An Interpreter in Vienna | Chapter 10

Part II: Scopophobia

An Interpreter in Vienna is a response to Graham Greene's The Third Man and a psychological thriller serialized on The Matterhorn each Saturday. This prose is a continuation of a letter written by Marie to her (official) employers in anticipation of Josef’s arrival at her door…at the threshold where she believes one of them will die.

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Chapter 10

‘Listen, we can’t get into our hotel room for a while anyway, so Josef is going to take us to a spa. There’s one close by that’s just beautiful. There’s quite a busy evening ahead of us, so we can just relax.’

‘Ok, that sounds nice. But I don’t have a bathing suit.’

‘No problem! This is one of the nudist ones. Look – there’s Josef’s driver.’ 

It was one of those things you don’t expect but you just do when you’re faced with it. Apparently, Josef was already there, waiting for us, so there wasn’t a choice in the matter. It was my first time at a naturist spa, but I wasn’t all that surprised by the idea of it after what I witnessed at the Danube. 

The baths were enclosed in a palace. Well, some were under the marble columns and ornate ceiling while others were outside in the glow of the bright yellow walls. I was starting to think this move was basked in luxury. I wasn’t getting paid much, but between the perks of the job and those of socialism, I was living a carefree and even fascinating life. I had always wanted this in Paris, Tokyo, and New York, but I struggled. I was never as comfortable as when I was living in Bretagne in our house by the sea. Rent money was not guaranteed nor were basic justices like health care (at least in the US where I found out the hard way I had gone to a hospital outside of my insurance coverage after a broken foot; it totally wiped out my savings). 

I was surprised that even the changing rooms were mixed and slipped into one of the stalls to put the rented towel around me. Marija motioned to me to join her, ‘I’ll just show you around a little, then you can relax on your own for a couple of hours, ok?’

There were more naked people in front of me than I had ever seen at once. At first, it was a little overwhelming. And then, it quickly felt normal. 

I looked around at all the bodies of all different shapes and sizes. I felt drawn to it — curious about the differences. Of course, it was especially the breasts and penises that varied in size and shape and color. Nobody else seemed to be looking around, but I felt like they must be, secretly behind sunglasses or books. I didn’t feel attracted to any guy I saw, no matter how fit or well-hung. It all felt a little bit silly at the same time as relaxing. Somehow their nakedness didn’t feel like a treat to me anymore. But at the same time, as I lay on my towel in the sun, I imagined the others looking at me, I felt a little excited about it. I didn’t want them to do anything about it, like talk to me or touch me, but I just wanted them to watch. 

Having grown up in France, I wasn’t a prude. We often went to the beach topless and I had been to a few naturist places over the years with friends. It wasn’t a big deal. But here, it was a new level. There was no modesty whatsoever and on top of this was the fact that I was with my employers, both of whom were very attractive and flirting with each other. I wasn’t really sure how I fit in. I tried to throw myself into that dissociation again. 

‘How about this? Is it a good spot to leave our towels? Then you can swim or whatever you want.’ She threw her towel down on a chair. She was completely at ease. I tried to have the same nonchalance as I unwrapped my towel. ‘Marie, you have a nice figure. You should wear sexier clothes to show it off.’

‘Thank you…’ I imagined the directness was cultural.

Luckily, she wandered off immediately. I decided to just go with it as best I could. None of my friends were here anyway.

I always thought of my body as quite plain really. Not too big or small, nothing really special about it. I felt very boring in my nudity and realized that I kept flicking my hair around in an effort to look sexier than I really was. Sometimes I wondered if it was my personality that made my body look boring. Actually, the last guy I had been with - in New York - said something to that effect. He said, ‘Marie, everything is just right, not too big or too small. If you let yourself go a little, you could be so sexy!’ I broke up with him the day after. 

I didn’t know what to do with myself in the spa. I decided to go off on my own for a bit because I felt a little like a third wheel and they didn’t need me to translate anything anyway. 

I went over to the pool and did some relaxing breaststroke, just poking along back and forth. Everything was so quiet. 

After a few minutes, I realized a man was following not far behind me underwater. I imagined his view and initial split-second disgust turned to titillation. I reminded myself I didn’t know anybody here and would never see them again. Why not try to let my body take on some of that missing sex appeal? 

So I continued. Four or five laps more. He followed, at about the same distance behind. Finally, I gathered the courage to exit the pool, wondering what would happen. I went over to the ladder and slowly climbed out, allowing him to get right up close underneath me before doing his turn at the wall. 

He continued on without pause. I had wanted him to stop there, take off his goggles, and…I don’t know. Say or do something. But I also knew this was ridiculous. Maybe he had been looking at me, maybe not. It was more likely in my imagination. He was simply going for a swim and didn’t care who was in front of him. We were each going at normal paces. 

When he finally got out, he didn’t look over at me or anyone else. He merely grabbed his towel and left. 

Nobody cared. What I mean is: nobody looked. Everyone was just relaxing and nobody was looking at anybody else. I mean even less than when we have clothes on. But it wasn’t like they were being shy or demure either. It was as if everyone was an animal and I wasn’t sure that I liked it. 

Eventually, Marija came to find me: ‘Have you had a nice time? It’s so relaxing, isn’t it?’ She was so put together, even with a small white towel around her and humid hair from the sauna.

‘Yes, thanks so much for taking me.’ Maybe when you had it all, you wanted to just do absolutely nothing for a while. 

Then Josef came over, with nothing covering him. I was used to it all at that point. All the penises began to look the same, so I didn’t notice his. ‘Ladies, I hope you’ve had a good time! Let’s get out of here. My driver’s on his way. We’ve got a bit of business before the dinner.’

Budapest (photo by the author, 2017)

While showering, I reflected on the experience. There had been many Viennese at the spa, and I guessed that quite a few foreigners also lived in Vienna. 

They are so rigid and here it seems relaxed at first glance. But is it really? It was so silent. I had seen some Austrians shushing foreigners or younger people who were having a normal level of conversation. A rigid form of relaxation. This was just one more paradox of the Austrians. They weren’t even in their own country and yet their culture seemed to dominate. Josef confirmed this for me. He later told me the Hungarians found the Austrians amusing and mainly just let them assert their ways. It was only when they insulted the local food or music that the Hungarians fought back. It was one thing to speak their own language or bring their strange energy, but another to bring down the local arts.

The ones I had seen didn’t care about their bodies. They left them out to the sun like meat slowly roasting. I imagined their souls as secret dark places. I felt evil around me, but I wasn’t sure which of these bodies were just mignons and which were slowly planning an attack. 

It was the first time I realized there was this secret terror beneath the forward-facing glory of socialism. A collective trauma, perhaps, of secret basements and Nazi gold. The responses to these terrors that were perhaps buried in the stones of the city were nasty expressions and rash responses. In a cycle, they would get worse and worse, as others respond to the shame and fear or even evil they are faced with daily. Their response would be more fear and shame and connection with the evil inside themselves.

Far away from the glory of the Viennese streets is where I first realized this. And when I returned, I would never look at the buildings or the people the same way again.

Statue in Városliget Park, Budapest (photo by the author, 2017)

The driver picked us up. He bore a striking resemblance to Josef. When I remarked on it after we got out of the car, he joked that we are all attracted to ourselves, that he had probably hired him as a sort of subconscious vanity. ‘That or I thought I might need a body double sometime,’ he laughed. 

We went straight to the Russian embassy.

‘Our work is here but it’s brief.’

We did the normal security checks I was used to and entered a large ornate sitting room. We sat in silence until Marija and Josef were invited into another room. ‘Just wait here,’ Marija said quietly in French, ‘You don’t want to be involved in this anyway.’

I soon discovered I was there merely for appearances. There was another interpreter seated who worked for the Russians. We were left together with a security official for about twenty minutes. 

‘Is it exciting? Living in Budapest?’

She replied flatly, ‘It’s just for work. Budapest is alright though.’

‘Are you doing a lot of interesting jobs here? I mean, do you get to meet interesting people?’

‘I go wherever the ambassador needs me. Otherwise, I am on call for him. It is a duty.’ She rolled her eyes so only I could see, then smiled a little. 

She was youngish and kind-looking. Perhaps it was the way she held herself. I thought she would be partying or living it up in some way. I guess I thought that’s what I would be doing in Vienna as well. I thought that maybe she had it figured out more than I had, but we didn’t have the opportunity to speak plainly. Maybe because the guard was there she couldn’t say anything. Regardless, if there was more to her than simple translation of words and devoting her life to the needs of the Russian state, she wasn’t going to give anything up to me now. I started to imagine she had a secret life while we waited the rest of the time in silence, her eyes fixed on an object across the room. 

⬩

When they came out, Marija looked flustered but immediately pulled herself together. She then resumed a powerful stature. There seemed to be some tension between the two of them, but it could’ve been in my head. 

We went back to the car. I hadn’t even translated a word.

‘Was the meeting alright?’

‘Yes, very productive,’ Marija answered almost too quickly.

‘I wouldn’t know much,’ smirked Josef, ‘They spoke in Russian for most of it.’

‘Oh, don’t be a baby, Josef. You know there is a greater cause. You can’t let your ego get in the way.’ She kissed him juicily and with a little laughter to follow. I guess she thought I was trustworthy.

Josef looked pensive, maybe even concerned, through the filter of the mirror. I inadvertently caught his eye and he winked. Somehow, though I didn’t understand him and had no idea what he even did, I felt like we were on the same side. He returned his gaze to Marija and they discussed dinner plans. 

‘Why don’t you let off Marie in the Józsefváros area? You’ve got to check out the cafes and vintage shops. Buy something nice to wear for dinner; I adore the designer Tomscanyi.¹ Here, take some forint,’ she handed me a wad of Hungarian money. ‘Buy whatever you need for the overnight. Are you ok to just meet us at the hotel? The room is reserved in your name and dinner is in the café downstairs. Seven o’clock.’

‘No problem. Thank you.’

After a couple more turns, I was let off. Marija’s offering was generous but made me feel like a child. Compared to them, I was, I suppose. Both in age and life experience. I naively shadowed others’ lives and became a vessel of interpretation; my influence was minor at best. I was a spectator to consequence and a host of information. 

Later, Julie, you would tell me this is the best way to live a life. But at least at the time, I was not convinced. I was determined to have my own experiences. 

I checked on my phone to find that the hotel was only a fifteen-minute walk away, so I had at least an hour before I’d want to go back and get ready for the evening. 

It was unclear how late the evening would be, so I first popped into Apricot Coffee for some caffeine. There were records and books along the walls. People were relaxed and chatting in several languages but mostly English. 

My shopping experience was easy. I found a drugstore for a few things I needed, including a little makeup, and then found a place with local designers. A young woman working there greeted me with a huge smile, ‘Szia! Hello! Can I help you find something?’ She had big black combat boots and a flowery winter dress on.

‘Hi. Sure, thanks so much. I’m looking for something to wear to a dinner tonight…not too formal…’

‘Right, cool. I’ve got some ideas! Just pop in the fitting room and I’ll bring them over. What’s your size? Small? Thirty-six?’

‘That’s right. Over here?’

‘Yep.’ 

I felt like I was back in Soho or the Marais. There was nothing like this in Vienna. 

After trying on five dresses, I settled on a fitted black long-sleeve dress with a subtle gold thread pattern. The shopkeeper coordinated it with wine-colored, suede, calf-high boots. I decided to wear the boots out of the shop over my jeans, suddenly feeling much more like I fit into the hipster neighborhood.

I soon made my way back to the hotel. The check-in was easy and my room, although one of the standard ones, was large, even grand. 

With no briefing about the dinner, I was feeling a little unsure of what I was walking into. Would the Russians be there? What about this love affair? 

I put on red lipstick for courage and took the elevator down to the entrance of the famous New York Café². 

Josef and Marija were already at the table drinking cocktails. There was another man with a little dog and five empty seats.

‘Marie, beautiful dress! Join us, please.’ 

Marija ordered me a martini without asking. I tried to look sophisticated while drinking it. And that was sort of how the night went. I was trying to pose and look interested or interesting, but I had no idea what was going on. 

After the others arrived, mostly there was small talk and ordering food. But every now and then they discussed something about European energy and bypassing it with some Russian stuff to make everyone reliant on it. And then there was something about pharmaceutical technologies. It sounded like hypothetical scenarios. One was American and the others Hungarian. They all spoke English and occasionally Marija would ask me something in French though I think I only translated a couple of sentences. 

One of those times, she told me that the Russians didn’t like her president but did like her. The American looked over at us and proclaimed in perfect French: ‘Je vous aime aussi!’ which amused Marija, and then, also in French, but just in my ear, as he was seated right next to me: ‘My condolences about your colleague, Brian. He was one of our finest. Some say he was a double agent, but don’t believe it. He was fluent in Russian and associated with some of the good ones, the dissidents. Of course, that’s dangerous territory. You be careful, ok?’ Marija didn’t seem to notice; she was speaking in Russian with the other end of the table. 

He slipped me a card with all his details and I finally learned his name – Michael Brown. His address and phone number were in Budapest. I didn’t feel like I was being hit on. It felt like genuine care, but I was struggling with whom I could trust. To simplify my life a little, I decided not to contact him but to hold onto the card for an emergency.

I caught Josef’s eye and he nodded subtly, swirling his wine glass, before talking to Michael about Honvèd, Budapest’s football team. The rest of the dinner was relaxed like this. I was sandwiched on the interior of the table, so I was pleased when everyone got up to have a later drink at the hotel bar. 

‘You don’t need to come unless you want to,’ Marija whispered.

‘Thanks, I think I might just retreat for the night.’

‘Perfect. We have a train at eleven. I decided not to stay here, so I’ll pick you up about twenty minutes before, alright?’

‘Yes, thank you so much.’

‘No, thank you! You’re a wonderful find. Maybe you can’t see the work you’ve done today, but you’ve been very helpful.’

This made no sense to me but I tried to find solace in the idea that I could be invisibly making a difference. 

Nobody noticed my departure, or if they did, they were quiet about it. 

Back in the hotel room, I took out the book Finn had given me and started reading. 

“I am a sick man…I am a wicked man.”³ I stopped after the first sentence to read about the translator. That night, I made it through the first three chapters slowly. I was surprised to read quotes from Rousseau followed by reflections on absurdity: “…the more uncertain you are, the more it hurts!”

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To be continued…

Find all the published chapters in the Table of Contents.

1. Designer in Budapest

2. “A little bit of history – the birth of the most beautiful café in the world”

3. Notes from Underground, Fyodor Dostoyevsky