The room was packed, busy with Americans eating lunch, escaping the heat.
“There’s Dave. I had a feeling I’d run into him here,” Will said. “Order the penne for me. I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
Relieved to be out of the heat, she headed for an open table next to the picture window. What good luck. The table would give Leo entertaining views of pedestrians walking by, pigeons, and trolley cars.
“You order now?” A slender woman began clearing the tabletop of pizza crust and crumpled napkins. She didn’t bother to fake a smile, which Annie appreciated. None of the annoying “Hi, my name is so-and-so, and I’ll be your server today” silliness you got back in America.
“Yes. Could you bring some bread right away?” Annie looked at Leo. “It’ll keep him occupied. My husband and I will have the penne.”
“Persze—of course.” Dressed in a short black skirt and white blouse, the young woman surprised Annie by breaking into a smile. “What is his name?” she said, looking at Leo.
“Leo.”
“Kicsi baba. I get you bread.” The waitress smiled again and left.
A Hungarian smiling? It was the only time Annie observed Hungarians acting effusively—toward children. She learned this when she and Leo first arrived in the airport last January. After she got her luggage, she stood in a long line to pass through customs, Leo asleep against her chest. She was settling in to wait, but then men and women in front of her kept turning to her and waving, pointing to the front of the line. She hadn’t understood at first. She thought she had done something wrong until a woman came over, gently took her arm, and with a big smile ushered her to the front of the line. It was a lovely gesture, one Annie would never forget, especially after so many hours of traveling, and she was anxious to see Will, who was waiting for them in the next room. He had flown ahead two weeks earlier to secure their flat.
The waitress returned with a basket of rolls, handing one to the baby.
“Lee-oh. I like.”
“Köszönöm,” Annie said.
Leo laughed, reaching out his hand for the bread.
They named him Leo after the sun. Naming their son had turned into an effort not to offend either family. On her side, the Episcopalian side, it would have been natural to name the first-born son after the child’s father—William—but on Will’s side, the Jewish side, it would have offended his parents, who had hoped Leo would be named after a dead grandfather or dead somebody in the Jewish tradition of honoring the dead.
But then Annie would have felt left out and she wanted something that would bridge the differences in their upbringing—a name that would hold equal meaning for them. So they agreed on Leo. Will joked that Leo was also the name of James Joyce’s fictional Jew, a wanderer, a seeker, and that association hit a right note for Annie as well because she had felt that way, too: a wanderer from an early age, searching for something she couldn’t find at home, drifting through the rooms of her family’s impeccably restored, historic Maine house late at night when everyone was asleep. In her childhood home, every piece of furniture had its proper place—not so for her family who lived in it. Her parents worked hard to keep her sister Tracy’s brain-damaged life and, later, her brother’s alcoholism and death, out of public sight. These things were not talked about. Instead, Annie, who was the youngest, simply took on the role of doing things right.
“Eep, eep.” Leo pointed to a pigeon stabbing crumbs on the sidewalk outside.
“That’s right honey. That’s what the birds say.”
A year after Greg died, she met and married Will, a Jewish man from Miami. Her parents didn’t know what to think of her decision, or how to respond—they’d lost that ability once and for all after her brother’s death—so they said nothing. When she and Will moved to Hungary with their infant son, her parents couldn’t understand that either. Why Hungary? her mother had asked.
Why Hungary?
As soon as Leo arrived in Annie’s arms via an adoption agency, something burst open inside her, some dormant seed awakened. Will felt that way, too. And once Leo was legally theirs, Annie couldn’t wait to leave the country, couldn’t wait to leave her old life, couldn’t wait to get out from under the adoption agency’s watchful eyes in the name of one particular case worker, a Mr. John Calloway. Calloway was a tall man with big ears who had insinuated himself into her and Will’s life six months leading up to Leo’s adoption, which was finalized and officiated by a Massachusetts judge.
To be fair, Calloway did what adoption case workers were supposed to do. He visited their home every two weeks to check, probe, and question them about baby care. But she resented the process. During his visits, Calloway inspected their house, smiling and nodding as he perused their downstairs rooms, the living room, and kitchen before climbing upstairs to Leo’s bedroom in search of clues of misconduct. Of course, he found none and signed off at the three-month mark, which allowed the judge and lawyer to proceed with the finalization of Leo’s adoption. Thank God for that glorious day.
Beside her, Leo handed her his smooshed roll, and she took his fingers and kissed them. Coming to this foreign city had taken her far, far away from that particular worry about her beautiful son and the constant, unmentionable burden of who she was—a girl who’d lost both her siblings to tragedy.
Few Americans traveled to Budapest, yet the feeling of Calloway crossing their personal boundaries lingered; the real possibility that a stranger could have cut her heart with one disapproving scratch of his pen on his agency report made her shiver. It touched a raw nerve in her. She knew how a lifetime changed in an instant. An errant baseball. A sudden glint of sunlight, and her family’s life was broken forever. First her sister, then her brother.
Thank goodness Leo was solidly and completely theirs now. Annie reached into the jogger and pulled out Leo’s powered milk, his formula that she mixed with water. She shook the bottle then handed it to her son.
With a new baby? her mother had asked.
Yes. She and Will thought it was a perfect time. Why not? Leo was four months old. He wouldn’t care where he lived as long as he was with his parents. When she told her friends, Annie discovered that Americans, her friends included, had a hard time imagining that babies lived—let alone thrived—anywhere outside the States. She looked out Luigi’s big windows and wondered where the little Gypsy sisters slept at night. In a dingy apartment in the outer reaches of town? In a tent? She didn’t know anything about the Gypsies and decided it was time she did.
ACROSS THE CROWDED restaurant, Will stood at a table talking to a bald man who Annie guessed was in his fifties, presumably Dave, and a younger man with longish brown hair. Will must have mentioned her because Dave raised his chin toward her and waved. She responded in kind, lifting her hand, thinking it comical the way Americans in Budapest gravitated to the same restaurants, read the same newspapers—the New York Times, the London Times, the Wall Street Journal, and the city’s expat paper, the Budapest Reporter—as if they had all joined the same traveling circus. And, in fact, they had.
Women in sleeveless summer dresses, men in shorts, their hairy legs stretched out under cafe tables; corporate officers like Dave in their summer uniforms of polo shirts and khaki slacks—an all-American expat crowd at this hour. A few couples with their kids. What was the point of coming to a foreign place to hang out with one’s own? So far, she’d gone out of her way to avoid befriending Americans—those few thousand who had come to meld with this city of several million. Yet here she was, doing just that.
Will walked toward her, the older and younger man following him.
“Annie, this is Dave Johnson. Remember I mentioned him a few weeks ago? And this is his translator, Stephen Házy.”
She shook their hands. Dave’s hand felt meek, his palm bent as if to say, I’m not much of anything. By contrast, Stephen’s palm was open, his handshake confident and firm.
“Annie, nice to meet you,” Dave said. “You’ll have to meet my wife when she gets back from the States. Stephen here is from Boston. He came over several months ago. Great find for us. He speaks fluent Hungarian.”
“Really? How did you learn it?”
“Grew up with it. My parents are Hungarian. Anyone would learn under those circumstances.” He tipped his head in a deferential way, engaging her. “I understand your husband took lessons before coming over. Commendable.”
“Most people don’t try,” she said, proud of Will’s efforts. Except for Stephen, she had not met one American who spoke more than a few phrases of Hungarian. They assumed it was too difficult a language and didn’t bother, relying on Hungarians to speak English, which many did, though haltingly.
“Are you enjoying your time here?” Stephen asked her.
“It’s a fascinating place.”
“You mean difficult? Not easy for Americans to adjust here, is it?” he said to her as if he could hear her deeper thoughts, his green-gray eyes taking her in. He spoke softly, the way Hungarians did, but he didn’t have a trace of an accent. “Nothing to do on weekends, right?”
“It’s a different pace.” She decided he looked more European than American, wearing sandals, and an open button-down shirt that revealed his chest hairs. Or maybe it wasn’t European but some kind of upgraded hippie look.
“There’s plenty to see, you know. Day trips. Little villages you should check out. I like those flowers your son has there.”
She looked at Leo consumed now by his bottle, the shredded flower petals scattered around him.
“Where did you grow up?” she asked. He was classically handsome—balanced features—as tall as Will with bangs that fell in a careless, offhanded way. Approachable was the word that came to her.
“Originally? New Jersey. But I left there long ago.” He spoke as if New Jersey were a faraway, imaginary place, his eyes gazing out the window at the crowded street. “You see, my mother was pregnant when they left Budapest. Came over after the ’56 uprising. I was conceived here. So, technically, I guess you could say I began here. I was born in the States.”
“A terrible battle,” Will said.
“Blood under the bridge,” Stephen said. “I didn’t have to live through it. My parents did. My father, especially. Rest his soul. He never recovered. That’s the truth.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said.
She watched Stephen’s face as his eyes circled around the room and back to her. She wanted to ask more.
“Stephen’s been a great help to us,” Dave said, patting Stephen on the shoulder. “Will, I want you to meet the mayor of Székesfehérvár. It could lead to something. It’s a nice town. I believe it used to be the capital.”
“Yes. It was the City of Kings. Dozens were crowned there. The name means ‘royal white castle,’ ” Will said.
“Interesting,” Dave said.
“Will is full of interesting facts,” Annie said.
“Most Hungarians call it Fehérvar, or White Castle,” Stephen said, smiling at her.
“Good to know that,” Will said. “Town’s got one hundred fifty thousand people.”
“If you sign on a town like that,” Dave said, “other towns will follow. It’s a good opportunity. What do you think, Annie?”
“That would be good,” Annie said, making an effort to sound enthusiastic. She didn’t know why Dave would ask her. Probably his way of trying to include her.
Stephen raised his eyebrows. “You look skeptical.”
“Not really.” She shrugged. He was an observant one. She wanted to be hopeful about this lead, but a shadow in her heart dulled her feelings. This whole endeavor was proving far more difficult than Will or she had anticipated. She had arrived with her own foolish belief that they could come here, leaping across an ocean, and just make things happen without experiencing delays or duress. So American of them. She put her hand to her chest and took a deep breath as if something were pressing against her.
“Well, I’m happy to help out. Sweet-looking kid,” Stephen said.
They all looked at Leo sucking on his bottle, his eyes closed, oblivious to all but milk and sleep.
“He is. Thanks. What about you? Do you have children?”
“No. No. No.” He shook his head as if such a thing were completely out of the question.
“Not easy being a mother here,” Dave said to Annie. “Took my wife a year to settle in, but she did. You’ll see.”
Annie appreciated Dave’s effort to keep things positive. But she knew that working for the large utility company meant Dave got paid an American salary and it wouldn’t matter if he succeeded here or not. Corporate types like Dave got perks for transferring overseas: their rent, health insurance, travel expenses, and cars paid for by the parent company. Not so for Will. He was on his own, and so was she.
“It’s a complicated city,” Annie said.
“It’s a lot of things,” Will said.
“It’s not what Americans think,” Stephen said. “We Hungarians are hardier, more intelligent, than Americans understand.” He shrugged. “Of course, I speak the language. That makes all the difference in how you experience it here. I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.” He opened his palms as an invitation to believe and trust his perspective.
“Will manages to speak pretty well—for an American,” she said. “I only speak a few words and phrases.”
“I’m terrible at languages, I don’t even try,” Dave said. “Hungarian? Forget it.”
Stephen shook his head again.
“It’s like everything else. You have to put the time in to learn it,” Will said.
“Americans don’t put in the time,” Stephen said.
“What do you mean by that?” Dave said, pretending to look offended.
“Oh, I don’t mean to sound critical of Americans,” Stephen said, tossing his bangs, and lifting his head back to put Dave at ease, but Annie could see that he was withholding something.
“Would you like to sit down and join us?” she said. She was curious to hear more, to learn what it was like for Stephen to be back here. Maybe he could offer some tips. Tell her about how the Gypsies lived.
“No, no. Thank you,” Dave said. “We’ll let you two enjoy your family time. Stephen and I need to finish up. Good to meet you, Annie.”
Stephen hesitated, took a business card from his shirt pocket, and slid it on the table toward her.
“If you need a translator or assistance for anything, here’s my number.” He held his hand out for her to shake and they shook hands once again. “Don’t hesitate to call. I mean that.”
“Thank you.”
The two men returned to their table and Annie slipped Leo’s bottle from his mouth. As expected, he’d fallen into his deep afternoon sleep.
Will sat down opposite her and began to eat the food that had just arrived.
“Stephen’s an interesting guy,” Annie said.
“He was definitely interested in you.”
She shrugged. “They’re both nice. How is General Electric doing here? Are they making a profit?”
“They got in early. Some other big companies are here. Alcoa took over a plant. They’re investing big dollars. Dave’s a decent man.”
“Yes. He seems so. Stephen could be a great help to you, don’t you think? He’s fluent. How long have you known him?”
“Met him today.”
“Oh, he acted as if he knew you longer.”
“I think that’s his way. Maybe Dave told him about me.”
“Dave has financial security. It makes a difference,” Annie said.
Will focused on scooping up a forkful of pasta, but she could see he was frustrated by her comment.
“Look, Dave’s got a good attitude,” Will said. “I think he’s that way and that’s probably part of why he’s been successful at GE. He fits in. Doesn’t make waves.”
“What you’re doing is harder,” she said.
Entrepreneurs like Will did not have the financial security that Dave enjoyed. It was a sticking point for her. Will might insist it didn’t matter to him, but she knew it did. Golden handcuffs. Retirement plans. Then again, entrepreneurs had the hope of making huge profits, much greater than what Dave earned, plus the creativity to make their own decisions. She’d accepted this as part of the risk and reward of starting a new venture. It was part of the freedom, too. Will was his own boss and he liked that. But she didn’t feel as confident about his prospects anymore.
She was committed to being with their son this year—had quit her job at the shelter two weeks before Leo was born—and to giving Will a chance at his venture, but Hungarians, it turned out, weren’t easy in business. They took their time—time that Americans couldn’t fathom. Hungarians changed their minds at the last minute, sabotaging deals at the eleventh hour. Recently, the Budapest Reporter featured a story about a hotel deal that had fallen through. Why had that happened? The Hungarians had upped the purchase price when they learned of others’ interest in the property. The buyers got upset and backed out. She was beginning to wonder who, indeed, was making a big killing here in Eastern Europe?
Finally, she said, “I wonder what deals are going on right now. Do you think anyone is successful here?” She scanned the room abuzz with loud American chatter.
Will laughed. “Sure, Annie. We need to give it more time.”
One thing she did know, everyone was talking huge amounts of money. Here, money was like confetti. Everyone had an idea. Losses or gains, tax write-offs? What did it matter? It was all a game, pieces of paper falling out of the sky. It created a sense of unreality, a kind of money high. Part of the circus mentality. But it wasn’t just here in Eastern Europe. Back home, before they’d left, stories of instant millionaires and billionaires had begun to show up on the front pages of newspapers and the living-arts sections in the Sunday magazines. The new rich. Their amazing McMansions decorated by high-priced designers. Instant antiquity. Private jets. Palm Beach and the islands. It was all blather and banter. Eastern Europe was America’s new corporate pet. But what if it all crashed? Then what?
She finished her pasta and said, “Is Stephen on GE’s payroll, too?”
“No. Independent contractor.”
“He could be useful. Have you thought about taking him with you when you meet with the mayors?”
“He’s expensive. A day trip adds up. I’m sure he’s useful. You don’t need to worry about me. Focus on yourself. I know I’ve said this many times, but try to meet some of the American women living here. They’re smart, well intentioned.”
“I know they are.”
From the first days, Will had urged her to join one of the expat groups like the International Women’s Association. Still, she resisted because she wanted to immerse herself in the country’s culture.
“I didn’t come here to live an American way of life.” She pushed her plate away.
“I’m not asking you to do that.”
“I know you’re not.”
From day one, she had been determined to mimic what those Berlitz language courses did, immerse herself in the strange sounds around her the way Leo did.
The waitress came by and refilled their water glasses. Annie reached for Will’s hand and knit her fingers through his.
“Maybe I could help the Gypsies?” Annie watched the surge of pedestrians passing by, wondering where the two girls had gone. Across the street, ornate stone buildings with elaborate rooftops loomed over the sidewalks, simultaneously breathtaking and depressing, their gray facades still pitted with bullet holes from World War II. It made her heart leap, then sag, with the thought of all that carnage.
“What would you do with the Gypsies?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what they need. I’d have to find out.”
Will scraped the remains of his lunch. “The expat community might know where to steer you.”
“True.”
The idea appealed to her. Maybe the Gypsies would lead to something new, something unexpected. Hadn’t she come here to learn something different about herself? Get off her well-worn path of safety. She resolved to do something.
“Those buildings,” she said, pointing across the street. “It’s a shame what’s happened to them.” She took another exaggerated breath. “Bullet holes everywhere. There’s no escaping the past in this country. No wonder Hungary has the world’s highest suicide rate.”
Will put his fork down and crumpled his paper napkin. “What can I do to help you get out of your funk?”
“Ignore me?”
Will laughed. “I don’t think I can do that!”
At the far end of the room, she saw Dave talking with Stephen, who like some person with a sixth sense turned his head and smiled at her. Embarrassed, she looked away. She could ask Stephen about the Gypsy population. Surely he would know. She could do something meaningful in the community while Will figured out his work situation.
They had been here eight full months—plenty of leads but no closed deals. Week after week, Will attended meetings, joined the American Businesses in Hungary group. A few dozen corporate types, like Dave from General Electric, plus entrepreneurs like Will, got together for coffee and networking at the Hilton up on Castle Hill. One man from Illinois had started a T-shirt business. Someone from Florida had opened a laundry. A couple from New Jersey ran a New York – style deli.
Maybe her mother was right to ask, why Hungary? Eight months ago Annie had come here with arms outstretched, eager to take in whatever this new Old World wanted to show her. The architecture offered so much grandeur rising from the city’s renaissance in the 1870s, and again in the 1920s, but the buildings looked downtrodden, their facades soot-covered, pockmarked by decades of neglect. Splendid arched doorways were chipped and weather worn, no money for repair.
What did this country offer her? Maybe she was no different from Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz trying to get to Emerald City, then, once there, realizing the glittering city wasn’t so shiny after all. Budapest was covered in a century of grime. Annie had followed the yellow-brick road, and now she couldn’t help but wonder if the Wizard—in this case, the promise of making money, the promise of change—was actually a false god.
“You can’t save an entire country, Will.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked at her in a way that let her know she was making an unfair and unfounded statement.
“What I want to do with phones is one piece of a much larger global shift,” he said. “I’m a small part of that. You know that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought it would be easier.”
“Me, too. Patience. Dave’s been here two years. We have to change our expectations.”
“To what? No expectations?”
They both laughed, releasing tension. She leaned toward Will and placed her hand on top of his on the table. “I think countries are like families. Hungarians don’t want Americans barging in and taking over like the Russians did, like the Germans did, like the Americans are trying to do.”
“Hungarians don’t expect things to go well because they have a long history of failing.”
“Like my family,” she said, slumping, feeling sad.
“Come on. We made a choice, remember?” Will gathered both her hands in his, and in that moment she was grateful for his love.
The waitress returned to refill their water glasses and placed the bill on the table. Annie noted how the other Americans at Luigi’s were smiling away, their white teeth advertisements of good health and cheer—so unlike Hungarians’ more serious, subdued expressions. She pulled her husband closer, kissing him.
“Okay. Let’s go,” she said. “Are you ready?”
“Yep.”
She looked at Leo still sleeping, not a worry on his sweet face, and felt a stab of emptiness, the missing element of grandparents not here to enjoy and dote on him. Again, she heard her mother’s incredulousness: You’re going now? With a new baby?
Certainly Leo didn’t care, but Annie was glad to be far, far away from the adoption agency and that meddling social worker who presumed he could intrude in their lives at any time. With that thought, she felt a renewed sense of sympathy with Hungarians trying to forge a new way of life.
Will stood and reached into his pocket for his wallet, then patted his hips, front and back. “My wallet,” he said. “Do you have it? I had it with me.” Will checked his pockets again, then looked in the pocket of the jogger.
“Slow down. Don’t panic,” she said. “It’s somewhere.”
“No. No. I distinctly remember taking the wallet with me because I didn’t want to leave all that cash at the apartment.”
“How much cash?” She rechecked the jogger pocket, digging her fingers past an extra diaper and wipes for Leo, starting to feel Will’s concern.
“Nine hundred dollars.” He patted his pockets. “I bumped into two men when I was walking toward the phone booth. I didn’t think anything at the time. You saw how crowded it was.”
“Yes. But I wasn’t paying attention because of those horrible skinheads. What did the men look like?”
“They stole it. They took my wallet. They set me up.”