When she lit
the lamp he fell silent and watched the flame of the match and the girl’s
dreamy kind face…He had never felt so close to anybody. He was happy now; he
forgot everything bad and ugly in life.
—Zsigmond
Móricz: "Be Faithful Unto Death"
Sometimes,
the sun shines on certain streets in Toronto in such a unique way
that it reminds me of Budapest. I don’t know why that is. The two
cities are quite different, and during my time there, the sun didn't
have the courtesy to shine even once.
I remember the view from the window of my room, in the round tower that
is the Danubius Hotel, in Szilagyi Erzsebet fasor; the darkness; the
light rain falling on the streets of the neighbourhood; and, in the distance,
the dark clouds hanging heavy over the hills of Buda. At the highest hill there
was a huge communications tower, with antennas on all sides, from where, in
previous years, the government broadcast its doctrine and propaganda.
Tram 56 stopped in front of the hotel, but every morning I preferred to walk to Moszkva Tér or Széll Kálmán Tér (as it is called now), where I could have a good and inexpensive breakfast in a little restaurant inside the market, which also served excellent coffee. Since I was there every day, Nemecsek (who ran the restaurant and cooked at the same time) already knew me. With his broken English and Magyar accent, he would ask me questions aboutCanada .
Moscow Square
was charming, with beautiful old buildings, and the convergence of so many rail
tracks for the trams coming from the hills of Buda. The only aberrations were a
Macdonald's, a Burger King, and a Pizza Hut. After breakfast, I would go to the
subway entrance, where I would meet Zsuzsánna. When she arrived, we would board
the Red Subway Line M2, thus beginning the journey of the day.
In Buda, we visited the Castle, the Fishermen's Bastion, the imposing building that once was theHabsburg Palace
and that is now the National Gallery, and the Mátyás Church .
We descended in the funicular to the west bank of the Danube , and crossed to Pest walking along the Széchenyi Bridge .
InPest , we climbed the 364
steps to the dome of the Szent István Basilica, 96 metres high, from where we
could appreciate the contrast between the hills of Buda and the plain of Pest. In
Városliget, we visited the Museum of Agriculture , located in the magnificent Vajdahunyad Castle ,
and we strolled through the park. In Hősök tere, at the Monument to the Heroes,
next to the seven horsemen who, in the year 895 of our era, led the Magyars
from the Urals to Pannonia, in the Valley of the Carpathians, Zsuzsánna, full
of pride, told me the story of Árpád,
Elod, Ond, Kond, Tas, Huba, Töhötöm, and the origin of her people.
We walked the pedestrian
street Vaci utca from end to end. To get some rest, at Vörösmarty Square ,
we sat at the foot of the statue of Mihály Vörösmarty and kept company with the
crowd of students gathering around the poet. Then we went to Café Gerbeaud to
have a coffee, of course.
I told Zsuzsánna that I wanted to buy a
T-shirt with some Hungarian motif to take with me as a souvenir. She took me to
the Central Market in Vámház körút. In none of the stores could I find a
T-shirt that was made in Hungary
with the inscription Budapest Magyarország, in Hungarian, instead of, Budapest
Hungary, in English. The shopkeepers apologized, saying that all their
merchandise was intended for tourists. Then, Zsuzsánna said that another day
she would take me to Móricz Zsigmond Körtér, where there was a
nationalist store. There they sold all kinds of articles concerning Magyár
history and culture, past and present.
One day, standing on the eastern bank of the Danube beside the massive
neo-Gothic structure of the Magyarorzágház (the national parliament
building), Zsuzsánna, exalted, pointing with a finger to the colossal Statue
of Liberty that was visible in the distance on the hill of Gellért, told me
about the blood shed by the Hungarians. Those who died during the war of
independence against the Austrian Empire, in 1848; those who were executed by
the Habsburgs, including the thirteen martyrs of Arad; those who lost their
lives in the First World War, the Second World War, and during the 1956
uprising against the Russian Empire. The statue is a gigantic structure that
appears to be a woman with her arms outstretched to the sky, holding her dead
son. In memory of those who sacrificed their lives for the independence,
freedom, and prosperity of Hungary .
The day we went to Móricz Zsigmond Square , when we got off tram 59, there was a political demonstration. A group
of girls was marching, chanting slogans in Hungarian, which, of course, I
didn’t understand. In their hands, they were carrying banners with a sign
saying Szeretlek. I asked Zsuzsánna what it meant. “I love you,” she
replied. Wow! A rally promoting the cause of love! I think at that very moment
I began to love all Hungarian women.
In the nationalist store, I
found what I was looking for. I bought a T-shirt that in its front had an
ancient warrior riding with a bow and arrow in shooting position, and an
inscription in Hungarian that said: The Scythian fire is alive and burning
again in our spirits, and together, we will defeat the old enemy again. In
the back, it had an eagle with outstretched wings and the motto (also in
Hungarian): The warrior nation, like the waves of the sea, will never be anybody's
slave! In a bookstore in the same square, I bought two novels: Légy jó
mindhalálíg (Be Faithful Unto Death) by Zsigmond Móricz and A Pál utcai
Fiuk (The Paul Street Boys), by Ferenc Molnár.
To tell the truth, there was not much we could do; the rain and the cold wind did not allow it. In fact, what I remember most is the inclement weather and what we didn’t do. We did not go toMargit Island , or to the Széchenyi thermal baths, or to the Statue Park ,
or to the Pal-Völgyi Caves , or to the Opera, or to Gellért, to see the Statue of Liberty. We did
not walk along Andrassy
Útca; we did not go to Aquincum, or to the
Budavár Labyrinth. Neither did I tell Zsuzsánna that I loved her eyes so
much.
The day before my departure,
Zsuzsánna brought me to her house. I was touched. It’s not easy for anyone to
open the doors of their home to a stranger. We ate pogácsa and gulyás, and we drank
Borsodi. We talked about Hieronymus Bosch, her favourite painter; about her
childhood and youth under the former communist regime; and about how she became
an orphan at the age of twenty-five. Her mother died of cancer, and six months
later, her father, being completely healthy, decided to die too, just like
that, by sheer willpower, because life without his wife was unbearable. He
followed her beyond the grave.
When we said goodbye at Apor Vilmos Tér, she hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks; I kissed her on the forehead. She stood on the platform, staring at me, as Tram 59 drove off. I didn’t take my eyes off her until she disappeared in the fog of another sunless day. I guess we both knew we would never see each other again.
So, maybe that's
what certain sunny days in Toronto remind me of. It is not what happened in Budapest , but what did not
happen —the
longing for what might have been but was not, the desire to experience it, the
audacity to want to go back and make it happen. Sunlight has the power to make
me remember things I have never lived.
Tram 56 stopped in front of the hotel, but every morning I preferred to walk to Moszkva Tér or Széll Kálmán Tér (as it is called now), where I could have a good and inexpensive breakfast in a little restaurant inside the market, which also served excellent coffee. Since I was there every day, Nemecsek (who ran the restaurant and cooked at the same time) already knew me. With his broken English and Magyar accent, he would ask me questions about
In Buda, we visited the Castle, the Fishermen's Bastion, the imposing building that once was the
In
To tell the truth, there was not much we could do; the rain and the cold wind did not allow it. In fact, what I remember most is the inclement weather and what we didn’t do. We did not go to
When we said goodbye at Apor Vilmos Tér, she hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks; I kissed her on the forehead. She stood on the platform, staring at me, as Tram 59 drove off. I didn’t take my eyes off her until she disappeared in the fog of another sunless day. I guess we both knew we would never see each other again.
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© Translated from the Spanish by William Almonte Jiménez, 2012.
© Spanish title: “Plaza Apor Vilmos”.
© William Almonte Jiménez, 2012.
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