In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

I persuaded Bai Ganyo to go with me to the opera house to get tickets for the evening. They were presenting the ballet Puppenfee and something else that I can’t recall. We passed by the Greek coffeehouse, turned at the Bulgarian hangout, the café Mendel, and then headed off toward St. Stephen’s Cathedral. In St. Stephen’s Square I invited Bai Ganyo to stop in at a pastry shop. It never occurred to me that this small detour would bring out the Don Juan in him. But then, what wonders civilization can produce! I must tell you that at the time, I was studying in Vienna. I had been away for the holidays and had just returned.In fact,it was on my way back to Vienna that I became acquainted with Bai Ganyo. I often went to this pastry shop and had gotten to know the cashier quite well. She was a cute, cheerful girl, lively but proper, and she didn’t allow people to take liberties. So just picture this, gentlemen: Bai Ganyo and I enter the shop, we approach the pastry counter, the young lady greets me cheerfully and welcomes me back, I respond with some playful pleasantries and turn to pick out a sweet, and at that moment an indignant shriek deafens the entire establishment. “What happened? Bai Ganyo, did you do something to her?” I cried out upset and angry. “Who? Me? Of course I didn’t. What would I do to her?” mumbled Bai Ganyo in confusion, and his voice shook. The young woman, flushed with anger, told me in a loud voice that Bai Ganyo had done something extremely insulting: he had made a grab for her and, grinning with delight, had given her a pinch. She wanted to call the police. What a scandal! “Just get the hell out of here, Bai Ganyo. If the police catch you, you’re a goner. Quick, get out. I’ll catch up with you later,” I shouted at him,  Bai Ganyo at the Opera  pretending to be angry but barely able to contain my laughter at the tragicomic figure he cut. “What’s she so high and mighty about?” Bai Ganyo seemed to pluck up his courage as he walked out the door. “What is she, respectable or something ? I know these women around here. Just open your wallet, and it’s all ‘Gut morgin.’ After all, your Bai Ganyo wasn’t born yesterday.” As luck would have it, I was to finish off the day with yet another adventure in which once again the hero was our Bai Ganyo. As I said, the opera was putting on the ballet Puppenfee. We took our seats in the stalls. The theater was full. Bai Ganyo’s rustic attire of drab homespun cloth stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark background of formal suits. The curtain rose. Dead silence. Everyone gazed at the dreamlike stage setting. I sensed Bai Ganyo fidgeting, huffing and puffing in the seat to my right, but I just couldn’t take my eyes off the stage. The figures of the ballet changed constantly at the wave of a magic wand: groups of dancers appeared and disappeared ; the stage would go completely dark, then be flooded with light, now one color,now another,then a rainbow of colors—a fairyland! One ballerina stepped out of the corps de ballet, took a few quick steps forward, leapt up gracefully, and then stood as though suspended in air, touching the ground with only the tip of one toe. Just then, behind my back, hysterical laughter split the air. I turned to my left and saw that everyone in the rows behind me was giggling and pointing to something on my right. I was seized by a terrible foreboding. I turned toward Bai Ganyo . . . Oh my God! What do I see? Bai Ganyo has stripped to his shirtsleeves and unbuttoned his vest, which was constricting the wide sash wound tight around his waist, where he had stuffed—for safekeeping—all the muskali. One of the ushers had him by the sleeve with two fingers, gesturing unambiguously with his head for him to leave. Bai Ganyo stared back at him and answered with gestures of his own:“What? Who are you trying to scare?” It was his blustering bravado that had made a young girl sitting behind us burst into hysterical laughter, and her laughter infected the entire theater...

Share