Human

A simple question… and then again not a simple answer. What makes us human? What is it that distinguishes us from animals and states, that yes the respective on is a human. Where is the human in us or who is that? You wake up in the morning, smile, maybe with bored steps go to work and maybe you even stop by the university, or perhaps just meet a couple of your mates somewhere. Is this enough to call yourself a human being? There are dreams, ideals and goals, and often you ask the question if all of these have a reason. Dreaming, the attempt to live not only for today but for the accomplishment of your dreams makes you human. And then is this the right way? You have only one life and that’s short and few are the moments when you can truly be happy. Or the fact that you seek affection just like anyone on this planet makes you human. Many don’t realize it or just started living with the thought… Affection. What else do you need to become human and be able to say it out loud? Everyone goes to sleep at night and many stare at the empty space near them. And maybe they imagine the person of their dreams lying there. And it’s so hard when you meet it. Probably I’m the creation of someone’s dreams and there are people who wonder in my dreams. It’s difficult to break away from many things in life, and not her hair, her body’s scent or just her gentle breasts. But it’s hard to separate from a dream. What would’ve my first reaction been today, than “well yes, a bitch”. And we settled everything with this, right? Or maybe not. Who are we to judge others if we don’t even know ourselves. She played with my head and the minds of others or maybe she’s just living her crazy life as any other youngster. And yet again the question arises if we just have to take life simply as it is, we don’t think about people getting hurt just by us playing with their heads. Question if I haven’t already done that. Because there is someone who even after two years cries for you and says a prayer. And then you sometimes look inside yourself and wonder if you hadn’t just thrown away this person from your side. You imagine her as the mother of your children, as the loving wife who jumps in your arms after a hard day’s work, who will raise your blood. And now even after two years you feel that you can always trust her. And still the flaming passion lurks deep inside you. You know that you cannot trust HER and never could and you cannot imagine her as the mother of your children and something tells you that your life would be a pain besides her. And still the desire burns in you that she’s the one you want. Why her?

At this very moment it’s hard to tell if I feel something for her besides the wild urge to be with her. Because when you confront a dream it’s hard to start believing again. And I’m standing here with another question, ‘cause I know if I choose her path many hearts will be broken and I could tread many souls. And maybe this is the road I’ll choose but I don’t know the answer why. Why is this desire to play with someone’s soul so contaminating? I don’t know…

Human … sometime from now a wiseass will try to define this word. But he won’t find an answer, because he won’t be able to. Because this is a word that cannot be but into letters.

A sentence that I heard today grabbed my attention. Not long ago I spoke to one of my girlfriends whom I can tell what do I sometimes feel about this world and that occasionally I write. We were searching for an answer to life and its meaning. A very simple thought from her. Maybe if you just influence someone’s life and give him a pinch of inspiration to accomplish his own dreams it was worth living, like a human.

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 19^th of June 2007

 

Dutch Train

…A Dutch girl in front of you. An orange shawl around her neck, her white face looks at you from the curly strands of chestnut hair. Blue eyes, red lips…. I’m heading home on the Utrecht train. A couple of hours in the mayhem of Amsterdam. You look around. Sitting next to the girl a man in his 50s, probably working in an office. One of modern times’ invention in his hand. An iPod… You stop for a second because a bulky and bearded fellow just set next to you. So many faces, so many lives, so many thoughts. On my left side every sit is taken too. Two chatting blond Dutch teenage girls. In front of them a guy whose hair hasn’t seen a comb in a while, luckily well fed. His eyes shut; the earphones in his ears. Everyone is here, but actually no one. The chap sitting next to me just started solving a crossword, the curly haired girl is reading a book and beyond her a fellow reading a newspaper with earbugs. No one’s here. The light streaming through the window disturbs my right eye. It lightens the curly haired girl’s face. I stare at her for a couple of minutes while she’s reading her book…A look outside the window and amongst the thousands of dancing light beams the buildings of Amsterdam. Red bricks, grey walls, green trees. A suburb’s colours lay beside the rail tracks. I once again take a glance at the curly haired girl, with her thoughts deeply imbedded in the pages of the chunky book. The bald guy on the left row is quietly snoozing for a few moments now. I stop for a second, because the ticket inspector asked for my ticket. Alstublift she says and heads to the next passenger. No one’s here. We’ve already passed Amsterdam and in the distance the Sun is preparing to cover itself with the waves of the North Sea. Until then I admire the Dutch countryside. Strikingly green fields criss-crossed by channels on which well fed cows and ship graze. For a moment my thoughts run home to admire the Transylvanian countryside. Not a lot is happening around me, ‘cause no one’s here, but still there is plenty to talk about. A country planned precisely inch by inch. Sometimes organised too much. I miss the Transylvanian mountains, the wilderness, the mountains where still nature reigns supreme. The retiring Sun is increasingly disturbing my eyes, as if with his every movement he wants me to look at him. Maybe he wants to whisper something? I look at him but he’s silent. Maybe another time he’ll tell me why he was bugging my eye. The guy sitting next to me moves. He adjusts his tie and falls back into his crosswords. For a moment there was someone, now there’s nobody. Here and there laughter breaks the silence. A bearded young Dutchman with a blue bag on his back breaks the silence with his comments against the government or life. For a moment everyone looks at him. We are all here. He passes by slowly with his bag. Once again nobody. Another train passes by. In the meantime the office worker sitting in front of me starts looking at me. Still there is someone. Sometimes there is sometimes theres isn’t. We’ve left behind a grey industrial plant. Yellowish strands of grass broke the grey concrete slabs…A few minutes and we’ve arrived…

On a train between Amsterdam and Utrecht, 23^rd of Oct. 2007

 

Photos

 

 

… Sun bronzed faces, shaky bikes, high school graduates with a tie on their neck, serious faces full of make up on a graduation photo, smiling students…Three o’clock in the morning in a room in Utrecht and I’m looking at old photos. Almost two months have past since I arrived and many weeks will have to pass until I’ll get home. Probably it’s the first time since I arrived that I miss my home. Past memories break the silence of the night. It’s hard to look at the photos. The skinny or round faced children are all grownups now. Everyone is following his own path. With a smile on my face I open one folder after the other …Bicycle tour 2005, Timzum’s party, College days and the list doesn’t end. With a smile on my face and the same time with the knowledge that these times passed. Time passes upon all of us. The crazy and dreamer teenager still lives on but the question is for how long? Bank and other dozens of cards fill your wallet. You’re already registered in hundreds of places in a foreign system. You’re a grownup struggling day by day. Life goes on day by day. Even here routine set foot in my life but everyday there’s something new. I look in the mirror. The long hair on top of my forehead curved by hair-gel is replaced by short strands of hair. Beard took the place of the soft cheeks and bundles of muscles hang on the once skinny arms. We change. All of us, until the end of our lives. This is just how everything goes. It’ such a simple thought that most of the time we don’t even pay attention to it. Everyone knows it, it’s as old as humanity itself and still every new generation ponders on it. It’s painful and yet again beautiful. There’s always going to be something new. New places, new friends, new faces, adventures, challenges, dreams, hopes, disappointments… I find myself once again in the midst of new people, new friends, new adventures and faces and this’ll end too. New stories will change the nostalgic period following it. And everyone needs this. Constantly renewing yourself, heading towards the new and unknown and in the same time cherishing old memories. It’s a good feeling stepping into someone’s home, sitting with a glass of wine in your hands and talking about sometimes not so old memories. You get up, step over the doorstep and look towards a new horizon. And you love life, this so commonplace road. And someone will cut the film at a point…. You’ll live on in fading pictures, memories of friends, stories of children, the dust in the ground until your memory is forgotten. Hundreds of poets dreamt of “immortality”, but you’ll be happy to be one grain of dust besides the other millions. Many new things await you until then… Running on the empty allies of a Dutch town at three a.m. in the morning. Your legs tread the centenary stones. Amongst every stone thousands of dust grains. You head towards the unknown fuelled by an insane desire. Raindrops batter your eyes, frost bites your fingers but still you move on. The channel breaths its pale vale on the streets. Your muscles warm up and flow with your joints. You head towards a blurry bridge and stop. The ash vale slowly floats between the grey trees and engulfs the streets. Silence around you. The fast beatings of your heart touch your ears as it realizes that it should stop pumping blood to the muscles. You look around. A joy like never felt before embraces your body. You turn around then look ahead. You could scream. The heart starts beating again as the oxygen rich blood once again flows to your muscles and your feat start treading the stones again. You advance and go on. Old, already familiar streets and new unseen allies in front of you. You go ahead….

Utrecht 22^nd of Oct. 2007

 

 

Holland vonat

 

…Előtted egy holland lány. Nyaka körül egy narancssárga sál, göndör barna hajából fehér arca néz feléd. Kék szemek, piros ajkak….az utrechti vonaton haladok hazafele. Pár óra az amszterdami fergetegben. Körülnézel. A lány mellett egy talán ötvenes éveiben járó, valószínűleg irodában dolgozó férfi. A modern kor egyik találmánya a kezében. Egy iPod… Egy pillanatra megállsz hiszen egy szakállas, hatalmas testalkatú ember ült le melléd. Mennyi arc, mennyi élet, mennyi gondolat. A bal felemen is már minden ülés foglalt. Két fecsegő szőke holland kamasz lány. Előttük egy haját már régóta nem fésülő, hál’Istennek jó húsban levő alak. Szemeit behunyta, a fülhallgatók a fülében. Mindenki itt van, de senki sincs. A mellettem levő épp egy keresztrejtvényt kezdett el oldani, a göndör hajú lány egy könyvet olvas, háta mögött egy újságot olvasó fülhallgatós alak. Senki sincs itt. Jobb szememet az ablakon áthatoló fény zavarja. Megvilágítja a göndör hajú lány arcát. Pár pillanatig figyelem, amíg könyvét olvassa… Kinézek az ablakon és az ezernyi táncoló fény szilánkokon keresztül a hátramaradó amszterdami épületek. Vörös tégla, szürke falak, zöld fák. A külnegyedek színei terülnek el a vonatsínek mellett. Tekintetemet újból a göndör lányra vetem. Mélyen, elmerülve olvassa a kezében fekvő vaskos könyvet. A pár lépésnyire levő kopasz férfi pedig már percek óta az igazak álmát alussza… Pár pillanatra megállok, hiszen a jegyellenőr kéri, hogy fölmutassam a jegyemet. Alstublift hallom, amint a követező utashoz indul. Senki sincs itt. Már elhagytuk Amszterdamot és a távolban a Nap is nemsokára az Északi Tenger habjaival fog takarózni. Addig még csodálom a holland tájat. Virítóan zöld, csatornák által fölszabdalt mezők, amiken hízott tehenek és juhok legelnek nyugodtan. Gondolataim egy percre haza rohannak, hogy megfigyeljék a dányáni tájat. Nem sok minden történik körülöttem, hisz senki sincs itt, de mégis van amiről beszélni. Milliméternyi pontossággal megtervezett ország. Sokszor túl megtervezett. Hiányoznak az erdélyi hegyek, az ottani vadon, a helyek ahol még mindig a természet tombol. Szememet egyre jobban zavarja a nyugovóra térő Nap, mintha minden mozdulatával azt akarná, hogy feléje nézzek. Talán akar valamit súgni? Feléje nézek de nem mond semmit. Majd valamikor talán elmondja, hogy mégis mért zavarta a szememet. Megmozdult a mellettem levő. Megigazítja a nyakkendőjét majd újból a rejtvények világába merül. Egy pillanata mégis volt valaki, most megint nincs senki. Itt-ott egy vihogást hallok. Egy kék táskás, szakállas holland fiatal talán a kormány vagy élet elleni kommentárjával megtöri a csendet. Egy pillanatra mindenki feléje néz. Itt van mindenki. Szép lassan elhalad megtömött táskájával. Újból senki. Egy másik vonat száguld el mellettünk. Közben a szemben levő irodai munkás kezd figyelni. Mégis van valaki. Néha van néha nincs. Egy szürke iparvidéket hagytunk el. A sárguló fűszálak feltörték a szürke beton tömböket….Pár perc és megérkeztünk……

Amszterdam és Utrecht között egy vonaton, 2OO7 okt. 23

 

 

Képek

…Barnult arcok, rozoga bringák, nyakkendős végzősök, komoly arcok egy kisminkelt tablóképen, mosolygó kollégisták… Hajnali háromkor egy utrechti szobában figyelem a régi képeket. Maholnap már két hónapja, hogy eljöttem és még sok hét kell elteljen amíg hazatérek. Talán először érzem a honvágyat amióta itt vagyok. Régmúlt emlékek törik meg az estéli csendet. Nehezen nézem a képeket. A kerek vagy sovány arcú gyermekek most már mind felnőttek. Mindenki a maga útját járja már. Mosollyal az arcomon nyitom egyik foldert a másik után…Biciklitúra 2005, Timzum buli, Kollégiumi napok és a lista nem ér véget. Mosollyal az arcomon és ugyanakkor a tudattal, hogy ezek már elmúlt idők. Mindenki felett elmúlik az idő. Még él benned a hóbortos és álmodozó kamasz, de kérdés még meddig? Pénztárcádban már bank meg egyéb más tucatnyi kártya. Már egy idegen rendszerbe is százfele bejegyeztek. Már felnőtt vagy és az élettel birkózol nap, mint nap. Folyik az élet nap, mint nap. Már itt is beállt a rutin, de mindig adódik valami új. A tükörbe nézek. A hosszú, homlok fölött zselézett hajat, rövid szálak váltották föl. A sima arcot már rég átvette a szakáll és a valamikori vékony kezeken izomcsomók lógnak. Változunk. Mindnyájan, egész életünk végéig. Ez mindennek a rendje. Oly annyira egyszerű gondolat, hogy sokszor nem is figyelünk rá. Mindenki tudja, az emberiséggel egyidős és mégis minden újabb generáció ezen töri a fejét. Sokszor fájdalmas de ugyanakkor szép. Mindig lesz valami új. Új helyek, új ismerősök, új arcok, kalandok, küzdések, álmok, remények, csalódások… Új emberek közé érkeztem újból, új barátok, új kalandok és arcok és majd ez is véget ér. Az azt követő nosztalgiát is majd újabb események fogják fölváltani. És ez kell mindenkinek. Folytonosan megújulni, hajtani az új fele, de ugyanakkor ügyelni arra, hogy megőrizzük a régi emlékeket. Jó érzés betoppanni valahova, leülni egy pohár bor mellé és elbeszélni sokszor nem is annyira régi emlékekről. Majd fölállsz, kilépsz a küszöbön és újabb láthatár fele nézel. És szereted az életet, ezt a már olyannyira elcsépelt utat. Majd egyszer elvágják a szalagot… Továbbélsz elhomályosodó képekben, barátok emlékeiben, gyermekek meséiben, a földbéli porban, míg végül elfelejtik emlékedet. Költők százai vágytak a ,,halhatatlanságra”, de talán te megelégszel azzal, hogy egy szem por leszel a többi millió mellett. Addig még sok új áll előttünk….Hajnali háromkor szaladni egy holland város üres utcáin. A több-százéves köveken haladnak lábaid. Minden kő között porszemek ezrei. Haladsz az ismeretlen fele, egy örült vágy hajt előre. Ujjaidat csípi a hideg, szemedbe ver az eső de vágtatsz előre. A csatorna halvány fátylát leheli az utcákra. Izmaid kimelegednek és izületeiddel együtt folynak. Egy homályos híd fele térsz és megállsz. A szürke fák lombjai között szállingózik a hamu fátyol és lassan elnyeli az utcát. Körülötted csend. Szíved hangos verését hallod, amint rádöbben, hogy már nem kell vért pumpáljon az izmaidba. Körülnézel. Egy még nem érzett öröm fogja el testedet. Hátra fordulsz majd előre nézel. Ordítani tudnál. A szív megdobban, az oxigén dús vér újból eljut izmaidhoz és lábaid újból a köveket tapossák. Haladsz. Mész előre. Régi már ismerős utcák és új még addig nem látott ösvények. Haladsz előre…

Utrecht 2OO7 okt. 22

 

Life in a nutshell

 

- Aunty Blanka’s story –

Four days passed since I had the opportunity to visit the Budapest Holocaust memorial and we had the chance to talk face to face and feel the life story of one of the survivors of those atrocities.

We’re sitting in a small ground floor room, probably twenty. A kind and smiling old lady sits in front of us. Silence and an indescribable tension fill the small chamber. Aunty Blanka commences….

I was born in Transcarpathia, not far way from Ungvár, in Aknaszlatina, sometime in the year 1929. I come from a poor Jewish family with six children. We didn’t have a lot. Six of us lived in a small room, but our tiny home had love and faith among its walls.

I didn’t even start my elementary school properly when my father found a new home for us in the Slovakian Leva. Our small home stood in a narrow and short alley. My childhood wasn’t easy, my dad was constantly looking for a job to sustain his family and just as we arrived the Hungarian Army took over the region in 1938. Because we were newcomers they sent us back to Aknaszlatina where a provisional Ukranian autonomous state had been set up. I had to learn everything in Ukranian at school although I didn’t understand a word. All the other languages were banned. I just learned my lessons by heart and answered in front of my teachers not knowing what I was saying.

A year later Hungary annexed Trancarpathia and now we could legally move back to Leva where I studied in a German school. Meantime the war broke out and we were forced to wear David’s star. People looked at us indifferently, some of them ignored us, others just turned their heads the other way…I remember feeling humiliated and I always hold my backpack in a way that I could cover the yellow star with my arm. The day came when I finished my secondary-school studies. My class-master ordered us to get off our yellow stars, because in her class no one was to be stigmatized. This day remained a joyful one for all of us. We even got a small silver ring and promised each other that we’ll meet again in 5 years… We never met each other again…

It was the summer of ’44. The Hungarian Holocaust started. In only 56 days the Hungarian government deported half a million Jews two the German concentration camps. More than ninety percent of them ended up in Auschwitz-Birkenau.

It was a quiet afternoon when SS soldiers and Hungarian provosts burst into our home. They were yelling at us like animals to pack our belongings because we had to go. To go? Where, when, why? We had only a couple of minutes to pack our most precious items and afterwards they moved us out on the street. My father ran back. He forgot his tallit (praying shawl)… They threw him on the ground and like beasts started kicking and hitting him, that he almost lost his conscience. She stops for a minute, wipes her tears and looks around. We feel the pressure of this moment on ourselves…She continues…

They took us to the railway station where cattle hauling wagons were waiting for us. The stench of animal remains still filled the air when they shoved us into the carriages like a heard of animals. Eighty, eighty-five people had to fit in them. We were given two buckets. In one of them was our drinking water, the other served as our WC. In minutes the little water that we had was gone… This was how much we were given for a day…a bucket of water for each wagon.

The horrendous journey lasted for three days. During the day we were hauled on different rail tracks and only travelled during the nigh time. Probably it was so others couldn’t see the human shipment. A horrible stench and heat filled up these tight spaces. People started fighting and yelling at each other. We didn’t even have room to put our small bags. And somehow these terrifying three days passed.

…The doors opened. Workers speaking a Slav language got us of the wagons. We had to leave our belongings behind. Where are we? Why are we here? Who are these people all around us? In minutes we were separated into groups of five. The Polish workers pulled the babies out of the hands of their mothers and shoved them into the hands of old women shouting Grossmutter! Grossmutter! (Grandmother!). This is how they wanted to save at least the mothers, because the mothers with babies were taken straight to the crematorium. They took me and separated me from my mother. She wipes her tears… That was the last time I saw my mommy. My father and brother were put in another group.

Auschwitz-Birkenau… This is the place where we had arrived, not knowing why or what the following day would bring with it. In groups like this we had to pass under a gate to get into the camp. We passed a finely dressed German gentleman who in a soft voice was saying he stays, he can go. As I later found out he was dr. Mengele.

We had to take of our clothes. They shaved of all our body hair and afterwards took us into a showering chamber where they poured cold water on us…Frightened and naked we were lined up in the courtyard. We were not the same persons anymore…Suddenly someone addressed me from the behind. It was my brother. We hardly recognized each other, bare and naked as we were… I jumped into his arms and started crying. He reassured me that he will be by my side. They took us apart…The clothes were handed out, if we can call those rags clothes. We weren’t even worthy of the striped clothes made out of former sacks. They threw peaces of cloths, eaten by maggots, towards us. We didn’t even know how to get them on us, because they were torn apart…No underwear was given …I was sent to Birkenau in a makeshift barrack. Beyond the fence a huge chimney darkened the sky…We didn’t know what it was… Not even a hay sack was given to us. We had to sleep on the cold ground like animals. During the night when we went to the WC the others started pinching our feet as we were walking across them. Horrendous nights, I don’t know if you can imagine all of this…

The other day we wondered what will happen to us. A huge German lady officer came into our barracks…All of you who are not sixteen stand up, because we will take you to your mothers… I got up happily that finally I would see my mother. Upon seeing this a Polish woman jumped up and slapped my face. Why are you lying? You’ve already passed sixteen. I stood there frightened and not knowing what to do but I realized that I will have to lie. The next time the officer asked me how old was I, I answered that over sixteen. This Polish woman saved my life. As we later found out, those who weren’t sixteen were sent to the crematorium.

We never knew what they would do to us. In lines of five we would stand in the scorching Sun all day. We were given a piece of dry bread and a plate of some kind of a brew of which we could take three sips and ha to pass it to the one behind us. They didn’t do anything with us. We just had to stay there all day and if someone collapsed he was bitten. First we vomited from the bread; slices of soaked and moulded bran. The others knew we wouldn’t eat it, so we gave it to them. But later on, seeing that this was our only source of food we were forced to eat it.

Once a day we got water. It was a horrible sight. A dirty water truck came and let out the water in the riffle at the edge of the courtyard. Like animals we ran to it. Every part of our body was craving for water. A snap!! The driver of the truck, a huge German soldier, started beating with his belt all those, who dared touch the riffle. With a satanic laugh he got a rag and started washing his truck with our water. Calmly, taking his time… Every day he would wash his truck for an hour. The remaining filthy water was left for us. This was how we could get water…She wipes her tears again.

I was lucky with my brother. He was the one who supported me every day and we would plan what to do when will be free again. This is the only way you can escape from a place like this, by thinking that this will end too one day.

Everyday the same hideous smell rose from the chimneys until we found out that those were the crematoriums. We thought they burned our cloths and hair there. It was our fellowman. We learned to cope with everything, ‘cause we knew if we fell ill the furnaces awaited us.

The seventh week passed when orders came that a thousand workers were needed in the war factories from the Essen region. We were put on trains again.

Huge factories waited for us where we had to produce ammunition for the German Army. It was heaven compared to Auschwitz. Everyone got a hay sack and two slices of bread. We shared the plant with French, Dutch, Polish and Russian prisoners. The French were the kindest, they would help us with everything. The Dutch were more distant and only communicated among themselves and in the eyes of those who came from the Russian front we were just “filthy Jews”.

Hard work waited for us. We worked in the factory’s furnaces where we had to mix chemicals unknown to me. The fumes saturated with toxic waste suffocated our lungs and the splashing drops burnt our hands. I look at her arms. The former blisters are still visible.

I was lucky because of a volunteer girl who worked there. She taught me childish songs and she took the blame on herself that I didn’t have enough to eat. She would always smuggle a small amount of food into the plant. I wasn’t used to such kindness. Someone treated me as a human being and not a maggot. I’ve been searching for this girl ever since, but I never met her again.

Later on I had to assemble the ammunition rounds. With my skinny arms I had to throw the 25-30 kilo shells from one place to the other. I was exhausted, tired. The French workers stood as a protective wall so the guards wouldn’t see me and laid me on the shells to rest. I fell asleep. In the same time they showed us how to drill the projectiles so they would become useless on the battlefield.

The year turned to ’45. We were once again on a train. Only a quarter of those who originally came to the industrial plants survived. They got us to Leipzig in the other end of the country. The Anglo-American troops were closing in, the Germans were fleeing. A ghetto waited for us. I once again met up with my brother.

We barely went to sleep when our shelter came under attack. Projectiles broke the barrack’s windows. One of them exploded between my brother and I. Many died in an instance. Our skin was badly burnt and once again they forced us to move. Three weeks of walking to the Elba River. The drops of rain were beating us every step of the way and the snowflakes froze on our shoulders. We had to walk for three weeks; living skeletons. Many fell on the ground and were instantly shot. Our clothes became part of our skin and rotted on our bodies. You cannot imagine how it felt living through all of this. The horse that pulled the officer’s carriage died so they replaced it with two of these skeletons. They had to pull the cart. We reached the Elba but on the news that the Soviet troops were advancing they turned us back and left us there. We got rid of our rotten cloths and like the snake that sheds it skin, a lair of skin left our bodies. We took a battered and beaten body of our shoulders.

The Americans found us first. They didn’t know what to do with us and couldn’t believe what we’ve lived threw. One of the soldiers took us to a warehouse and cut open the sacks of sugar. Rivers of sugar poured like the sea and we just gobbled it up like hungry animals. Many of us realised that our shrunken stomachs wouldn’t cope with the sudden amount of food so we stopped eating. Many died of it.

Soon after, the Russians arrived. They were much better organized thanks to what they encountered at the Polish death camps. Of the original thousand only a few of us were alive, as many as could fit in a small cow shad. And the days in Leipzig passed on. During the night we wondered the city stealing whatever we could. I never forget the time we found some flour in front of a mill. We took it to our shelter and after mixing it with water baked it. It was full of glass chips. It cut open our tongs and mouths but we still ate it… It’s hard for you to believe all of this…She moans deeply.

Unfortunately the Russian soldiers horrifyingly raped some of my companions and I’ve been asking to myself ever since. How could they see anything feminine in these human wrecks? We were living skeletons… I could never understand.

…Near the Czech border I received a small paper that stated that I was a prisoner from Auschwitz and I crossed the border with this into Czechoslovakia. She passed around her safely guarded piece of red paper. By foot and train I got home to Leva but everything that belonged to us was taken and a new family lived in our house… Faith floated me on the shores of Budapest and I started a new life here.

You can ask me whatever question you want my dear friends.

Words became stuck in our throats but slowly we started asking.

- Have you ever seen your parents again?

That was the last time I saw my mother, when we arrived to Auschwitz. She probably was killed the same day. Tears fill her eyes and stops for a moment to wipe them. I later found out that my father had to carry cement filled sacks. He eventually died their suffocated, because the cement powder mixed with sweat on their skin and eventually choked them.

- Have you ever met your siblings again?

They were all alive. My elder sister got to Budapest and outlived the war. My two brothers survived too. We got extremely ill my dears. I weighed 33 kilos when I got to Budapest and it took us years until we could call ourselves humans again. Typhus, TBC and other diseases scourged our bodies. I live on medication to this very day and my ankles never recovered from the three week walk.

- Could you hold on to your faith afterwards?

No, unfortunately not. Because I always asked the question, if there is a God, then how could’ve he let all of this happen, why did we have to go through all of this? What wrong did my poor working and faithful parents ever do that they had to end up this way. None of my brothers believe in God anymore. Even to this day … and tears fill her eyes… I search for God but cannot find him. I hope he will once find me.

- Could you ever forgive the people who’d done this to you?

No my dears. I could never forgive them because I never once saw a sign of humanity in them. They were animals. But the desire for revenge has long died out in me. After I got to Budapest I witnessed 11 executions and every single one of them cried out before they were hung that they wished they could’ve killed more Jews. I could watch all of this back then, but I couldn’t anymore. Revenge is no more. One of my guard’s files got into my hand. He was already passed eighty and I couldn’t take him to Court. Even till this day his files lay in my basement.

- How did you remain sane in those conditions?

We truly believed that one day all of this will turn into good. We sang, planned our futures and what we would do if we got free again. This was the only way. The ones who didn’t believe perished. We tried to be happy with all the small good we could gather in that place. When they took us to Leipzig the German lady officer laughed at us, because we were telling each others future from our palms. Do you still believe that you will ever live through this? – this is how she answered.

- Have you ever seen some sort of human sympathy from the Nazis?

Probably two times. After our three weeks of walk our guards put down their weapons and apologised for what they’ve done. You were the prisoners until now. From tomorrow we’ll be the ones. You are already free. In the same time there were guards who would overlook if people threw potatoes or an apple over the fence. But I haven’t witnessed more than this.

- When did you find the strength to go back to Birkenau?

Almost thirty years passed until I could go back to the death camp. Nothing remained of our barracks, only two stones signalled that once we slept and suffered there. A long time passed until I could talk about this, but it has to be passed one, because there is still hatred among us and we easily forget what they’ve done to us. My work is ever more important because my son-in-law is from Nigeria, my daughter is Jewish and they are already put against difficulties because of this.

And the questions continued for a full hour…I think my dear friends we’ll stop here, because I’m tired. A couple of photos, hugs and we said good bye to aunty Blanka. We slowly walked to the subway station….

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 9^th of July 2007

Budapest 5^th of July 2007

 

Dedicated to Falcon

Dedicated to Sólyom (Falcon)

Prologue

What am I doing behind words? Maybe not even I know. Something accumulated in me and this is the only way it can reach the surface. I’m not a writer, I’m not looking for the best expressions. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m an all knowing narrator or one who talks in first person. I decide who I want to be; important is what the narrator can tell us. How? That’s his business. He wants to write about events that pressure him than let him write if he has something to write about. 1 o’clock and 41 minutes after midnight and this is the time when the best thoughts come to life, no one bothers him maybe he doesn’t bother himself either. Well start your story already don’t let us wait so long!

- – - – - – -

…They took the mold, then the small thread of wire, afterwards they poured the wax. It covered the strand, but still a small end of it remained uncovered so he could sniff the air outside. It cooled. It was ready. A new candle – said the workers throwing him amongst the others. A long road still lay ahead of our tiny candle. From here he got into a dark something that made strange noises, it huffed and puffed an eventually started moving. The candle had still a lot to learn. He wondered …hmm. Maybe I’ll know what this is called. He looked around and felt that he was surrounded by similar tiny candles. They didn’t even say a word, but how could they since they’re just candles.

A sudden and long break and the vehicle stopped. Our small hero was taken in a box and in short time found itself in the shop window. He looked here, he looked there. Strange – he thought. What is actually my role? He felt that something was not right, because he was thinking. But wait a minute. Candles don’t think, or do they? Something was peculiar about this one, since he wasn’t your common lighting utensil. Let’s just see what will happen to him, because he seems more interesting than the others.

Bystanders (he found out their names), tall and short, came staring at him; here and there an overweight lady dragged along his child who wasn’t really interested in shopping. Tall, old gentlemen with moustaches, gentle and delicate ladies, freckle faced lads. Everyone bought something but the candle still stood there quietly. An ugly old “battle ax” came. I wonder who this is. – he was asking himself. She’s not a nice creature. I wouldn’t like to live with her. He didn’t even say the words properly when the frightening old bag grabbed him with her long and skinny fingers and shoved the small product into her pocket. Two pennies. This is how much he cost.

He set quietly in the tight, dark pocket, didn’t even dare to move. Who knows what would’ve she done to him. A screeching door and the sound that it closed. Not long after he could see a small beam of light filtered by a gray window. Wouu, I only now realize that I’m already outside. What is my duty again? He looked around and saw another candle. It was taller than him, majestic and with a red flame lit up the entire room. He was astonished….So this is my task; but he is just a small candle, he will never be able to light up the room like that. But wait, how do you light?

Something was strange, but what was so special in him? He was just a small piece of wax with a string inside. Oops! Look! The string burst into flame. How did you do this you tiny candle? I don’t know – he replied. My string suddenly started burning.

And boy did it flame, he lit up the small chamber, dwarfing the other one’s fading light. The witch came back. …Just look how the small shameless candle is lighting my home. Come here you!

So she took him, liked her fingers and wanted to extinguish his flame, but the candle burned her dry old claws and started burning more brightly than ever. Okay you rascal. Just leave it to me. You’ll see. She took him from one chamber to the other but wherever they went he lit up the rooms and however much she struggled he would flame brighter than before. She just looked at him and had a sudden flash. I know. I’ll just put you under water. And that’s what she did…Our small candle couldn’t fight it and his flame quietly fainted away. The old hag threw him in a box where dozens of candles laid silently. Just like him, small pieces of wax with a black string. He smiled at them. These are still young – he said to himself- probably they just arrived from the factory. He looked at them. They all seamed the same. I wonder if they can light. Hmm… maybe. But wait for a second. I still can! Let’s see candle, can you? Just look at him. He burst into flame and how easily did the flame jump on the end of his string. See. I’m going to teach you this. We don’t need matches. The others stared at him amazed. Where does his light come from? Com’on, I’ll teach you. Follow me! I’ll show you another world.

A thin piece of wire was hanging near the box. You could descend on this candle. I know – he said – I was just thinking about it. And slowly they got down. They moved on, a long journey awaited them until they could get out of the house. Silently, on the tips of their toes so the witch wouldn’t here them, they crawled under the carpet, jumped over the huge crevasses in the floor. They set down, rested and he even taught them a few songs. Tiny wondering candle songs that he heard in the shop window, but somehow felt that the songs belonged to him. They continued their journey towards the giant doorstep. It was a huge challenge. Not only was it high, but slippery too. With great effort the small Flamer climbed up first and helped the one behind him. And this is how it went on. Some of them got up easier, for some of them it took more time and effort. If someone didn’t help the other, he told them that helping the other is the first step for the fire to burn in us.

A long road lay ahead of them. Danger was lurking in every corner of the house. He just grabbed them before the huge feet of the witch squashed them. Thanks God she didn’t see them. The other candles in the box just looked at them. They envied them. Why did he choose those candles, why those two dozens and not us? He saw something in them that was worth putting your faith into.

They crawled under the chair, passed the sink. The water was watching there every step but they safely succeeded to get around it. They were just starting to realize what a flame needed. Not a matchstick but something deeper. Here and there a small spark started to show. Oh, com’on. Maybe, maybe. We only have a little bit left and will reach the door and you’ll burst into flames.

They hurried, ran towards the door not looking out for each other. Just reach the door as soon as possible. Just him, the others can come afterwards. The small Flamer watched in horror. HE was frightened, he got scared. What happened to them? I don’t recognize them, or were they like this all along?

A rattle and the witch was already there. What’s going on here? You think that you can just leave like that? Turn back immediately! They stopped in front of the door. Our small candle felt the strength again and said. Let’s show her. Let me see how we blind the witch! Burst into flame! But nothing happened. He was standing there by himself, the others just looking at him but the light was nowhere to be found. Even that small sparkle was fading away. Come on! You can do it. But they lost their faith or were hurrying too much towards the door? The small Flamer looked in front of him with a broken heart. Why did you bight into stone with milk-teeth? He felt a bitter taste. It’s not possible. Everything, the doorstep, the adventures near the tap, the songs, helping each other. All in vane? Where is your flame? Light up! Nothing.

He pulled himself together again but not with the same enthusiasm. He looked at the witch and blinded her for a moment then opened the door. He looked around. A deep silence and white light formed a vale around him. He felt that something was disturbing his side. Wings started growing with soft feathers, strong muscles pointing to the sky. He couldn’t believe his eyes, jumped and in a second was flying towards the Unknown. Faster than the wind he was leaving everything behind him. He felt something heavy and reached to his pocket. Two stones. A black and a white one. HE looked at them carefully and threw the black one in the deep and looking at the white one hope came back to him once again….

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) The summer of 2005

 

You’re treading the mud….

You’re treading the mud….with hasty and heavy steps heading home in a small grey village….mud everywhere. Only the sound of dogs’ barking disturbs the eerie silence…and a wondering man. You hurry, ‘cause you know the moment that triggered this all already passed. As soon as possible you have to shed it on paper…You’re sitting here with and old pencil in your hand, writing on a piece of wrapping paper…It’s almost dawn. The guilt that you’ve just broken a strand of flower lives in you. It’s painful when someone is madly in love with you, would even give her life for you and you just push her away…You’ve changed. The sad and grumpy old man’s face emerged once again. Someone cries for nights in a row under a wrinkled blanket and prays for you and you just let this person on her own…. At the entrance of a small crumbling provincial bar have you truly spoken to her since you broke up, although you’ve seen her for days. You stare lengthily at her long hair running over her shoulders, her darkening strands of hair. Memories from the past invade your eyes. Summer nights on a Moon lit hillside…two youngsters coddled together…You smile but can’t say two words to her. You slowly head towards an old tree trunk and sit down. A corner full of memories where you wait to see her reaction. She slowly sits on your knees and falls in your arms. You only now feel the pressuring weight of what you’ve done. With a scared grasp you embrace her and press her body next to yours. Her long and silky hair runs over your shoulders. She commences in a slow and silent cry, her tiny teardrops fall on your hands… small, warm tears from a child’s heart…You just sit there, a numb old aged, and don’t even dare say a word…you tightly embrace her and in a soft voice ask her not to cry…She doesn’t listen to you… Amongst her silent sniffles a stream of tears poor into your hands. You realize that for the first time in your life you’ve truly broken someone, threw her away. Just hold her small gentle body, ‘cause you know that this is the last time when you’ll feel her warmth next to you. A kiss on her forehead and you slowly wipe her tears. “Breaking up will be easy”, that’s what you thought moreover you bragged to the others that if you want to, you can get together again. How foolish could you be?… By choice you’d merge with the dust of the road just not live with the thought that you’ve torn apart someone. Words are hard to find…In this cold and ruff world, her childish smile and pure soul was the escape you needed, and you just kicked all of this away from you, destroyed it…It’s to hard for her. You can’t even think and just stare at her soft crying face. A couple of words come out of your mouth, a last embrace and with a cold and seemingly alien kiss say good bye…You head home, treading the endless sea of mud. Why did you leave her? You cannot find an answer yet to this question, bust something deep inside you just didn’t want her anymore… Maybe this is what you were longing for, to feel the bitter taste of it all. A couple of moans, but there’s no answer…the mud splashes under your shoes. And you just wonder as a stray dog. I became a wonderer.

Szászdányán (Daia), 6^th of August 2006

 

Cream pie

…The ever increasing heat found its way again on the streets of the city. Thursday morning and only the thought of the weekend in my head. I just came out of the Tribunal a couple of minutes ago. I look around. Calm day we’re having today. Everyone is kind to me, the work isn’t that awful. On Deak Ferenc Street the workings heavily go on. A new pedestrian square for the inhabitants of the city…I sit down in front of a shop window. In my hands today’s breakfast and lunch. A sandwich… They overstuffed it again, the mayonnaise sparkles on my fingers and on the edge of the snitzel a slice of cucumber wickedly looks at me, jumps into the deep and falls on the ground… Sitting down for a moment, just to look around… Three bored workers in front of me waiting for noon. Pickaxes once again tear apart the brand new pavement. It doesn’t surprise me anymore. The skinniest of them all is heavily fighting a battle with the stubborn soil. His mates, resting on their shovels reassure him. The works go on in the city, especially in this summer heat… “Enjoy your meal” I hear the voice of a passerby. “Thanks”. I don’t know him, but it was a good feeling that he noticed. A simple bon apetite and a smile rushes through my face… A slender and attractive young mother is pushing her baby carriage. A pale blouse and a fluttering summer skirt. Her slim arms pushing the carriage from which a smiley baby looks at me. Who knows how frightened he must’ve been. A guy full of mayonnaise and unshaved for days is not the prettiest sight for a baby. I just turn my head to the right and what do I see? An incredible battle. A poor fat old guy wrestling with two naughty slices of cream pie. What a fight. With his paws he grabs the cream pies writing their last will. But the pies don’t give up the fight that easily. One of them stands up. It messes up his fingers and ugly face. But it cannot hold it on for long and falls victim to the new dentures. They crush it up. A swallow, and the poor slice of pie plunders into the deep stomach….Now it’s the other’s turn. But this one fights like hell. It swings to the right and to the left and falls back on the napkin. The old guy grabs it again and pushes his dagger like fingers into the back of the pie! But it doesn’t give up that easily! Taking a piece of cream it messes up the fat guy’s nose. A bite and it slides back on the napkin. The battle is almost lost. The yellow claws inflict more and more damage, a final bite, a swallow and our brave warrior is gone… Poor grandpa, he probably learned table manners from a heard of piglets. Cream flowed down his hands and under his eyebrows bundles of whipped cream decorated his wrinkled face. People all around him were staring but he didn’t notice them. He licked his hands. A tissue, a couple of wipes and the last remains of the two warriors were forever gone. A girl passes him. She smiles and struggles two hold back her laughter but sees me as I was laughing at the old guy. She smiles at me and walks away. I wipe my hands. The snitzel had found his home for a long time. With great effort I get up. Clean the dust of my trousers and head to the bus-station

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 16^th of august 2007

 

Meeting God

 

I’m sitting in the bus-station just across the Tribunal, slightly bored. The heat is unbearable and here and there a dizzy old lady rushes towards a place with shadow. The pavement is dusty, the few strands of grass that broke through the pavement wilt under the scorching Sun and the street washing car is nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t find a place on the bench so I’m sitting on the railing near the bush. My dossier on my lap and the service phone in my pocket. The 32 is nowhere to be found. I think to myself what a great feeling would it be to lazily swim somewhere in the sea and not wait in a 40^o heat for a bus to take me back to the office. Time is almost still…

Suddenly my nose picks up a disturbing and repulsing smell. I look up and a bagger is standing in front of me, with long hair that probably hadn’t been washed for weeks. A couple of messy clusters of hair dangle on his shoulders. A dirty face, on his forehead amongst the wrinkles the strains of black dust are visible and his beard probably hadn’t seen a raiser for a while. 40 degrees heat on the thermometers and the guy is standing in fornt of me with a long green and tattered coat. Two scruffy old clujana boots decorate his legs. One of his toes just broke out from this infernally hot dungeon. “Can I sit down?” – he asks me in a hoarse but slightly soft voice. “Why not…” ­– I answer, what could he possibly do to me? In the worst case I’ll fall on my back because of the smell, but my nose is not that sensitive. “Who are you?” ­- he asks me. “A simple student who instead of partying somewhere is sitting here for a couple of bucks and dying under the Sun”. – I answer in a slightly bored voice, ‘cause in times like this I’m not that sociable. “I’m asking you one more time. Who are you?” – he repeats his previous question with a stronger tone. “What do you care? Hadn’t I just told you, that I’m a student? Don’t you want an account of my life? And just who are you?” – and my veins started rising near my forehead, because in this infernal hit a nosy bagger was just what I asked for. “Well I’m God” ­– he simply tells me and an unusually childish smile appears on his face. “Dear Saint Virgin Mary” ­– I say to myself. “Not only does he stink like hell, but probably in a couple of minutes to strong guys will take him back to the nuthouse”- “Why do you think I’m crazy?” – he asks me a lil’bit frightened. “Who, me? Oh no, did I say anything?” – and I felt that the situation is starting to get uncomfortable. “Then why did you think that two strong chaps will have to take me back to the nuthouse” – he asks me with that same childish smile “Whaaatt…” and the words got stuck in my throat. “Who are you once again?” ­- asking me for the third time. ‘’Maaann. Just a man” – I stutter slightly shaken. “Then hiyya man, I’m God” – he says it with a huge smile and puts out his wrinkled hand towards me. I do the same, hold out my hand when suddenly the 32 arrived. I get my dossier and jump on the bus. I heard a voice and never saw him again … “We’ll meet again man…”

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 3^rd of August 2007