Archive for the ‘Moments’ Category

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I started watching people again….

May 31, 2009

It’s one of the best things you can do on a chilly Sunday afternoon, while waiting for the bus in a dusty bus-station. I almost forgot how well it feels to stop and look around for a second and just forget about everyday life. Probably everyday worries, because everyday life is what surrounds us, but we just have a natural tendency to avoid what’s happening next to us…Two images caught my attention and both of them put a smile on my face…

Switching buses, I came across this older man with a small child sitting on his shoulders. I think it was his granddad, or probably an older father…Something struck me seeing these two. The older man had some loose pants on, some enormous glasses, scruffy gray hair and a beard to top it. The blond child was sitting happily on his shoulders and grabbing his hair. But it wasn’t the beard, nor the blond child…it was something else… They had the same smile on their faces. No words, no laughter, not even a sound…but the same childish smile on both of their faces….

As I came to the second bus station, two small girls were running around… most probably two sisters still in kindergarten with amazingly beautiful curly blond hair. Be careful girls…stop fooling around. – said a rugged and almost drunken voice. I looked at this older man, probably in his early sixties…small in stature with some shabby jeans on and a face that told me that he used some alcohol in his life. I felt a small outrage in me, seeing this man taking care of these two little girls. Are you hungry kids? – the old man asked the two girls. Both of them nodded their small heads. Com’on. Pappy’s gonna buy you some fries. The two kids started jumping around. He picked both of them up. So, ain’t you gonna give pappy a little kiss? –the old man asked them with a smile on his face. The two little girls kissed the cheeks of their gran’pappy. All three of them smiled. It was the same smile that I saw some moments before. The same childish smile on a chilly Sunday afternoon in two dusty bus-stations…

31st of May, 2009, Sunday – Kolozsvár/Cluj-Napoca

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Marco’s visit, my Mom’s birthday, formaldehyde and human stupidity.

January 8, 2009

What is the link between my Portuguese friend’s visit to Cluj/Kolozsvar, my Mom’s birthday and formaldehyde, used to preserve corpses (dead people)?

4 a.m. I arrive home. I say good-bye to Marco. He’s leaving to Bistrita/Beszterce today. I can’t just let him go empty handed, so I promise him some good old pear palinka.

11.45 a.m. I wake up with quite a hangover, slowly walk towards the bathroom and I start removing last night’s smoke and booze stench.

12.00 a.m./p.m. I say Happy Birthday to my mom and afterwards start having lunch (or breakfast. I don’t really know which of the two). Around 13.p.m. I should meet Marco and wish him a safe journey.

12.45 p.m. I open the door from the food storage. I forget to turn on the lights. A couple of bottles of pear and plum palinka should be on the ground somewhere. I should check which one is the one I promised.

12.55 p.m. Ten minutes have past since I’ve been holding onto the toilet-seat, as hard as I can. The whole of my stomach and insides are violently shaking while the heretic contractions of my diaphragm increase the urge to vomit, but it doesn’t happen. The finger method isn’t working either. My throat, mouth cavity and respiratory system are burning. No moment passes, without me spitting. My saliva and mucus meet below my nose. My mom rushes with a jar of milk. I drink half a liter of it and take a couple of carbon tablets. One glass after the other, the water slowly starts reducing the pain and burning. It still burns like hell. I start swearing and for the first time in my life I really panic, as I just drank poison. The repulsing vapors that start coming out of me make my eyes water. My diaphragm starts to reduce its contractions. My eyesight is blurry my head starts to spin…I get up, drink another glass of water and finish the milk. In the sink, the spilled bottle of formaldehyde…

13.25 p.m. My brother rushes me to the Emergency. I slowly start to recover on the way and I actually start laughing at the stupidity I’ve just done. Maybe it’s because of the side-effects of the poison ;) . I casually walk in the No.1 Emergency hospital in Cluj/Kolozsvar. I talk to a nurse. What happened to you sir? – Oh, not much. I just took a sip of formaldehyde and I heard that it is quite poisonous. – You did what?!?! The nurse panics and they rush me in a room and pull the curtains. A dozen of doctors, nurses and practicing medical students gather around me. Meanwhile I start feeling better and I’m already thinking of flirting with a couple of the young nurses. Well sir. We will have to unfortunately give you an enema. My smile fades in an instance. No thank you. I will not undergo such a violation of my body. The idea of having a couple of pipes going up my most intimate parts quickly put me back on my feet. I explained them every little detail. How much, when and what did I take. They gathered around for a second. Okey. You were lucky this time. You won’t have any further complications, because it wasn’t a big dose. You have to go and get your throat checked.

13.45 p.m. While the doctor is examining my throat, I’m looking at the blond nurse. AAA…EEE…OOOO…I start yammering at the doctor’s orders, while he holds my tongue with a piece of cloth. Hmm…your vocal cords are somewhat swollen. A little Tantum Verde (Green Tantum, or something like that) will get you better. That’s why you have such a rugged voice.

14.30 p.m. We’ve just bought my mom’s present. I can’t yet feel the laxative’s effect, but it seams like everything is just fine :D

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87 késő tele / Late winter of ‘87

December 31, 2008

Az elmúlt hetek véghetetlen sara átadta helyét az egyre növekvő hidegnek. A Tóköz új szürke blokkjait hetekig tartó sártenger választotta el. Egyre növekszik a hideg. A sár redők betonná fagytak. Egyre csak hűlnek a lakások. Vékony hótakaró fagyott a megkeményedett keréknyomokra.

Recsegni kezdnek a hópelyhek a közeledő Clujeana bakancsok recéi alatt. Gyors léptekkel siet egy fiatal apa. Gomolyag párafelhők hagyják el orrát minden egyes lélegzet vételnél. Egyre növekszik a hideg. Ujjait lilára csípte a hideg. Egy necc lóg jobb mutatóujján. Egy pár narancs töri meg a fakóra dermedt sarat.

A lépcsőház ajtaja is hidegen mereng. Lassan csikorog a lift…Egy égő pislákol a lépcsőház végében. Nem rég adták vissza a villanyt. Haza érkezett a fiatal apa. Kezében a necc narancs.

A szerény lakásban árad a meleg. Égnek a konyhában a gázégők. A falon egy lovas jelenetet ábrázoló bordó szőttes. Szerény fiatal lakás… Az ágy mellett csecsemő hangja hallszik. A gyerekdalt megtöri a háttérben zúgó Tévé. Fekete fehér arccal szól a néphez a diktátor. Legalább ne szólna semmit.

Az ágy mögött egy paplan fedi a beton földet. Alább hagyott a hideg. A szoba sarkában két radiátor önti a meleget a kis szobára. A paplanon egy fiatal anya játszik egy szőke fiú gyermekkel. Még nincs két éves. Fehér kis sapka a fején, fehér zoknik a lábain. Nem érzi a kisgyerek a hideget. Figyeli, amint anyja kezében a kis lovas életre kel. Mosolyog a parányi falovasnak. Fölnevet és kezeivel tapsolni kezd. Alább hagyott a hideg. A szőke fiúcska mellett egy Mózes kosár. Egy párnapos barna csecsemő halk szunnyadása simogatja meg a meleg levegőt. Kis csipkés takaró melegíti a pár napost. Fején halvány sapka. Álmában mosolyog. Alább hagyott a hideg

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The past few weeks’ endless sea of mud gave way to the increasing frost. The neighborhood’s new concrete flats lay separated by the never ending swamp. The cold keeps on rising. Former mud wrinkles froze to a solid mass of concrete. Cold creeps in the silent homes. A thin layer of snow lies frozen on the solid tire tracks.

Snowflakes start to screech under the approaching Clujeana boots. A young father picks up the pace. Swirls of foggy vapors leave his nose at every breath he catches. The cold keeps on rising. His purple, frost bitten fingers hold a small shopping bag. A couple of oranges break the lifelessly stiffened mud.

The flat’s entrance door wobbles under the cold. Slowly, the elevator screeches its way to the top floor…A light bulb flickers at the bottom of the corridor. They’ve just restarted the electricity. The young father arrives home. A bag of oranges in his hand…

Warmth surrounds the modest home. Gas burners warm up the kitchen. A dark red canvas portrays a battle of horsemen. A modest young home…Next to the bed the voice of a toddler reaches trough the room. In the background an erratic TV set disturbs the childish notes. With a black and white face ,the dictator addresses the people. It would be better if he just kept quiet.

Near the bed, a blanket covers the concrete floor. The cold started to diminish. In the corner, two radiators toss their warmth around the room. A young mother plays with a tiny blond child on the blanket. He’s not even two years old. A small white hat covers his blond head, white socks warm his little feet. He doesn’t feel the cold. With curios eyes he follows her mother’s every move, as the small toy horseman comes to life. He smiles at the wooden toy, followed by a silent giggle among his clapping hands. The cold started to diminish. A Moses basket lies next to the blond boy. The silent sleeping of a couple of days old toddler touches the warm air. A small blanket covers his little body; a pale white cap keeps his little head warm. He smiles in his dreams. The cold started to diminish.

Dec. 3O 2008, Február vége 1987 ; 30 Dec. 2008, the end of February 1987

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Karácsonyi angyal/ X-mas angel

December 24, 2008

Két, vékony hótakaróval fedett, Dacia szunnyad az útszélén. A járdára hullott pár pelyhet még nem igazán taposta szét senki. Egy sáros hó sáv választja el a járdát az úttól. Egy pislákoló oszlop szórja enyhén meleg fényét. Senki igazán az utcákon… A távolban egy lobogó hadakozik a tomboló széllel…Szunnyad a két öreg Dacia. Ki tudja, ha eljön majd hozzájuk is az angyal?

A thin blanket of snow covers two cars, slumbering on the side of the road. Some lost snowflakes lie scattered on the side-walk. No one is there to trample them. A muddy line of snow separates the side-walk from the street. A flickering light bulb slowly casts its warm light. The streets lie empty…In the distance a flag battles with the raging wind…The two old cars continue their slumber. Who knows if the angel will pay them a visit tonight?

Dec. 24 2008

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Simple songs…

November 13, 2008

Just two songs for today…maybe everyday…simple songs, simple lyrics…just listen to them

Bob Marley: Three little birds

Dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin: dont worry about a thing,
cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Rise up this mornin,
Smiled with the risin sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin, (this is my message to you-ou-ou:)”

Bob Marley: Redemption song

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery;
None but ourselves can free our minds.
Have no fear for atomic energy,
cause none of them can stop the time.
How long shall they kill our prophets,
While we stand aside and look? ooh!
Some say its just a part of it:
Weve got to fulfil de book.

Wont you help to sing
These songs of freedom? -
cause all I ever have:
Redemption songs;

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Sounds

June 5, 2008

Thoughts, people, faces, pictures, lights, colours, sounds, flavours, tastes, joys, sorrows, smiles and tears…you turn on the tap. The rose scatters the ever accelerating droplets. With lighting speed they crash into the white tiles… people, faces, pictures, lights, colours, sounds, flavours, tastes, joys, sorrows, smiles… your hand grabs the shower gel. Green crème flows over it. You look at it. It slides on your arm. A rapid mass of water falls on you…faces, pictures, lights, colours, sounds, flavours, tastes, joys, sorrows… they intermingle and engage in battle. Water with crème, droplet with foam! Thousands of droplets touch your skin while you stare at the unfolding battle… pictures, lights, colours, sounds, flavours, tastes, joys…A drop touches your finger. You look up and observe it…A drop in a mass of millions. Slowly it glides on your wet skin closer and closer to the edge of your finger. It disappeared. A drop of water… lights, colours, sounds, flavours, tastes… Soundlessly your fingers touch the heavy waterfall. A drop. Two, three. They all leave your hands and fall in the distance… colours, sounds, flavours… you feel as hundreds of drops run through your forehead, glide on your face and continue their game…A drop still hangs on your chin. It clings on and silently glides. It doesn’t want to let go, but it cannot continue anymore. A moment of weakness and lets your skin go. Without a sound it floats in the raging torrent. An echo…sounds…Your hand hears it; catches it. Smooth, but you can’t feel it. Transparent. No flavour, no taste, no thoughts. It’s empty and you only heard its voice once. Empty and it has everything in it. A moment of nothing in the middle of everything.

5th of June 2008, Utrecht

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Another song gentlemen!

March 24, 2008

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Another song gentlemen! Psalm 237 “We praise you Lord” could be heard in a solemn and gloomy voice on the porch of the minister’s home in a tiny village. The village’s second reunion. Uncle Jóska (Joseph) the village’s almost eighty year old chorister gave the tone. We praise you Lord and it seemed more like the notes of a funeral march. Strange feelings grab me. The second reunion; something new and an unseen event and in the same time the sound of a dieing world brakes the silence. I sit next to the door and I gather all my strength not to burst in tears. Old folks from a distant and forgotten world, sitting with their crippled backs on the bench. Poor Hidas Jóska (Bridge-builder Josef) and Kicsi Jóska (Little Josef) lead the tiny choir. Csíki Laci next to them and Tót Pityu also join them. Long forgotten memories, dreams, joys and sorrows tear up my weekdays. How many bricks did I get from this region with which I started building my life and how many memories still tie me to this elderly village? How much of this can still be saved, will there be anyone in ten years who with his rusty voice can shatter the silence? Will there be anyone who will come back to this place? …The afternoon passes and we head home. The sounds of a solemn and gloomy song fill the car. I look out of the window. Above the forest the Sun’s raze dismantle a flock of clouds. A hawk flew away in the setting Sun’s shadow…

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca); 23rd of July 2003

Szászdányán (Daia); 23rd of July 2003

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Why is that…

November 2, 2007

…Why is that when ever the weight of time pressures someone from each side he is able to be the best he can be and when finally he can catch a breath from under this pressure his only desire is to get back to his former life, ‘cause he feels idle…He can’t even write as he wants to, words don’t pour out of his mind and as soon as he starts his thoughts he changes something, because he feels that something is not right… I’m taking part in a boring afternoon right now. For days now I’m trying to get away from the overwhelming heat of the summer. People are dull and bored and even that worthless small dog on the edge of the road puts its head between its paws and takes a nap in the shadow of the stairs. Everything is the same…the house is empty…everyone is struggling somewhere so this can all be over and the summer vacation can start. I’m sitting here idle listening to some of the inhabitants of this neighborhood as they babble of nothing special…It seams that you can write a couple of rows even about being idle and doing nothing…maybe even more than I previously thought. Everyone is treading his alley, with troubled heads walking on their solitary path. Sometimes this world is so beautiful, but than again it’s so… I cannot find the word… this hadn’t happened for a while. People are lonely these days… there everyday dull lives push them forward, but sometimes not even that. There aren’t any ideals, heroes, suffering young lovers, just grey worn faced shadows. Here and there you can still see a person but the haze washes him away in an instance. The children still happily play the grownups’ world, laugh and frolic around. And you slowly lean out and shout at them, because at this time of the day a grownup needs peace and quiet, forgetting that once you were in their place. And once your child will ask you Hey Dad, weren’t you a child once?… and words will stop in your throat, you crawl into yourself and slowly nod, knowing that those moments will only visit you on a sleepless night… And now I feel that I should refresh one of these small stories, but something tells me not to…Probably ‘cause I don’t remember it or maybe you don’t want to share the treasure you hold inside you…And in times like this your childhood hours come to life. On summer days like this when in a sleepy old village you and your cousins were quietly playing in your own world. These are the hours that appear in front of my eyes now…The four children are playing in the sandbox in front of the small house, hiding from the scorching rays of the Sun. On the worn blue walls lies the cool foliage of the grapevines. Beneath it eight tiny hands are shaping clay… They soak their hands in the small riffle so the clay will slide more easily between their fingers. Suddenly grandma’s voice rises from the kitchen… – Oh you devils! Didn’t I just tell you that the cows will have to drink from it!… The four small heads somberly look at the ground. Feeling embarrassed they had back to the sandbox and look back. – Grandma’s gone – And the activity resumes. How many wonderful figures rise from the hands of the children. Ducks, chicks and even a tiny cow comes to life and dances in the sand, thrashing around the sand with its jumps. Three of them get up. The clay is not enough…They need some more and soon enough the whole farm will be jumping in the sand. I was left by myself… with agile moves the clay turned into an eye, ears and two horns….AAAAhhh – screamed the child. Everyone ran towards him. The huge red rooster had jumped on his back and pinched his shoulder. The smallest of the four was screaming, fighting the red beast. Soon enough granny’s figure stood there, grabbing the rooster by its wings and wiping the tears of the child’s face with her other hand. – Don’t worry son…I’ll cut it in an instance. Let me see that scar – The three playmates arrived, Everyone was cheering him up. It’s okay…everything’s fine. He sniffed and wiped the last of his tears. The danger was gone… then slowly the animals in the sandbox started jumping around again….And it looks like I could write this down. Tiny childish memories from a past period. It’s good to think back. And maybe this heat is not that unbearable anymore. It was worth leaving today…

Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca) 25th of July 2006

 

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Human

October 27, 2007

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) 19th of June 2007

 

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Life in a nutshell

October 22, 2007

 

- 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) 9th of July 2007

Budapest 5th of July 2007