Reamde

There was a strong argument for getting the hell out of there and taking the next ferry to Manila, but Csongor had become fixated on the idea that, only a few yards away, looming above them, were a large number of reasonably modern hotel rooms with beds and showers. It was anyone’s guess what they’d have in the way of telephones, but on the opposite side of the waterfront drive, facing the row of hotels, he was able to count three Internet cafés in the space of a single block. So, without much discussion, the three gravitated in the direction of the hotel that seemed largest and newest, and presently found themselves in its dark and cramped lobby, being evaluated by young females in tight dresses who were lounging on the few available seats, as they checked in to a room. The plan at first was to get one room for Csongor and Marlon and another for Yuxia, but halfway through the check-in process, when it became evident that the rooms were going to be situated on different floors, Yuxia changed her mind and announced that she would be sleeping on the floor or the sofa of Marlon and Csongor’s room. Which meant, of course, that she would have a bed and Marlon or Csongor would sleep on the floor. So they got only one room. As it happened, this brought the price down low enough that they were able to pay for it using American dollars from Zula’s wallet, and thereby avoid using Csongor’s credit card. Csongor had no idea whether any authorities—Chinese, Hungarian, or otherwise—had put a trace on his card, but still it seemed wisest not to use it unless he had to.

The room was up on the fourth floor, small and dark, with stained shag carpet, smelling of tobacco, alcohol, and sex. Yuxia stormed directly to the window and opened it as far as it would go—about six inches—to let in a bit of a sea breeze.

It seemed as though the shower would be busy for a while, and so Csongor went back down to the street and walked to a bureau de change that he had noticed earlier and changed all of the euros from his wallet and the Canadian dollars from Peter’s into local currency. He was slightly offended, but hardly surprised, that they would not accept Hungarian forints. He also ducked into four different Internet cafés and found them well patronized by Caucasian males who were generally using them to look at dirty pictures. They varied in size, quality of equipment, hours of operation, and general level of friendliness. Only one of them, NetXCitement!, claimed to be open twenty-four hours, which Csongor thought might be useful given that the evening was already wearing on and they would probably be busy, for a few hours yet, getting cleaned up and fed and clothed.

He bought some Chinese food from a stall on the street and took it up to the room, trying to fight back the almost overpowering urge to rip the garlic-scented containers open and plunge his face into them. A hand-lettered DO NOT DISTURB! sign was up on the door of the room, held in place by the door having been slammed shut on it. Csongor opened the door, brought the food in, then went back and carefully replaced the sign. “Why do we need this?” he asked Yuxia, who was sitting on one of the beds with a towel wrapped around her body just below the armpits. Marlon was still finishing up in the bathroom.

“Hos,” she announced, “keep coming around to ask if we want anything.” Making air quotes around the final two words.

Csongor felt as if he should be abjectly apologizing in the name of every white male who had ever lived, but he didn’t know quite where to begin. He still had not quite gotten his mind around the nature of this place and what went on here—particularly the middle-aged ladies, who seemed to be acting in approximately the same role as pimps, but who didn’t seem like professionals. They seemed almost like chaperones. But singularly ineffectual ones.

“I’m sorry that this is the first place outside of China that you have ever seen,” Csongor said. “It’s not all like this. Someday I will take you to Budapest and show you around. Very, very different.”

“First we have to get the eff out of here,” Yuxia pointed out.

“I got some local money,” Csongor said. “Enough to buy this.” He nodded at the food, whose aroma, by now, had drawn Marlon out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “We can all get some cheap clothes and pay for maybe one more night here.”

“Aren’t you going to get in touch with your mother?” Yuxia asked, sounding a bit shocked. “Can’t she send you money?”