then my mouth fell open, amazed at my good luck. ‘Stephomi?’
‘Hello, Gabriel,’ he replied. ‘Come to visit someone?’ He nodded towards the angelic statue. ‘I must say, you picked a fine day for it.’
‘I-’ I broke off for a moment, turned away from the monument and took a step closer towards him. I had to resist the urge to grab him in case he should slip through my fingers once again. ‘I lost your number,’ I said at last. ‘That’s why I didn’t-’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Stephomi interrupted, with a wave of his hand. ‘I see I’m not the only one stupid enough to come out in this weather without an umbrella. I wanted to see the monument too, but… Well, to hell with culture when it’s pissing it down like this. Do you want to go and have a drink somewhere?’
And that was how I met him again. Who would have believed it? We left the heroes to the rain and found a small sorozos just a short walk away from Heroes’ Square. It was unusually busy, full of others who had ducked in to avoid the bad weather, but luckily there were still some free tables at the back near the crackling fires. There were also warm, orange lamps giving the place a cheerful glow, and people talking animatedly over their drinks around us as barmaids edged through the throng with trays of beer balanced on the flats of their palms.
We each ordered a pint of barna and, as we had missed lunch, a dish of smoked knuckles as well as an order of pogacsa, made delicious with crackling, cheese and paprika. And then we talked, thankfully about neutral topics that I did not have to lie about. He almost seemed to be going out of his way not to ask me any personal questions this time, and I was grateful for that. Instead he seemed quite content to talk about himself, and I was more than happy to listen.
The time went quickly; in fact, I was amazed at just how fast the afternoon disappeared. Time moves much slower when I am here in my apartment by myself. At last, Stephomi glanced at his watch and my heart sank as he pointed out how late it was.
‘I’m sorry, Gabriel, we’ve been here for hours and I’ve hardly asked you anything about yourself. It’s one of the unspoken requirements of being a teacher, you know — you have to love the sound of your own voice. Why don’t we move on to a restaurant and you can do the talking this time?’
I hesitated, pushing down that familiar panic. I didn’t want to do the talking. I didn’t know enough about myself to be capable of talking for any great length of time. My name is Gabriel…? I mean, how long does that take to say? And he knew anyway, I had already told him so more than once. It occurred to me that perhaps the sensible thing to do would be to quit now while I was ahead.
‘Er… I’m not sure that I-’ I began.
‘Please, I insist. It’ll be my treat.’
The rush of panic increased. What if he asked me something I couldn’t answer? What if he asked me where I’d grown up or how many siblings I had or something? What if I panicked and ran away again? Get a grip… get a grip…
‘It’s the fish!’ I blurted out.
‘I’m sorry?’ Stephomi asked, looking taken aback.
‘Er… I’m supposed to be looking after someone’s fish,’ I mumbled, my hand automatically going to the fish food in my pocket. ‘I don’t mind, though!’ I added hurriedly. What was I doing? Urghh, why was I talking to him like this?
‘Someone else’s fish?’ Stephomi asked, looking puzzled.
‘Yes! They’re not mine. I just… it’s just a favour… until they get back from holiday-’
‘Gabriel,’ Stephomi said, mercifully cutting me off in mid-flow before any more damage could be done. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way but sod the bloody fish. You can go and see them tomorrow; I’m sure they won’t starve overnight. And I can assure you that my conversation is much more stimulating than that of any fish…’ He paused. ‘Although, depending on how much I might have to drink, I can’t make any promises.’
I laughed. All at once the panic disappeared. The fish were important but, right now, Stephomi was more important. If he asked me any awkward questions, I would just say that I’d rather not talk about my past. Problem solved.
Outside we found that it was no longer raining, although the sun was beginning to set. We walked back past the monument and a little way down Allatkerti Street until we came to Gundels, the most famous restaurant in Hungary. Stephomi was shocked I’d never eaten there before although I had, of course, heard of it. It was housed in a large old building with panelled white ceilings, old paintings on the walls and polished walnut pillars standing throughout the spacious room. A pianist was playing over in one corner, and soft lighting gleamed off the rich pillars and the elegant old crockery on the tables.
Once we were settled I asked Stephomi about his name, as much to deflect any personal question he might ask me as anything, and he arched his eyebrow at me in surprise when I mentioned the archangel Zadkiel.
‘You do know your angels, don’t you?’ he replied. ‘Isn’t Zadkiel supposed to be the angel of… what was it… memory?’
I jumped at his emphasis on the word and knocked my wine glass over.
‘Oh dear, how clumsy of you,’ Stephomi said lightly, calling over a waiter to help clean it up.
He couldn’t know… He couldn’t know about my problem…
‘Are you okay?’ he asked once the waiter had gone to get me another wine glass.
‘Yes, of course I am! I’m in perfect health, why? Why do you ask?’ I replied in a panicky rush.
Stephomi gave me an odd look. ‘You just seem a bit jumpy, is all.’
‘No,’ I said, running a hand through my hair agitatedly. ‘No, no. I just-’
‘You’re not diabetic, are you?’
I couldn’t stop the slightly nervous laugh. ‘I hope not.’
‘Well, the food will be here in a minute, anyway,’ Stephomi replied.
With a tremendous effort, I pulled myself together. As the evening wore on, I switched to non-alcoholic drinks. Sighing wistfully, Stephomi agreed that there had been enough alcohol for now and, with a twisted smile, proclaimed that I was good for him indeed. It wasn’t that I had anything against drinking; it was just that I needed to stay alert in case Stephomi asked me something that I would need to quickly lie about. I couldn’t risk… I don’t know, having too much to drink and then blurting out the whole truth to him, or something equally awful. Although with such a sensational story, I suppose he would probably have taken it for drunken rambling anyway.
At one point, somehow, the topic of music came up and Stephomi mentioned that he owned a beautiful, priceless, old Italian violin — a Grand Amatis, in fact, made by Andrea Amati, who had himself been the teacher of the great Antonio Stradivari.
‘Violin?’ I asked sharply.
‘Yes, do you play?’
‘Er, no, I don’t think so.’
‘Don’t think so?’ Stephomi asked, looking amused. ‘Well, I’m sure you would remember something like that.’
I laughed it off hurriedly. ‘Isn’t the Devil supposed to play the violin?’ I asked, remembering one of the paintings I had seen in my book.
Stephomi raised an eyebrow at me. ‘I believe there are certain myths that portray the Devil as a supernaturally accomplished violinist. Hasn’t there been a song about it or something? A bet made between the Devil and a fiddle boy as to who could play the greatest? The boy wins in the song, playing for his soul; but if legends are to be believed, then Satan’s skill with the violin is unrivalled, in this world or any other.’
The amusement in Stephomi’s voice told me clearly that he did not believe any of the myths he was repeating, but still they made me a little uneasy.
‘And then, of course, there was Giuseppe Tartini’s Devil’s Trill Sonata,’ Stephomi said, leaning back in his char. ‘The inspiration for which came in a dream Tartini had in which he gave the Devil his violin and heard it played on a level he hadn’t thought possible. Although the Devil’s Trill was seen as far superior to Tartini’s other compositions, he maintained that it was nothing but a pale reflection of the music he’d heard Satan play in his dream.’ Stephomi tilted his head at me slightly and grinned. ‘Perhaps I should give it up and play the heavenly harp instead?’
At last it was time for the restaurant to close and, when we could no longer ignore the pointed looks of the staff, we retrieved our coats and stepped back out into the cool night. I was going back to the metro station and Stephomi was catching a bus a few blocks away. We paused in the archway of the restaurant as we buttoned up
