CHAPTER 3 – To the spa with Grandma

Grandma Edit said we were going to the spa. It was like saying there would be lunch or that we had to go shopping. Just information. I stood in the hallway and watched her unpack things from a large fabric bag onto the table. A towel. A second towel. Soap in a plastic case. Rubber slippers in a plastic bag. Another smaller bag with something dark inside.

“What's in that bag?” I asked.

“Shampoo.”

“Why in a bag?”

“Because it breaks in the bag.”

Grandma Edit closed the bag and looked at me with those purple eyes of hers. With that look that said curiosity killed the cat.

“Do you have clean underwear?”

“I do.”

“Take it with you. And the towel is here.”

I took the clean underwear and the towel. The towel was older, blue, slightly faded at one corner, but otherwise fine. Babu Edit examined it and approved.

“Come.”

We went.

Mamá waved to us from the kitchen. Papá was in the restaurant. It was morning, but not early, because Babu Edit never went anywhere early in the morning. I knew that. She said mornings were for the birds.

It was warm outside. Babu Edit carried her bag on one shoulder and walked straight and firmly, even though she was old. Or not old like Rósza. Babu Edit wasn't old like Rósza. But older than mamá, that was for sure. Her hair was grey and pulled back tightly in a bun.

„Are we taking the tram?“ I asked.

„No. We'll walk.“

„Is it far?“

„A bit.“

A bit, according to Grandma Edit, could mean ten minutes or half an hour. I never knew. She walked steadily and without hurry, but she didn't stop either. She walked as if the journey were an adventure, not just a part of the trip.

We walked down Brassai Sámuel utca from start to finish. Rósza wasn't on her bench. It was too hot, or it wasn't her day out, I don't know. The bench stood empty and a little different when no one was sitting on it.

Around the corner was another small square and then a street that went downhill. Then another street, wider, with a park on one side. Then yet another.

The baths were right down at the bottom of the hill. They had heavy wooden doors, which Grandma Edit opened in a flash, as if she had been opening them all her life.

Inside, there was a smell.

Different from outside. Warmer and more humid, a bit sulfurous, a bit like hot stone. As if the air had passed through a long tunnel underground and only came out here. I sniffed the air with my nose. It wasn't unpleasant, just different. As if breathing worked differently here.

At the cash desk, granny Edit paid and we each got a key. Small, metal, with a number on a plastic tag. Granny Edit hid her key in her bag pocket as if she knew exactly where keys belonged. She tied mine to my wrist with a rubber band.

"So you don't lose it."

“I won't lose it.”

“I'll tie it to you.”

She tied it to him.

Then we went to the locker room.

Men's locker room. I knew that because old woman Edit led me to the door, pointed at the sign, and told me I'd go inside alone and that I'd find her behind the next door.

"Beyond the next door is the spa. You put your things in a locker, lock it with the key, put on your slippers, and come out."

“And a towel?”

“You bring your own towel.”

I looked at the door.

"Aren't you going?"

„Já jdu do dámské.“

Ukázala na druhou stranu chodby.

„See you by the pool.“

„And will I know where the pool is?“

„Follow the sound. Where you hear water, go there.“

And she went.

I lingered by the door for a moment. It was wooden, swollen from the damp and painted over many times, so the paint was thick and slightly cracked at the edges. It smelled faintly of moisture.

I pushed.

The changing room wasn't large. Along the walls stood lockers, made of wood, with numbers. The number on my key was thirty-seven. I found thirty-seven in the middle of the left wall. I opened it and the inside was empty. A bit damp and a bit dark.

There was an old man in the changing room.

He didn't look at me. He sat on a bench in the middle of the room, pulling off his socks. He was large, somewhat rounded, and still wearing a T-shirt and trousers. He placed the socks on the bench beside him, carefully, one on top of the other.

I didn't know where to look.

I knew there would be people without clothes at the spa. Adults without clothes. I had known that on the way there. But knowing it outside and then standing in the locker room wasn't the same thing.

I turned toward the locker.

I undressed with my back to the old man. I put my things in the locker, changed my shoes for rubber slippers that grandma Edit had packed in a plastic bag. The slippers were a size too big, but that didn't matter. I took a towel, closed the locker, and locked it with the key.

The key was still on my wrist.

I stood by the locker with a towel, not knowing exactly what to do next. Babu Edit had said to follow the sound of water. Beyond the locker room was a door. I opened it.

Steam thicker than fog billowed up at me. Humid air, heavier than usual, warmer. I came into some sort of anteroom where it was slippery, so I was a bit careful. I was walking in slippers, but even through them I could feel the tiles were slick. I didn't see soap on the ground anywhere, but there was wetness simply everywhere. From the water, from the steam, from people.

I walked slowly like a turtle and was just shuffling my feet because I was afraid I would fall. The steam grew denser with every passing meter. You could see through it, but differently. People were a little blurry at the edges, like through frosted glass. The outline was right, but their faces were spoiled sort of like when you come across an old apple in the produce section.

I came into the main area. It was a large hall, or at least it seemed that way to me. In the middle was a pool, round or octagonal, I couldn't estimate it exactly in the steam, filled with hot water. The color of the water was green or grayish-green. The exact shade couldn't be determined because through the steam everything was a bit green and a bit gray at the same time. Around the pool was a walkway made of wet tiles, and on the walkway people were sitting or standing.

Older gentlemen, mostly. They sat by the wall on benches or stood by the pool leaning against the edge. Some had towels around their waists, some didn't. They spoke quietly, because in this space people spoke quietly, like in a church or a hospital.

I didn't know where to look.

I tried looking up. The ceiling was high and vaulted, with colored holes through which light passed, but hazy, filtered by the humidity of the air. Then I looked at the pavement. The pavement was good. There was nothing on the pavement that you wouldn't know whether you were allowed to look at.

"Bencík."

Grandma Edit was standing by the wall on the left. She was wearing a swimsuit and had a towel over her shoulder. She moved as naturally as if she had been here every week. Maybe she had.

I came over to her.

“Did you get dressed?”

“Yeah.”

She looked down at my slippers.

“Swim trunks.”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go.”

She took me by the shoulder and led me around the pool. She didn't avoid people, but walked among them so as not to get in the way, and they avoided her as if they knew she was passing through. I walked right behind her and looked at her back, because at home I sometimes had to scratch it for her and so I knew it best.

By the pool steps, she stopped.

„Tady dolů.“

The steps were made of stone, three or four of them, and a railing led down that you could hold onto. The water started after the second step. Granny Edit went down without hesitation and stepped into the water. The water came up to her waist.

“Come.”

I came to the steps and touched the water.

It looked hot.

"Is it very hot?" I asked.

"It's not very hot."

"Are you sure?"

Grandma Edit looked at me.

“Come.”

I stepped in.

The water was hot. It was hot enough.

„It burns, it burns!“

„Feet first, then thighs, then up to the waist,“ said babu Edit.

My skin warmed up instantly. It was like climbing into a pot where water for tea is boiling.

„Breathe normally,“ said babu Edit.

I realized I was breathing shallowly.

I took a breath. The air was damp and warm and a little sulfurous and it was a lot all at once. But I managed.

"There," said granny Edit. "Not so scary, right."

I didn't stay by the stairs long. I moved a little to the side, where the edge of the pool was. I grabbed onto it. The adults stood in the water just like that without holding on, as if it were nothing to them. Some were sitting on the steps inside the pool, low down, so the water came up to their shoulders.

Babu Edit sat down so low that only her head was visible.

„Come here,“ she said.

“Water will be up to my neck.”

“It won't.”

„And can I reach the bottom?“

„You can. Come on.“

I came over. I sat down on the step and the water came up to my armpits. Granny Edit sat next to me, but lower down, and the water was up to her chin.

Around us sat older gentlemen, some with their eyes closed. One had his hands over the edge of the pool and his head resting on his own arms, looking as if he were asleep. Another was talking quietly to someone else. A third looked at me and then looked away.

The steam was denser down here, near the water's surface.

I thought about the steam. How it looked, how it moved. It rose up from the water, but not straight. It swirled like doves, but slowly. As the steam thickened, the faces of people on the other side of the pool were getting a little lost. Not completely, but their edges were softening. One old gentleman was sitting a short distance from me and I could see him well. But the gentleman on the other side was like a figure behind frosted glass.

It occurred to me whether one could get lost in the steam. Not as a whole person. But maybe just a face. That the steam would take the outlines and blur them a bit and then a person would be just a hazy shape.

"Babu," I said quietly.

„Hmm.“

"When you're here for a long time, does your face disappear?"

Grandma Edit looked at me.

"Why would my face disappear?"

“Well, from the steam, of course.”

She thought about it. Or at least she looked like she was. I couldn't tell very well in all that steam.

„The face isn't disappearing,“ she said.

„But the steam is blurring it.“

„Optically.“

„What is optically?“

„It seems that way, but it isn't.“

„And isn't that the same thing?“

Granny Edit looked ahead at the water.

„It isn't.“

I wasn't really sure at all how she meant it. Faces in the steam simply looked different, whether it was an optical effect or not.

We sat. Grandmother Edit moved very little in the water. Occasionally she placed a hand on her knee or slightly moved her hands under the water, but otherwise she sat and breathed evenly. It felt as if her time in the water was different from time outside. Outside, Grandmother Edit walked firmly and straight like a soldier. Here she sat and time passed around her. I sat with my arms around my knees and watched. After a while I stopped thinking about where to look. In the water it was simpler, because everyone sat and nobody was looking anywhere in particular. The older gentlemen around me had their eyes closed or open and looked at the water or the ceiling, but not at me. I also started looking at the ceiling.

It was vaulted and wet, and in the places where it curved downward, droplets gathered. They hung there, growing heavier and heavier, and then dripped back into the water. Or onto the tiling. It was quiet and regular.

A droplet.

A droplet.

A droplet.

Like a clock, only different.

It occurred to me whether water changes people somehow when they are in it for a long time.

„Grandma.“

„Hmm.“

„Do you go soft in the water?“

Silence.

"What do you mean, you get soft?"

"Well. Like dough. Or like a roll that gets dipped."

Grandma Edith looked at her hands under the water.

"Not that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not made of flour."

"But your skin gets all wrinkled."

„Yes.“

„Sort of, yeah.“

„Prune-y isn’t soft.“

I thought about it. There was a difference, I knew that. But it was a difference worth talking about. Skin getting prune-y, that was what happened to your fingers when you stayed in the water too long. Then they looked like an old man. I looked like an old man on the fingers now.

I lifted them out of the water and looked at them.

Yeah.

A little.

„My fingers look like yours,“ I said.

Granny Edit looked at my hands.

„A bit, yes,“ she admitted.

„So I am older by my fingers.“

„That's not bad.“

„Why?“

Granny Edit shrugged.

„Because it is better to be old in your fingers than not to be at all.“

I looked at her.

She said it simply, the way a lady on television talks about the weather. And perhaps it was so. Granny Edit said such things like that and then looked away. Now she turned and nodded to an old gentleman across the pool. The old gentleman nodded back.

They knew each other, or greeted each other, or both. In the spa such things happen, like on a bus. People nod to one another because they are in a single space and the space belongs to them all.

After a while I stood up. Not because I wanted to leave. It was just that the water was suddenly warmer, or I was warmer, or both. I stood on the step. The water ran down my legs. „Go take a shower,“ said Granny Edit. „There's a shower by the wall.“ The shower was cold. Literally freezing, and the difference was enormous. I stood beneath it and for a moment it felt as though my skin were making up its mind what to think about it.

Granny Edit came over. She took a shower next to me.

“Shampoo,” she said and handed me the small sachet.

It was hair shampoo, but Grandma Edit used it for her body too.

“One shampoo is enough,” she used to say. “Too many things are unnecessary.”

I don't know if that was true about shampoos, but Grandma Edit did it that way and it worked.

After the shower, we went to change.

There were more people in the locker room now. The older gentleman who had been sitting on the bench earlier was gone. Others were there in his place. One with white hair, another older, but quicker in his movements. I turned to my locker and got dressed with my back to the room. It was a system I had set up for myself. It seemed more sensible to me.

The key was still on my wrist. Grandma Edit was waiting for me in the hallway. She looked like always. Bag on her shoulder, hair pinned back, violet eyes, straight back. As if the spa hadn't changed her appearance at all. Only her cheeks were a bit redder, but that could have been from the heat or the light or whatever.

“Was it good?” I asked.

„For me always.“

„And for me?“

She looked at me.

„You weren't afraid.“

„I was a little afraid.“

„A little, yes,“ she admitted. „But you came.“

We walked outside.

Outside it was suddenly colder. Not freezing, but colder than in the spa, and colder than before the spa, because overheated skin feels the cold differently than normal skin. I narrowed my eyes. The sun was sharper than in the morning, because we had been in there a long time.

„How long were we there?“ I asked.

„An hour. Maybe a bit more.“

„It felt shorter to me.“

„In hot water, time moves differently.“

We walked back through the city. Grandma Edit walked as always, upright, with a bag on her shoulder. I walked next to her and thought about what she had said. Time goes differently. In hot water, or in steam, or simply at the spa. I had been there for an hour and it felt like twenty minutes. Or maybe two hours. I didn't know for sure.

My hair was still a bit damp and sticking to my forehead.

„Grandma.“

„Hmm.“

„Do you go there alone?“

„I do.“

„Since when?“

Grandma Edit stopped walking for a moment. Or she kept going, but slower.

„For a long time,“ she said.

„Since when exactly?“

„Bencík, that's not important.“

I knew that wasn't a good answer to the question, but Grandma Edit ended topics that way and it wasn't good to press on.

We walked on.

Across the little square, then up the street, around the corner, and then Brassai Sámuel utca. The bench by the entrance to the building was empty. Rósza still wasn't there.

„Are you going up?“ I asked.

„I'll stay a while.“

Granny Edit sat down on Rósza's bench. Not because she wanted to take it from Rósza, but because the bench happened to be there. She put her bag by her feet and closed her eyes against the sun.

I went into the entrance and then up the stairs.

Nobody was home. Dad was at the restaurant, Mum somewhere out, the radio was off, the bags on the coat rack. I changed my shoes and went to the bathroom.

I looked in the mirror.

My face was normal. A bit redder than in the morning, or at least it seemed that way to me. My hair was a little different, somewhat straight from the moisture. Otherwise, normal.

I stepped closer.

I checked my ears.

It felt as if they were still buzzing a little or were warm. Not bzz like a mosquito, but a quiet warmth deep inside the ear. As if a bit of steam had remained in there. I pressed my finger into my ear and it was warm inside, but that was probably just my ear.

I slipped my little finger into my ear.

Warmth.

I pulled it out.

Dry.

There was no steam. Or if there was, it was so slight that it slipped out without a trace.

I lay down on the bed. The skin on my hands was still a little shriveled. I spread my fingers and watched the small wrinkles slowly smooth out. In a minute or two, they would be normal.

The street could be heard outside the window. A car, footsteps, the distant roar of a tram or a bus, I don't know.

I narrowed my eyes.

Those older gentlemen were in the pool. As if water were their natural state and dry land merely a place where they occasionally linger between one spa visit and the next. But not like fish. Fish are completely natural in water. More like Grandma Edit. Grandma Edit looked natural at the spa. As if she belonged there. As if the steam knew she was coming and treated her differently. The steam didn't know about me. I was a stranger there, more like someone Grandma Edit had brought along, and whom the water therefore accepted for a while.

I fell asleep without a blanket, on my back, with one hand on my belly. It was still daylight outside.

I dreamed of water. Not of the spa, but of water vast and greenish, and of sitting in it with a vaulted ceiling overhead and water dripping on me. And Grandma Edit is saying something, but in the dream I don't understand what. Only her voice is there, as certain as her footsteps on the way to the spa.