Enlightenment of Bees by Rachel Linden

Author:Rachel Linden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

That evening we dine with Laszlo at a tiny restaurant a few streets away from the hotel. Rosie arrives wearing a new outfit she found at Zara—a daring jumpsuit in black and gold paisley that looks like a pair of very expensive, avant-garde drapes.

“We didn’t have time to do much shopping, but at least I got a toothbrush and some mascara and a pair of pajamas,” she tells me. “Oh, I do so hope they find my suitcase.”

We squeeze around two cozy tables in the traditional Hungarian restaurant, and Laszlo orders the three-course fixed menu for all of us. The food is hearty and good—goulash soup, crispy duck legs with purple cabbage, and warm apple strudel for dessert.

As we polish off the last of the strudel, Laszlo outlines the plan for the next day. He will pick us up at eight o’clock from the hotel and drive us to the makeshift refugee camp. He sets down his fork and gazes around the table. “The border where we will go tomorrow is not like here. Budapest is very nice, very beautiful. The place you will stay, the camp where you will volunteer, everything is more difficult. Be ready for that.” With this caution, he gestures for the bill.

After Laszlo leaves us, Milo, Rosie, and Jake opt to visit the rooftop bar of a nearby hotel for a nightcap.

“Anybody else want to come along?” Milo asks.

“Not tonight,” Abel says, declining politely. “I think I must turn in.”

Winnie yawns. “I’ll pass.” They head back to the hotel.

Kai glances at me. “Want to see the city?” he asks, and I accept immediately. There’s something so genteel about Budapest, so stately and civilized. I can’t wait to see more.

After admiring the basilica, we meander through the cobblestone streets and squares. All the shops are closed at this hour, but the cafés are open, spilling light and music onto the sidewalks. People linger at tables under café awnings, enjoying a cappuccino or a digestif. I am entranced by the soft music, the clink of wine glasses, the gentle burble of conversation. Hungarian sounds so different from Hindi, the words more bulbous and round. Hindi strikes me as a lilting, spiky language, beautiful but sharp.

We reach the Danube River and follow a walking path south. Lights rim the banks of the river like a luminous pearl necklace. Riverboats bob in the water below us, and small clusters of people dot the grassy riverbank, laughing and talking and drinking wine. The air is soft and smells of dusty paving stones and budding trees with a dank undercurrent of muddy river water.

We pause to admire the proud and imposing palace and the dreamy, fairy-tale spires of Fisherman’s Bastion rising high on the other side of the Danube. As Kai points out a few notable architectural features, I suddenly catch a snippet of English conversation from a couple sitting a few yards away. They are facing the river, side by side on the grassy bank. Their voices sound familiar. With a jolt of recognition, I see it’s Winnie and Abel.

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