“And are you guarding or sleeping?” Berki inquired.
“Guarding,” Piggybank declared confidently.
Berki nodded as if that was a fact that he already knew and didn’t doubt, but just wanted confirmed for the other gypsies.
“So you take money even at night?”
“Of course,” Piggybank said and unwittingly stroked the red money bag hanging on his belly.
“No, you don’t guard at night!” Berki laughed victoriously and all the other gypsies joined in the laughter. Even Piggybank laughed, as he had no idea what the gypsies were getting at. “Just the other day we took a look at you,” Berki continued, “at night. You were snoozing.”
“I do doze off sometimes,” admitted Piggybank.
“And what if you had something stolen?” Berki pounced.
“That can’t happen,” said Piggybank. “I sleep so lightly that…”
“No, you don’t,” Berki contradicted him. He nodded to a young gypsy who took from under the colourful folds of his Hawaiian shirt a couple of windscreen wipers. “Look,” Berki said, “this is what we took from you last night. We’re giving them back. We’re good gypsies. When the Yugo from Vienna shows up, the one in the orange Opel, give them back to him. We just wanted to test you.”
Piggybank stared at them in shock. It was lucky that Zdravko G. hadn’t noticed! The gypsies were enjoying the attendant’s embarrassment.
“And just you think,” Berki went on, “what if somebody worked the parked cars over on Friday night, and took antennas, windshield wipers, hub caps. What would you do?” Piggybank was speechless with shock. “Fortunately,” Berki stressed, “we’re good gypsies here. We’ll guard the lot for you at night. Of course, you’ll have to share the parking fees with us. We know how much you take.” Berki named the approximate amount and while Piggybank got over his shock at the precision of the gypsy’s guess, Berki continued: “Let’s say you give us a third. Fair, isn’t it?”
“What?” the attendant exclaimed, horrified. “You want a third of my money?” He couldn’t believe his ears.
“You’ve got it wrong,” said Berki, and the other gypsies under the sycamore murmured in approval, nodding their heads and fanning themselves with newspapers. “We only want our money, the share we’ll earn honestly guarding your car park. We could even save your life. What if a bad gypsy comes in the night? You can’t tell what he might decide to do. He might bring petrol, matches, and burn you alive in your trailer. If you share the takings with us, we’ll protect you. We’re good gypsies. You can rely on us.”
Piggybank wouldn’t listen to them any more. He angrily told them to go to hell. Piggybank could keep watch by himself. He didn’t need anyone.
The gypsies watched him calmly, almost pitifully. Very well, then: they, the good gypsies, had tried to be helpful, but he shouldn’t be surprised if something happened.
That night Piggybank brewed some strong coffee and decided to stay up. He was on the lookout. But around midnight his head slumped and he nodded off, still sitting in his chair. By morning the bad gypsies had stolen the wipers, antennas and hubcaps from all the parked vehicles. Piggybank was aghast. The good gypsies were right! Luckily, none of the customers, buoyed up by their memories of cheap Slovak whores, noticed anything missing. Piggybank sighed with relief. If anyone shows up with a claim, he’ll send them packing. Late claims cannot be accepted! Imagine Piggybank paying for damage that might have occurred somewhere else: in the street, in another parking lot, and so on.
This easy resolution of a seemingly desperate situation gave Piggybank confidence. When Berki showed up again, Piggybank, surprised by his own courage, threw him out. Fear for his money triumphed over fear of the gypsies.
The next weekend night the guard was again sound asleep after even less of an effort to keep awake. He slept soundly, after taking his trousers off and stretching out on his narrow bunk. That was why he heard no engine noise and saw no lights in the car park. Somebody was walking around the trailer. Hushed voices were talking. Then there was a metallic sound and the trailer shook. Piggybank did not wake up even when an unknown car gathered speed. Piggybank slept soundly even when the trailer bumped over the city’s potholes and when it passed the last of the city street lights and sped southwards. On the contrary, the monotonous noise of the engine and the rocking kept him asleep, so he plunged ever deeper into a world of dreams.
He woke up suddenly at about six. His eyes closed, he was wondering why he couldn’t hear the morning trams rumble as they rolled round the Hotel Ambassador. No cars were speeding down the main street either, and there were no voices of pedestrians to be heard through the thin fibreboard wall of the trailer. Piggybank leapt out of his bunk. He flung the trailer door open and was stupefied. The trailer was all on its own in the middle of a field of yellow rape. The only sound to be heard was a lark’s malicious trill of joy in the blue sky. This was soon accompanied by Piggybank’s howls, expressing wild hatred of this disagreeable surprise and fear of an unknown environment.
It took a good week for the trailer to be got back to its place in front of the Hotel Ambassador. When Berki came to ask the attendant, who had lost weight, what those bad gypsies had done, he got his first payment right away.
“I knew that you couldn’t manage without us,” said Berki, putting the thousand-crown bills in his wallet. “We’re good gypsies, we’ll protect you. The bad gypsies are afraid of us.”
And so Freddy Piggybank and the good gypsies became friends through thick or thin.
* * *
Rácz also needs money, a lot of it. He counts his cash every night. He enjoys this ritual. All day he looks forward to it. Sometimes he counts his money twice, just for the fun of it. Marriage to Eržika has now become a rather vague misty goal in a distant future; he doesn’t think about it. He now saves for her just out of habit. His thoughts are now occupied by another woman: Silvia. She has got right under his skin. He is jealous of her and he hates her. He knows she’s a whore, and that torments him. Every time she comes to him, he feels like sniffing her for traces of other men. Sometimes he can’t hold back and gives her a slap. Or even two. Silvia gets her own back. She’s mean and snide. She demands more and more. On the other hand, the fact that you can’t talk to Rácz about anything, except business deals and money, gets on her nerves. He has no hobbies. He never goes into town. He feels good in the boiler-room and in the hotel, in his overalls and work boots, staying within an area that he knows inside out and where there are almost no surprises. But the money makes it bearable, Silvia tells herself all the time. If only he weren’t so wild and rough. A lad who used to be modest and not very bright has turned into a tyrant. There’s always an arrogant and bossy smile on his face. Everybody bows down to him. He likes it. Recently he’s started to refer to himself in the third person: Rácz doesn’t want that, Rácz never lends money, Rácz this, Rácz that. He takes Silvia without the slightest feeling or tenderness. This roughness upsets Silvia the most. But she’s used to far worse treatment. Rácz acts without any refinement or charm. He takes her as if he were at home in the village, saddling or harnessing a mare. Sometimes he bites her. Sometimes he punches her. When he comes, he rolls over and lights up. When the stoker does that, he gets on her nerves more than anyone. So he can pay for it!
Rácz can’t give her up. Eržika has receded into the background. He can’t even remember what she looks like any more. She’s become a colourless faded photograph with a name, but no face. She exists for him only in the remote past and vague future. Rácz knows that Silvia dislikes him. That irritates him. He takes it out on her. He pinches her viciously. She is, after all, his property. He owns her, just as he owns a carton of American cigarettes lying on the rickety battered table. He knows very well that she puts up with constant humiliation from him only for the money. Nevertheless, when he hits her, he feels pangs of remorse. He doesn’t hesitate to hand out money in compensation. Silvia does not flinch at his blows. She knows that the more he hurts her, the more emotional he gets and the more he dishes out afterwards. When Rácz wants her to shout, she shouts. When he wants her to shut up, she is quiet.