Translated by Lili Potpara
It was all due to carelessness; God knows why the phone wasn't switched off. I was lounging about on the sofa when it started to screech. It took me quite a long time to find out what was going on. With an effort I found and activated the right levers for the hand to reach for the receiver; I helped myself a little with the eye, cautiously half-closed despite the thick, close drawn curtains.
It was a woman I knew, an acquaintance who'd always considered herself my friend. I didn't care. In the period when my beautiful woman finally left me, I was seeing the "friend" quite often. A bizarre night every now and then felt good. But this time I rejected her invitation; I rejected it twice. Unfortunately I was never very good at decisively defending my own best interests. I gave in at the third attack. I won't mention all the complications on the way; in short, I found myself rather soon and quite ill in some night bar, club or something, with deafening music. The acquaintance bought me a pass, smokes and mineral water without bubbles. She (the acquaintance) was drunk, and firmly, although shakily, decided this time to outdrink herself. Once again she was utterly unhappy and in despair. She was really getting on my nerves.
I hid in the darkest corner, smoked leisurely and tried to bear the horrible sounds as calmly as I could. After a few minutes I judged it was time to return to base camp. A few hundred mortals surrounded me, and it somehow happened that I knew one of them. Not that I knew him by the name. He noticed me, although I was deliberately looking away. I was forced to exchange a few words. The man was very social, I won't comment on that, he knew an incredible amount of people. I have no idea how I found myself in his company. Silently I endured some introductions and handshakes. Many hands were clammy and sticky, so that I was forced to wipe my palm against my pants. Then I grew pale and swallowed hard: I was introduced to a beauty. She smiled at me nicely, and her hand felt quite all right. Instinctively I backed off; I'd seen the beauty a few times before thanks to the intervention of the TV screen, although I'm not really in favour of those machines. I waited for the comedy to end so that I could slip away unnoticed. But in no way did things go in accordance with my wishes, and very soon I was sitting with that party - right next to the beautiful woman. Despite my tendency towards monosyllables she insisted on some kind of conversation. The terrible noise and violent flashing of multi-coloured lights were tormenting my senses; I assume that people who claim to be on the "verge of a nervous breakdown" or something similar must feel like this. In general, the adventure into which I was sinking was strongly marked by various scientific achievements, or rather their applications, i.e. machines. It seemed to me that not even the noise was able to outdo the dullness of my voice. After all, my speech organs were out of practice. The beauty was leaning towards me, so that her glittering hair caressed my cheeks. I knew this couldn't go on. Since I couldn't find a better way to get out of the situation, I swapped the mineral water for beer, and kept plying the beauty with excellent expensive wine. My tongue ran better; or at least walked, more precisely. I don't say, even people of my kind every now and then get an opportunity for a quick lay, and then live peacefully on; not every fuck leads to suicide, not even into a melodrama. For as long as I can remember I here and there attracted - or at least didn't decisively enough reject - all sorts of unhappy, sick, spotty, ugly, etc. creatures, sometimes frigid. Poetesses, for instance, or inmates of local loony bins. But the beauty there present wasn't of this kind. She took my breath away. She wanted to know this and that about me. No inventiveness whatsoever on my part; I babbled on as if I were to disappear the following day. Before I was able to stop myself I mentioned some foreign institute, where I was allegedly employed. Then I shut up in panic, scanning the lady's face for traces of incredulity or even contempt, but found none. All of the time she was leaning close, close to me, and I gradually started to like it. I thought of the Creator and judged that beer was right on the top on His chart of successful creations. I started discreetly to study her face, ears, neck and the prettily shaped collarbone. Her face was pleasant in the best sense of the word, very attractive, and the rest was quite beautiful. She was approximately my height, and that was the only similarity between us. Sets of limbs and organs similar to hers I usually saw in expensive foreign fashion magazines if they every now or then happened to come my way. Automatically and irrevocably I realised that she was one of those women whose bodies I was enthusiastically willing to kiss and lick from head to toe without a prior clean-up with brush and hydrochloric acid. I kept drinking beer, and she went on with wine. Eventually she mentioned it had "gone to her head", although it didn't show at all. Perhaps she was heartening me, who knows. Despite my resistance this assumption was forcing itself on me with its appeal. Naturally, I didn't want to deceive myself with futile hopes, but I was hiding my admiring looks less and less. The beauty obviously favoured me; when I evidently got into dire straits with my bragging, she calmly and kindly failed to notice. My "friend", whom I'd quite forgotten in the meantime, every now and then came stumbling over and wanted money. I hit her monstrously with my looks, but she refused to see it.
Sooner or later the beauty's knees and mine touched, quite by accident, of course. At least as far as I was concerned. But I didn't jump two feet high, as one might have expected, and neither did she. She smiled pleasantly and chatted. The touches became longer and were repeated. I was too stunned to excite myself. I vividly remembered the TV show in which the beauty appeared in a comfortable armchair, wearing a mini skirt and high heels. Her legs, although just a phenomenon in time and space, were perfect by all standards, a perfectly adequate manifestation of the idea, if you want to put it this way. I stared at them with the bitter feeling that I didn't deserve them; that I could live a thousand years without being able to touch them. What lust there was in those looks was humble and bitter. And when suddenly those same knees were leaning against mine, a strong smash occurred in my confused perception of the nature of the world. I reinforced the pressure of my leg to make sure, but I still didn't quite believe. I decided for a long swig. It was crystal clear, well, at least it seemed to me, that I was supposed to immediately and firmly lower my palm onto the pretty knee and - regardless of the outcome - put things in the right place. But I chose to indulge my old habit and kept pretending. I jabbered an enormous amount, given my circumstances, as if I wanted to intoxicate her with words. Luckily, I entirely forgot most of what I was inventing as I went along. My "friend" kept appearing every now and then, in more and more terrible states. I had no choice; I'd promised she could spend the night at my place "in case she couldn't get home by herself". I definitely owed her this favour from some old times. There was no bus to be caught at that time, not even for pure gold, and the drunken creature was moving about on her two legs only thanks to the fuck-thirsty males surrounding her from all sides. In opposition to her usual taste, which wasn't something anyway, she was this time throwing herself at the feet of the most miserable, even longhaired individuals; she wanted by all means to enliven her mood with the poisonous hashish.
But I was enchanted already. I was swallowing the beauty with my eyes. Our party had dispersed, or perhaps it only seemed to me that they had. She gave me her address, I took down the phone number; it was somewhere far in the suburbs. Luckily, she had no money for a taxi; I ground my teeth, blushed in the dark and offered to walk her home. I forgot to breathe when she merrily and without hesitation accepted my offer. It was self-evident, or at least I hoped, that I wouldn't have to walk home from her distant abode in the dead of the night. The world was dancing around me. The beauty, too, mentioned a desire to dance, but here she went too far. As politely and nicely as I could I explained that she should get any jumping and twisting on my part out of her head, and hoped she wouldn't stop loving me.
Of course, everything went wrong. My acquaintance was carried rather than brought to our table. None of the devils present was willing to drag her into their dens. Stuttering in despair she mumbled she would have to spend the night at my place. I was swearing like a Hungarian. The TV beauty soon started to make her farewells. She was bound for a long walk along dangerous nocturnal streets. Due to the beastly behaviour of my "friend" I didn't ask her to my place; I only walked her to the exit. We were standing on the pavement, and the fresh breeze made my mind serene, dammit. My hollow-sounding voice was back, so I didn't talk much. But I stared at her as if I wanted to tie her to myself. Quietly, gently we said goodbye. And then - I didn't even stir - she stepped closer and kissed me softly, lightly. With her lips. I could hardly see her as she was leaving. Thunder and lightning broke through the starry night, and something unbearable struggled to shatter my body. I was standing still, and hardly survived. It had been a long time, and I'd almost forgotten; but it came again, the terrible, first, youthful love, its unexpected, belated echo, which shook me to the bone. Suddenly I forgot all about my receding hair and wrinkled forehead, one missing tooth and a couple of missing fingers, the fact that my public life was past, that I now and then rode the bus, and that the beauty had no need whatsoever for me and my couch.
As if moonstruck I wandered back to my table; when I spotted the remains of my "friend" and her party, I looked down and locked my mouth; I didn't even blink when a few fools started talking to me. With a gentle move I lifted the elegant glass almost full of wine; just a few minutes before, the beauty had for the last time held it to her glittering lips. I clasped it firmly and slowly sipped the noble liquid. Then I stood up, grabbed the still blabbering friend by the elbow, and without further ado and despite her resistance dragged her towards my den.
She fell asleep in the armchair while she was pestering me with her demands for alcohol, drugs and stuff, and the typical need for a whimpering female confession. I carried her like a bag to my bed, somehow managed to half-undress her and covered her up. Although she was unconscious I threatened that early in the morning she'd have to wash the linen or something even worse. I hated her.
When I was done, it was five o'clock. Nevertheless, carried on the wings of young love, I dialled the new sweetheart's number. I tried for a long time; luckily she didn't wake up.
I woke up blissful and happy; for as long as possible I persisted in numbness, but curiosity won. Gradually I roughly reconstructed the previous day, and my mood deteriorated rapidly. Enraged I rushed to the "friend", dragged her out of bed and, still drowsy, with bloodshot blinking eyes and only half-dressed, threw her out. I was nowhere near offering her a coffee, but I did thrust a banknote for the bus under her bra, although she didn't deserve it. I wasn't the least interested in whether she managed to roll down all the floors without breaking her skull. I grabbed the still warm linen and threw it into the bathroom from a distance.
Restless, I rolled the piece of paper with the new love's phone number between my fingers. An unknown hand, almost definitely mine, had embellished the digits with coloured pencils during the night. When I remembered the story about the foreign institute and some other brazen lies, I felt extremely sick. I didn't throw up, though, for there was nothing to throw up. I remembered my grimaces, which attempted to be charming smiles; and the leisurely, confident walk, which almost threw me down the stairs. It became blatantly clear to me that I was able to be friends with that kind of woman - if it was God's will - only for a few hours, in the best of cases. And then I was supposed to disappear into the night. I was quite unable to imagine her lounging about on my shabby couch, eating only every other day and dragging herself out of the flat once every two months. What would she think if the doorbell suddenly rang and I - as it often happens - jumped up to the ceiling and howled with a voice of a hyena? Or if she couldn't wake me up for days? Or if I got up with a jerk in the middle of the night soaked in cold sweat? Would she understand that I often didn't feel like talking, let alone moving about? Not a good match, I thought. I had no ID-card, I remembered. No tie. No wheels. No opinions. I pressed my head to the phone and let drop a tear or two. I had difficulty breathing. My knees felt soft, my teeth chattered. Every now and then I picked up the receiver and put it down again. With weak arguments I tried to picture the potential of our love in brighter colours. Perhaps she was crazy after all. Let's call it an exception. I pulled out a few strands of my hair. Who knows why I stripped naked. With contempt I watched my poorly maintained body. I dialled the first three digits and gave up. Outside it was pouring down, and I was grateful for this attenuating circumstance. I lit a ciggy, but it soon slipped out of my careless snout. It was smouldering the skin on my belly and my pubic hairs. Go on, bitch, I heartened it through clenched teeth. I rolled onto the couch, but lying about somehow didn't work. I was being ravaged by love, before my eyes there lingered the vibrant image of the bright face (and legs and the rest) of my beauty.
For somewhere between five and fifteen days I lounged on the couch and watched the cobwebs. What it was like to sleep I'd completely forgotten. I didn't even think of food. The body gradually developed some kind of frostbites, perhaps even bedsores, but I didn't give a damn. Just in case, I didn't switch the phone off, but it was silent like a dead pheasant. One night the doorbell rang, it howled like it was the (much desired) end of the world. I didn't lift a finger; I knew that such barbaric ringing didn't suit beauty queens, charming princesses and my loves in general. The immense yearning miraculously aroused by her kiss pervaded me to the deepest corners of my tired heart.
That night, when eroticism entered the next phase, sanity probably wasn't one of my advantages. A neighbour - I only knew him casually - was rude and deaf at the same time; he played the TV so loud that it echoed through my flat. The voice announced a show and mentioned the beauty among the stars. I leaped from the couch like a bolt of lighting and fell over the chairs and tables; each vertebra separately cracked and squeaked and there wasn't a muscle that wasn't seized by a cramp. I broke my nasal bone and some other bones, but I wasn't in the least upset. Finally I dragged myself across the room and switched the machine on. I turned some buttons and made it work. A few people sat in the studio and babbled on. But she was among them. I stared at her as if enchanted.
My eyes twinkled, I fought not to faint. I wanted that woman. Urgently. I had to get to her. It was the matter of life. I dragged her from the screen with my eyes.
This I never told anybody. There was no one I could tell, anyway. Who hasn't heard dumb stories about little kids or savage cannibals imagining that radios and TV's are inhabited by tiny dwarves who play, chat, etc. inside; well, I myself don't remember ever imagining anything of the kind. No way. But, please understand: suddenly I was face to face with my wonderful sweetheart. Glass was the only barrier between us. It was my last hope. After all I'd never seen the inside of a machine. Not even in dreams. If one of them broke down, I waited for a few years, then tried again. Sometimes, though admittedly rarely, they fixed themselves. I definitely didn't know anybody who would look inside a TV set; I choose my own company, it's my business. I was so excited that blood rushed into my ears, probably squirted out of my ears, the room swayed around my head, and some strange squeaking was coming out of my mouth. I waited for my love to fill up almost the entire screen, then thrust a huge chisel - yes, I own a chisel, so what? - behind the back wall of the set and with a single terrible push opened the thing up.
Actually, I wasn't disappointed when I set eyes on all that colourful junk, wires and all, odious square, oval, etc. things... Well, just a little, perhaps. But I was angry. Her voice was coming out of the jumbled debris. I thoroughly (oh well, given the state I was in) hit the machine with a fist a couple of times, across the bulbs and wiring, until there was a flash and I was struck and burnt to the bone and thrown across the room.
I came to in broad daylight, perhaps the following day. The price the body had paid was considerable. To invigorate myself I drank a decilitre or two of water, concealed my pubic area with a cloth, pulled myself together and took the devilish machine outside the building. Let me stress that there were five stories in between. I threw it on the ground next to the garbage bin and watched it for a while. It was pleasurable to think that I would never have any business with anything like it again. The miserable passers-by, if I'm not mistaken, stared at me. I belched loudly; my insides had probably started processing the much-desired water, and returned to the flat. Everything was all right. Without knowing exactly when, I abandoned myself to the peaceful suffering of unrequited, unhappy love. The piece of paper with the phone number embellished lovingly with couloured pencils was crumpled and permeated with sweat, barely legible. I rolled it into a ball and threw it out of the window. I splashed my eyes, tended to the most serious wounds and stopped some bleedings. I knew that in my wretched memory that fleeting kiss would never pale, not for a single nuance. Even the unhappy phone number I had memorised, nothing to be done about it. For a few minutes I sat still and sentimentalised. It seemed to me that for the next couple of days I'd be in no form for lounging about. I hesitated a little, I hesitated quite a great deal, then I reached for the phone and called my acquaintance. The one who considered herself my friend. I invited her to a nightclub.