“Well, foreign boy, my other friend no here, so tomorrow we go to my house in Budapest. We sell the rest of the clothes in two or three days, and you have lots of money. Isn't Zsofya a clever clever girl?”
“Zsofya is wonderful.” I am about to say something else, but I am surprisingly nervous about broaching the subject. I have this feeling that she will broach it in any case. I think it would be a good idea to leave this delicate matter to the girl.
“Now I take you back to the city and we stop for something nice. This was once a fine city. Now is tired, but you must see before is dark.”
We go arm in arm down the corridor. I really like this girl. As we walk down the stairs I ask her “Where did you learn your English.”
“Ah. One time I have Swedish friend and he try teach me Swedish. I say 'No, teach me English'. He very nice boy, but he go home.”
“You learn quickly.”
“I not just girl for fun, I clever girl.”
I stop her at the bottom of the stairs. “I want to be your friend.”
“What you teach me?”
“What do you want to know?”
“I will think of something. Come foreign boy. We walk.”
We hit the streets. We walk up to the castle. We go to a shop and eat cakes. It starts to get dark, and the shops begin to shut. One or two street lamps light up, but the streets are getting dark. No lights shine from the shops, and the town starts to take on that haunted look.
We go back to the hotel. “We eat from the big tins, unless you want to spend your money.”
“I will spend some money in Budapest, not here.”
“Clever boy. It is good in Budapest.
We sit in the large dining room. The place is almost full. The food is dull but good. She tells me stories about Budapest. “Is better than here, but is still in the wire cage.”
We finish our meal with a drink that tastes like schnapps.
“And now English boy. Where do you come from?”
Whoever in Bohemia has heard of Hertford? I tell her I come from the north of London.
“Ah, a London boy. Now you can show me how London boys have fun with girls.”
I smile. I knew she would.
“I knew there was something you could teach me. Are you good, London boy?”
“I don't know if I am good, but I will be special for Budapest girl.”
“I like you London boy. You are clever, but also not clever. I like that.”
What the heck am I supposed to make of that remark? I think it is a kind of compliment, but I'm not sure.
“You are clever. You bring the things girls want behind the wire.” Her tone suddenly changes. “But you are stupid. You come on train straight into a frontier where the guards will take your precious suitcases.” She stops and smiles at me. “But then you are clever again. You see clever Budapest girl and you call her to help you. Did you know I was a clever girl? I don't think you knew I was a girl for fun. And you haven't asked. I like that. Most men quickly ask. That is all they want. I like boy who can wait till the right time. But I really like the boy who doesn't ask.”
She skips a little up to the stairs, then quickly turns to grin at me. “But you ask without words. That is nice.”
Oh dear, am I still so obvious? The girls back home always said I was obvious. “But I like you. I cant help but show it.”
“You can show it when we get upstairs.” She giggles and skips her way up the steps.
We have eaten our breakfast in the station cafe. I have bought my ticket. I have manhandled the suitcases up the steps and into our carriage. Madam has managed to bag us a carriage to ourselves and I am looking out the windows at Czechoslavakia. The countryside reminds me of rural England. Small fields. Children sitting on gates waving to us, cars patiently waiting for us to cross the road. Great billows of white smoke puff past us like clouds playing games.
Zsofya is smiling and singing a little tune. She really is delightful. Wouldn't it be nice to take her home? Unfortunately that would cause a spot of bother.
She looks up at me and smiles.
Aren't girls a wonderful invention? I really must try and wake up earlier. I'm missing some essential girl by over-sleeping.
“Can I take you home with me?”
“Certainly not, London boy. I like it here. I can make a lot of money and have a good time, and nobody tells me what to do.”
“And you have a pass to get out of prison.”
“Of course. I know the right people here. In London I know nobody. If you know nobody you are the last in line. I like to be first.” She looks out of the window, and sings another line of a song. I must ask her to teach me. “And remember; at frontier I talk. You shut mouth. You are here to carry my bags. That's all.”
I put my hands together, smile sweetly, and agree to everything she says. After all, she is the clever girl. I do as I am told. I have never been to Bratislava. But she probably knows the chief of police.
“What's the song?”
“The song?”
“You singing.”
“Oh, that song. Is from Moravia. Is called... I don't know in English, maybe Green Scarf.”
“A song about a scarf?”
“Is not about green scarf, is about gift from girl, but scarf is a... a... something meaning something else.” She starts to sing, just one line. “Diss tame beelah, oom...” and at that point I start to lose the plot.”
“Distem what?”
She sighs. “Oh, poor London boy. Is nice song. I teach you. Then you sing it to me when you give me present.”
“You want me to give you a green scarf?”
“No, you can give me green underwear. I rather like the ones with that sparkle in them. And when you give, you sing song. Okay? Again. Diss tame be la, oomba meetch quiv domyek.”
“Hold on, hold on.” I get out some paper and a pen. “I write it down.”
The spelling is probably all over the place, and it gets worse. 'Prodjai ho la...' Yikes, it looks a hell of a mess.
I finish copying out the lyric in my special pronounce-it Czech, or is that Moravian? Actually, I've got a feeling it's Slovakian. She leans over my shoulder and bursts out laughing. “You get no marks for spelling. You get spanking for being bad boy. I tell Volodya. She good at that.”
I need a map book. Where am I? I don't remember studying central Europe when we were at school. We did Australia, and its exports. I think we did Canada as well, but maybe when I was at school the countries behind the wire were not supposed to be there.
We are leaning back to back. I watch the countryside go by on the west. After all, I am capitalist western pig. She, being a good little communist girl faces the politically correct East.
I suddenly have a thought. I turn round and she nearly falls over. “You, miss,” I poke her in the side. “You're a fraud.”
“Fraud? Fraud? Fraud is criminal, yes? I not criminal.”
“No. Fraud is cheating. You know cheating?”
“No. I not know this word. Tell me.”
“You pretend you good party girl. You good communist, but you are a capitalist.”
“Why you say that?”
“You like the money. And you live outside the rules.”
“You London boy. You not understand. I live very much inside the rules. But you need to know which rules to... to...”
“Follow? Copy?”
“Follow, yes, follow. You follow the rules that are good for you. There is the government, and then there are people. You make sure your friends are the right friends. You have sentence you say for special things... sort of rules to live by. All communists are capitalists inside. They like money too, and they try to make much money. When it is good for them, they follow the government. When it is bad for them, they hate the government. We have words we say for that. When it comes to money we say, if you do not steal from the government you steal from yourself.”
“You steal from...” At first it sounds silly, but then I smile. “I like that one. I must remember that when I get home.”
“You do same in West?”
“Some people, yes.”
“Many people, I think. West and East very similar. We just pretend differently.”
That one stops me in my tracks as well. I like that one as well. I must write down these little sayings. They are rather good.