‘Touch it,’ the boy said.

Feri placed the snail on his palm and held it towards Emese. ‘No need to be afraid of it,’ he said to the girl. Emese took the snail. Its body was hot. The boy grinned, then quickly looked around. All the other kids were farther off, walking among the trees, eyes glued to the ground in search of snails.

‘Put it in your mouth,’ he told Emese.

‘Why?’

‘Just put it in your mouth.’

Emese played with the thought of placing the soft, slimy body onto her tongue. She imagined it would taste like overcooked pasta. She put the snail in the basket and shook her head. Feri laughed; he had a hoarse laugh.

‘Tourists should always follow our instructions. Didn’t my father tell you?’ he said.

Emese knew she should have rebelled, rebelled against it all. She should rebel even now for having to suffer the presence of such an imbecile teenager, but she knew she must be a nuisance for Feri as well. A visitor, just someone passing through over summer vacation. She decided there was still time for rebellion later.

‘It wasn’t my choice to come here, anyway. It’s my dad’s thing,’ she said and started for the woods.

Feri ran after the girl.

‘Wait,’ he said, and Emese, unwillingly, turned towards him. For a moment she thought she heard desperation in his plea. ‘What?’ she asked as coldly and indifferently as she could. Feri once more swept his sweaty locks aside; the more he did it, the more Emese found it annoying. The boy sighed deeply, his face reddening.

‘We should fuck,’ Feri said. ‘You wouldn’t regret it. I’ve been with a lot of girls already . . .’

Emese turned and walked away without a word; she reminded herself to bring along the switchblade next time. She had stolen it from her father two years ago and always promised herself she would keep it in her pocket, just in case. The world is a dangerous place for girls, or so she had heard, and a knife could make it a little safer. Despite the promise, she never actually had the guts to walk around with a knife on her.

‘You’d be better off!’ Feri shouted after her. ‘You’ll regret it if you say no.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Emese muttered under her breath, then bent over to pick up a snail.

The men, Gergő and Hugó, worked in the garage at night, oiling the silver chains.

‘Tourism helps a lot,’ Gergő explained. His voice was flat, always on the verge of sounding bored. ‘And of course, what we sell is ours, and the prices are up. But life gets more expensive year after year too. It gets tougher, expenses run higher. Every year it gets harder.’