Imi calls me up Wednesday to get drunk. We meet at Mad\u00e1ch Square, but he\u2019s alone.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe others?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey didn\u2019t show.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean, they didn\u2019t show? We promised after our last withdrawals that\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey didn\u2019t show.\u201d<\/p>\n
We leave it at that. We go into a bar. Imi buys the first round, four tequilas and two beers. I whistle. It\u2019s part of the pact that no one ask why the other wants to drink, but with such a heavy start I feel like it\u2019s necessary.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are we drinking?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause life is fucking great.\u201d<\/p>\n
We clink glasses. Imi snorts, he doesn\u2019t like alcohol, which is partly why he started smoking way back when. Or because getting high as a bird is the best thing out there. Then came the rest. I don\u2019t know. We\u2019ve never talked about it, that\u2019s part of the pact too.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what have you been doing since?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cStudying.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll kinds of bullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t have anything better to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nods. He gets it. I study, Csaszi is an alcoholic, Feri spends around eighty a month on weed, Nik\u00f3 got fat. That\u2019s what happens when you come off it. His girlfriend\u2019s the only reason Imi\u2019s alive.<\/p>\n
We leave after the next round of tequila because Imi says there\u2019s going to be a concert at Kuplung later. He has molly too, so we can really get wrecked. He offers me some, but I don\u2019t want any. If I\u2019m gonna be clean once and for all, I\u2019m gonna be clean. Besides, he invited me out to drink, so according to the pact I\u2019m responsible for him tonight.<\/p>\n
There aren\u2019t a lot of people at Kuplung. Imi disappears once we step inside, so I\u2019m left alone with the empty tables and the lamps that hang from the taut wires around me. I can\u2019t even make it to the bar, I run into people I know right away. From P\u00e1zm\u00e1ny University. It\u2019s only nine o\u2019clock, but they\u2019re wasted, they ask what\u2019s new with me. One of them heard I was able to come off the stuff. What\u2019s on the tip of tongue is call it by its name goddamnit, but Imi reappears with two pints of beer.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat should we drink to?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n
I look to the P\u00e1zm\u00e1ny\u2019s.<\/p>\n
\u201cTo two years being clean!\u201d<\/p>\n
Imi laughs, it hasn\u2019t been two years yet, but whatever. One year, two years, five decades. It doesn\u2019t matter. We ditch my old classmates and sit down under the lamps. Imi\u2019s rolling, talking about something I can\u2019t follow. Old times, I guess.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are we doing here?\u201d I cut him off.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t like this place?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI do. I just don\u2019t get it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is where I first met Fanni.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
He gulps his beer.<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked her to marry me yesterday!\u201d<\/p>\n
I congratulate him, give him a smile, hug him. Nice job, thanks man, let\u2019s drink to that, I\u2019ll get the next round, etc. I go to the bar and order two whiskeys; if I remember correctly, Imi hates that the least. Meanwhile I\u2019m thinking about how this is what a rehabilitated heroin addict should look like. Not like me, or the others. Imi has a job, money, a fianc\u00e9. In short, a life. It\u2019s all worked out for him. Of course, it all depends on your perspective. I\u2019m alive, so if we look at it that way, it worked out for me too.<\/p>\n
\u201cProst!\u201d I sit back down at our table and raise my glass.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCheers, in German.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy the hell do you know German?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTouch\u00e9.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m just beginning to enjoy Imi\u2019s company when the P\u00e1zm\u00e1ny\u2019s come over. They congratulate me again for being clean and with that they settle down next to us. Newly rich imbeciles, one of them\u2019s bragging about his job, the second about his thesis, the third about how you can\u2019t find a hotel for under thirty-five euros a night in Dublin. I don\u2019t care to listen to them, so I motion to Imi for us to get out of here. He misunderstands me. He finishes his whiskey and burps in the face of the guy sitting next to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet out of here,\u201d he says calmly.<\/p>\n
I hold my head in my hands, but it\u2019s too late. The guy acts indignant, beats his chest, and because Imi doesn\u2019t move, the guy gets brave, though he\u2019d be better off dipping out. Of course, there\u2019s no way for him to know what\u2019s coming. He hasn\u2019t seen Imi on Bethlen G\u00e1bor Street punch his dealer in the back of the neck because he found cheaper heroin at M\u00e1ty\u00e1s Square and realized that his dealer had been ripping him off for months. And now the MDMA is coursing through him too. I reach over the table and grab his arm, but he sweeps it away. He gets up and punches the guy in the gut. The others lunge after him and I step back because I know he\u2019ll take care of them too. Luckily the bouncers show up and kick him out before he can cause an even bigger scene. I follow them out reluctantly, it\u2019s not like I can say anything to absolve Imi, like sorry, my friend is drunk. All of Budapest is drunk, and yet only he starts fights.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was that?\u201d I ask as we trot along Kir\u00e1ly Street.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe kid pissed me off. He was spitting bullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t have to beat him up for that. You\u2019re always spitting bullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can go to fucking\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, you think it\u2019s okay that your girl agrees to marry you and the next day you\u2019re in jail?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stop in the middle of the road. Some tourist runs into me. He yells at me, and I send him to hell in English. Imi looks up at the starless sky a little ways away.<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t you ask her to marry you?\u201d I walk up to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd she said no?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could\u2019ve told me that sooner. I wouldn\u2019t have bought all that whiskey.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re nice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could\u2019ve bought twice as much vodka.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can now,\u201d he says, and heads for a bar.<\/p>\n
We get drunk quickly. We\u2019re systematic, like back in the day, only now there\u2019s no flickering guilt that we\u2019re inching towards death. The bar is quiet for eleven, despite the fact that it\u2019s full. Imi\u2019s talking about his girl, whose name I can\u2019t even remember. I\u2019m thinking about how strange it is, back in the day we kept a list of each other\u2019s girls and then analyzed the likelihood of whether one of them had AIDs. We had to because we shared needles. Now I can\u2019t even remember this one\u2019s name. Not like Imi\u2019s bothered, he\u2019s painting a vivid picture of how he prepared for the big moment. A movie at an independent theater in the afternoon, then dinner by candlelight at Pomo D\u2019Oro, then a walk along the Danube with a bottle of wine. Everything was going according to plan, except for when he got down on one knee. The girl started crying.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe was planning to break up with me that day,\u201d Imi says.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd did she?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he chuckles. \u201cI got up and left her there.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike a real man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, what would you have done?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know. Maybe cried a little. Or shot up.\u201d<\/p>\n
Imi doesn\u2019t say anything, just nods like, you see. I bite into my fried chicken sandwich, but then I remember something, and the bite gets stuck in my throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cImi,\u201d I falter, after I\u2019ve coughed myself to tears, \u201cyou didn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t shoot up after, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShot up, my ass.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m clean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not worth it any other way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt didn\u2019t even come to mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t let it.\u201d<\/p>\n
We drink. I slow down, I can feel I\u2019ve had enough. Not Imi. The bar closes at two, the bartender lets us stay until three then kicks us out. I buy a vodka and head towards the tram, but Imi calls after me, says let\u2019s go down to the Danube. Let\u2019s go, it doesn\u2019t matter to me. I have just as much work to do tomorrow as any other day, I can stare at the walls of my apartment hungover, too. Imi doesn\u2019t say anything, just walks with huge steps and cranes his neck left and right. I remember the time he walked down R\u00e1k\u00f3czi Street just like this, asking every passerby if they had any heroin. None of our connects were coming through and he needed a hit; he would\u2019ve asked a cop if he would\u2019ve crossed paths with one. Now he\u2019s looking for a fight. I envy him. At least he wants something.<\/p>\n
By the time we get to Bajcsy Street he grows bored of looking. He starts talking about rehab, about his memories of the last times we did heroin, the stupid fucking psychiatrist who Csaszi slept with at the end. And then he\u2019s talking about Csaszi, how he was never even our friend, only hung around us for the heroin, because he was broke and we always shared with him, and now where is he when we need him, he can\u2019t even keep the pact. I say he\u2019s probably lying somewhere drenched and drowning in his own puke, that was his ideal night back in the day too, shooting up and passing out with a needle in his arm for six, seven hours. Imi laughs. I ask him, why, were we any better? But suddenly he shouts, \u201cFucking Americans!\u201d And he runs toward the Parliament.<\/p>\n
Drunk tourists stumble around before the fountain on Kossuth Square. Two girls and two guys. They can barely stand on their own two feet, they\u2019re trying to take pictures with the Parliament in the background when Imi goes after them. He smacks the phone out of the taller guy\u2019s hand, then punches him in the face and knees him in the stomach. The poor guy doesn\u2019t even have the time to scream for help before he\u2019s lying on the ground. Imi yells and looks for the other guy. The other one\u2019s stepping back, but his pride won\u2019t let him leave the girls there.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m gonna kill you, you fat fuck!\u201d Imi yells, and uppercuts him in the chin so hard it cracks.<\/p>\n
The guy goes down, but Imi doesn\u2019t quit, he stands the guy up and keeps hitting him, his groin, his ribs, his everything. The guy\u2019s body goes slack, his head falls onto his shoulder, but Imi doesn\u2019t care. He yells at the screaming girls to shut up and gets back to it.<\/p>\n
\u201cGo and fuck yourself, you piece of shit! You come to Budapest, huh? You cocksuckers! You come here because the beer is cheap, and you scream into the night with your lousy accents? What\u2019s your accent worth now, huh? What the fuck is it worth?\u201d<\/p>\n
And he hits him, and he would keep hitting him if I wouldn\u2019t go over there and grab his arm. Imi turns around, almost comes at me, I\u2019m ready to headbutt him if I have to, but his eyes find mine, and he calms down. I tell him we should go, because the cops will be here any minute, and he wheezes and follows me down to the shore towards J\u00e1szai Square. We cross Margit Bridge without a word. Imi\u2019s wiping his bloody fists onto his clothes and panting like some rabid dog. He changes course at Margit Island and doesn\u2019t respond when I ask him where he\u2019s going. I run after him, follow him to the shore.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid your girl leave you for an American?\u201d I sit down next to him on the cold stones.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nod. The sky is clear, the moon is white. What I\u2019d give to shoot up right now. Across from us is the dug-up Danube shore, backhoes and brown mounds. Even taking a hit from a light bulb would be something. A drop of blood lands next to my foot. Imi\u2019s nose is red, it looks like they nailed him with a punch. He rips a leaf off the branch above our heads and blows his nose into it. He flings it into the Danube and stares with a glassy gaze at \u00c1rp\u00e1d Bridge and the ship swimming towards it. Written on the side of it in about thirty languages is the phrase \u201cSee you later.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s shoot up,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
“Meanwhile I\u2019m thinking about how this is what a rehabilitated heroin addict should look like. Not like me, or the others. Imi has a job, money, a fianc\u00e9. In short, a life. It\u2019s all worked out for him. Of course, it all depends on your perspective. I\u2019m alive, so if we look at it that way, it worked out for me too.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":15011,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[1583,702,1830,92,1832,2621,1831,1828,1829,1833,898,205,217],"class_list":["post-14960","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-addiction","tag-alcohol","tag-budapest","tag-drinking","tag-drug-abuse","tag-fiction","tag-heroin","tag-hungarian","tag-hungarian-fiction","tag-night-out","tag-recovery","tag-substance-abuse","tag-translation","writer-zsombor-aurel-biro-translated-by-timea-balogh"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14960","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=14960"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14960\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15013,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14960\/revisions\/15013"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15011"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=14960"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=14960"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=14960"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}