ADAM CROSSED the intersection and pulled to a stop. “Can you read it? What’s it say?”
Katja bent forward. In her left hand she was holding the Budapest map that Adam had folded up, in her right the cube, on her lap lay the road map of Hungary.
“Somehow I can’t find this road, it’s not on here. Turn around,” she said. “We made a wrong turn somewhere. Just turn around and drive back to those traffic signs.”
“ ‘Somehow,’ ‘somewhere,’ ” Adam said, opening the back door and hauling out one of the two twenty-liter jerricans. He unscrewed the gas-tank cap and fed the funnel in. He had to lift the can almost to his chest, the first slosh spilled.
“Can I help?” Katja called.
“Stay put,” Adam managed to gasp, his face distorted with exertion. His upper body moved in rhythm with the can’s glug-glugging and whenever a rapid boom-boom-boom echoed inside the can. In time, however, these hollow thuds grew softer, until the gasoline was flowing almost soundlessly into the funnel and Adam’s face relaxed. Even when only drops were coming out, Adam went on holding the can at vertical. A cricket chirped.
“And?” Adam asked as he got back in the car. His hands gave off the odor of gasoline.
“You can take me back, you know.”
Adam started the engine and made a U-turn.
“It was childish of me,” Katja said. “I don’t know myself why I panicked like that.”
Adam glanced at his watch.
“You can let me out right here, I’ll find my way back.”
“Stop it now.”
“I can’t always be tagging along behind you, hoping you’ll buy me more ice cream.”
“And what if those people there send you away?”
“Then even great big Lake Balaton won’t be much help either.”
“Maybe there’ll be another miracle.”
“Have you got enough money?”
Adam shrugged.
“Can you lend me some? I’ll pay you back, in Westmarks, one to one, as soon as I can.”
“You don’t need to pay me back. I’d rather you tell me where I’m supposed to be going.”
They stopped at an intersection, the car behind them honked.
“Take a right here, we have to circle around to the right, there’s the sign. No money, no paper, no nothing—up the creek.”
“I don’t have all that much, just the forints they allow—and you know how far that goes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re going to drive to Lake Balaton now, and tomorrow we’ll see. We know some people there. You won’t starve. You don’t need to worry, not on that account.”
“I don’t need much.”
“I’ve got another two hundred Westmarks. Once we’ve tanked up and take off for home, you get whatever is left.”
“Just let me out here somewhere, Adam. You don’t need to be afraid I’ll make any trouble for you. Your wife won’t so much as see my face, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“Now stop it, once and for all! What’s left to eat?”
“Hörnchen and jam and a jar of mustard.”
“Well, fork it over!”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sure you are,” Adam said. “You need to eat something, by way of precaution.”
They left the city just as the sun vanished below the horizon.
Around eleven they pulled in at the campground at Badacsony. The barrier was down, no gatekeeper in sight.
“Whoa, look at those prices!” Katja exclaimed. “They want thirty marks a night.”
“West German marks,” Adam said, nodding in the direction of a little group just returning to their tents. “They’re the ones driving prices up.”
“I’ll just walk in,” Katja said. “We’ll meet again then tomorrow, okay?”
“Tomorrow?”
“Or the day after?”
“Let’s go a little farther, we’ll find something yet.”
“Aren’t you going to go meet your wife?”
“It’s too late now.”
“What do you mean too late?”
Adam got back into the car. “So what’s up? Do you want to come along or don’t you?”
Katja hesitated. “Do you know your way around here?”
“Come on.”
They drove on, until Adam stopped and made a careful turn off the road.
“So have a look,” he said and turned on his brights, revealing a meadow and the water. “Now that looks like it’s been made for us.” He turned the headlights off and opened the door. “How about a swim? Or not your kind of thing?”
“Sure, of course,” Katja said. “It’s just so dark here.”
“Let me get used to the idea first.”
Adam at once began blowing up an air mattress. Katja unrolled the tent and put the poles together by light from the car interior. Adam helped her set it up. “Listen, frogs,” he said.
When they were finished he undressed and walked out into the water.
“Don’t you want to come in? The water’s fine, not too cold, not too warm.”
It got deeper only gradually. “Katja? Are you there?” When he got no answer, he glided into the water and swam off. He tried to move as soundlessly as possible. Everything else sounded far away. The lake was circled with light. It was dark only directly behind him.
“Now that’s what I call a puddle! Now I smell like water instead of gasoline,” he said. Katja handed him a towel. Adam walked around to the other side of the car, dried himself off, and fetched fresh clothes from his suitcase. “Shall we go find a beer somewhere?”
“Not for me.”
“I’ll sleep in the car.”
“Are you still going out somewhere?”
“No,” he said. “Have you taken care of Elfi?”
“I gave her a little softened-up bread.”
“Anything wrong?”
“Good night,” Katja said, disappeared into the tent, and pulled the zipper shut.