“I’m sure you want to introduce me to those idiot friends of yours, the money-changing morons,” she says accusingly.
The slant-eyed waiter brings hot stoneware dish-warmers and then the food. While he serves them, Urban and Lenka are silent. The food has a pleasant aroma.
“Bring me a knife and fork, please,” says Urban, putting the chopsticks aside.
The waiter bows. He leaves and soon returns with cutlery on a tray. A condescending smile plays on his immobile Asian face.
“It only takes a minute or two to learn to use chopsticks,” says Lenka, when the waiter leaves. “I can’t imagine eating Chinese food with a knife and fork.”
She adroitly picks up the chopsticks and taps them together like a claw.
“Look, see? I’ll teach you.”
“I don’t want to learn,” says Urban. “I have a knife and fork.”
“Shall I ask for chopsticks?” asks Lenka.
Urban shakes his head.
“I asked him to take them away,” he says. “What’s done, is done. They’ll think I’m an idiot.”
“Does it matter what the waiter thinks of you?” Lenka asks and taps her chopstick-claw menacingly. “Isn’t it more important what I think of you?”
“Listen, we’ll do a deal,” Urban starts. “I’ll go with you to the party and act as your boyfriend. But when it gets boring, we’ll go to the Ambassador.”
Urban smiles. Urban has an invitation, too. And not just anybody’s: Rácz himself has invited him.
“Who is Rácz?”
“It’s pointless trying to explain,” says Urban, “or to describe it. You’ve got to see and experience it. Urban is certain that this would be a completely different sort of experience from Lenka’s blasé and impotent classmates with their endless blethering about existence, truth, experience, background, values, epistemology, and all that crap.
“You’re just jealous of them,” says Lenka.
“Of them?” Urban is astounded. “And just what is there to be jealous of, if I may ask?”
“You could have been studying, if you hadn’t been so stupid,” Lenka said. “and next year you’d be graduating.”
“And then I’d live with my dear parents until I’m thirty, making twelve hundred crowns gross a month,” says Urban. “Not if I can help it.”
“I bet your parents must be really proud of you now!” Lenka says.
Urban gets angry. He makes more in a day than his father makes in a month. Is that nothing?
“Who is Rácz, anyway?” Lenka asks after chewing for a while.
Urban pauses to reflect. “He’s a natural calamity,” he says. “A money-making machine.”
“So he’s just another money dealer?” Lenka asks, disappointed.
Urban nods in agreement. He thinks. “Rácz is the stupidest and the most limited person I’ve ever met,” he finally says. He has less intelligence than Urban’s left shoe. But he is incredibly adaptive. And predatory. Urban knows what Rácz wants. He wants everything. Rácz is a natural catastrophe. Urban looks at Lenka. Rácz would show her who’s boss, he thinks, imagining Lenka’s fragile white body in the stoker’s paws. “She deserves it,” he muses.
* * *
The stupidest and the most limited man Urban had ever met is sitting in his suite, silently watching the television screen. It’s morning. An overcast sky can be seen through the window. On the screen a giant muscle man is brandishing a five-foot sword that emits sparks.
Ďula knocks and enters. “I’ve come, as you ordered. Here’s that list of yours,” he says, handing Rácz a piece of paper. “I’ve retyped it, like you told me.”
Rácz takes the paper and looks it over, muttering approval. “You can see straight away it’s better,” he says with mild reproach. “And you have to add the lawyer,” he decides.
“I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know what he’s like and what we can expect of him. He doesn’t let on. He keeps himself to himself.”
Rácz looks at Ďula. “We’ll invite him, too,” he says. “Do it. Clear?”
“I don’t know if he’ll come,” Ďula allows himself a doubt. Their joint foray to the stoker’s village has strengthened, in Ďula’s mind, his ties to the powerful stoker. “I mean if he doesn’t have other plans,” adds Ďula wisely.
“If he comes, he comes,” says the stoker. “If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. So let’s go through the list one more time.” First Rácz and Silvia; her friend Edita; Ďula; Wanda the Trucker; Video Urban and companion; Khunt, who bought the watches from Rácz, and companion; two Albanian representatives: Bekim Bahmuci and Ahmet Sočila and their companions; a few scrubbers from the cabaret: Anča-Jožo, Dripsy Eve, and the others; a few important hotel guests. In other words, people who consider it an honour to sit at the same table as Rácz.
“A big honour, a big honour!” Ďula nods enthusiastically.
Rácz gets up. “Now go,” he orders him, “and get me the restaurant manager!”
Meanwhile Silvia gets back from shopping. She takes off her fur coat and reveals a mini-skirt. She’s wearing boots that reach above her knees, a Christmas present from Rácz. He bought them for her, but she doesn’t like them. They look like fishermen’s waders. But they’re in fashion. Every whore at the Ambassador has them. Silvia puts down her bags.
“Where’ve you been?” asks Rácz.
“In Tuzex, the foreign-currency store,” says Silvia.
“And what did you get there?”
“I bought a nice spring coat,” she says.
“What do you need a spring coat for in winter?” Rácz asks.
“Spring comes next,” Silvia announces stubbornly.
“Did you go with Edita?” Rácz asks her.
“I did,” Silvia answers. “Why do you ask?”
“Just asking,” says Rácz. He thinks the two women spend too much time together. It seems a bit strange to Rácz. He’s heard about women who are such good friends that they end up screwing together. Rácz isn’t sure what to think about that.
Somebody knocks at the door. “Come in!” Rácz roars. It’s the restaurant manager. Rácz offers him a chair and briefly lets him know about his plans for New Year’s Eve, which he proposes to celebrate with a circle of friends. He will need the separate lounge.
The restaurant manager says timidly that they’d be happy to welcome the boss and his much-respected companions, but unfortunately, the lounge is already reserved.
“Reserved?” asks Rácz. “Then cancel!” he orders severely, “I can’t see the problem.”
The restaurant manager politely clears his throat to gain time. He says, “It’s not that simple. Dr. Renceš reserved the lounge at the beginning of December.”
“And who’s he?” asks Rácz.
“The boss doesn’t know Dr. Renceš?” The restaurant manager is astounded.
“No,” says Rácz. “Rácz has never been sick.”
The restaurant manager chokes back his horror. “Dr. Renceš is the mayor of our city,” he says in a trembling voice. Rácz doesn’t lift an eyebrow. It’s made no impression on him.
“You must understand now,” said the restaurant manager, “that, with all the respect due to you, it’s absolutely impossible to cancel the mayor’s reservation.”
“No, I don’t understand,” says Rácz. “Why is it impossible?” The restaurant manager just throws up his hands helplessly. Rácz loses patience. “Look,” he says and gets up. “Either you cancel that reservation, or tell the mayor to dress very warmly for New Year’s Eve. And his companions, too.”
The restaurant manager turns pale. He is stumped, and falls back into his armchair in despair. “You can’t do this to us,” he murmurs, giving the triumphant stoker a look of entreaty.