I transformed the radio to your station and inquired after her name.
“Hedvig,” she said.
My heart mostly desired to vomit. Her name was the same exact one as my mom. Her attractiveness dispersed. I turned up your program loud now. So here I am, fixing her radiator, and what song appears at that very moment? “Surfin’ Bird.” I berated myself with laughter. I mean, sincerely, it’s like you were sending me a sign with those lyrics, “bird, bird, bird, bird is the word.” I should be staring at unique regions on the woman before me, instead of being so sullen over her name.
How do you know me so well, Uncle Lanci? Let me just say, with her, bird became one hundred percent the thing present in my forethoughts. It’s as if I could fit anything I wanted, but mostly all that I have lived through, under one major umbrella of music. It’s like The Blob, eating and overcoming all that I love.
Swiftly, it all did not manifest as so serious anymore. I laughed and greeted her with my name too. (Which, of course, I will refrain from writing here!) I know Hedvig desired my attention by the way she eyed my caresses over her radio. She did pardon herself from my presence momentarily—it’s hard for women to be around me too long without touching me.
I persevered to fix her car like a truthful repairman, and what do you know, but three hours later it was in tip-top form. But not before I did a little something to it…. I nullified every individual station on her radio settings and switched them all to Radio Free Europe.
When she returned to her car, I turned up the volume to maximum height and “Love Me Do” came out of it. I could tell her innards jived to the music. That’s when it struck me that she could be my pristine Hedvig.
She could be my Hedvig in real life, not the one in the past tense life, as is my mom. I could belch her name from the streets. Imagine me fixing myself at Nyugati Station with a guitar and singing “Hedvig,” “Hedvig,” “Hedvig!”
I thought you would be proud of me. I speculate you are wondering what happened admist Hedvig and I. Perhaps I could inflate you with some pride. Well, I received her numbers and I called her but a short number of hours following.
We convened later that night at a secret concert. My friend Andras has a fake band that plays all the songs from your radio program. If the police find our concerts, they always break them up, so I had to practice cautions. I told Hedvig to meet me somewhere special, but didn’t tell her what we were doing. When she immersed herself in the venue, I could tell she was pleased.
We commenced our date with talking and drinking when the most miraculous occurrence happened. There we were, Uncle Lanci, suckling our alcohol, when the band commenced playing “Surfin’ Bird.” The entirety of the audience initiated singing. So we spurted upward and danced, caressing hands. Well, I thought, the forecast looks supreme for the rest of the evening, so I asked her if she would like to return to my home. She said, “Yes.” And it’s all because of you, Uncle Lanci! If it wasn’t for that song, I would be a lone man.
For the rest of the night, we retreated to my apartment. I showed Hedvig a photo of John Lennon I bought on the black market. She couldn’t halt herself from staring at it, so I had to intervene. I placed my hand atop of her shoulder and queried if she would like to see my room. She instantly affirmed my congenial offer.
Our kisses initiated slow, like when you truly think this is it, the excellence of this moment could surpass no other. Naturally, other parts of my body had more to say about the situation. I tenderously took off her shirt and was behold by the most tender but stable breasts I have ever faced off with. They were like petite moons settling and rising as I maneuvered them. They went for an arduous ride, and after about three minutes, I concluded I should give them a break.
Hedvig asked me if I cared to explore more, ever so piously. I am a gentleman and heeded her gratuitous request, so I commenced to take off her clothes. Wow, her underwear was the type that deconstructs brains to shards. I knew that Hedvig donned it especially for yours truly—it came directly from Africa, she confessed. It was composed of velvet with the skin of a cheetah. I commenced to rub my cheek against this pleasurable offering, forgetting almost completely I had other work to complete.
By this point, I was raging with pleasure, in all parts of my body, but I harnessed focus on the task at my fingertips. I peeled forth her underwear. Oh, how happy I am I did that. I have never spied anything of this nature in all my twenty-seven years.
Hedvig, it turns around, had the most illustrious design sketched onto her nether region. Instead of the normal fluff, which I must profess, I do sincerely enjoy partaking in, Hedvig’s hair forged a peace sign!
I will confess, I feared deconstructing the marvelous design Hedvig adorned. My potential animal nature would make me peruse her in absolute force, and who could guess what could possibly take place, what parts of her beautiful design could falter?
We moved on to the momentary act, for a plethora of gluttonous moments. (I said momentary, Uncle Lanci, because that’s the length of time females last in my presence, if you grasp my meaning. Let me say something to you, though, this is one hundred percent normal.) After I ensured she was cared about, I braced myself against her, until I bowed down to pleasure. After, we dropped into a very serious sleep, gripping each other’s torsos with utmost affection.
Tonight, I cannot grace Hedvig with my presence since I will be laboring away at my night job cleansing the Ministry of Interior. That is my second job next to being a car technician. I don’t receive much pleasure from this and dream of being a dentist. I applied for college, but they turned me down on account of my middle-class origins. They punish me because my family has too much (even though we don’t), so now I am a worker. As you sit cozy in the West, conducting your loose radio programs, it seems so impossible to achieve becoming as glorious as you.
So, I request you elevate me out of that desponded building on Adrássy út, because I’ll be there all week, as you like to say. Please don “Surfin’ Bird” on your radio. And when you do, say that it is from Mike a Korvinközből to Hedvig.
Sincerely,
Mike a Korvinközből
Desire is fueled by all, but fulfillment. —Ernő Osvát
ESZTER TURJÁN
October 23, 1956—Morning
I BARELY SLEPT, except for a few hours in the morning. When I woke up, I discovered Ivan and Dora were both still home. They should have been at work and school. I should have been at the factory.
I wandered, half-asleep, toward Ivan’s study, the only room in the house he spent time in. He slept there most nights unless he suspected I had snuck out. Then he waited for me in our bed, ready to question me and test my proficiency at lying.
“What’s going on?” I leaned against the doorframe to steady my fatigued legs.
“Demonstration.” Ivan sat next to the radio. We never moved it out of the kitchen, but now it sat on his desk, in silence. He had it turned off, knowing I would want to hear the news today.
“Is it a big one?”
“Not yet. But, I don’t trust it. I think it will get out of hand.”
I reached for the radio, but Ivan moved it beyond my reach.
“We’re also not listening to this today. Best to just keep a low profile.”
I really had no idea what had happened since I’d fallen asleep, though I’m not sure why I expected Ivan to engage me in a conversation about it or let me use the radio. The fact that he was scared meant the students had made some sort of impact on party members. I wouldn’t, however, put it past Ivan to stay home just so he could make sure I didn’t do anything that would threaten his career ambitions.