CHAPTER 3 - A New Home

MODŘANY was so far from the center of Prague that it was practically in another city. It took me twenty minutes on the Metro to get to the station where I needed to transfer onto a bus for another twenty-minute ride. Prague transformed before my eyes as I stared outside the bus’ window. Any remnants of the picturesque buildings I had known the historic city to contain vanished as rows and rows of dreary, gray apartment high-rises endlessly lined the streets. I had entered the realm of the panelák, the Communists’ post-war solution to Prague’s housing shortage that encircled the city. These concrete monoliths jutting from the green below had served, and still served, the populace well. Most of the city’s residents lived in a panelák and I was about to join their ranks.
I got off the bus where Priscilla had told me to and saw the twenty-storey Hotel Dum immediately. It was the tallest building in the area and would be my home for the next eight months. I walked by the neighborhood supermarket, Delvita, and made my way through the Dum’s sliding doors. Apparently, it was a normal budget hotel catering to bargain-conscious tourists on all floors except for the seventh and eighth. The rooms on those floors served as long-term housing, mostly for foreigners, drifters, and teachers like myself. The receptionist gave me a key to room 806.
I got off the elevator and saw a communal TV room, kitchen, and dining room. 806 was to the left. Inside, there were two identical bedrooms, one marked "A" the other "B", and a small refrigerator, bathroom, and lavatory to be shared by both roommates. I put down my duffel-bag in room A and knocked on the other door.
"Come in."
I opened the door and found a man in his early thirties. His short black hair extended down the side of his face in the form of sideburns. He was of medium build, lying down in his bed and reading a book. "Hey! How are you? My name’s Paul. I guess I’m your new roommate."
"Nice to meet you," as he put down his book. He spoke quite softly – almost in a mumble – and had a British accent. "My name’s Dan. Welcome. So, are you a teacher here too?"
"Yeah. I guess so are you, huh?"
"Yes. Prague is a beautiful city to work in. So, where are you from?"
"Philadelphia. Well, the United States. How about you?"
Dan didn’t answer me for at least a minute. He just stared at me as he closed his book and sat up straight. "I’m from Yugoslavia. Belgrade."
What else could I think of at that moment other than that my country had relentlessly bombed his country into the Stone Age only a few years back? I understood his reaction. We didn’t even have the courage to send troops – only missiles. And while their civilian casualties mounted due to "human error" on the part of the US Army, the average American couldn’t be bothered with those images of destroyed hospitals because they were too busy following baseball statistics. Who knew if Dan had lost any family or friends in the bombings? Who knew how he ended up there in Prague?
I didn’t know how to respond. "Well, actually, I’m Greek. See, my parents are Greek and I was just born in Philadelphia. I also speak the language. Hey, I’m Orthodox Christian too. You guys are too, right? Well, Greece and Serbia. We’re practically neighbors, huh?"
Dan continued to stare at me. He was considering whether to believe me or not. I was sure that he was leaning more towards the latter. He probably thought I was pulling this ‘Greek family’ out of my ass in order to get away from the fact that I was American. He may have been right, but that ‘Greek family’ was absolutely true. I knew he didn’t believe it, "That’s interesting. Well, enjoy yourself in the Czech Republic."
I left his room awkwardly and stepped into my own next door. I took out that poem by Robert Frost that I always carry around with me, hung it up, and then proceeded to unpack. It didn’t take me more than five minutes and the whole time I thought about what to do with Dan. I could try to talk to him again. I could try and ignore him. I could just wait and see what would happen. I was over-analyzing the entire situation when, in fact, the only solution was for me to get a beer and c’est la vie. That’s always the solution: get a beer, smoke a cigarette, sit back, and c’est la vie all the shit that life has thrown your way. Why change the tried and true? I put on my jackets and went to the Delvita.
Stepping through the glass doors, I felt that an undiscovered country lay before me. The supermarket was everything I had grown accustomed to in Philadelphia. Cash registers in front. Produce to one side. Frozen food to the other. Meats and cheeses at the back. The only thing was that I had no idea what anything actually was. The tin cans had a picture of a tomato on the outside, but did it contain tomato sauce, tomato paste, or actual tomatoes inside? And the written labels did nothing. Whereas I could somewhat decipher a Romance language – tomaté or what have you – this was Slavic. I tried to understand a word or two of what was written on the countless labels and packaging, but nothing clicked. Only the code for "Corn Flaky" could be broken and I felt lucky I had at least that. And so, I wandered down the aisles lulled into a false sense of comfort as The Beatles flowed from the speakers above.
Then I turned onto that shopping aisle of aisles. First off, imagine my wonder coming from Pennsylvania – a state built on strict Quaker principles and one of the most conservative in the Union. Apart from bars, all alcohol could only be sold at state-owned stores. Those stores had to close early on Saturdays and stay closed on Sundays. Beers were a bit different. You could sell beers privately, but that’s all you could sell. The infamous Pennsylvania local Beer Distributor who also had to abide by strict government regulations. I had been to other states where beer could be sold in supermarkets but they were usually stacked alongside Coca-Cola and orange juice. Not so in Prague. I stared into Medusa’s eyes and was petrified instantly. There it was. An entire aisle, both sides, dedicated to beer alone. Hard liquor and wine were hidden away elsewhere – this was barley territory. I sang Hallelujah to the Highest in praise of the Czech Republic. A country that had a beer aisle in every supermarket in the same respect as so many others have a pasta aisle and a snack-food aisle.
I greedily grabbed three beers at 10 Czech korunas a piece (25¢), a frozen pizza in case I got hungry, and made my way back to the Dum. As the sun started setting, I found myself alone in the TV room watching an old episode of the A-Team. Mr. T spoke Czech. Before long, someone entered the room. He must have been in his mid-forties, with bushy graying hair surrounding the bald center of his head, and a dark black moustache. His nose was a bit crooked, his jeans a bit worn, and his hole-ridden socks a bit soiled. I introduced myself as he placed a half-empty bottle of vodka on the table.
"Oh, hello. Nice to meet you. My name’s Herman. You must be new here, huh?" his speech was slurred, but clearly in an American accent. "You want some vodka?"
I forced a gulp and washed it down with some beer. "Thanks. So, where are you from?"
"Danish. Teaching English here in Prague though. You?"
It was a bit odd that a Dane would speak English as if he were from the West Coast, but I didn’t feel like pressing the subject especially after what had happened with Dan. "Me too. I just got here actually. My first day at the Dum."
"Welcome, welcome," he said while forcing out a subtle drunken laugh. "You’ll like it here in Praha. It’s such a beautiful city. I’ve been here since ‘93. Not always teaching of course. I’m a journalist. I’ve had more articles printed than I can count. And not just in local papers. International ones too. Well, author actually. So I write a lot. Been writing ever since my college days. Studied in California and played tennis. But my scholarship got taken away when these FUCKING knees got busted up," as he furiously slapped his knees and, again, forced out that subtle laugh. "But at least that got me writing here in Middel Europa. Could’ve gotten my book of poetry published when I was younger but, ty vole. Thought I was too young. Není, není. They couldn’t stop me though. No one can! Soon, I’m gonna change it all. The way people think with my own style." Herman’s mustache curled as he grinned. "I just got published by Knihkupectvi, you know, the largest publishing firm in Česká republika. They..."
"So, you teach now?" I interrupted him. I felt like I had to or else his drunken speech would never end.
"Jo, jo. At a státní škola. And they pay for me here at the Dum." He took another swig of alcohol and offered, "Prosím."
"Prosim? I thought that was vodka?" I replied while examining the bottle in his outstretched hand.
He looked down at it and, for the first time, laughed like he meant it. "No, no, no!" as he wiped a tear from his eye. "‘Prosím’ means ‘Please’ in Czech. I was offering you some more booze. This is vodka!"
"Oh." I forced another gulp down my throat as he laughed away. I had no idea why he kept throwing foreign words into his speech when it was obvious that he spoke fluent English and I didn’t know even the slightest Czech. "Thanks."
I sat there, drinking and talking with Herman, for a good hour. Actually, he did most of the talking while I tried to watch the German porn that came on after midnight. I could hardly understand what he was talking about as his speech grew more and more slurred and an innumerable amount of Czech, German, and what I assumed to be Danish bonded with his vocabulary. Then I heard the phone ring. I excused myself and stumbled to my room.
It was my parents. They wanted to know if everything was okay. If I had landed safely and what my situation was. I told them everything, reassured them I was safe, and hung up with an I-love-you-both. It was getting late, I was drunk, and I still hadn’t prepared anything for my first class the next day. I would have to wake up early and devise a suitable lesson plan then. It would obviously take some time because I had never done such a thing before, but at least my class didn’t start until evening. So, I went and said goodnight to both Herman and his vodka. Just as I was about to close the door to my bedroom, Dan appeared.
"So. You were telling the truth, weren’t you?"
"Pardon?"
"Your Greek family and all."
"Oh, yeah," I was surprised to see that Dan was still awake. He had turned off his bedroom lights a few hours before.
"I heard you speaking with your parents and it clearly wasn’t English. Greek. Listen, I apologise if I offended you earlier. It was rather rude of me – be you American, Greek, or what have you. I simply thought you were lying to me in order to gain my trust. Honestly, I don’t mind what your ethnic background is, as long as you’re good at heart. Again, I apologise," as he outstretched his hand. The look of sincerity in his eyes was only augmented by my intoxicated stare.
I shook his hand immediately. "Ah, come on. It was nothing, man. You didn’t do anything wrong. Forget about it."
"Well, then. I’ll see you in the morning Paul." He went back to his bedroom, closed the door, and left a smile on my face.
I slept soundly that night as the vodka performed its job dutifully. My head rested on a then foreign pillow, my body on a then foreign mattress, and my soul in a then foreign world. Who knew what lay ahead? The uncertainty of it all could have driven me mad had I actually sat and pondered it. My roommate could have been some strange pervert thinking evil thoughts as I slept. And even if he wasn’t, someone in the Dum well might have been. I had no money to my name and the only way to make some was through an occupation I had no experience whatsoever in. If I were to be a foul teacher, then my home and income would be non-existent. I’d be forced into the streets. Who would I turn to then? The only people that trusted me, that I trusted, were six time zones away. Philadelphia. Home. With all of its love, with all of its comfort, with all of its dependability, with all of its certainty, with all of its monotony, with all of its boredom.
I had taken a tiny life raft, lowered myself into the infinite ocean, and pushed myself away from the luxury cruiseship I had known since birth. The further the current took me, the smaller that cruiseship appeared until it had disappeared completely over the horizon. And there I sat. All alone in my empty little boat surrounded by the countless blue waves. Nothing was certain anymore except for the one thing that I had known the second I stepped foot onto that raft. No matter which way the current flowed, no matter how hard the wind blew, no matter how violent the waves got... I was in for one hell of a good ride.