SeXUAL AMbIGUiTY in HuNgARY
A submission by English Teacher EN
Although she was a lovely girl, with her hair always neatly combed into a little girlish ponytail, I was happy when my private left: she was the last for this Friday evening, and finally I could enjoy a little time alone - as far as you can be alone in a café. The piano music had also stopped, and I was especially grateful for this because the pianist was obviously striving to do the worst improvisation session ever.
This surprised me, as so many Hungarians I'd met were excellent musicians, but - the music had stopped, and I wasn't going to waste any time thinking about that. Instead, I focused my thoughts on the new Dreher the waitress had just brought to me.
I realised I perhaps should have taken one last beer while she was there. My students generally didn't mind paying for everything we'd drink during lessons, which always took place in bars as soon as I realised this. It was fine by me: I was essentially being paid to drink while rambling about various English novels or plays. Those kids were all Anglo-Saxon literature students or something.
And they must have been rich kids, too. I gave the waitress 380 of the 2500 forints she'd given me, and leaned back into my chair, watching around idly. It was late, it was dark, it was raining, and this bar was far from where I was staying: I didn't feel like getting on the move immediately. I ordered another beer.
It must have been an exam period, otherwise I wouldn't be having so many privates. Four during the same afternoon, the last one at half past ten on a Friday night… the examination must have been pretty imminent! Which I certainly wasn't going to complain about.
I was finishing my last Dreher by the time I realised there was still no one at the piano.
Feeling confident, I got up and sat down in front of the piano. I'd seen people do this at another place in Budapest, so I thought I could do it here. No one seemed to mind, in fact, quite a few people even gave me what I'm sure was an encouraging smile.
My fingers were shaking, though, so I decided to play something easy and slow. The first four or five bars of the Moonlight Sonata were somewhat hesitant, but then I played passably well.
I hadn't even seen this guy while I was playing, but now he was difficult not to notice. He'd been standing right behind me, but as I finished, he went and grabbed a chair, and sat next to where I was. Uh ho. To my surprise, he asked something in a friendly voice, but I didn't quite get it. I had lost hope trying to learn Hungarian anyway.
Then he asked me whether Beszelt Magyarul?, to which I replied with a flat no. Do you speak English?, he went on, and we started talking about Beethoven.
The fellow was a tall, lean man in his mid-thirties. Apparently he was from Transylvania, that part of Rumania where about two million Hungarians live. Transylvania was savagely cut off Hungary and became part of Rumania after the treaty of Triannon, as you will be reminded by Hungarians just about every day if you ever decide to go spend some time in Magyaroszag (as they call their country).
I don't blame them, though, and to tell the truth, Transylvania would probably be better off being part of Hungary than of Rumania. My interlocutor of course reminded me of this. He also told me that he was supposed to play the piano here, and that he'd be playing the next day in another café, where there'd be this party.
"You should come, it vill be really gleat," he told me.
Sure, I'll come, no problem," I replied, and we went on talking about piano. This guy was a fan of Keith Jarrett. He even played the first few bars of the Köln concert, and well, too. Much better than I could ever have, anyhow.
But he didn't play long, and we kept on talking. He reminded me again of his party, then again, and then again. By that time I was giving more evasive replies, and the guy started to sound vaguely suspicious. He was certainly behaving strangely. But we kept on talking, and he kept on telling me about this party where I absolutely HAD to show up, until I finally asked him, "Hey, what's going to be so great about that party?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "I vill play piano, there vill be a lot of nice guys and vhen the party finish, ve have sex together."
My jaw dropped and I was silent for a few seconds. The bluntness of the offer astonished me. I finally managed to stammer, "But I… I, I did not come here to have sex!", which, I must admit, must have sounded rather lame.
The guy finally sensed that I wasn't the type of guy he was looking for, and told me he had to start playing. He also told me I could wait for him if I wanted an explanation, but he knew very well that I wouldn't linger in the bar too long. And I didn't.
Gay sex is all fine and dandy, but it's not really my cup of tea. Well, I don't think it is, I've never tried. But since I'm a pretty close-minded individual, I'm not too eager to.
Anyway, something was definitely wrong with me. There are so many sexy Hungarian girls, why couldn't I find one to date? My students weren't even remotely interested in me – only in my drunken theories on Othello and Jane Austen. And why the hell were the men interested in pressing their sharp hipbones against my muscular buttocks? Was this a sort of omen, a vision of my future career as a transvestite?
I shuddered as I walked out of the café, and headed for the nearest disco, somewhat desperate for some action, which of course I didn't get.