He heard three knocks on his door, the same three knocks he heard yesterday when Ivan, the Hungarian boy, came to deliver his air conditioner. Today he came with groceries.
“Egy pillanat! One minute.” The language wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. He’d learned a few useful phrases. Edward knew the boy was coming but had dozed off on the couch after his lunch, his glucose levels rising from too much sugar, his diabetes rebelling.
“Egy pillanat!”
He pushed up on his elbow slowly. And if he couldn’t blame his sugar intake, then it was the heat, clinging still to ninety-five, -six, -seven degrees. His ragged crescent of silver hair was damp against his neck. He checked his watch: twelve thirty. The standing fans—he’d added a second one—plus a small air conditioner, which Ivan had mounted in the kitchen window, kept the place tolerable. Yes. He’d conceded to his daughter’s pleas, but the air was stale because of it, with moisture dripping on the sill.
The boy knocked again.
“I heard you. Christ. I heard you.” He looked down at his swollen feet and lifted his torso off the sofa, leaning forward on his thighs to balance himself and give time for his blood to find a steady level in his head. When he reached the door, he unhitched the chain and yanked on the handle, the door swollen from humidity. He let the boy in, shut the door, and slid the chain back on its track.
“Over there, please. I cleared off the counter.”
He pointed to the kitchen, then shook his head at himself. He had the unfortunate habit of overdirecting people. The boy knew what to do.
“Yes. I know,” Ivan said.
“Thank you,” Edward said, his voice conciliatory.
He liked Ivan, had liked him the instant the boy extended his long arm to shake hands at the airport. Rose had made the arrangement. A lean young man with a gentle demeanor. “I am Ivan. You are expecting me. Let me take those.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“I take you,” Ivan had said. “The bus is here.”
Edward had stood on the sidewalk while Ivan mounted his three suitcases into the back of the bus, then scurried back to help him get into the bus. The steep stairs stole Edward’s breath.
“You are tired? Trip is too long,” the boy had said. “Sit here.” He said something to the bus driver.
“Long wait in Frankfurt,” Edward told the boy once he was seated next to him on the bus. “You understand my English?”
“Yes. Quite well.” Ivan nodded. “I studied English in school.”
That layover in Frankfurt had been tough on his arthritic limbs. Couldn’t sit in one place, so he paced the long hallways, perused the duty-free shops. There were no direct flights from Boston to Budapest.
“How far to the apartment?”
“Not so far. Forty minutes.”
Edward was satisfied. The boy’s kind demeanor appeased his physical pain. He settled in for the ride.
“IT’S WORKING WELL,” Ivan said, heading for the kitchen. The boy carried several meshed bags bulging with groceries and mounted them on the countertop.
“Yes. Thank you.” Edward followed him. He watched Ivan unpack the goods.
“This heat not good but the air conditioner helps, yes?”
“Can’t stand the damn thing.”
“But for old—”
“Yes. Yes. I’m old. Seventy-six times the sun has circled the earth in my lifetime. Insignificant in the big picture. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“Persze,” Ivan said, nodding.
He was wise, this young kid. Edward could see that in his eyes—a curious green gray. Not spoiled, like young Americans. He stopped to consider this fact. “Tell me,” Edward said, pouring glasses of water for himself and Ivan, “what is that? What do you call this sausage?” Edward pointed to a package wrapped in wax paper.
On the counter, Ivan lined up a kilo of cheese, two loaves of dark rye bread, bananas, three tomatoes, a carton of milk.
“Debreceni. You will like it.” Ivan was about his height—six feet—friendly and serious. “They run out of Gyulai sausage. Run out—that’s what you say in America, yes? Run out?”
“That’s right. Smart boy.” Edward laughed. “We run out. Americans run out of everything.” He looked at Ivan with appreciation.
“Debreceni is good. You tell me next week if you like it best. The cost is same.” Ivan took the glass of water and drank it.
“Okay. I’ll tell you.” Edward handed Ivan a wad of money. He paid the boy each week to shop for him—three thousand forints, about thirty dollars, to shop and deliver groceries, plus another two thousand for the boy’s time. Everything was so damn cheap in Hungary; it was ludicrous. He gave him an extra two thousand forints to deliver the air conditioner. Resourceful and smart, the kid carted the air conditioner across town with a dolly, knowing he had hit the jackpot. Working for an American meant good money—a week’s salary for a few hours’ effort.
“What are you going do with all that money I give you?”
“I am saving it.”
“For what?”
“To buy a flat, after I go to university.”
“Good. Good for you.”
The boy lived with his mother across the street from Edward. Ivan’s father had died suddenly of an aneurysm when the kid was six. I don’t remember it, he told Edward. He had one older sister, married with two kids, who lived in the countryside where it was more affordable. His mother never remarried.
“Twice in one week,” Edward said. “I haven’t scared you away yet?”
“Nem. No. Of course not. I enjoy knowing you. It will be hot again tomorrow. You have to stay inside. It’s the only way.”
Edward shrugged him off.
Ivan looked at the door. “Someone is here. Are you expecting?”
“No.”
Then Edward remembered he had called Annie earlier. He wanted to ask her to come over again—not to drive him along the river. No. He decided that was a stupid idea. He headed for the door, stopping to look through the peephole.
A man he recognized. No.
“It’s Van,” the man in the hallway said. “Van Howard, sir.”
Edward’s arms became numb. He leaned into the door.
“How did you know I was here?” He talked into the wood.
“Mr. Edwards?” Ivan said behind him.
He waved Ivan away.
“Nan gave me your address but not your phone. Did she tell you?”
The door was old and thick. Howard’s voice came through like dull thuds. The peephole gave Edward distorted glimpses of an ear, his eyes, his nose as he shifted to make out his whole face.
Him.
Edward unlocked the door but kept the chain on, opening the door wide enough for a man’s foot. “You know I’ve been here several weeks.”
“I should have written. I’m sorry. Would you like me to come back? Is this a bad time?”
“You don’t live far, isn’t that right?” Edward blocked the door opening.
“Yes.”
In the wave of heat from the hallway, Edward smelled something sweet—a strong aftershave.
“Tell me,” Edward said, lowering his voice. “Do you think you can get away with it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Howard shook his head. “Please not that.” He turned to leave.
“Just a moment,” Edward said. “I’ll unchain this.” Edward stepped back. The boy was behind him. The idea that Howard might try to harm them crossed Edward’s mind. He was an old man. But Ivan was young, lean, and strong. “Where in Pest do you live exactly?”
Howard, his blond hair swept back, looked scrawnier than last winter after the funeral.
“By the river. Downtown. Why don’t I come back another time and we’ll talk.” Howard glanced toward the stairs. “If Nan had given me your—.”
“You’re not a talker. You’re a liar.”
Liar propelled out of his mouth, pent up in his throat for too long. Oh, he had a long, long history of this. His mouth vomiting words, stinking up the whole goddamn place.
“You won’t get away with this! Do you hear me?” He yelled, but by then Howard was leaping down the stairs to the street.
LATER, AFTER IVAN had left, Edward went through this scenario for the rest of the day, his mind looping like water in a circular sluice, round and round: how he had asked Ivan to chase Howard, how Ivan returned to tell him Howard had disappeared, out of sight by the time he had reached the sidewalk. Round and round, for the rest of the afternoon and into the night, he went over this scene, berating himself for his stupidity. He should have invited Howard in, befriended him. Caught the liar in his lies. Another round and he’d called Nan and insisted she read the letter again—how many times had she read it to him?—ignoring her request to please, please calm down. Dad. Dad. What was the postmark on the envelope? A PO box number for a return address.
He had it memorized now. Every word.
Dear Nan,
I am writing to you because you of your kindness to me at Deborah’s funeral. How does life go for you? I moved to Hungary. There are opportunities here that distract me from the pain of losing Deborah. Everything about Boston reminds me of my wife and the future we planned together. Every street has a memory. I can’t believe she is gone. I wonder if it was God’s way of sparing her from her worsening condition. Who knows? You’re a nurse. Maybe you know what I mean. I hope your father will come to understand that there are more sides to her story than he has imagined. Thank you for letting me know where to find him. I live near the river, and the beautiful views of rocks and statues offer comfort.
With sorrow,
Van
He was paying for his stupid impulses. You and your stupid mouth, Sylvia had said.
Why hadn’t he talked to Howard calmly? Time would undo the wrong. Sleazeball shows up with his slimy, polite face. Unannounced. Funny how Howard failed to give him his phone number or exact address. “Live near the river,” Howard had said.
Edward grunted. Couldn’t bear it. Wanted to shoot him on the spot, but the boy was there. Besides, that was not his plan.
Get the hell out!
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Howard ran. Of course he did. Disappeared like an ant into the sprawling nest of Budapest. Afterward, Edward told Ivan to leave, too. He needed to calm down. Jesus Christ. Liar knew precisely what he was talking about.
When the phone rang, he told Annie he couldn’t talk to her right now. He would call her back. He promised. A day or two. He shut her off. “God help me,” Edward groaned. He turned on the couch, weeping, at last. “What have I done?”