Sunday, September 12, 2004

Bor Fesztival

Tonight the wine festival on top of Castle Hill. There were my Hungarian friends speaking Hungarian and I only understanding nagyon jol, and there were roasted vegetables but I went and stood by the stone parapet and looked out at the Duna at the thousands of bulbs illuminating the Chain Bridge at the circular traffic of Clark Adam ter at the shimmering jetty of the river. My cramps were there but distant like Pest and with all the lovely wines I drank even the sweet Tokaj with honey-taste that I pretended to like for my friends and with the stuff that I smoked and the Hungarian talk that makes me feel high even when I'm not. Zsolti and I puffed a Cuban and Zolika kissed me all over my face and Laszlo asked where my husband was, and I said je n'ai pas un mari. There was an American who worked at the Embassy who didn't want to tell me he worked at the Embassy and told me some tale about supervising construction for the American government and I said what is the American government building here and he was an awful liar, but trying so hard and so desperate and I was nice to him even though the American talk was taking me away from where I wanted to be-- lost in the night to the Castle with this back-of-the-throat language hung around me like a scarf. But Budapest but Budapest I am here I am here as much as any Hungarian I am here in this city and I feel her as palpably as a lover. She is a dark and shining lover. She is my worn giant of a lover. I am faithful to her like to no man.


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