On board the ferry, she sat by the window so Leo could get a good view. Will sat on the aisle. It wasn’t a large boat. She guesstimated it could accommodate about sixty people. Rounding the river away from Budapest, they passed Visegrád Castle, a thirteenth-century stone structure perched high on the ledge of a steep cliff.
“Look at that,” she said, pointing up so Leo would notice.
Leo slapped the window with his palm, batting at the spray frothing up from the hydroplane’s motor.
“That was a cultural hub in Europe five hundred years ago,” Will said.
The boat moved past the cliff.
“It looks so fragile.”
From the river, the castle looked as if it might crumble, the stones barely clinging to the cliff.
“That’s where Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia signed an agreement to cooperate. That was in 1991, I believe.”
“An agreement to cooperate . . . that almost sounds funny.”
“To show solidarity among nations.”
She sighed and leaned back in her seat, gingerly readjusting Leo’s shoulders. He leaned into her, nestling his head against her breast.
“Not much in the way of cooperation around here, is there?” she said.
“What’s eating at you?”
“I called Edward today.”
“When?”
“Before lunch.”
Will nodded.
“How is he?”
“Mad that I’m taking this trip.”
“Why did you call him?”
“I called to tell him we were going away and that we’d be back tomorrow night. I felt that was the right thing to do.”
Will marked a place in his book, then draped his arm around her shoulder. “Good thing we’re getting away. I worry about you.”
“I worry about you, too,” she said.
They were the only Americans on the boat. She presumed most of the other passengers were Hungarians or Austrians. She heard strands of sentences, those rich, gentle undulations in Magyar—the Hungarian word for Hungarian—and an occasional German-sounding word. To her American ear, the rhythms and consonants of Maygar sounded like soft-clicking k’s and t’s and the vowels like gentle hushings and chortles from the back of the throat. Behind her, an older Hungarian couple unwrapped sandwiches, the wax paper crackling. In front of her, a man was reading Hungary’s main newspaper.
Why Hungary? Her parents had gasped in disbelief when she told them of their plans to move there. Why Hungary? What’s in Hungary? She no longer had a good answer.
They sat for a while watching the shoreline pass by, a bare, treeless shoreline. The dark water bubbled from the ferry’s engines, a rocking that eventually put Leo to sleep.
“Annie, I need to talk to you about our money situation.”
She turned to Will, taken aback by his tone of voice.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
“We may have to break into our savings.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“I know.”
“Why are you bringing this up now?”
“It’s as good a time as any.” Will shifted his legs and stretched them under the seat ahead of him. “To keep going, I’ll need additional funding.”
“You haven’t said anything about this before. You didn’t say anything at lunch when I asked about your meeting with Bernardo.”
“I’ve got investors writing ten-thousand-dollar checks, but it’s not enough. I need someone willing to put in half a million or more.”
“What do you suggest we do? I don’t want to touch our savings.” She shifted again in her seat, moving away from him to dispel this uncomfortable news.
“Neither do I.”
“Is this about Bernardo’s offer? Are you saying you want to go with Bernardo?”
“It’s a good offer.”
“But do you want to go with Bernardo? What about your own company? That was the point of being here, wasn’t it? I’m confused.” She didn’t want to argue, but she didn’t know what to say without sounding irritated. Was this another disappointment, another wrong turn? Another reason to leave this disturbing place?
They passed a concrete embankment, the result of a controversial dam that was half-finished and still under dispute between Hungary and the neighboring countries of Slovakia and the Czech Republic. The shoreline was not pretty; there were no quaint fishing villages or other sights she expected to see on a river tour.
“The water is polluted,” she said.
“It’s not clean.” Will stood up. “Do you want a beer?”
“Yes.”
The motion and sound of the water had lulled Leo into a deep sleep. As he lay heavy and limp in the crook of her arm, she felt her misery growing, and her confidence in their decision making draining away. Will’s leaving Fendix had been a risk. She knew that. But was it stupid? Had they thrown their whole life away? Why was Will here? To satisfy an independent, creative streak? Was he really just a suburban cowboy, chasing a Wild West dream? Going for that gold rush feeling? Others were doing it, therefore, so could he? Will Gordon—WG TeleVenture—the name on his business card. She had encouraged him to come here, to strike gold like the newspapers claimed others were doing. Make a pile of money—on his own. He wanted to help a country eager to embrace technology. Months had passed. What did he have to show for it?
Will handed her a beer. She took a long sip. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry I didn’t say something before. I was waiting for a good time, I guess. We were rushing at lunch. There’s Bernardo’s offer. I’ve got a few investors circling. We have options.”
“Then let’s not worry about it for the weekend,” she said, touching his arm. “Let’s try to have a good time.”
In Vienna, they took a cab to their hotel, but she could see they would not be able to let things go. The room Will booked over the phone was supposed to have a king-size bed, but instead the room had twin beds with a night table separating them. A child’s crib was folded up in a corner.
“Don’t unpack. I’m going to change rooms,” he said, walking out.
She followed him back down stairs, Leo on her hip, and waited in the lobby as Will spoke to the concierge, a short man with slicked black hair. She guessed the hotel was built in the 1970s. The lobby’s black-and-white interior looked dated.
“I am sorry. We are full tonight,” the concierge said. He stood behind a counter and riffled through a book of reservations. “There is nothing I can do about it until tomorrow.”
“I asked for a king bed. I’m not paying for twin beds.”
“Perhaps we could put the beds together? We will help you do this.” The man spoke English with a British accent. “It is the same as a king bed. We have tried this.”
It didn’t happen often, but Annie saw a wave of fury tightening Will’s shoulders, his face flushing with anger.
“Come on. I’ll deal with him later,” Will said to her.
They went back up to the room. Annie unfolded the crib and began putting her toiletries in the bathroom. Leo toddled at her side, enthralled with the tiny soaps on the sink and miniature bottles of shampoo.
In the mirror, she saw Will lifting the night table over the bed, pushing the beds together.
“What are you doing?” Annie said, coming out of the bathroom to watch.
“I’m moving the beds. I’m not paying money to sleep without my wife in my bed.”
“It’s just a bed, Will,” Annie said. “Leo, be careful. Daddy is moving the beds.” They watched Will struggling to push the beds together. The platform beds were solid wood and hard to move.
“Aren’t you being silly about this?” she asked.
Leo kept trying to walk over to Will. She kept pulling him back.
“No. I’m not.” After several more tries, he broke into a sweat. He gave one twin bed a final push and stood back to look at the beds wedged against each other. “I’ll call for king-size sheets.” Breathing hard, he lay across the conjoined twin beds and put his hand between the dividing line. “It’s not perfect, but it will do.”
Leo squirmed in Annie’s arms and pointed to Will. “Up up. Bed. Up.” She handed Leo over to Will.
“Up you go, bud,” Will said. She saw how the touch of Leo’s body—fleshy and firm—calmed her husband. Will lifted their son onto the bed and watched him crawl across the dividing line, but Leo’s hand slipped into the crevice and got stuck. “Up bed. Up bed.” Will rescued his son, picking him up and bouncing him on his knees. Leo shrieked gleefully, flinging his head backward.
“Watch him, honey,” Annie said.
“You don’t need to tell me.”
He raised Leo high over his head.
THE NEXT DAY they walked around Vienna’s historic town center, avoiding the topic of money and the poor sleep they both had due to the crack in the middle of the two beds. Leo slept fine in his portable crib, but Annie kept sliding toward the crack then waking up each time she felt herself falling in. To compensate, she kept repositioning herself back on the opposite side of the bed. Will, in order to stay close to her, stretched his leg across the dividing line every time he sensed her moving away. By early morning, the two ended up squeezed together on one twin bed. As a result, Will’s back ached and Annie’s neck hurt.
An umbrella of clouds cooled the morning air as they walked across cobblestones soaked in gold-plated, invisible ether. Not a speck of litter anywhere. Annie couldn’t get over the enormity of the buildings and the opulence. No beggars or Gypsies—Roma—on the streets. Even the rooftops in the buildings surrounding the old square gleamed with glass that fronted striking penthouse residences she guessed cost multimillions. All this opulence a mere four-hour ferry or car ride away from Budapest. She thought about what Stephen had said and wondered what he was doing today.
Free of the Russians after the war, Austria had prospered. In Vienna, trolleys circling on metal tracks didn’t squeak. They swished like ladies dancing in fancy ball dresses. Oddly, the city’s perfection felt antiseptic, as if it were missing something alive and breathing—as if the gestalt of energy and art had passed through the town years ago and moved on to somewhere else—possibly to rundown, messy, torn-up Budapest. In Austria, remnants of greatness left imprints like fossils: Mozart’s old residences, the State Opera House, grand museums. It gave her a different perspective of Hungary.
“It’s so mixed up,” she said, thinking about how Budapest was once again trying to make a go at something, trying to get into the game of freedom and choice. She stopped to view a private three-story residence, the multiacre estate enclosed by an elaborate wrought-iron fence. A paved driveway circled around to the front of the house where two stone lions flanked a grand columned entrance and porch. She saw thick drapes framing French doors on the first floor.
“Budapest is stretching out its neck, you know?” she said, turning to Will. “It’s taking a risk. It’s trying.” The realization about the disparity between the two cities and their own unsettled situation put her in a more forgiving mood. Thankful for this shift, she reached for Will’s hand.