It was a free evening for Joe, but one that Nadine had found necessary
to devote to her medical duties. Max had been gushing about a cabaret
in Buda, a place named the Becsikapu where the wine flowed as wine can
flow only in the Balkans and where the gypsy music was as only gypsy
music can be. Max had developed a tolerance for wine after only two or
three attempts at what they locally called Sot and which he didn't
consider exactly beer.
Joe said, only half interested, "For proletarians, Party members, or
what?"
Max said, "Well, gee, I guess it's most proletarians, but in these
little places, like, you can see almost anybody. Couple of nights ago
when I took off I even seen a Russkie field marshal there. And was he
drenched."
Joe was at loose ends. Besides, this was a facet of Budapest life he
had yet to investigate. The intimate night spots, frequented by all
strata of Sov society.
He came to a quick decision. "O.K., Max. Let's give it a look.
Possibly it'll turn out to be a place I can take Nadine. She's a bit
weary of the overgrown glamour spots they have here. They're more
ostentatious than anything you find even in Greater Washington."