Bodor Ferenc: Coffee-Houses - Our Budapest (Budapest, 1992)

Majakovszkij

The participators in the action burst into the shabby interior together, swept the stale, dry cheesecakes and the sausages in their plastic skins that could be interpreted as sexual symbols, whipped out their little red passports and cried: Does a poet cut no ice around here? The froth withdrew into the East German beer-bottle survivors, sacked or pensioned-off janitors and office personnel gave a start. And then the espresso machine, emitting clouds of steam like Lenin’s steamengine in Finland, began to hiss.

Stamps testifying to paid party dues and documents attesting reduced rates at summer resorts were brought out. The revolutionary spirit of the district bent and twisted two iridescent spoons, knots became untangled, including the snarled bra-straps of a window-dresser who had just dropped in. We want revolutionary drinks! cried the newcomers. The revolutionary afternoon slipped slowly down their throats; the committee in charge of the change of name got stuck crosswise, but the party branch organization saved them just in time.

103 KIRÁLY ÜTCA, VII.

MAJAKOVSZKIJ

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