Addiction

By Gabriel Timar

Addiction is a pilot's story that proves that flying is an addiction; worse than tobacco, alcohol, and drugs rolled into one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: May 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613091890

Book preview

Dedication

To my father and his fellow pilots

One

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Maximilian Nemeth, like most Hungarian professional soldiers, came from a lower middle class family. His father, Francis, worked for an insurance company as a claims adjuster. It was not a well-paying job, but since his wife, Anne, the daughter of a German master builder, was a kindergarten teacher, their joint income permitted a more comfortable lifestyle than most of their contemporaries. In addition, Anne gave lessons in German to the children of more affluent families. Consequently, the Nemeths were better off than most middle class people.

As Francis became interested in flying balloons and powered aircraft in his spare time, he helped the Hungarian Aero Club building hangars. In 1909, he met Aladar Zselyi, a trailblazer of Hungarian aviation; he became more interested in aircraft than the balloons. Although he never had the money to study at the flying school of Henry Farman in France, the only one in Europe, he learned the principles of piloting. Francis even managed a couple of takeoffs and successful landings.

When the Great War began, he immediately volunteered. While standing in line to see the recruiting sergeant, he heard someone mentioning the Royal Austrian Aviation troops. That’s where I belong, he thought.

~ * ~

After brief infantry training, by late September he became an aviator-sergeant and posted to the Rakosh Field. In less than a week, he was qualified to fly the old Aviatic two-seater.

Flight training during the winter was a rather intermittent affair, but Francis did not mind. Stationed in Budapest, he managed to visit his wife and friends often. When his son was born, he took the day off, and rushed to see Anne in the maternity ward of the garrison hospital. The baby was in a crib next to his mother’s bed. Francis kissed his wife and when he came up for air, she pointed at the crib.

Look at him! He’s the most beautiful baby, isn’t he? Anne asked.

Francis looked. The baby was ugly, red, and the moment he got near him, he cried in a deep voice. He turned to his wife, Indeed he’s most beautiful. I hope he’ll grow out of it, Francis thought.

They named the boy Maximilian, or Max for short, after Anne’s father. The master builder worked in Hungary often because his Hungarian wife had relatives in high position. They helped him getting a few government contracts.

In early 1915, Francis was ready to go to war. In March, Italy declared war on the Monarchy and the Aviation troops went into action. In the next few months, he flew reconnaissance missions and occasionally took an artillery officer up to direct fire. The enemy’s observer aircraft often shot at his Aviatic, and he had to take evasive action.

The fighter aircraft of both side appeared during the late summer. To defend themselves, the flyers of the reconnaissance squadron were glad to get the new Aviatic C.1 with its two machine guns.

A week later, in a wild dogfight, Francis and his observer shot down an Italian fighter. The High Command decorated Francis and promoted him to lieutenant. They transferred him to another unit, and gave him one of the new Albatross fighters.

He took to aerial combat like a duck to water, proving himself better than most. By late 1918, he amassed twenty-one kills, gathered a basketful of medals, and a promotion to first lieutenant.

After the war ended, the disastrous Trianon Treaty hit Hungary hard; the insurance company closed down and Francis could not find a job. For a few months, the Nemeth family lived on Anne’s meager salary and her teaching German privately. They often had trouble paying the rent even though Francis occasionally earned some money by unloading railway carts at night. To relieve his wife, Francis became a good cook and managed all the household chores like a professional.

Money being tight, for Christmas of 1919 Francis took a piece of firewood and, using his pocketknife, carved an Albatross fighter for his son. From this moment on, the fate of Max was sealed. He wanted to be a pilot.

For the next two years, Francis could not find any work apart from the occasional unloading of railway carts. Therefore, he spent most of the day with his son. Max was not interested in any fairy tales; aircraft and flying filled his fertile, young mind. By the time he started school he knew as much about airplanes and aviation as many student pilots.

In 1921 at Budapest University, the students and the faculty organized a flying club. They found a damaged, old Lloyd two-seater and painstakingly restored it. Francis helped in the work and since he was an experienced pilot, he flew it first. From here on, he became an unpaid flight instructor. Occasionally, he took Max up and let him control the plane. The youngster showed uncanny flying abilities.

The family finances improved a great deal as Francis got a well-paying job at the Ministry of Commerce, which set up an aviation office under the guidance of a retired colonel.

The Hungarian Aero Alliance rose from the ashes of the former Aero Club and Francis now served as a chief flight instructor for several private clubs. Although he made some money, it was not nearly enough to see Max through high school and university.

Our son is not a very good student. He’s going to have trouble graduating from high school, let alone university, Anne said to her husband when they were trying to decide what to do about the education of their son.

If he were not so young, I’d let him fly solo, Francis replied. Max is a born pilot.

So, what do you propose to do with him?

I don’t know, Francis mused. I could get him into a cadet school.

Can he graduate from there?

If I promise to qualify him as a pilot by his sixteenth birthday, he’d do anything. Besides, cadet schools are free for the children of war heroes like me.

Francis’ ploy worked. In 1924, Max became a cadet at Koszeg. He did not shine in the classroom, but on the parade ground and in the gym, since he grew big and strong, Max was a star. He studied as much as he needed. Francis kept his word and during the breaks, he took Max flying. At the age of fourteen, Max was as good a pilot as many who graduated under the guidance of his father. However, because of his age, Francis could not allow Max to fly solo.

Otherwise, he had a good service record in the cadet school. The officers figured that he was not very smart, but he would make an excellent infantry officer. His social life was well organized. As a well-coordinated athlete, he became an excellent dancer. The girls really liked the tall, well-built cadet with the dreamy hazel eyes. However, despite his best efforts, he could not get very far with the girls. According to his meticulous records, by the end of his fourth year in Koszeg, he’d kissed five times and hugged a girl once.

In the fourth year, he graduated in the age of fourteen, in the top third of his class. With his record, he was a shoo-in to the general infantry cadet school in Budapest. This was a four-year course and in the end, Max would be commissioned in the Army. He was supposed to serve five years to repay his education.

In the cadet school, to everybody’s surprise Max ended up near the top of his class. He never held the top position, but he was always close. Passing his sixteenth birthday, the big day came: he flew his first solo. It was anticlimactic.

During his third year in the cadet school, he got his wings, and immediately started working on his commercial ticket.

In their last year of study, cadets received passes liberally. On a September Sunday, Max was on his way home to his parents’ house. He boarded the streetcar in front of the school’s main gate. Only a few people were on the tram and Max sat down on the yellow and brown striped wooden benches. At the next stop, an elegant thirty-ish woman got on. She stood about a meter from Max. He looked at the woman’s superb figure, her nice oval face, blue eyes and her slim ankles.

If she were a little younger, I’d try something, Max thought. The woman took a pocketbook from her purse and studied it intently. The tram braked suddenly and the woman, with flailing arms, fell on top of Max. He felt a sharp sting on his face. Disregarding the pain, he caught her. Inadvertently, the woman ended up in sitting in his lap.

Thank you, she said and looked at Max with her baby blue eyes. The smile froze on her lips. Oh my God, what have I done to you? Your face...

Max tapped his face and his glove became bloody.

By this time, the woman had her hankie in her hand and pressed it on his face to stem the flow of blood. This stupid bracelet cut your face, she said. I’ll never wear it again. I’m very sorry, sir, but it seems I marked your face for life. What am I going to do?

The woman spoke Hungarian well but had a strong foreign accent.

Max took his own handkerchief and pressed it on his face. It’s just a little scratch, ma’am, don’t worry. I’ll be an officer and the scar on my face will enhance my looks.

Don’t say that. It’s a deep cut. We must get off at the next stop, the Saint John Hospital, and let a doctor see your face.

It’s not necessary. I’ll see the doctor in the cadet school first thing in the morning, Max said. He definitely enjoyed the situation.

No way! We’re getting off. If you’re a gentleman, you’d not deprive me of setting my mind at ease.

He thought for a moment. It won’t take long for the doctor to look at me, laugh and put a piece of tape on it. I’ll be in time for mother’s roast pork and the chocolate cake. Besides I’ll have quite a story to tell the guys in the morning. He smiled at the woman. If you insist, ma’am...

After they got off across from the main entrance of the hospital, Max clicked his heels and introduced himself, I’m Maximilian Nemeth, third year cadet, at your service.

My name is Ashley Carlisle, she said and offered her hand.

He kissed her hand. It’s a pleasure meeting you, ma’am.

The pleasure is mine, although I would have preferred to meet you without wounding you.

It was worth it. I made your acquaintance.

You’re a gentleman. May I call you Max?

Of course.

Okay, please call me Ashley. She took Max’s arm and propelled him toward the hospital. At the porter, Ashley showed a little booklet to the man, which had immediate effect. In a matter of minutes, Max found himself in the surgery and a serious, bespectacled doctor was looking at his face.

It’s going to leave a permanent scar, young man, he said. What did you do your face?

It’s my fault, Ashley intervened.

The doctor gave her a strange look, and abandoned the questioning. It will take two stitches, he said. Do you want me to freeze it?

No, Max snapped. It’s going to hurt, but I don’t want to look like a sissy to Ashley.

Are you sure? the doctor asked.

Please, doc, get on with it...

Are you sure, Max? Ashley asked interrupting.

He smiled. It’s just a nick.

The doctor shrugged and proceeded with the stitching.

It hurt like hell, but Max did not flinch. He was thinking of the image he was creating.

When they left the surgery, in the corridor Ashley took his arm and gave him an admiring look. You’re very brave.

Max was lost for an answer.

How can I compensate you for the damage to your face? she asked as they left the hospital.

Getting to know you is enough compensation, he said gallantly.

She looked at her watch. I’m afraid I’ve a lot of things to do tonight. I must send someone to bring in my car. Would you have dinner with me next Sunday?

I’d love to, Max blurted.

Good. I’ll meet you at the gate of the cadet school. What time can you leave?

I can make it by five o’clock.

I will be there. In case something crops up, give me a call. She took a card out of her purse and handed it to him. You can reach me there.

Max put the card in his breast pocket. I’m very much looking forward to seeing you again.

Me too, Ashley said. She signaled to the first taxi standing at the drost, and turned to Max. Where can I drop you?

Two

Max’s scar became the topic of the conversation at the dinner table.

You’ll look like a duelist, his father remarked.

You could also invent some romantic story for the benefit of the girls, his mother said. They always fall for the fellows with scars on their faces.

Max thoughtfully chewed his roast.

Are you telling me that I was lucky to get this cut?

Most likely, his father said. If you didn’t get anything else out of it, you’ll get a good dinner next Sunday. When I served in Italy, I would have taken a couple of stitches for a good meal any day.

We will see, Max said and sighed. I will let you know if the dinner was worth it.

~ * ~

On the next day, Max’s scar was the main topic of conversation on the corridors and the toilets of the cadet school. As he was tight-lipped about the incident, his friends invented stories and passed them on as God’s honest truth. Max enjoyed his celebrity status while it lasted. However, everybody envied him and he became an instant star again next Sunday when a spectacular woman, driving a red Bugatti sports car, picked him up at the gate.

You look absolutely beautiful, Ashley, he said as he took his place in the luxurious car.

Thank you, Max, she said and slipped the car into gear. I couldn’t think of a suitable restaurant, she said. Instead, I ordered dinner from the Gundel restaurant. I hope you don’t mind eating at my apartment.

Max had heard about the famous restaurant, but on the Nemeth family’s budget, the place could have been on the moon or in another galaxy

Ashley’s apartment was near the cadet school, in the so-called Cool Valley area, on the second floor of an elegant villa constructed near the turn of the century. Opening the door she announced loudly, I’m home, Cathy.

In a flash, a young, uniformed maid appeared and helped Ashley to take her coat off. Quickly Max got out of his greatcoat before the maid could have offered assistance. I don’t need help to get my coat off, he thought.

The man from Gundel has arrived, ma’am, the maid said as she hung up Ashley’s coat. She gave Max a strange little smile and said, This way, Lieutenant. She opened the door to the parlor.

Max stepped out of the way and let Ashley enter first.

Although he had no idea what the style of the décor was, he instantly fell in love with the latest American art-deco style and the use of warm colors: orange, yellow and brown accented with blue. The large armchairs looked comfortable and the original paintings of Parisian street-scenes created the luxurious ambience.

Sit down, Max, let’s have an aperitif. What are you having?

He knew what ‘aperitif’ meant. At the etiquette classes, the officers taught the cadets that before a meal, in better social circles, the host was supposed to offer short drinks to the guests. He did not feel like having slivovitz or some similarly objectionable stuff that would burn his throat. She wouldn’t have anything like that, I hope, he thought. Thank you very much, Ashley, I’ll have what you’re having.

Okay, she said and turned to the maid, Bring us two Camparis with soda and ice.

Yes, ma’am, Cathy said and withdrew.

This is a very nice place, Max remarked. I especially like your taste in the artwork.

Thank you, Max. Actually, the two paintings are the only things I own in this apartment. The state department rents it fully furnished. You see I work at the US Embassy.

Are you an American?

Yes, I was born in Florida. My mother was Hungarian. That’s why I speak the language.

You’re doing very well. Although you have a slight accent, your grammar and vocabulary are very good.

Thank you. I see cadets on the streetcar often and I never saw any of them wearing an eagle on their jackets as you do. What does it signify?

I’ve a pilot’s license.

Ashley’s eyes opened wide, but before she could say anything, Cathy entered with a silver tray and two glasses of a red liquid.

I hope it won’t kill me, Max thought.

The Campari was very pleasant. Its bitter taste cleared Max’s palate. Ashley took a sip of her drink and turned to Max. Aren’t you a little too young to take pilot’s training?

Actually, my father is a flight instructor. I was in training from the time I entered elementary school. After my sixteenth birthday, I took the test. I’m working on my commercial license. I hope to get it by the time I graduate from the cadet school.

Wow, that’s quite an accomplishment. It must be very hard.

No, it’s not hard at all. Flying is fun. I love it.

Cathy came in and reported. The cook is ready. He wishes to see you.

Okay, send him in.

Now we’ll learn what we’re having for dinner. Ashley said after Cathy left the parlor.

Max sipped his drink. I’m curious.

The chef entered. He was a big man, tall and overweight. He wore the traditional white outfit and the tall chef’s hat.

Good evening, sir, Ashley said in Hungarian. Obviously, she wanted to stop the chef from speaking French.

Good evening, Madam.

Can you reiterate the menu?

Of course, we’ll start with trout fillet with a sharp cheese sauce. Actually, the French call it Orly style, but this is much better. It’s my own recipe.

It sounds exciting, Ashley said. She took a sip of her Campari and put down the glass.

Next, I’m going to serve you a consommé with special whole wheat croutons and Swiss cheese. The main course will be grilled tenderloin with red wine and mushroom sauce. For dessert I’ll serve flamed crepes filled with chestnut mash.

Wow, this meal is fit for a king, Max remarked. He took a long sip of his Campari. The bitter taste permeated his nostrils and the nutty taste cleared his palate again.

I thought so too, sir, the chef said. I’ve a slight problem choosing the wine. For starter. I suggest a Rose with the fish, However, I understand, ma’am, that you do not like dry wines. If I may, I’d like to recommend a compromise, a Medina, a rare demi-sec red wine from the vicinity of Eger.

Who told you I do not like dry wines? Ashley asked.

I’m not at liberty to reveal it.

You’re right, of course. Is the choice of wine to your liking, Max?

It is, he said. Until now, I only knew two types of wine— white or red. One always learns something.

I recommend, ma’am, that you move to the dining room. The table is already set.

Thank you, sir, Ashley said. She turned to Max, Do you mind?

Ashley stood, took her glass, and drained it. He knew what to do. He followed suit and offered his arm to her.

You’re a true gentlemen, Max. She took his arm and they entered the dining room. As he was supposed to, he led Ashley to her place, and pushed the chair under her before taking his seat at the far end of the table. He glanced at the elaborate setting with the appreciative eye of an expert. Even though he had never seen a similar setup, he knew exactly what to do.

In a few minutes, the chef and Cathy arrived carrying the first course.

I understand you’re training to be an army officer, Ashley said in her cute, accented Hungarian.

That’s the general idea, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, I can’t train in the profession I’d really want to pursue.

"The small bowl of the consommé stood before Max. The maid offered him another small glass container inserted into an elaborate silver frame. He knew that those were the croutons and took a small spoonful of them.

"Bon appetit," he said in accordance with the Austro-Hungarian code of ethics.

Ashley gave him a long look and asked, What do you want to do with yourself?

I heard about the Americans, the Dutch, and the Germans starting air transportation companies. They haul people, freight and mail. I want to fly for them.

Now I understand your interest in piloting.

Thank God my father is a flight instructor.

Indeed, Ashley said absently.

The maid took away the empty bowls. Max looked at Ashley. What are you doing in Hungary?

"I’m working for the State Department; they assigned me to this country because I speak the language.

After the elaborate main course and the dessert, they retired to the parlor to have their brandy. Although Max knew what to do with the large snifter, he had never tasted the fiery liquid. He took small sips, the way officers were taught at the etiquette classes in the cadet school, and continued listening to Ashley.

How stupid of me, she said, stopping her story about an American flyer, a guy who visited the embassy a few days ago. I forgot to offer you a cigar.

Max held up his hand. While I appreciate the better things in life, smoking is not one of them. Around aircraft, it is a no-no. Besides, I tried it once and I got sick.

I’m relieved. I don’t smoke either. She finished her story and stood up. If you don’t mind being alone for a few minutes, I am going to dismiss the staff and slip into something more comfortable.

In a few minutes, she came back wearing a short, pink silk gown. Max gave her an appreciative look.

She removed her stockings too, he thought. As she sat on the couch next to Max, the gown parted slightly, exposing her left thigh way above the knee. The shape of her leg and the smooth, ivory-colored skin coupled with her strong flowery scent excited Max.

You look very nice in this outfit, he remarked.

Although his eyes were riveted on the white thighs of the woman, he believed it was impolite to say anything else. Secretly, he hoped to see more of what she had under the gown.

How he got into bed with Ashley was wonderfully hazy in Max’s memory, but he remembered every one of the delicious little details. The highs and the lows of pleasure alternated, and in the end, he realized this was the most enjoyable thing he’d ever tried.

Holding her tight in his arms, he kissed her earlobe.

I like that. How many girls have you taken to bed?

Max blushed. None. You’re the first.

Ashley kissed him and gently slipped out of his arms. She rolled on her belly, and rested her face in her palms. Are you sure?

Of course I’m sure. One could not forget such a wonderful event. Anyway, I’d never lie to you.

Why not?

I love you.

That’s good news. She gently swiped at Max. You’re a natural lover. You give and take, but always know what to do. I can’t believe I’m your first.

I’m not very good when it comes to girls.

Lack of confidence, my friend. If you can sweep someone like me off her feet, you can have any woman you like.

Really? he asked, thinking, you did the sweeping off, darling. He gently kissed the tip of her nose.

That’s right.

Can I see you again?

Do they let you out of the school during the week?

Not unless one is learning a foreign language.

Great, I’ll teach you English.

Would you?

Of course I would.

I’d have to pass an exam in six months.

Have no fear, Max. I’m a trained teacher. You’d be able to speak English in three months.

I’d love it.

Now let me teach you something else. She snuggled up to Max and her hands began exploring his body...

On his way to the school, Max was happy. I know what it feels to lie with a woman, he thought. From that day onward, Max Nemeth considered himself a grown man.

~ * ~

Next Sunday after lunch, Max turned to his father. I have a chance to study English privately. The commander needs a letter from you confirming that I take lessons with your permission.

We can’t afford a tutor, Max, his father said.

It won’t cost you any money.

How come?

Do you remember the American woman who accidentally cut my face? She offered to teach me English free.

When did you see her last? his mother asked suspiciously.

Max blushed. I had dinner at her house last Sunday.

It was very kind of her. Did you meet her husband? his mother asked.

N...no. She has no husband, Max said.

His father gave Max a strange look. I suspect some hanky-panky. Did she seduce you?

No, Father. I seduced her.

You think you did, his mother remarked.

Anyway, she said that she’d give me lessons every Tuesday. She’s a qualified teacher. I’ve seen her diploma on the wall. She also guaranteed that I’d pass the exam the school requires.

You must have made a great impression on her, his mother mused.

I believe that she wants to have sexual relationship with Max. Since paying him for the service would be degrading, she’d reciprocate by teaching him English. That’s prostitution, no matter how you look at it, his father said.

Even if it is, I don’t mind. I’d like to learn English, Max said.

I don’t like the idea of you sleeping with an older woman. In case you didn’t realize, all she wants of you to satisfy her animal instincts, his father said.

I don’t mind. She’s great in bed and if she really taught me English, it would be a win-win situation, Max replied.

You’re right, but I don’t have to like it.

Father and son argued about the matter for a while, and in the end, the lady of the house settled the matter. If my son wants to be a gigolo and get paid well for it, I’ve no objection. Knowledge of a foreign language is more valuable than cash, she said.

I still don’t like it, his father grumbled.

You’re teaching him to fly, a great profession with a future. I taught him German, which is necessary nowadays. If he learns English, the whole world opens up for him.

You’ve a point, my dear, Max’s father said. If I spoke English, after the war we could have gone to America.

You see what I mean. Max might make it to America and fly for one of their great airlines.

His father nodded and signed the request to the commander of the cadet school asking him to permit Max to leave the school once a week to study English.

~ * ~

Max got a pass to leave the cadet school every Tuesday from 1900 to 2200 hours. Since Ashley’s apartment was only ten minutes’ walk from the school, they had plenty of time for athletic bedroom gymnastics and two solid hours of English.

By Christmas, Max surprised everybody when he carried on a conversation in English with a visiting American flyer, discussing the BL-6 aircraft as a trainer.