4.1 Spotted in Budapest

Tyler Friesen arrived at Budapest in the second week of March with no pseudonym attached. He carried two pieces of luggage, a Royal typewriter in a leatherette box case, his Nikon F camera and his authentic passport. Papers…his visa of entry into the Eastern Bloc and other hidden arrangements. A manuscript of his seventh novel left with Howard Turner with an understanding to assign an editor to work on it. He ended up calling it ‘Lodestar’. Climbing down from the taxi in front of the hotel, he took a glance at Matthias Church standing in the square.

It wasn’t like anything he’d seen in the pictures. A church called by different names, The Church of Mary, The Church of Our Lady and coronation church, stood in the middle of scaffoldings raised to renovate the building hit by bombs in the Second World War. Everywhere you looked, there were the scars of war. Even the building behind the hotel was under construction. The Holy Trinity Statue stood quite impressive and intact with tiny biblical figures on the column raised to commemorate the people of Buda who died from two outbreaks of the Black Plague. A thin layer of snow around its base. Beyond that column, he could see the fortress of the Fishermen’s Bastion.

The girl at the counter wore a slate blue pleated skirt, a pale beige cardigan and a blue beret.

“Good day! Is this Hotel Noke?” he asked.

“Neo!” returned the girl.

“No!” he uttered.

“It’s called Nyolc,” she spoke fairly good English.

“Oh! That’s how you pronounce…neo! It’s a very beautiful hotel. Is this a new place?”

“Yes sir, new hotel.”

“When was it built?”

“Nineteen Eighty-One…no, no,” cackled the girl going down behind the counter, “my English,” recovered and continued, “Sixty-One.”

“What happened to the old place?”

“Bombed,” she cried, “the year I was born!”

“I’m Tyler Friesen. I have a reservation.”

“Yes, Mister Tyler, fill in this card,” she passed a registration card, “Name, address, passport number and your nationality.”

“What is this?”

“Date of birth.”

“Date of birth! August 12^th Nineteen-Thirteen.” Tyler caught a rack of newspapers, dropped his pen and grabbed a magazine, “Where can I get this?”

“Papirbolt.”

“Where?”

“Out on this road,” she pointed to the right.

“Thank you.”

“Szervusz!”

Tyler dropped his luggage in Room No 2 and ran down the stairs to the lobby with the paper in his hand, nodded to the girl once again and walked out of the door. He glanced up the road, Szentháromság tér, and took few steps pass a plot cleared of rubbles and lightly covered in snow. He went to a small tavern with a papirbolt.

He ordered a coffee and asked the shopkeeper if he could get him a newspaper dating back to October ’64 which he scribbled on the paper he got in hand.

The old man passed him a handful of copies and within few hours and minutes of his arrival to Budapest, he was turning pages to find the whole story narrated on Esti Hírlap and Magyar Nemzet.

After the coffee, Tyler returned to the hotel and asked the girl, “Do you know the head office of this paper in Budapest?”

“Telephone?”

“Yes, please!”

She grabbed a thick directory and searched for the number, “Rottenbiller utca 33 35.” She scribbled the address and the phone number on a blank sheet of paper holding the pen by the tip.

Tyler spread the 8^th of October Esti Hírlap on the countertop having had an even better idea, “What is your name?”

“Sasa,” said the girl.

“Is this your hotel?” he tapped on the image.

“Igen.”

“Do you remember?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tell me, Sasa, what does it say here!”

“Gábris Hajnal,” cried Sasa, “A girl in the room.”

“What happened?”

Sasa told him the whole story even with bits that did not appear on paper.

“Where is the telex?”

“It is in the file,” her voice said it all.

“You have it!”

And he knew he must do something there to get it from her. He took his wallet and passed her a 50-forint bill from the money he cashed at Ferihegy Airport where he landed on KLM.

The girl passed through the wooden door to an inner office and returned in two minutes with the telex.

Tyler looked at it and enquired, “Do you know Jaco Ferre?” It was a carbon copy with faint crinkled lines that indicated it was mishandled at some point and with two filing holes. They always filed the correspondence.

“He used to come. He was from Catai Tours.”

“Catai Tours?”

“Spain,” she grabbed a 1964 brochure and gave it to him.

“Terrific!” he uttered, “This is a colour brochure! Do you know Alexey?”

“No, I heard he was staying at Nemzeti.”

“May I take these to my room. I’ll bring them in five minutes.” He wanted to take a photo of the telex but decided not to do in front of her or anyone else.

“You can keep the catalogue.”

“Thanks.”

Tyler went to his room and took a photo of the telex, noted down everything on it. Could this Alexey be at Hotel Nemzeti? He browsed through the pages of the 1964 colour brochure. Catai Tours operated throughout the Mediterranean and East Europe – Hungary, Romania, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Greece, Italy…

Six hours since he arrived in Hungary, he had no lunch and luggage remain unpacked but he was picking on a lead.

Tyler placed the telex inside the brochure with a 500-forint in it. He returned to the lobby and passed the catalogue to Sasa. The girl smiled noticing it at once. “Can I make a long-distance call?” he demanded.

He made a call to his wife in Connecticut to say he arrived safely in Hungary and staying at Nyolc Hotel in Budapest.

The girl leaned over the counter and whispered with a hand on her mouth, “Do you want to talk to Hajni?”

“Who?”

“Gábris Hajnal.”

“Do you know her?” he asked shocked.

Sasa nodded, “I know her. She is my friend. She’s a kindergarten teacher but she comes sometimes like an escort. I can call her if you want.”

“Sure!” This was getting very interesting.

“When do you want her to come?”

“Right now. I go take my lunch and I’ll be in my room. Send her up!” He entered the restaurant from the access on the left side of the counter.