul followed him mutely. As soon as they stepped out of the building, he was overcome with the muggy, incredibly hot – or rather, scorching – air. Paul had never felt anything like it before. A drop of perspiration slid down his forehead and soon other drops followed in close succession. Suddenly, the jeans and T-shirt he was wearing proved to be way too hot. He already had his sweater slung over his arm.

“Haggle until you get to three-hundred bahts!” the man ordered.

“But the driver doesn’t even know where I’m going!” Paul said, bewildered, clearing his throat.

That blasted hoarseness again. The gray-haired man smiled.

“It doesn’t matter, my friend. Three hundred bahts, remember. Unless you’re headed to the River Kwai. And come find me. I’ll show you what’s worth visiting, what’s not in the guide books. Call me beforehand,” he added, extending his hand.

He should have also told Paul how to haggle. Over the course of his forty years of life, Paul had never done it before. He was turned down by quite a few drivers before he got the hang of it; finally, he got the fare down to three-hundred for a trip into the city. He sat in an air-conditioned, red-and-blue, Bangkok taxi; excluding numbers, the driver seemingly understood not a single word of English. Paul sat on the back seat, his suitcase lying on the passenger seat beside the driver, secured with a seat belt.

Why did I come here, wondered Paul, as they inched their way forward through the insane traffic. Several traffic policemen wearing surgical masks blew their whistles constantly, but their efforts were completely futile. This was a paradise for the insolent: only those who pressed on with the required aggression could move forward or change lanes. There were many brand new cars on the road mingled among old, rumbling busses emitting foul-smelling smoke. The motorcyclists held Paul’s attention with their death-defying feats. The “buffet cars” inching along in the outer lane slowed the traffic, and to top it off, the motor-powered, three-wheeled taxis, the tuk-tuks, cut in front of every vehicle. In Paul’s ordered world. The chaos of Bangkok traffic tumbled like an avalanche onto Paul’s ordered world.

BUDAPEST, 1982

“Wolfgang, you have to invite them here! Invite your cousins down to Lake Balaton. I’ll see if Judit’s family can lend us their summer cottage in Földvár. And then we’ll call Kurt to see when the whole family can get together. They’re sure to come then. Kurt has to see Teri! You can show her the pictures of Berlin.”

From her room, Teri overheard her mother talking to her father on their newly installed phone. Her father was in East Berlin at the moment. He worked as a translator and interpreter at an East German screw and bearing factory; he was responsible for maintaining connections with the Hungarian partner. He divided his time between Budapest and Berlin. Despite the fact that his parents – Teri’s grandparents – lived in East Berlin, her father’s true home was by now in Budapest, on the ninth floor of a pre-fab building in the projects of Óbuda district. Teri had her own room, while her parents’ bedroom was arranged in the smaller room; they also had a living room with a view of the Danube. The walls were so thin that Teri didn’t have to make any special effort to clearly hear her mother – by way of her father – organize an East meets West-Berlin family reunion by Lake Balaton.

After her mother hung up, she entered Teri’s room.

“Come and have breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.

“You have to eat. You need some meat on your bones, some feminine shape. You’re too skinny, too lanky. By the time Kurt and his family arrive, you need to gain a few kilos.”

Teri had spent nearly seven of her twelve years dieting. But during the past few months, after her mother had finally given up on the project of transforming her daughter into a world champion gymnast, the door to jams, ice cream, and cakes had been thrown open. Now, it was obligatory for her to eat. According to her mother, the only way people would learn Teri’s name was if she became more shapely, not by staying as bony and lean as she was now.

She hadn’t gotten her period yet, and her chest was almost completely flat; she became increasingly uptight about the bulge that, according to her mother, would become the “symbol of her femininity.”

She continued to train conscientiously even after her mother no longer required Mrs. Varga’s services. From then on, Teri attended training in the district of Angyalföld. Getting there took longer, so she had less time for sleep and homework. When Angyalföld no longer sufficed, Teri’s mother took her to another coach at another athletics organization located in the Kispest district. This place was truly very far from both home and school, and if her mom wouldn’t have driven her there and back, she would have had to travel nearly an hour and a half, one-way, to get there.

Her final coach, Ildi, allowed the kids to call her by her first name, since she had only recently stopped competing. Ildi didn’t say that Teri had grown too much, even though Teri was more than a head taller than the age group she competed with, but shook her head sadly when she heard Teri’s mother encouraging her daughter in parting:

“You’ll be the best no matter what! You’ll be a champion if you push yourself as hard as you can!”

Her mother’s dreams were shattered by a torn tendon. Teri’s Achilles tendon snapped at one of the junior championships. She was rushed into surgery immediately and had to wear a boot cast for weeks. The surgeon advised that she should quit competitive sports.

But Teri’s mother wasn’t idle for long. She found an advertisement in one of the East German magazines that her father had brought home with him; they were looking for girls aged twelve to fourteen for young people’s fashion shows. Since the audition dates were at the same time as spring break, the whole family traveled to East Berlin. Teri was soon attempting to make her way down the catwalk in the crossfire of spotlights without limping.

Several photographs were taken of her. At the end of the day, the agency told her mother that Teri was very pretty and that she might have a bright future ahead of her in the world of fashion, but at the moment she was still too much like a little girl and quite bony. Her mother should wait until Teri became a bit more feminine.

Thus, Teri’s mother’s hope that she might see her daughter on the cover of magazines was rekindled. Not to mention that those covers might be on foreign magazines like Bunte, not just Hungarian ones. It was a daring dream: an Eastern European girl with a Western European career… But this was the goal that her mother had imagined.

Teri’s only goal was to get Zoli Kiss to leave her alone. His front tooth had still not emerged, and Teri suspected that this was his punishment for bothering her endlessly since first grade. Perhaps the tooth would never sprout, if such a thing was even possible. All she wanted was for him to stop clinging, to stop walking her home after school every day. In all honesty, she thought he was a sweet boy, but she didn’t want her mother to see them.

“Your husband won’t just be an average Joe,” her mother sometimes said. “Make sure you remember that, always. That’s why you shouldn’t get bogged down with boys for now. They only want to use you.”

Zoli Kiss only wanted to carry her books, which, to Teri, wasn’t equal to being used. But she didn’t want her mother to find out about Zoli. She didn’t want to argue.

Sometimes she didn’t understand why her classmates never had so many extracurricular activities. Teri had math, English, and dance classes after school, though she was exempt from dance for a while after her foot was injured. In addition, a young woman had recently begun to instruct her in walking like the models at fashion shows.

Her mother – who had worked in a beauty salon before Teri began school and who now made it her full-time job to drive her daughter to activities – taught Teri how to apply makeup to her eyes and lips. She had picked up these fashion industry techniques from a friend of hers who was a beautician in the same salon where she had been a hairdresser.

Teri was surprised that her friends didn’t practice any sports and didn’t have extra classes, and she was envious that they were able to sleep so much. She had gotten so used to this hectic way of life that it was natural to her.

She was barely five when she began rhythmic gymnastics, and just like her mother, she too believed that all the hard work and training would pay off and that someday she would be awarded the Olympic gold medal.

Mrs. Varga had shaken her resolve when she expressed concern about Teri’s sudden growth spurt, but her mother had reinstated her determination.

In the end, she didn’t mind that she had suffered that ugly injury and that she would never become a world champion. She wanted a carefree life – at least for a little while – like her classmate Enikő, who was astonished that Teri attended competitions every Saturday and Sunday.

“I usually sleep till noon,” Enikő told her. “Sometimes my parents and I go out for a hike, or we visit my cousins and play soccer with them all day.”

Teri didn’t know what this summer had in store for her, but she did know that this would be the first summer since school started when she didn’t have to go to training or extra classes. They had a new car, a Lada, which her father had finally saved up for, while an acquaintance of her mother’s helped speed up the paperwork so they wouldn’t have to wait months before it was delivered. Teri could hardly wait to climb in and head down to Lake Balaton. She didn’t even mind spending her vacation with her father’s German family and friends.