spanning it. On our side of the river rose the incredible neo-Gothic spires and dome of the Parliament Buildings, and on the opposite side rose the immense tree-cushioned flanks of the royal palace and the spires of medieval churches. In the midst of everything was that expanse of the river, gray-green, its surface finely scaled by wind and glinting with sunlight. A huge blue sky arched over the domes and monuments and churches, and touched the water with shifting colors.
“I had expected to be intrigued by Budapest, and to admire it; I had not expected to be awed. It had absorbed a panoply of invaders and allies, beginning with the Romans and ending with the Austrians-or the Soviets, I thought, remembering Helen’s bitter comments-and yet it was different from all of them. It was neither quite Western, nor Eastern like Istanbul, nor, for all its Gothic architecture, northern European. I stared out the confining taxi window at a splendor wholly individual. Helen was staring, too, and after a moment she turned to me. Some of my excitement must have registered on my face, because she burst out laughing. ‘I see you like our little town,’ she said, and I heard under her sarcasm a keen pride. Then she added in a low voice, ‘Dracula is one of our own here-did you know? In 1462 he was imprisoned by King Matthias Corvinus about twenty miles from Buda because he had threatened Hungary ’s interests in Transylvania. Corvinus apparently treated him more like a houseguest than a prisoner and even gave him a wife from the Hungarian royal family, although no one knows exactly who she was-Dracula’s second wife. Dracula showed his gratitude by converting to the Catholic faith, and they were allowed to live in Pest for a while. And as soon as he was released from Hungary -’
“‘I think I can imagine,’ I said. ‘He went right back to Wallachia and took over the throne as soon as possible and renounced his conversion.’
“‘That is basically correct,’ she admitted. ‘You are getting a feel for our friend. He wanted more than anything to take and keep the Wallachian throne.’
“Too soon the taxi was looping back into the old section of Pest, away from the river, but here there were more wonders for me to gawk at, which I did without shame: balconied coffeehouses that imitated the glories of Egypt or Assyria, walking streets crowded with energetic shoppers and forested with iron street lanterns, mosaics and sculptures, angels and saints in marble and bronze, kings and emperors, violinists in white tunics playing on a street corner. ‘Here we are,’ Helen said suddenly. ‘This is the university section, and there is the university library.’ I craned to get a look at a fine classical building of yellow stone. ‘We will go in there when we have the chance-in fact I want to look at something there. And here is our hotel, just off Magyarutca – Magyar Street, to you. I must find you a map somehow so you don’t get lost.’
“The driver hauled out our bags in front of an elegant, patrician facade of gray stone, and I gave my hand to Helen to help her from the car. ‘I thought so,’ she said with a snort. ‘They always use this hotel for conferences.’
“‘It looks fine to me,’ I ventured.
“‘Oh, it is not bad. You will especially enjoy the choice of cold or cold water, and the factory food.’ Helen was paying the driver from a selection of large silver and copper coins.
“‘I thought Hungarian food was wonderful,’ I said consolingly. ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere. Goulash and paprika, and so on.’
“Helen rolled her eyes. ‘Everyone always mentions goulash if you sayHungary. Just as everyone mentions Dracula if you sayTransylvania. ’ She laughed. ‘But you can ignore the hotel food. Wait until we eat at my aunt’s house, or my mother’s, and then we will discuss Hungarian cooking.’
“‘I thought your mother and aunt were Romanian,’ I objected, and was immediately sorry; her face froze.
“‘You may think whatever you like, Yankee,’ she told me peremptorily, and picked up her own suitcase before I could take it for her.
“The hotel lobby was quiet and cool, lined with marble and gilt from a more prosperous age. I found it pleasant and saw nothing for Helen to be ashamed of in it. A moment later I realized that I was in my first communist country-on the wall behind the front desk were photographs of government officials, and the dark blue uniform of all the hotel personnel had something self-consciously proletarian about it. Helen checked us in and handed me my room key. ‘My aunt has arranged things very well,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘And there is a telephone message from her to say that she will meet us here at seven o’clock this evening to take us out to dinner. We will go to register at the conference first, and attend a reception there at five o’clock.’
“I was disappointed by the news that the aunt would not be taking us home for her own Hungarian food and a glimpse of the life of the bureaucratic elite, but I reminded myself hurriedly that I was, after all, an American and should not expect every door to fly open to me here. I might be a risk, a liability, or at the least an embarrassment. In fact, I thought, I would do well to keep a low profile and make as little trouble as possible for my hosts. I was lucky to be here at all, and the last thing I wanted was any problem for Helen or her family.
“My room upstairs was plain and clean, with incongruous touches of former grandeur in the fat bodies of gilded cherubs in the upper corners and a marble basin in the shape of a great mollusk shell. As I washed my hands there and combed my hair in the mirror above it, I looked from the simperingputti to the narrow, tightly made bed, which could have been an army cot, and grinned. My room was on a different floor from Helen’s this time-the aunt’s foresight?-but at least I would have those outdated cherubs and their Austro-Hungarian wreaths for company.
“Helen was waiting for me in the lobby, and she led me silently through the grand doors of the hotel into the grand street. She was wearing her pale blue blouse again-in the course of our travels, I had gradually become rather rumpled while she managed still to look washed and ironed, which I took for some kind of East European talent-and she had pinned her hair up in a soft roll in the back. She was lost in thought as we strolled toward the university. I didn’t dare ask what she was thinking, but after a while she told me of her own volition. ‘It is so odd to come back here very suddenly like this,’ she said, glancing at me.
“‘And with a strange American?’
“‘And with a strange American,’ she murmured, which didn’t sound like a compliment.
“The university was made up of impressive buildings, some of them echoes of the fine library we’d seen earlier, and I began to feel some trepidation when Helen gestured toward our destination, a large classical hall bordered around the second story with statues. I stopped to crane up at them and was able to read some of their names, spelled in their Magyar versions: Plato, Descartes, Dante, all of them crowned with laurels and draped in classical robes. The other figures were less familiar to me: Szent Istvan, Matyas Corvinus, Janos Hunyadi. They brandished scepters or bore mighty crowns aloft.
“‘Who are they?’ I asked Helen.
“‘I’ll tell you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Come on-it’s after five now.’
“We entered the hall with several animated young people I took to be students and made our way to a huge room on the second floor. My stomach lurched a little; the place was full of professors in black or gray or tweed suits and crooked ties-they had to be professors-eating from little plates of red peppers and white cheese and drinking something that smelled like a strong medication. They were all historians, I thought with a groan, and although I was supposed to be one of them, my heart was sinking fast. Helen was immediately surrounded by a knot of colleagues, and I caught a glimpse of her shaking hands in a comradely way with a man whose white pompadour reminded me of some kind of dog. I had almost decided to go pretend to look out the window at the magnificent church facade opposite when Helen’s hand grasped my elbow for a split second-was that wise of her?-and steered me into the crowd.
“‘This is Professor Sandor, the chairman of the history department at the University of Budapest and our greatest medievalist,’ she told me, indicating the white dog, and I hurried to introduce myself. My hand was crushed in a grip of iron, and Professor Sandor expressed his great honor at having me join the conference. I wondered briefly if he was the friend of the mysterious aunt. To my surprise, he spoke a clear, if slow, English. ‘The pleasure is all ours,’ he told me warmly. ‘We expect happily your lecture tomorrow.’
“I expressed my reciprocal feeling of honor at being allowed to address
