Tainted Tokay by Jean-Pierre Alaux

realized that he was actually much taller than a child. He looked like he was seventeen or eighteen years old. May be even twenty.
    â€œDeutsch?” the su pplicant asked.
    Elisabeth s hook her head.
    â€œEnglish?”
    Benjamin’s linen trousers and well-polished Lobb shoes had most likely given him away. Still, Benjamin told the youth that he was French.
    â€œMy English better than my français ,” the kid said.
    He followed them out of the basilica, and in the sunlight there was no longer any question about the beggar’s age. He was well past adolescence. Benjamin could see that he had an athletic build under his blue jogging suit. His pale yellow T-shirt sported the logo of a Budapest mar tial-arts club.
    The young man was focused on Elisabeth.
    â€œI know every place in Budapest. I’m a good guide. I was born here. Want to see bridges? I show you bridges. Want a kavé ? I s how you kavé .”
    He claimed to be a computer science student and a good soccer player. He dropped the name of the famous French player Zidane as a sort of golden ticket. But it would take more to convince Benjamin to see this rather roguish boy as an ally much less a friend.
    Elisabeth, on the other hand, seemed quite susceptible to the charisma of the young man with an angelic face and a full head of lustrous black hair. She asked how much he would charge.
    â€œNo charge, ma’am,” he said, flashing a smile. “I do it for pleasure.”
    Benjamin didn’t believe that for a minute. He felt a tinge of annoyance when his wife took a twenty-euro note out of her purse and handed it over. Really? They were doing fin e on their own.
    â€œThank you,” the young man said, flashing yet another smile. “My name is Zoltán. I give you b est tour ever.”
    His English was hardly flawless, but his mannerisms suggested a certain sensitivity and a semblance of education, too.
    Benjamin wasn’t quite comfortable with surrendering to Zoltán’s guidance, but he grudgingly went along. He had promised Elisabeth a good vacation, and if this was what she wanted t o do, so be it.
    Zoltán led them out of the basilica, and as they descended the steps, Benjamin recognized a familiar face from the ship. It was the man with the sketchpad. He was standing in the square, and he appeared to be drawin g the basilica.
    â€œHoney, that man over there was on the ship with us,” Benjamin said. “Let’s go say hello.”
    He took Elisabeth’s arm and walked over. The artist looked up, nodded, and s topped drawing.
    â€œI see you’re enjoying the sights,” Benjamin said. “My name is Benjamin. This is my wife, Elisabeth, and….” Benjamin turned to introduce their guide, but Zoltán was nowh ere to be seen.
    â€œOh, our tour guide seems to have disappeared,” he said, turning to Elisabeth and giving her an I-to ld-you-so look.
    â€œHe’s over there on the steps,” Elisa beth whispered.
    â€œI’ve been enjoying this sight in particular. Connor Adamson’s the name,” the man said, shaking Benjamin’s hand and noddin g to Elisabeth.
    â€œMay I have a look?” the winemaker asked. “I was admiring what you did on the ship. I used to be an artist myself.”
    Adamson handed him the sketchpad, and Benjamin and Elisabeth silently studied the man’s drawings. “I can see you have a gift,” he said after a few minutes.
    â€œI don’t know about that. It’s just something I like to do when I’m traveling. I’m actually a graphic artist and do most of my work on the computer. So what brings yo u to Budapest?”
    â€œWe’re visiting. Taking in the city before we move on to T okaj. And you?”
    â€œJust visiting, too. Being stuck behind the computer in England so much of the time, I like to get out and see the rest of Euro pe when I can.”
    â€œAre you staying at the Astoria?”