That was before he’d hunted out the hotel’s immediate surroundings. Now he has to get his prey further away from the hotel. He ended up finding a relatively rich hunting ground across the street, in the courtyard of the cancer clinic. But he caught almost nothing but cats there. That was one drawback. Secondly, the manager had to get into the courtyard furtively, since the lodge porter at the rear entrance kept a careful lookout. In his thick anorak and ski trousers, carrying arrows and a long bamboo bow made from a foot-scraper, wearing baggy felt boots, the manager had a hard time climbing the fence of the cancer clinic. It was even worse on the way back with his prey: a cat, dog, or small rodent. Happy moments of careless feasting only took place when the manager made it safely back into the hotel building, hugging the walls, keeping to the shadows until he was in his office. Such moments were rare. More often the manager starved and froze until he was so weak that he could barely lie in his tent, motionless and staring vacantly.
The fire does not warm the whole office. A few feet away it’s still cold. The manager has to sit very close to the fire. He can light a bonfire only at night. Then the smoke coming out from the half-open office window can’t be seen.
The manager has somehow come to terms with his fiasco in the kitchen. For some time he has even been considering not sucking up to Rácz. However, as winter goes on, he desperately realises that only making peace with the stoker will enable him to survive. Nobody else will help him. So the manager decides to make one more attempt to win the stoker’s favour and pardon. Then the heating in his office will be turned on again and the manager can take off his baggy ski trousers and peacefully get his position back. Then the manager’s salary will no longer vanish somewhere in the hotel corridors. He could buy food, even raspberry soda. The manager’s wife and her lover would take him back. In time he would then push the lover out and once again sleep in his managerial bed.
But first, the manager has to regain Rácz’s favour. Fortunately, he knows how. This time he really does. A sudden revelation came to him one evening when he was putting on the fire the last leg of a chair he’d looted in the lift. This epiphany was so powerful and intense that it made the manager jump up as if he’d been bitten. He walked up and down his icy office for a long time, issuing various shrieks of astonishment, stumbling into the stretched skins of various small rodents he was drying, drumming his chest with his fists in blissful triumph and hope for a speedy solution to his problems When he was worn out, the manager sat down by his fire again and shook his head until he was giddy, as if baffled at someone like him having such a brilliant idea.
Music is the way to a man’s heart — that’s irrefutable. The manager has vivid memories of that from happier days, before Rácz arrived on the scene. Those were the days when the manager, together with the hotel lawyer and his faithful sidekick Ďula, held interviews with prospective waitresses, room maids, and dancers. Then all you needed was a drop of cheap brandy served from an empty Martell bottle, soft lighting, and sweet muted music. Each new female employee soon relaxed and readily gave of her best. Of course, the manager was happy just to let the naked girls ride him like a horse and then whip him with bamboo canes. He would go back to his wife happy and content, while the lawyer and Ďula went on interviewing. No, the manager cannot believe that the stoker could be immune to the magical effect of music.
After the cabaret bar closes, Rácz and Silvia always go to the stoker’s suite. Once there, according to their mood, they screw, or watch a horror film. That much the manager knows for sure: he’s spent many moments in the dark corridor, his ear pressed to the door of Rácz’s suite, trembling with fear of being discovered and grabbed, but at the same time racked by a chilling, unnatural pleasure in his loins and gut. Oh, the manager knows very well the effect melodious music has on lovers, when played in their ears. And that’s what he’ll do. The moment the stoker and his girlfriend disappear into their suite, the manager will be there, in the corridor, playing melancholy, sentimental, romantic tunes. Of course, he’ll be cunningly disguised. And when Rácz, stirred by tears of emotion, comes out into the corridor, too moved to speak, and embraces the unknown troubadour, then the manager will take off his false beard and dark glasses and let himself be recognized. There’ll be no going back: the stoker will have to shake the manager’s friendly hand.
The manager has already practised a few simple songs, soulfully sung to the accompaniment of an accordion or the wistful melodic line of a mouth organ. All he has to do now is to get a big drum with shoulder straps, bells to put round his calves, a car horn, and children’s cymbals. He is content; things are going to plan. He plays his whole repertoire one last time. Soon it’s four in the morning. The bar closes. The manager begins to attach the drum, the accordion, and the mouth organ holder. He glues on a long black beard and puts on some dark glasses. A glance at a shard of mirror assures him that his appearance is changed out of all recognition. He carefully opens the office door and looks outside. There’s no one about. He tiptoes into the hall and goes up the service stairs to the top floor. There he hides behind a corner, waiting for Rácz to arrive. He makes sure he isn’t given away by the untimely ring of a little bell or an unwanted bang on the drum.
Soon the lift stops on the top floor. The stoker and his girlfriend come out and vanish into their suite. The manager hugs the wall and almost stops breathing. He creeps up to the door and listens. He can hear the noise of the shower and their voices. Then the shower stops and he hears the muffled but energetic creaking of the bed. “They’re screwing,” the manager thinks. This is his moment! He attaches the drum strap to his shoe, extends the accordion bellows, silently counts the beat, breathes in and begins:
I used to love a girl
A beautiful dark-haired girl
And now I am waiting
To hear what God will say.
I loved my dark-haired girl,
My beautiful dark-haired girl
And all I got for my love