ZOOOOM

George F. Draskóy (1987)

It was a beautiful day. I was traveling on the Trans Canada highway in Newfoundland. The sun was scorchingly hot, and inside Bettsy the air was stuffy. I must tell you about Bettsy. She is a four door sedan, painted brown, and because it is five years old, rusty spots started to show on it. In Newfoundland the cars get rusty very fast, because the roads are salted heavily during the winter, to keep them ice free. So, Bettsy is rusting. It should be traded-in a year ago, but government budgeting procedures can create so much red tape for such an action that it is easier to repair a car continuously, than to buy a new one. This gave Bettsy a new lease on its life.
I was listening to the news. President Carter announced the formation of 110,000 man “quick strike force” in response for the deteriorating situations in the Persian Gulf area to protect the oil supply route. From South China Sea the aircraft carrier Midway was sent to the Indian Ocean. Egypt bought 35 F-4 Phantom jet fighters from U.S. I changed station, which was not better, it said something about the remnants of Khmer Rouge in Cambodia were still holding out in remote areas of the Country. When it started to speak of Idi Amin I turned the radio off.
I was thinking all about the facts of trying to trade-in Bettsy, about the budgeting procedures, the problems with my work etc. Driving and thinking usually results that my mind switches off and I find myself daydreaming.
On that beautiful sunny day it was easy to start to daydream. I was thinking about the same hot day, when two years ago I was driving in Hungary on a road similar to this one in Newfoundland, just the landscape was different. Beautiful rolling hills, and small villages in the distance. But here, just dark green spruce and fir forest alternating with barrens which often reminds me more to a moonscape than Europe. To drive on a European highway it is so different. So much to see. I noticed that the sun is shining in the same angle at me than once when I was driving from Lake Balaton towards Budapest. How nice it would be if suddenly I would find myself driving in Hungary. Could be this possible? Why not. In my long life I read so many science fictions which sounded so real that now I can believe in anything. How could be this done? Lets make a theory. I theorized that this travel in space could be done if I could intensify the sun's rays shining at me and if at the same time I will concentrate on the spot where I wanted to be. Now I had to figure out how to intensify the sun rays. With mirrors, of course! I need a mirror to reflect the sun away from me then with an other mirror I have to reflect it back into my eyes and the same time the sun must shine into my eyes too. To create all these conditions while I am driving will be impossible.
At the next turn in the far distance I saw a brown heap beside the road. When coming closer I realized that must be a person. It looked like he heard my car coming at the same time when I noticed him, because he stood up and put his thumb out, indicating that he needed a ride. Now there is a dilemma. I am not allowed to pick up passengers in a Government car, in the other hand, I am bored, probably I will fall asleep in this hot car and this ‘fella’ needs a ride. Why not? Lets pick him up.
The car came to a slow halt. I took a quick glance at him. He had ear rings, tattoos on his arms, and all above this he had purple hair stiffly sticking away from, his scalp. I felt, to step on the excelerator, but it was too late to do it without hurting his feelings. He opened the car door with a grin and said, "HI". With a quick move he opened the back door and tossed in his guitar and pack sack .
A short conversation started. Where he is going, where I am going etceteras. When we ran out of conversation subjects Joe made himself very comfortable in the car and soon he fall asleep. Here goes my traveling companion who will keep me awake, I thought. I went back to my daydream, which was interrupted with Joe's appearance. I was thinking that I am now driving in Hungary. It was so real that I completely forget that I am in Newfoundland. In my mind I was in Hungary.
I saw a car coming from the opposite direction, but this was only a subconscious recognition, because I was too busy with my daydream. The car came closer and closer while I was thinking about driving in Hungary. Suddenly the oncoming car's windshield reflected into my eyes nearly blinding me. Automatically I leaned forward to avoid the reflection, but then the sun was shining into my eyes which was better than the windshield's blinding flash. The oncoming car went around a pothole and its windshield suddenly flashed the sun into my eyes again. The car past us and I went on absentmindedly, driving still thinking about Hungary. Suddenly I felt a funny feeling, my throat went dry because I saw a highway sign with Hungarian writing on it. I looked around and the landscape was a typical European. I woke up Joe. I asked him if he would like to eat something at the next stop. Just a cup of coffee, he said. We agreed, and kept on driving, looking for a restaurant to stop.
Suddenly Joe said to me: "when did they built this fancy gas station? This wasn't here last week! These bloody foreigners, it is not enough that they take jobs away from ‘Newfies’ they started to make foreign signs too!" We went in. I knew what happened, that the theory that I created worked, and we were in Hungary, but Joe did not know this and I had no clue how to explain it to him. We sat down besides a table which had red and white checkered table cloth. Surprisingly, the waitress arrived shortly and greeted us with a cheerful "Jónapot kivánok. Mit tetszik parancsolni?" which means, hello, can I help you? - "What the fucking hell these foreigners think? They forget that they are not in their old country", - said Joe.
" Joe, they are not in Newfoundland, we are in “Europe”-I replied. "Man, you must be crazy. How the fucking hell could we be in Europe?" was Joe's reply. Now, how can I explain to this fellow what happened?
It would be bad enough if I would be alone, but with this hippie with me the situation is worst. Joe helped to solve my dilemma. " You know man, before you picked me up I smoked a joint, but never before I had such a weird trip, to a foreign land. It is interesting, and I should boot this up with a little white stuff."
He stood up from the table and I followed him after I slipped a dollar bill into the hand of the waitress. She liked this because the dollar could be sold on the black market. We walked to Bettsy – remember, Bettsy is a car– . Joe opened his pack sack, and then I saw him taking out a small plastic bag with white powder in it. Holly cow. Now what to do? I can not kick him out from the car in a foreign country, he will be in jail within no time! I tried to take it away from him, keeping in mind to put it in the garbage can near the road, of which contents is regularly burned. But Joe would not hear about this." Man, do you know how much I paid for this?"
" No, and I don't want to know" I said. and I dropped the subject, hopping that later I will find some solutions to dispose his precious plastic bag.
Joe fell asleep soon, and as I was driving towards Budapest. I was overjoyed. Without airfare, and the tiresome flying time I am in Hungary, and I have a car, which means that I don't have to rent one for about 300 dollars for a week. I didn't had to worry about passports and visas etc. Suddenly I felt paralyzed. I could hardly steer the car. It droned on to me that I am driving in Hungary a Governmental vehicle with Newfoundland license, without a passport and visa. To go to Hungary you need a visa. At the port of entry they stamp your passport, and within 48 hours you must register at a police station, nearest to your temporary residence.
I have relatives in Budapest, but I can not drive up to them in a car with foreign license and Joe in it with his white stuff. I must figure out something! But what? I must not tell my story, because people will think I am a nut, or which is worst they will treat me as the source of a strange scientific knowledge which has possible military applications. I must hide the vehicle and Joe. I will drive to the Canadian embassy on the Budakeszi street. I have my Government and other ID's, so I can prove that I am a Canadian citizen. It is my good luck, that I read so many articles, how the Canadian Embassies help travelers in trouble. They even arrange their funerals too if necessary. Here we are, I am already thinking about funerals, even before any real trouble.
It started to be dark, when we arrived to Budakeszi street. Since I was here the last time, the traffic at the Erzsébet bridge was changed and I missed the turn to my destination. No problem, I will take the next exit. This was only a presumption because the next exit was about five kilometers beyond the bridge. Finally I drove into a side street turned around and headed back to the bridge. From there the travel was uneventful.
I past by the houses where friends lived. I was in a hurry to arrive at the embassy. I was lucky the big rod-iron gate was still open. At the right to the entrance was a small bungalow, which houses the general offices. At the left a three story building, the residence and offices of the executive. The bungalow had no lights on, only the residence. I left Joe sleeping in the car and walked to the three story building. Five steps up to the beautifully carved oak door. I rang the bell. A young maid came to the door. "Tessék?"- which sounds like "yes?" - in English.
"I would like to talk to the ambassador" - I replied in Hungarian. Come back tomorrow morning, and go to that building, and she pointed at the bungalow. Without wasting any time she shut the massive oak door.
Now I am standing in front of the Canadian Embassy in Budapest, without papers, without Hungarian money and without a place to stay and all above this Joe is in the car. I can not go to a hotel where they would accept my master card, because the desk clerks' first sentence will be: "your passports please!", and this, I can not afford. Sleeping in the car anywhere will be conspicuous and the police soon would ask questions. I must do something. I walked around the office bungalow, and behind it I saw a driveway which was overgrown by shrubs, but was still on the embassies' ground. I eased Bettsy onto this old driveway in reverse and soon I was hidden from view. I got out and had a leak, and surveyed the surroundings. Old lilac bushes with lots of dried up blooms on it, which indicated to me that this was the last year's bloom and this spring the shrubs were not blooming at all. The botanist in me override the fear of uncertainty.
I must do two things immediately. First I must find some, food and I must get rid of Joe's white stuff. The question is,- does he has any more dope hidden somewhere?- Or this is all, what he showed me? I must to wake him up, and try to talk to him. This turned out to be a futile exercise. Joe refused to wake up. Since my friends lived a walking distance from the embassy, I decided to drop in to them and ask something to eat, and to borrow some money. Carefully, not to wake up Joe I stepped out from the car. I slammed the door very quietly, but Joe woke up cheerfully, like he never slept. So we started out both of us, to eat.
I rung the door bell, and soon my friend opened the door. "Szerbusz Peter,- Szent Isten, hát ez ki?" To translate it liberally it sounds like, -Hello Peter,- holly cow, who is he?
He was not surprised to see me but was astounded that I was accompanied by such a sight. To avoid any questioning I told him that I arrived suddenly to Budapest, and on the plane I met Joe who was once working with me. I told him that in the hurry at the airport I forget to change some money, and I would greatly appreciate if he could give me ten dollars worth of Hungarian money. He gladly gave me three hundred forint for my ten dollar bill. He wanted to keep us there but I excused ourselves because I was worried that Joe will spill the beans if they start to converse. We walked to a nearby small restaurant and ordered a small meal.
We just finished our supper, when the door swung open and a noisy bunch of hippies crowded in. Suddenly Joe's eyes went wide open. I looked at that direction and with horror I saw a girl with purple hair. Her hair was sticking off her had just like if she had been filled with static electricity. They looked at each other with a big grin. Joe leaped to her and they embraced each other frantically. I thought they know each other, but it turned out that the only bond between them was the purple hair. They were American tourists, and immediately invited us to join them. I declined the invitation, but nothing could persuade Joe to do the same. They crowded us into their small rented car, and drove us up to the embassy. Joe took his guitar and pack sack and they left me alone sitting in “Bettsy”. I was worried about Joe, but since he was a complete stranger to me, really I could do nothing to stop him to go away.

I locked the car door and walked back to my friend's house. I made up a cover story, because I didn't wanted them to be involved in my escapade. I stayed there overnight and next morning I hurried to the Embassy, so to be there before they will find Bettsy. I was lucky, they just opened the doors of the offices, but there were many people already ahead of me. I had to take a seat and a number. Finally when my turn came, the receptionist called me. I told her that I am a Canadian Citizen and I would like to talk to the ambassador. She told me to wait. About five minutes later a young man called me to the receptionists' window.
"What can I do for you?" "I would like to see the ambassador or someone from the security."
"Why?" "Can we go into a room where we can talk private?"
"Why?" By now everyone in the room who could speak English was curiously looking at us. Finally I convinced the young man that I have a personal problem of which I would prefer to talk in private. He grinned at me, and finally let me in to a small room which had a few very comfortable chairs in it and a round table. I guess he was grinning because he expected a juicy story. Definitely he was not prepared for what was coming. I told my story. He was polite and pretended that he believes me, but I could feel his skepticism. "So you are from Canada, and you say that you have a car with Newfoundland license with you .Where is it?" "Behind this building." "Lets go and see it."
We walked around the building, where I hid Bettsy. He looked at the license plate and his face shoved more interest. Probably it was curiosity what shoved on his face.
"Show me your passport, I want to see when you entered Europe." "My passport is at home in Newfoundland, and I entered through space or time or whatever, I don't know."

We went inside. The young man left me alone in the small room. I found something to read to pass my time, but soon I had to put it down, because I was too nervous to read, and above all, my glasses were in the car. Soon, the young man reappeared with a man about in his late forties. He had grayish hair closely cropped. It was very obvious that he is a man who is more comfortable in a uniform than civilian clothes. He introduced himself by name only, not mentioning any rank or status. "Are you a Mounted Police?" I asked him. "Yes,"- was his short answer.
I had to tell him my story again, but he asked me to stick to chronological order. This was difficult because I like to gab. Watching his face I could not make out if he believes me or not. After I told my story, he took out from his pocket a small tape recorder and dictated what I told him. When finished, he walked to the window and looked out watching a stork circling above the hills. Suddenly he turned around and said.
"Lets go to your car."
He walked around the car very carefully. He bent down and peaked under the car. He opened the hood and looked there for a long time. We sat inside. He turned the ignition key and was watching the various meters to come alive. "When did you gassed it up last time, and where? Did you paid cash or credit card?
"I gassed up yesterday in Newfoundland, and naturally - I used the credit card which belongs to the car!"
"Then you have a receipt?"
"Yes, it is in the glow compartment." He opened it quickly. This quick move shoved the first sign that he is interested. There were all the receipts from my field trip. He looked at the dates of purchase. He turned gray. Lets go inside he said very firmly. We were again in the same small room. "Coffee or tea?" "Coffee, with milk and no sugar please." I said gladly.
While we waited for the coffee to be brought in by one of the embassy employee, he was very quite. After we drank our coffees he excused himself and walked out.
I was in the room alone for about three hours when the Mountie came back. He looked at me and I could see that he is very tense. It is all confirmed. You work with Parks, and you were yesterday in Stickpond Park, and you gassed up near Gander. By the way your finger prints matches too!. Now, this really surprised me, because he never took my finger prints. Then I remembered that we drank coffee, from which he could take my finger prints. I asked him how could he match my finger print, when in Canada nobody has a record of it. Instead of answering he just grinned at me. He left me wondering about this, but then later he said that where I lived I must had touched lots of things like telephones in my office etc. I also had a coffee mug in my office which I seldom washed. He was never specific about how he got a match of the finger prints. I presume they have the most modern communication equipment at the embassy.
We went over and over again of my story. Then suddenly I remembered that I never mentioned to him about Joe. Now I had to start again and tell my story how I picked up Joe, but I was reluctant to tell him about Joes' suspicious white powder.

After I told him about Joe, and how he went away with the Americans, he became very concerned. He left me alone again in the room, but this time he took my car keys and arranged for my glasses to be brought in. I realized that he sent someone else to the car instead of me bringing my glasses in. With resentment I accepted the fact that I am a prisoner at the embassy. I tried the door handle, but it was locked.
It was dark again and way beyond the office hours, when the Mountie, the Embassy's security officer returned.
"Come with me. Take out all of your staff from the car, and we will go to the other building."
I noticed that the office was empty of the regular staff, but now he was accompanied by a younger man. He also had short hair cut and he was obviously a military intelligence or some other embassy security personnel.
He was introduced to me as corporal -something. Many people notice that when you are introduced to someone it is hard to remember the names. I am like that too, so I asked my companions if they would like to be so kind to tell their name again. The older one was staff-sergeant Fraser, and the younger, corporal Smith.
We went to the car again, took out all my belongings, and with Fraser ahead of me and Smith behind me we entered the embassy compound. They took me up into a guest room. I was told that I have about a half an hour before supper. I took a quick shower. I decided that it is time to take off my blue jeans. From my luggage I took out my dress uniform, and I put it on. Soon I heard a knock on the door. Corporal Smith came in. I would love to have a camera handy to photograph his face, when he saw me in a parks service uniform. He lead the way, and soon we were in a room which was lit by an antique candelabra. My feet sank into the carpet. I looked down and I saw a beautiful Persian carpet. I was so impressed with the reach surrounding of the room that I did not notice the other person seating beside the table. It was the ambassador. He was about sixty years old, but had a well built body. He had sparse white hair on his balding head. Naturally I had to tell my story again, which resulted that my supper was ice cold by the time I finished it. After the supper I was asked to go to an office, which was near to the dining room. A dark haired woman in her early thirties was waiting for us. She was introduced to me as Piroska. Obviously a Hungarian. She put a sketch in front of me. It was a face with purple hair just like Joe, but it had no nose and eyes or beard. She started to put over the face transparencies, which contained the eyes nose ears etc. I had to choose the right one which resembled Joe's. After two hours she managed to draw a very accurate picture of Joe. She took Polaroid pictures of it and put it into her purse. I was escorted back to my room, where in a few minutes later I was sound asleep.

While I slept, Piroska and corporal Smith drove off in Piroska's car, which had a Hungarian licence plate. In Hungary all embassy cars have a licence plate which has a "D" on it, indicating diplomatic services. To drive such a car always draws attention. Budapest is full of night clubs. They drove to the Hilton, where in the bar they had a reservation. They sat down and ordered screwdrivers, with double vodka in it. Soon they were accompanied by two men and a woman. They were from the American embassy. Piroska took out two Polaroid pictures of her sketch of Joe and gave it to them. Very few words were exchanged. After finishing their drinks the Americans departed. Piroska took one more look at the crowd to be sure that Joe is not there, then they left. This was a well organized search, obviously organized by Fraser.
The Americans split in two groups and visited certain night spots, while Piroska and the corporal were cruising the streets. They parked their car near Deák square, and walked to the Váci street, which leads to Vörösmarthy square. This is a very popular spot for young people. And there was Joe. He was playing his guitar. A crowd of equally weird looking people surrounded him. As Piroska and corporal Smith were approaching the crowd, they saw with horror that two policeman walked directly up to Joe. They asked him for ID. Joe could not understand them, and the policeman tried to speak to him in a very bad German. Piroska casually walked up to the policeman and offered to them her help. First she spoke to Joe in polish, than Italian and when Joe did not responded, only then she tried English. This was a clever way not to be too familiar. Piroska told Joe, that the police want his ID. Joe pulled out his wallet and gave his Social Insurance card. Piroska showed this to the policeman, and added quickly,-even so that Joe never said a word about passport- that his passport is in the hotel. The police gave a lecture to Joe that he should not play on the street especially dead drunk. Piroska translated this, and soon the police went away. Before giving back the S.I. card she made a quick glance at the name. Yes, they had the right person. It was an anticlimax. They were preparing for daring rescue, from the police, and nothing exiting happened. Corporal Smith was disappointed. He had already some emergency plans, how to create distractions for the police, and while doing this Piroska would run away with Joe. But the fact was simple. Police gone, but a dead drunk Joe at hand. Piroska introduced herself, which meant nothing for Joe, he was out of touch with reality. Piroska changed tactics, and invited Joe to come with her to a party, where he should play his guitar. This made sense to Joe, and followed them willingly, but very unsteadily to Piroska's car. They managed to push him into the car, and immediately he fell asleep.
We were kept in the embassy for several days. We saw only a few embassy
employee, and the conversation was kept to minimal. One afternoon Fraser came in, and handed to me my own passport. I opened it and I saw an entry stamp in it, dated just a day before. Attached to the passport was the registration for temporary residence. I know it better not to ask questions. At the same time Joe looked at his very worn passport with puzzlement.
"I can't remember ever having such a book! Gush, I must be really stoned, I can’t remember that I ever was in Germany, France, Holland and Hungary." Staff-sergeant Fraser tried to reassure Joe, that he will remember, when he will sober up. I admired Fraser for his efficiency. To get a passport for Joe when he never had one, I could understand, but how could he get the Hungarian rubber stamps imprints in it too? Fraser showed a rare smile and refused to comment.
We were taken to the airport on separate days. I refused to travel with Joe, I told them, that I will be so nervous, that I will be very suspicious. They agreed, and Joe went with an embassy employee. I heard, that one day he woke up in the psychiatry ward in a hospital in St. John’s. He was told by the nurses, that he had a very bad over doses of heroin, and he should be lucky that he is alive. He was telling to an admiring crowd, about his trip to Hungary. Everyone envied him, and wanted to know where to buy the right stuff, which can create such an interesting journey.

I ended up, somewhere in Ontario in a desolated place. During WW II. they used to train spies here, but now it was a deserted area. Most of the day we are driving up and down on the old runway. I mean we, because there is always one or two military researchers with me in the car. I am hooked up to various instruments. Hugh mirrors are erected at various positions near the runway and they are controlled by computers. These mirrors supposed to shine into my eyes while I am concentrating to be in Newfoundland. We are doing this for weeks and weeks without any results. I am not allowed to think about any foreign country. The authorities want to avoid complications, if we ever succeed. I know they don't believe, that I can do it, but to be on the safe guard we are driving a car with civilian registry. We are out of luck, because I just can not concentrate on day-dreaming. Who heard of such a stupid thing of day-dreaming on military order? I can not. I can not day-dream on order and drive up and down on an isolated dilapidated runway. It would be much nicer back in Kenya on a photographic safari. I remembered when we drove so close to the elephants that we could smell them. We drove off quickly when one of the elephant decided to investigate the car.

Suddenly a mirror flushed into my eyes and the next second I hit a tree. The car was badly damaged, and my companion lie unconscious beside me, and bleeding. I am unhurt. There were no signs of the runway or the mirrors.

The silence of a hot simmering day, was interrupted only by distant roar of the lions and by the trumpeting of elephants.