Synopses of Three Novels by M. V.

I. Sing A Song

Written in Hungarian. 259 pages. Original title: "Zenga zének." First published in 1983 by Szépirodalmi Publishing House, 1983. It is the tenth book by this author.

Outline:

This is the story of one year in the life of the country of Hungary. One protagonist is a six-year-old boy; the other is history. His name is Sonny: he is a puny child, too serious for his age. He often rebuked by grown-ups who are disturbed by the endless stream of his premature wisdom.

The story begins on October of 1955. When we become acquainted with Sonny in the small, dark and gloomy room which is Sister Angelica's apartment. She is teaching him religion. Sister Angelica had been a nun until 1948, when the monasteries and convents were secularized by the state. Since that time she has earned her living as a cleaner. In Hungary no kind of religious education was allowed this time. Sister Angelica worked as a Bible teacher only occasionally and secretly. Had she been reported, she'd have been imprisoned for years.

Sonny's father had worked at the Ministry of Interior until the arrest of Lásszló Rajk in 1949. Then Sonny's father was fired. He was lucky, a lot of his colleagues were imprisoned. Even they were luckier than Laszló Rajk, the Minister of the Interior, who, along with three other high leader of the country, was executed for espionnage. The charges and the evidences were equally false-Rajk became the communist Dreyfus of Hungary. Sonny's father worked as a lathe operator at a factory after his dismissal.

Sonny can't understand all of this. He wouldn't have understood it if the grown-ups had told him the story, either; but they didn't. In the Hungary of the fifties adults are afraid of speaking openly to each other even between four friendly walls; it's too dangerous to run the risk of being reported. That's why nobody talked about anything important to their kids or in the presence of them. Children had to be satisfied with a few carelessly dropped words-and with their own fantasies. Sonny has a more vivid imagination than his contemporaries and a stronger desire for understanding as well.

He can't understand his mother's order that his visits to Sister Angelica are to be kept top secret. Why is he not allowed to tell his classmates? He wonders whether the other boys have to go to such lessons, and if they do, to whom? Besides, why isn't he allowed to mention to Sister Angelica of his father's previous employment?

To top it all off, his mother's father and brother had owned a cabinet-making shop till 1948, when all shops, factories and banks were nationalized. Since that time they have worked illegally in the cellar of the house where the whole family have been living; this is Sonny's most pressing secret.

Sonny had just become an advanced Catholic when he got ill. His tonsils had to be taken out. In the hospital he underwent some awful experiences, and he learned a lot about life and death. Witnessing the death of a nice boy whom he felt was his best friend, he came to understand that Sister Angelica's teaching had not always been true. He starts suspecting that Jesus Christ was only a fairy tale figure like Donald Duck.

After his recovery he stubbornly refuses to return to Sister Angelica. Instead, in the elementary school he applies for the "Atheistic Study Circle". It's actually a very simplified Marxixt-Leninist course for children, headed by an enthusiastic but not too clever teacher.

The Bible gets mixed step by step with the Communist Manifesto in Sonny's brain. He has a frequent dream. The annual military parade of Budapest is watched by Jesus Christ and Stalin from the pedestal of the latter's statue. Both are waving merrily, Jesus is wearing Stalin's peaked cap, and the dictator is wearing God's halo.

The chaos in Sonny's head culminates when he is called "Jew" at school. He is sure he isn't a Jew and denies it. He is complaining of this to his father and is completely shocked to hear that he-unfortunately?-actually is a Jew. Why didn't anybody tell him? Why did they send a Jew to the Catholic Sister Angelica? And how could the obscure story told by his father about his parents (that is Sonny's grandparents) be true: that they were supposedly gassed in some place called Auschwitz?

Everything is confusing, meaningless and incredible. Family problems make Sonny's life hard, too; his parents' relationship comes to a crisis.

The October riot of 1956 breaks out, there are disturbances in the streets, and Stalin's enormous statue of bronze is demolished before Sonny's watchful eyes. It's a very frightening spectacle for him, and he can't sleep for days afterwards. The grown-ups are lying or keeping silent again as usual. Sonny would like to be informed about what's happening. For instance, why is the family afraid that his father will be takne away by the insurgents? Sonny suspects that the problem somehow stems from his father's former employment at the Ministry, but that's all he knows.

What's the use of asking questions if they are never answered? The guns of freedomfighters and Russian soldiers are shooting in the streets, the frightening noises make the walls tremble. Sonny is afraid. During the wildest battle's nigt he starts stuttering. "Wha-wha-wha-t's ha-happ-ppening?" he keeps repeating. "I don't know either," his father says. Sonny's retort: "The-then how cou-could I know?!"

The greatest part of the 309-page novel's text describes Sonny's thoughts in a style that imitates children's speech and brings amusement into even the saddest scenes.

II. The New York-Budapest Subway

Written in Hungarian. 350 pages. Original title: "A New York-Budapest Metró." Came out in Budapest in June, 1993 at

AB OVO Publishers, and hit the 4th place on the Hungarian best seller list (15.000 copies sold).

Outline:

This is the story of a really successful failure.

Or rather: this is the story of a really failureful success. That of Gyula Marton, Hungarian actor, director and playwright. The amusing account of his adventures and experiences in the USA (1986-90).

Gyula Marton, as most Eastern European artists, has always envied his American colleagues. "If I were in their shoes! Having their possibilities, I could make wonders and a fortune." There comes a time, when our boldest wishes suddenly come true. Gyula Marton can go to America on a fellowship and try his hand at being an American: an American student first, at the famous and infamous Yale School of Drama. Later, he becomes an American guest lecturer at the Connecticut College and other universities.

Sinking deeper and deeper into the American culture and lifestyle, he never gives up his artistic ambitions. He was a noted professional in Hungary, he becomes a beginner in America. He has to cope with a foreign language and discover the rules and ropes of the minefield called the American community of artists.

Slowly and gradually, he reaches his goals, one by one: he receives a tiny part in a TV soap, one of his plays is being produced, he can perform at a regional theater. Gyula Marton doesn't become either famous or rich, but he gains a lot: a new language, a second home country, many acquaintances and friends.

In the end, he understands what's the secret of success: dumb luck. He doesn't meet anyone in America who is able to pronounce correctly his first name. Never mind... he moves from Gyula to Goola, Yule, Guy (pronounced in the French way), Jules, Myfriend, Darlin' etc. He shows up under different first name in every (ten) chapters. In the 8th he is permanently called "stupid idiot" by one of his bosses, the head of the film department at the Quinnipiac College.

The ten chapters tell the story of Gyula Marton's ten most important relationships in America. The reader can see him through the eyes of an American friend, lover, schoolmate, professor, student, rival playwright, agent, boss etc. The style of the novel is funny and very ironical: the bulk of the text is written in broken English, that is, in Hunglish (American idioms are translated word for word into Hungarian and sound really great-and weird-this way).

The title originates in a (day)dream of Gyula Marton (and the author): he is traveling on the Global Subway which goes around the world in about ninety minutes, with sips in New York, Chicago, Salt Lake City, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Ocean, Tokyo, Siberia, Moscow, Budapest, Paris, London, (the other) Ocean, New York. Actually, the train looks like the Metro North on which he is commuting from New Haven to New York (by the way, metro is Hungarian for subway). Anyway, Gyula Marton is heading for Budapest, but he falls asleep and wakes up only in Moscow. "Never mind," he thinks. "It's no big deal... I'm gonna go another round and that's that." In his dream, he has a yearly Global Subway Pass.

III. Mothers Are Not Chosen By Election

Written in Hungarian. 219 pages. Original title: "Anya csak egy van." Came out in Budapest in June, 1995 at AB OVO Publishers, and hit the 1th place on the Hungarian best seller list (56.000 copies sold up to now).

Outline:

The story of this novel is told simultaneously by the writer and by one of the two heroes: the mother. The other main character is the son, who doesn't- cannot-love her mother and feels guilty.

The mother is over seventy and she has been living for more than two decades with a classical case of manic depression. When we meet her at the beginning of the story, she just merrily killed herself since she didn't want to live. She tells us how she is laughing at the panic of her children (son and daughter). She is absolutely sure that she is dead.

Unfortunately (?), the doctors save her. So she must keep on living, accepting the waves of her illness. High tide and low tide-happiness and total darkness-alternate in her mind. When she is down, she has a hard time to leave her bed. When she is up, she feels that she is omnipotent and makes a big mess around her all the time.

Right after her miraculous recovery it turns out that she is very ill, and lung cancer kills her in another nine month of heavy suffering. His son cannot forget himself that he did not let her mother die when she committed suicide.

The mother with her irregular and undisciplined lifestyle is considered ill by many people whereas his stand up comedian son is considered successful. By the end of the story, we feel sorry for him, and we almost envy her, in spite of the fact that she is dead again, but she still can speak, feel and, most of all: laugh.

The whole novel is extremely funny, because the mother is capable of laughing in every possible situation of life-and death. His son (and the readers) should follow her example.

Here comes he first chapter of the novel (translated into English by Dóra Esze):

You Can't Have More than One

(Mothers Are not Chosen by Election)

1

Death has got a sense of humour.
Death has got a sense of humou.
Death has got a sense of humo.
Death has got a sense of hum.
Death has got a sense of hu.
Death has got a sense of h.
Death has got a sense of.
Death has got a sense o.
Death has got a sense.
Death has got a sens.
Death has got a sen.
Death has got a se.
Death has got a s.
Death has got a

how he will bug his eyes, my stupid son

my laci boy, never satisfied with anything in me

not even with our name, no, he's picked an artist's name for himself

but now he'll bug his eyes

not a word, not a sigh

no way! it's just what he never expected

although doctor gizella bartosik told him to be prepared for it, as for a natural consequence, still

oh, no, he always knows everything better, and doctor gizella bartosik can simply never be right, just because my stupid son finds her a most unpleasant person, but as for this, it is reciprocal

weeell, my laci boy, seems you will stare, seems you will be scratching your head with the bold spot growing in your hair, you're in trouble deep, your mother has really done the dirty on you, now take measures if you can, but quick! by the way it is too late, ha ha ha

not that i expected anything else from my stupid daughter, unfortunately she is a bit retarded, ever since she was born, it is not my fault, it was in god's will, or allah's or buddha's, or in hell knows who's, little sári has always been problematic, at nursery school, at primary school, at high school, it is a miracle she managed to graduate at all

my bandi man, may he rest in peace, always had tremendous trouble in dealing with sári, of course bandi would have preferred me to undertake the task, this one too, he wanted me to sit and study with her after i came home from fOmav and did the shopping and cooking and cleaning up, after i licked their bums clean, the whole fucking holy family, the only trouble was that by the time i licked their bums clean, the whole fucking holy family, it was late at night, little sári had to go to bed

oh, no, my life was not all beer and skittles, hee hee, i had little fun, it was not at all what i imagined as a little girl, but eat what you're given, eat what you got, i really skivvied it all away, and what have i got as a result? nothing, or a great big zero at the most, as engineer in chief rubányi used to say, he was my boss at fOmav, dead for three years or so now, for the purpose of larynx cancer, by the way i wanted to go to his funeral, for although i hated him, such an awful drover he was, but on the other hand his daughter sure deserves my condolences, she can't help the fact that her father was a terrible despot, comrade mister engineer in chief rubányi

engineer in chief rubányi used to show off with his daughter endlessly, he told us little oti had graduated from high school with flying colours, he used to show us the photos, little oti was accepted at the dentistry department, and then little oti received the people's republic scholarship, in the end of course little oti graduated with a red degree, by that time she became engaged, her fiancé was a world champion in speed-boating or a world champion in boat-speeding, couldn't care less, the point is they finally got married, and the champion in speed-boating, otherwise an engineer of some sort, went on a long term mission in italy, and took little oti with him, so there little oti went, and engineer in chief rubányi called her from the office every monday morning, he locked himself up in his office room of engineer in chief so that we do not notice, but everyone knew anyway

he always had us stay on at work, engineer in chief rubányi, as if keeping an exact account of parts demands to tractors "utos and zetor" type made any difference, russian and czechoslovakian comrades never sent us more extra parts than the quantity that pleased them, or the quantity they had on stock, and compared to this engineer in chief rubányi had us beaver away so that we prepare the files ready to use, we had to mark files with pencils, the items missing in red, the ones to be ordered in blue, and the ones that had arrived in green, the item missing the most often was the rocker shaft, good gracious, what can the rocker shaft be? what a word, my god, what a hell of a word

one night when engineer in chief rubányi dumped some urgent postal work on me again, i took my laci boy to the office with me, oh, engineer in chief rubányi always had me at hand for such stuff, i was a plough horse good enough, my laci boy was fiddling around with the type machine, strumming something on it, and in the end that something turned out to be a serious official letter to engineer in chief rubányi, one in my little son impelled him not to have mum work so much, because we need mum too! - when he was small he needed me, at that time he did, at that time he used to love me, love me very much

Death has got a sense of humour.

It does too, Ladó thought to himself. His real name had long been forgotten, except by a few friends from his childhood. Following the bureaucratic process, it was his artistic name that figured in his identity card, but not many people used that either. He was named Ladó by one of his colleagues (after a television show in which he made jokes about taxation). And the name stuck. Even most policemen knew he was Ladó. Ladó the funny.

Do tell us a good joke, Mister Funny, we'd like to have a good laugh!

I have no sense of humour in civil life, he always thought in these situations, but did not dare to say it out loud. They would not believe it anyway.

There was only one person who called him Laci, what is more Laci boy: his mother. At times she called him Lacpac. He hated all three versions.

He often pictured himself his mother's death. This could hardly be by chance, he knew.

He saw his mother in some hospital (his father also died in a hospital), spread out on a blanket of a contestable white colour, the nails were untidy on one of her hands, and carefully manicured on the other, varnished a burning red, the physician in a white gown was feeling her pulse, and then all he said was Sorry, mister Ladó, there is no hope! And he was waiting for a collaborative smile to appear the next moment on the face of the lean man: all right, and now do tell me a good joke, Mister Funny!

We'd like to have a good laugh!

sári was the one who came here, by pure chance

an intuition

both of them have a key, sári was meddling around with the lock for a while, that is how i knew it was her, i have been living here for over a year now but my stupid daughter still hasn't managed to learn that the lock below is to be unlocked in the opposite direction, no, this simple fact is beyond her simple mental capacities, she always fiddles around with the key for minutes on end, muttering to herself in the meanwhile, i can hear it inside, i usually choose to go and open up myself, everything rather than her murmuring, it annoys me, but in my present position it would be most difficult to go and meet her at the door, can't even move my little finger

in struts sári on her high heels, bang bang bang, that she might wake me up doesn't disturb her a bit, she can't know what i am doing, i might be taking my siesta, but my stupid daughter has no idea about what tact is, this word is entirely missing from her vocabulary, it always has been, so in she clatters, she stops in the middle of the room, she notices me, mum's asleep she says inanely

she approaches me and stares into my face, doesn't know what to do, keeps observing me with her goggle eyes for a while, takes a look at her watch, takes a look at me again, finally she swoops her palm onto my forehead, as if she wanted to know if i have fever, she who can't even tell fever about her own children this way, with her hand, it's always been me who notices it: sári, don't you think this kid is somewhat too warm? - and she answers with a bellow: mum, come on

and now what

mum, she says hesitating, mum, mum! of course i don't move, my limbs are a swirling fog, so i feel, my vision is insecure, sure, my eyes closed, no easy task, but i can still sense she is leaning close, very close to me, mumming on in the same intonation

whatever is she hoping? what is she waiting for? why won't she do something at last? - oh, my little sári has been so helpless all her life, a real dope, mum, she keeps repeating again and again, thinking that something will happen, jesus christ

presses her hand on my forehead again but can't feel it's colder than it should be, listens to my languid breath for a while, then leaves me where i am, dodders on to the kitchen, fantastic, what the hell can she be wanting there? is she hungry, perhaps? - i can hear her open and close the refrigerator, great, i wonder what's going on in that dumb-dumb head of hers - she'll end up cooking while i am laying here, cooling away

she's here again, mumming on, good job, honey, keep trying, trallala trallala, i'm not antsy, won't lose my head, live for a hundred years till i drop dead

i say

i got the joy joy joy joy in my heart, life has got its sunny part, pa doo bam bam

at last it occurred to her to call her brother, never in her life has she had a thought of her own, always nagged her father while he was alive, later on this role was passed on to my son, doing an even crummier job in fulfilling it than my poor little bandi, and, of course, she's had me, the constant safety net for my daughter, she could always count on me, through thick and thin, and as for me she's always afforded everything, accordingly, really, you can't have more than one, more than one mother, god, how much she made me swallow, all that hysteria, all those scenes, all that hollowing and banging the doors

oh, everyone has always made me swallow, my stupid son uses me to wipe his feet in too, i am someone to be ashamed of, i can't be invited anywhere, so he's dragging around that aggressive wife of his to all those places, i, if possible, am not to interfere with his company, he's popular, as we know, so the fact that his mother is only a simple woman might damage his reputation, a simple woman who never studied at a university and spent her whole life among the extra parts files at the fOmav

the company was perpetually reorganized with me sitting there, in the end it was called agrocomplex, that is where i retired from on a nervous basis, for the purpose of manic depression, according to the expertise report from doctor gizella bartosik, but had i listened to my stupid son, i would be jotting down figures on the crappy files till this very day, oh, how he used to frighten me that i would be bored to death after i retire, me, bored, i was never bored for a minute, never in my life

true, since then i would have been sent away anyway, nowadays even young people are told to hop it, there they have the unemployment aid to live on, engineer in chief rubányi would also have been retired, should he not die on the sly, you can say larynx cancer just came in handy for him, although it's a of the real ugly illness, he did not suffer much though, went for his tea in relatively little time, may he rest in peace, good news or no news about the dead

sári lucked out and found her brother, what's more he condescended to pick it up, usually he doesn't, he turns on either his answering machine or his aggressive wife, he must have been the very first in town to get himself an answering machine, brought it home from paris at least ten years ago, and then he switched on to more and more modern ones, he's given me one of the machines he doesn't need any more, he keeps quarreling with me why i won't turn it on, but i won't turn it on, i don't know how to, nor will i tell him, i don't want him to breath backwards and start lamenting, oh, mum, i've told you a thousand times, look, i'll show you, why don't you put it down this time! - no way will i put it down, i'm not interested, what does it matter if people can reach me even when they can't reach me? bullshit, of course he insists because he wants to leave messages when he condescends to call, although he remembers to call me so very rarely, it really makes no difference at all anyway, what's more, if i'm not at home, let him take the pain to call me again, after all i am his mother, ain't i

the machine he has presently is even capable of faxing, oh, sure, he has to have every single mechanizing item, the pocket phone and the electric toothbrush, and he despises everyone without all this stuff to such an immense extent that you're almost compelled to feel ashamed, but after all what good is it if your toothbrush is moved by batteries? you should have the strength to clean your teeth without electronic help while you're alive, provided you still have anything to clean, i would rather if we skipped that question, all in all my son gets under the weather if he can't have the most modern tape recorder, and that cee dee or what, the computer and the rest, all he adores is machines, nothing else

oh, no, i don't even like to call him any more, who wants to know how real unpleasant that woman can be on the phone, as soon as i hear her croaky voice i feel like hanging up, hello there, it's zsuzsa speaking here shrills she in that unhesitant manner, as if she was afraid i would question she's zsuzsa, or that she's speaking there, funny funny, i know she's there, where else would she be, once my stupid son's married her, regardless of my opinion, oh, i don't matter to him, i should say i don't even exist for him

whenever i go and see them, my laci boy retires into his staff room after ten minutes, he is the one who always has some work to do, but he doesn't do anything, he won't even sit at his desk, he's only laying on the carpet and says he is thinking, why does he have to think just when his mother has gone to visit him? there he is, thinking, and i have to chat with hello there it's zsuzsa speaking here, not having no one better, little julcsi, my favorite grandchild, the first in the row, used to idolize me, she used to adore her grandmother, and now? she treats me like someone seriously ill, she's so kind to me, so tactful it almost hurts, they must instruct her to behave so, i can imagine the stories they must be telling her about me, her and the others, what the hell, i don't care

god, this helpless little sári of mine is not even able to explain the situation to her brother on the phone properly, on the other hand my stupid son is also worth his powder and shot, he must be putting question after question, that's what he always does, for coming here is the last thing he wants to think about, he wants sári to leave him alone, to solve it without him, but sári is in her usual shape, mum's asleep and i can't wake her up, she is repeating for about the fourth time, well done, honey, keep chatting, you two bloods of mine, take your time, feel comfy, when i am dead, my dearest, sing no sad songs for me

she wants to approach my bed, but the wire's got tangled up, she's pulling it about instead of undoing it, now that won't work, someone tell her, never mind, she'll realize, oh, no, she won't, my sári girl just won't realize, she's staining at it, sheee shall not she shall not be moved, but she'll manage to jerk it from the plug if she carries on like this, she may even jerk the plug from the wall, once i did manage to, it happened at the time of the bugger with bélos, long long ago, in those beautiful ugly times, who knows if it wasn't only a dream

Mum always bulges into my life in the worst moment.

For when should the small portable phone start to ring in Ladó's pocket if not the minute Vera appears in the back hall of the café - twenty minutes late?

That day. The CRUCIAL day.

Last time they met they decided Ladó would wait for her at any rate, and Vera - Vera would come, or she would not. If she would NOT, Ladó would stop. There was no way of going on like that. Seeing each other only meant torture to him, soft love came radiating from Vera's eyes whenever she looked at him, but that was the most they got up to. And this drove him crazy.

Ladó also told her he had an erection every time they met, in the shelter of the tables at the restaurant or the bar. At the age of forty-four, he was somewhat too old for that. Vera should realize at last it was always she who determined what happened, Ladó the funny's sense of humour withered away in her company, his will melted into thin air. Everything depended on Vera: would she be into living with him, she could get him abandon his family for her. If, on the other hand, Vera was unable to separate from her partner, why not accept him as a lover? The situation would develop into something anyway. So he confessed his love to her for the fifth time - and finally offered this appointment, this crucial one: he would be waiting for Vera, and if she comes, they may as well spend the whole day together. Making love, that is. If she does not - it's all over, Ladó will disappear from the scene.

Fine, Vera said, the conditions are clear. The only problem is Wednesday morning she has an appointment with her esthetician, then she has lunch with her mother… Okay, Ladó interrupted, let the crucial day be Friday then.

The matter was settled.

Friday morning, eleven o'clock.

There Ladó was sitting on the uncomfortable wrought iron chair, his elbows on the table cloth of a tasteless pattern, pretending to be reading a newspaper, but the letters blurred into a single patch before his eyes. Minutes kept pulling by endlessly.

No, she isn't.

The deception gave him such pain he started to snarl in full force.

No, she isn't coming, the cruel bug, God, what a drag, I'll be sitting here for hours, and she won't come! The icy girl, woman or dame is not coming, SHE ISN'T COMING! - old judies are staring into my clock, so is the waiter, they're right, what the hell am I doing here? Why don't I just split the scene fast? - so Ladó the funny was snarling.

What an asshole I am… there goes my last chance. I can't even call her any more!

The heck did she cancel it for Friday for if she knew she wouldn't come anyway? For my agony to last two more days, obviously…

Ladó had been lurking around Vera for four months, they had been seeing each other in secret since, and he had not as much as taken her hand. Vera was eight years younger than Ladó, her fragile beauty paralyzed him. Faint heart never won fair lady, he told himself before each rendezvous, thinking this time he surely would - but whenever Vera appeared, the glaring light that brightened the tables in the restaurants, cafés and bars made Ladó's courage shrink.

She will burn me if I touch her.

Vera's glamour was cold, rather than hot, like starlight. Anyway, Ladó grew weak in her presence. Whenever he caught sight of her, his heart missed a beat for a second that seemed endless.

This is ridiculous.

Love á la operetta.

He behaved like hot adolescents do. He often drove to the street where Vera lived, at the dead of night, turned the engine off, and nothing more than sat there, gazing at the dark square of the window. He knew Vera was asleep there, on the third floor, he could picture it fine, he had visited the flat several times. Vera appointed the smallest room the bedroom, the double mattress on the bare floor served as her bed. Their bed…

Oh yes. That is where her partner is spending the night with her, the smallish, muscular man whom Ladó saw only once, but that was enough for him to decide the person was a mere doggy. A doggy wagging its tail. Which is to say Vera prefers doggies who wag their tails.

Well then, great, so whatever holds you back from barking in a thin voice, from licking her hands all over and wagging your tail?

Instead, he sank in Vera's penetrating look, letting the time they spent together seep from his benumbed fingers.

They were usually discussing Vera's problems. Vera was unhappy. She was unable to decide whether she should break up with doggy or give life to a child from him quick. Ladó got stuck at the question even. Has this woman gone out of her mind? If she wants to break up with him, how the heck can she be considering bearing him a child?

Vera put on a wise smile, yes, that is exactly why the matter is complicated. Doggy-wagging-its-tail - this is not what she called him, of course - is the first man she fell in love with so deeply that the idea of giving him a kid occurred to her. The only problem was, despite everything she found her life empty by his side. So what should she do?

Ladó started to chew at his lips, God, I wish I managed to refrain from starting my usual lectures! - but he did not. He himself did have children. Three of them. The reason why you want to have children is that the creature you love will not do in the one and only copy there exists, you wish to have this creature doubled. Tripled. Quadrupled. Etcetera. And you see the creature in question reflected in the children - and yourself, of course. So, if Vera is meditating on tossing doggy-wagging-its-tail out of her life - this is not what he called him either -, because despite her deep love she happens to feel her life is empty by his side, what the hell would she double him herself for? She would have to toss out two of them from then on. And there is no way to separate from children, it is the only kind of bondage that lasts until your dying day.

I sound like an old holy joe, Ladó the funny thought to himself.

Where's your sense of humour gone, daddio?

Ladó the funny has no sense of humour in civil life, as we know.

All Vera did was smile, and the subtle melancholy that spread on her face made Ladó feel desperate. What is this heart-to-heart? Here, take her hand, hug her shoulder, kiss her!

But in the moments that seemed the most suitable, various men and women stared at them with their inquisitive looks, Ladó hated all of them, what's up, am I the first Caucasian you see in your life? He tended to forget about Vera's reputation. Vera was a television compere, and although she only appeared on the screen early in the afternoon or late at night, she was recognized on every corner. As for Ladó, since this strange affair of his had begun, he got down to watching television early in the afternoon and late at night. He found Vera's glamour even colder on screen, and while he sat listening to his love letting know the programme of the following day, he was shivering all over.

He did not take her hand - he was simply incapable. He confessed his love four or five times instead. Vera listened with a shy smile. Do I have to answer this very moment?, she asked. No, you don't, Ladó said quickly. He feared the answer would be Thanks, but NO.

He would not be able to stand it.

my little dumb-dumb sári is slapping my face again and again, she thinks that'll make me wake up, luckily i can't feel anything, were i not in such a state, she would be driving me nuts, i wish she stopped mumming

uncovers and bundles me, what, is she crazy? my god, what a dead loss she is, where, where? - she must be kidding, we're heading for the bathroom, she hits my feet against all the doors we meet on our way, never mind, who cares for the trifles, and as for big deals they don't matter

jesus, now she's standing me into the tub, trying to drag my nighty off me, as soon as she lets me go, i collapse, she tries again, but she would need a third hand to succeed, or at least some kind of dexterousness, but why mention a third hand, all she has is two left hands, plucking at my togs, doesn't have enough courage to tear it all off, what would she do if i had had an accident and my life would depend on her undressing me

out of her mind, this girl, or what, running the cold water tap on me right the way i am standing here, in my nighty! a genius of an idea! lucky all my nerves are numb already

leaves me where i am, leaning me against the tiled wall, i slowly slide down into the tub, can hear her talking on the phone again, obviously she hasn't even hung up, she's reporting the situation to her brother, seems it must have been my stupid son who advised her to put me under the shower, perhaps that would wake me up, but waking up is the last thing i'll do, i don't give a shit about you all, bye-bye, love, bye-bye happiness

so here i am, lying in the tub, dressed up, exactly the way uncle buci did, an old friend of my bandi man, used to be a feast coachman in somogyszil, even in the wildest wilderness of socialism, at times he used to come to budapest and do some shopping and it was us who put him up for the night, he always used to bring us two or three large round loaves of bread typical of the country, the ones that won't get dry in weeks even, my poor husband was crazy for village bread, bread baked in real ovens, socialist bakeries always baked crappy loaves, i never understood why on earth they were uncapable of baking some proper stuff, as that's what the people needs, bread and circus, as my bandi always used to say, well, he really was the one to adore bread, especially freshly baked bread, as soon as i took a loaf home he cut the round end off and had it that way, naked and awry, he grabbed the steaming inside part, pressing it in between his fingers as if it was plaster, and stuffed his mouth, i never saw him enjoy anything as much as hot, fresh bread

he told us how he and his brothers used to quarrel regularly over the bit with the tiny bakery note on it, my bandi swore that little piece with the printed scrap was far tastier than the rest, this bullshit was later on adopted by my laci boy, for my son always accepted everything from his father, i wonder if it had remained this way, had it been bandi to live longer than i, had he been the one to assist to his son choosing such an aggressive woman for himself, with that foreign beam in her eyes

anyway, uncle bandi arrived one afternoon, laci boy let him in and left him alone, had to go training in fencing, uncle buci decided to take a bath, somogyszil not being provided with gas boilers, as we know, cleaned himself thoroughly, and only standing there, dressed and shaved and combed, only after he had cleaned the tub after himself and also wiped the floor did he realize he could not open the door, as no one had told him the key had long stopped functioning, that we were using the chain, the one bandi had screwed into the side-piece, which is to say uncle bandi fell a prisoner, he knocked for a while on the door, then on the wall, hoping there would be someone to let him out, but no, there wasn't, later on he grew sleepy, so he made his bed in the tub with some towels, and fell sound asleep

when we got home, my laci boy mentioned that uncle buci had arrived, so we rapped on the door of the bathroom, no answer, we thought there was something wrong with him, so my bandi ran against it from a distance and broke the door open, he fell on his knees and slid right to the edge of the toilet, that is how uncle bandi awoke, in more or less the same position i am lying here right now, but he was glad to see us, whereas i'm not able to be glad to see anyone any more

During the last few weeks all they talked about was what normal couples discuss in bed.

Ladó told Vera all there was to say about his marriage, about his wife and his three children, Julcsi and the twins, that is, he told her about his mother and her illness, about his sister, his profession, and everything else he had in mind.

Most of the times he switched to the receiver post, though, and listened to Vera's description of her partner, and the crisis of their relationship growing graver and graver. He was listening the way a good-hearted old physician would. And it was according to this attitude he gave advice whenever he had the chance to speak. Making jokes he had heard or read or invented that very moment.

Once he complained to Vera. He could feel the SOMETHING just in the making between them was growing more and more intimate, still they were not getting closer to each other - not an inch. Exactly, Vera nodded. But why? Because you are married, she said, and I live together with someone. This - this is no real obstacle, Ladó found. Instead of answering him, Vera gazed at him, and Ladó was unable to decipher what she was thinking about from her look. He waited for a while, but Vera did not utter a word. Ladó started to sigh, I think the trouble is… I am afraid. Afraid of what? Of screwing it up. What have we got left to be screwed up, Vera asked, a brighter future?

The irritation in her voice struck Ladó right in the heart, Vera is impatient too… can this mean…?! - He re pictured the situation in his mind again and again for days, as some source of encouragement.

Several times they met at Vera's place, doggy-wagging-its-tail worked in a fixed schedule at the Institute of Geology, and had work to do in the country at least once a week. So it was not the first time Ladó found himself alone with Vera between four walls, he himself could not understand why he did not take the initiative. Following the whatever-is-there-left-to-be-screwed-up occasion, after listening to old Rolling Stones records for hours, Vera suggested they have lunch at a restaurant nearby. While Ladó waited for Vera to be ready to go, his heart beat like mad, and then he hugged her in a very timid way.

She did not let him do it: And now's the minute to hop it, quick! - she started towards the door. Ladó felt he would collapse on the spot. He pulled himself together in a little while, and followed Vera as a sad but obedient little dog would. Seems all men become a four-legged animal on the watch in her company, he thought to himself later. They get dogged down.

Maybe you're just as much afraid of this whole stuff as I am, he mumbled while Vera was meddling around with the lock. Vera did not answer. Will you give me no answer? - Ladó implored; You haven't asked me anything, she said with the smile Ladó loved so much, dawning on her face.

It was after three weeks of further suffering that Ladó suggested the everything-or-nothing appointment. As soon as he uttered the sentence, he had the feeling he shouldn't have put Vera at one stake. He was terrified of Friday, what is going to happen? His pessimistic intuition proved to be right: he spent twenty-two minutes on that most uncomfortable chair, his elbows on the table cloth of a tasteless pattern and the papers, considering whether or not to leave at once.

He signaled to the waiter, The bill, please. He did not look into the waiter's eyes, fearing to meet pity radiating from them. Vera and him often sat around there, consequently the young bod attending to his table could be absolutely positive about that Ladó the funny had been waiting for the television beauty in vain this time.

Bollocks.

Vera appeared behind the pillars that very minute, dressed in black from head to toe, and it suited her so much this time Ladó's heart missed a beat for two seconds that seemed endless. He wanted to start from his chair, but there was the waiter standing in front of him, he should have swept him out of his way in order to jump to his feet. Vera pulled up four metres from the table, that certain smile of hers spread on her face. Ladó plopped a one thousand note in the waiter's hand, thank you! - the boy did not move, he thought a six hundred and twenty forint tip to the three hundred and eighty forint bill can only be a misunderstanding, but Ladó was not interested at all, and felt ever so relieved when the waiter - exuberantly grateful - finally cleared off.

Thick, dense joy was wobbling around in his chest as a hot ball, he was trying to utter the words prepared specifically for the occasion: Vera, thank you for coming, this is the happiest, the ever-so-happiest moment of my life!

Vera parked herself on the other chair, and said the following: I'm not in the mood for adventures, but I can't give you anything else at the moment, this is what I came to tell you.

The hot ball burst, Ladó's body became covered with sweat all over, this… this can't be true, he muttered, I… I simply don't believe it… - but he already realized, no matter what he is shooting the crap about in pain, it could be true. He cleared his throat and said, Vera, thank you for coming, this is the unhappiest, the ever-so-unhappiest moment of my life.

Gosh… pure operetta, nothing else.

Operettalet.

Bullet-shitlet.

They both sat in silence for a while, the waiter returned to their table in a slightly bent posture. Vera ordered herself a mineral water with lemon rings. That is when the portable phone in Ladó's pocket started to ring. Since the day he acquired it, he was proud to offer his friends, Call me any time in my pocket! Now he was sorry he had not switched it off, of course.

He took the black machine, and while he pressed the green button on it, he put it to his ear. Hi, said someone far away. The sticky voice made Ladó's blood run cold, it was Sári, his dumb sister, right now… Sorry, he muttered into the receiver, this is not the perfect moment, I'll call you back. All right, his sister answered, but here I am at Mum's, she's asleep and I can't wake her up. What do you mean you can't? Mum's asleep and I can't wake her up, his dumb sister - dainty of her permanent adjective - repeated. Ladó had no idea what to do.

I ought to hang up.

Vera gave him an inquisitive look, Ladó shrugged his shoulders, wiped his perspiring forehead, You can't have more than one mother! - he claimed in a dramatic tone. Vera gave a sign of forgiving, Ladó should do what he had to do, and that dawning smile of hers spread on her face.

Ladó tried to suggest what he did in a coded language.

To slap Mum's face.

To pinch her.

To give her an ice cold shower.

The latter maneuver took Sári long, she seemed to have reappeared after endless minutes to let him know this method had not worked either. All right, Ladó sighed, hang on, I'm coming.

What's wrong? Vera inquired, and this time her smile glittered cold around her eyes and mouth. Ladó felt a strong desire to give this woman, treating him so cruel, a kick in the shin, but everyone would be looking at them, perhaps even a paper would publish an article on the case, on the gossiping page - Ladó hated such scandals. There is something wrong with my mother, he summed it up rather clumsily, I have to go and see her… you don't want anything from me anyway, do you? All Vera did was shine on the other side of the table, her perfect, nacreous teeth reflected the beam of the small coloured lamp of the café. Ladó felt physically unable to stand up and leaving this woman behind, but IT WAS A MUST!

Who knows what's going on with Mum. She sometimes drinks alcohol after taking her anti-depressive medicine, most probably this is what's happened to her, let us hope the best, suicidal thoughts regularly occur to people suffering from manic depression, Mum has never yet tried anything of the sort, still…

Look, Vera, I have to drop in to see my Mum now, I'll check what's going on with her, then I'll go home, cancel the hotel room I have reserved so that we can spend some time together in peace, and from then on I'll be waiting for you to bend your mind back to reality and call me, and realize at last I am the one you love, I've already told you I'm into everything from irresponsible adventure to marriage, so be a man, for chrissake, make up your mind, decide what you want, and call me, please, please call me! For I sure won't call you, after things have taken such a turn, you have to understand that, it's your turn now, call me! call me!

What a stupid speech I have made, he thought after getting into his car, now I've blown the whole thing, it's clear she couldn't accept my offer to spend a day together, in bed, such stuff always needs a little insecurity, a little mist, a little ambiguity, damn, how could I be such an asshole? - and he took his portable phone hastily to call Vera at once, but Vera was not at home yet, of course, only her answering machine, Thank you for calling one three one six six two four, unfortunately we can't come to the phone right now, but we'll call you back as soon as possible! - Vera gargled on the tape, Ladó has heard this message a thousand times, he has had enough time to come to hate it. Plural obviously denoted doggy-wagging-its-tail.

Singular or plural, Vera would never call him back. And had an excellent excuse not to: Ladó's wife. So - in Ladó's case the melodious words meant nothing more than that she would never call him back.

La Femme Blanche.

It was because of her milk white skin that he called her la Femme Blanche - and, of course, because white is the coldest colour of all.

He stepped into the elevator with a double misgiving: he also feared it was out of order again. Mum was living on the seventh floor. The elevator in that square house conked out once or twice a week, not that Ladó visited his mother once or twice a week, no: Mum always called him at once, Guess what, Laci boy, the elevator has conked out again! - When Mum was low, the declaration sounded like squeaking, the sprained intonation was followed by a blunt silence, but it deteriorated into a merciless shriek seasoned with obscenities whenever she was high.

Conked out, Ladó thought to himself while pressing one button after the other in vain - so one of his misgivings turned out to be true. He went for the stories with the other misgiving, the one about Mum having finished her life with her own hands, palpitating stronger and stronger in his brain.

Why should she have done such a thing? Why now?, he asked himself on the first floor. No, she has never… never yet…

No, she must have taken her medicine in a chaotic order again, and she's had some beerlet afterwards! - Mum only used words in the diminutive when she started her way up the slope that lead to the manic raging.

Vera pushed forward again, dressed in black from head to toe, with her shiny hair cascade, her dawning smile and her nacreous teeth, and it all hurt Ladó so much that he had to stop and lean against the wall that used to be painted apple green.

A middle aged woman went past him with bags packed full in both hands, Out of order again, she puffed into his neck, it's always out of order, what bastards these limitedcompanypeople are! Even the state real estate institute was better!

Ladó did not answer. He pulled himself together and got going upstairs again. Hauling Vera with himself.

I'm going nuts.

I'm going bananas.

in comes my stupid son, steps into the bathroom, his hair sticking up, must have had a run, righto, all in all i've managed to frighten him, my poor bandi man always had his hair sticking up too, even at the end, the very end when i took a look at him in the tray, both his children skipped that all right, the deary leary laci boy said the something that had remained was not his father any more, therefore he didn't wish to see it, his sister agreed with him at once, that girl has absolutely no will of her own, never has had, i say, relatives should after all take a look at their dear deceased one, they should say good-bye, i had to go to that moist underground hall without company just to see him once more, for the last time, the prosector dressed in green pulled the squeaking metal drawer out, and there he was lying, my bandi man, thin and calm, his gray hair wrinkled in a wave, the final struggle, i thought, he must have been tossing around on the pillow

my little son looks at me and goes pale, you nut case, he says to his sister, where's the phone? - and he's dialing the ambulance, come at once, i think it's very grave, and after a long silence he adds in a soft voice, obviously so that i don't hear, it's an overdose! - he pulls the colourless muslin shawl off my head, the one i tied my jaws up with so as not to look too bad when

not that i was particularly vain concerning my looks, who should i want to please, bélos was the last man in my life, what a bind that ended in, gee, i always knew i simply attract muck-up like a magnet, my poor bandi used to know it too, but he could bear it, oh, you could chop wood on his back, especially in the ultimate years, couldn't be fagged by anything, that man, having enough air to breathe satisfied him completely, at night i used to wake up to him sitting on the edge of the bed with his back curved and heaving, bandi, i asked, what's wrong, but he did not answer, i never knew if it was because he found talking too difficult or because he wanted to torture me

maybe he was simply ashamed of his weakness in front of me, he kept his illness as a secret all his life, he thought it concerned him and no one else, if he suffered, he was the one to solve the problem, and that is how he died, alone at night, didn't want me to stay by his side, always used to signal to me with his hand at the intensive department, and that meant go!, go! - signaled when he was only half conscious also, with his fingers elongated from losing weight, still yellow from nicotine, although he did not smoke during the last year, gave it up with immense difficulties

what a scrawny little egg, can he be the ambulance officer, gee, does he look like a delivery boy, the other guy, the fat head in the uniform must be the chauffeur, crawny one feels my pulse and pulls my eyelid open, we stare at each other for a few seconds, what's up, am i the first old woman you see in your life? - i would ask him, were my lips able to move, but no, not even my lips, i feel as if i could hear the murmuring sound of my own breath, it's as if i was snoring, or could this be some kind of an hallucination already? or hallicunation? which one is the word? - my laci boy is sure to know, he studied some latin at the university, attended the faculty of law, like his father, but in the end never became a lawyer

i can't see why men around me won't become lawyers, such an excellent profession, for, after all, what does a lawyer do? he'll have a chat with the clients, fabricate a document or two, hold a couple of speeches at court, and there go those nice thick wages in return, who needs anything more? - after the war i had the flat in the house bombarded in lendvay street built like a lawyers' office exactly because i was hoping the time when numerus clausus was over had come, my bandi man would become a lawyer and be on the make, we would have a car and a housekeeper, and bandi would take me to abbasia every year

true, bandi told me he would surely not be a lawyer, back in forty-six, but even if he would, god forbid, he would definitely not need to deal with clients in his own apartment, no, the system would be something totally different, the lawyers' group as such would be deleted, cases would come before the court by attorneys taken from the country, well, that seems to be the only point my bandi was wrong at, for although lawyers have been selected in so-called work communities, they have remained in their original positions all the time, making their piles all right, lawyers and physicians is hat people always need, that's exactly why i wanted my little son to become a physician, a surgeon type of physician, but never in his life has he taken my advice, so he chose to try the faculty of humanities, where he was not accepted, it was time he realized what a shame it was to trust his saucy friends' opinion, who, as we know, considered him to be a genius, so next year mister genius satisfied himself with the faculty of law, and there he was accepted, who knows how much it depended on the fact that the head of one of the departments was an old friend of my bandi man, one he used to work together with at rajk's office, my laci boy was completely against my bandi man having a word or two so that he succeed, as for me i think bandi did have a word or two with anyone he could in secret, despite the fact at that time he was practically an inhabitant of the hospital already

he did indeed complete the faculty of law, my laci boy, but what good was it to us if he hasn't become a lawyer either, the flat in lendvay street would have been at his disposal all the same, we were still living there, true, after my bandi died i let the best room for the ibusz, for permanent renting, of course i would have quit the moment my son would have opened an attorney's office there, true, while we lived in lendvay street, lawyers still had to work in the so-called work communities, this hell of a freedom we are having has only been invented recently, the freedom for everyone to do what they want, plus what they can, plus what they are not ashamed to

no hope if she's taken it all, the scrawny ambulance officer is telling my son and my daughter, taking a close look at the empty ampoules and boxes, sári starts to bellow, like a cow, gaaawd! - and there she goes, in tears already, making a hallow sound, keep crying, honey, if it makes you feel better, wouldn't have been a bad idea to worry about me before calling the ambulance, true, this is not the first case, once for example my blood pressure fell so much i was unable to get out of my armchair, there i sat, watching television, and when the programme was over my limbs simply refused to do what i wanted them to, i acquiesced relatively fast though, after all this armchair is a comfortable one, a shame i had to sell the other one and the sofa that went with it when they had me move into this flat, for there wasn't enough room for them, there is no room for anything in this place, this is the only proper piece of furniture i have left, this berger, ber-jher, my laci boy would correct me this very minute, as if it mattered a bid, this sinky armchair is from the set the committee of lost goods gave us back in forty-five at pécs, in pécs, my laci boy would correct me, i can get cosy in it just like a bird in its nest, it's just wide enough for me to tuck my legs under myself in it, i often imagine it's some kind of a raft, i'm shipping on the restless sea in this armchair, waves licking their tongues all around, and it balances, but it won't sink

so i was balancing in this armchair the night there were only black dots left zigzagging on the screen, i had obviously fallen asleep previously as i always do, and i was uncapable of getting up, incapable, my laci boy would interrupt

not a finger could i move, the little table with the phone was exactly twenty centimetres out of reach, a single step will do if your sword is too short, they say, the fact is i was unable to take that one single step, again i had the chance to state the majority of folklore wisdom is mere crap, i pictured myself having to sit on my armchair of a raft for days, no nothing to eat and no nothing to drink, listening to the buzzing of the tv and staring at its gray vibrations, at night that is, of course, the proper programme starts in the morning, true, as for the proper programme on our television, there is no such thing any more, my laci boy definitely has a point there

two days i sat in the armchair until he opened the door at last, fortunately i have given both of them a key, so that they can enter if i, in case i

that day laci boy called the ambulance at once too, no matter how i protested, saying it won't help me, they took me to the uzsoki hospital that very second and stated my blood pressure was too low, especially considering the medicine doctor gizella bartosik always prescribes me makes it go even lower, so i would have to take the drops that make my blood pressure go higher, by the way these drops doctor gizella bartosik also prescribed me long ago, but i never handed the prescription in at the pharmacy, these drops are a missing item, the pharmacy on the corner doesn't have it, toddling over to the big one in kígyó street is what i would have to do, fact, when i am high in my depression i don't need no medicine, and when i am low, i can't even get out of bed, i could ask my stupid children to have those drops bought, of course, but i hate to ask for anything, anyway, when i am low, i don't give a damn about anything, it's not those drops in specific missing to my happiness, just about everything is missing

then there was that other case when my laci boy called me, and although i tried very hard to conceal it, he could tell from my voice, so he rushed here at once, but it was a day i had left the key in the lock, he rang the bell and stumped at the door, but i couldn't open up, finally he obtained a piece of wire from one of the neighbours and fiddled around in the lock until he managed to push the key from it, and there i was rolling about in the hall, frozen in my own shit, with the receiver in my hand, for that once i had been in my mind to take it before i fell, so i had taken a strong hold of it, like of a weapon

i saw the face of my son flash with disgust, it sure must be an experience to see your own mother soaking in sweat, her nightshirt everywhere about her, in shit from head to toe, at that time i was way low with my depression, couldn't care less, i let him haul me into the bathroom, take my nighty off, clean me like you would clean a child, i wasn't even shy, even though that's the way i'd been brought up, not even in front of my bandi man did i like to go naked, i always ordered him to switch the light off

laci boy tried his best to observe my body with a medical eye, but he did take a look or two at my breasts and my loins, the interesting thing is that the first time i saw my parents' genitals was also when i had to nurse them, until that time i hadn't even known they had such things, this was really not a topic in our family, and then it wasn't in mine either, except for one, one single occasion with my laci boy, by that time he was a grown-up and me an old hag, more or less, he put me the question out of the blue whether i had ever cheated on my bandi while he was alive, and said i might as well answer as bandi had been dead for ten years then, whereupon i blushed to the root of my hair

i had this specific conversation in my mind while my laci boy dried me with a towel in his own cautious way, dressed me in those man's pajamas with the stripes on that i really didn't the least want to put on, for they used to belong to bélos, he was the one who left them here, but i felt too weak in order to protest, too weak to protest, my son would say, and the ambulance came, oh deary deary, now they will take me to the hospital in szabolcs street, and here's where it ends, i felt, for now they'll find out what my real illness is, these symptoms were much too much to be caused by manic depression, manic depression will never make you faint in the hall on your way to the bathroom, on your way to the loo, it won't make you shit yourself, won't make your voice suddenly go juice and jelly, won't make you lose all your sense of time all of a sudden, won't make you vomit your breakfast, won't make your saliva taste like oil, etcetera, etcetera

to my utmost surprise the ambulance officer didn't take me anywhere though, only gave me an injecton, according to my laci boy the word ought to be pronounced injection, the officer was a smiling bint of a kid, with hair short like thistles, stayed on for at least an hour and a half, not because of me, i think she liked my son, maybe she recognized him, i could see my laci boy also liked the little bird in the tight white linen trousers and the light blue tee-shirt, which gave a clear outline of her ping-pong ball breasts, they had a long long talk, murmuring only, so that i could not hear, first they were talking about me, my laci boy told her about everything, about my manic depression, about doctor gizella bartosik, about the nervous system and psychosis department in the hospital in szabolcs street, then about the closed department at the lipótmezO mental sanitarium where they put me exclusively because doctor gizella bartosik started working there, and i stuck to her, i am the faithful type, they were whispering by the small table so that i could not hear, the bint curled herself up cozy in the armchair exactly the way i always do, now that i am old, i grew small, quite small

dear mister ladó, your mother is seriously ill, the bint of a kid was explaining to my laci boy in detail, i cannot tell the what the matter is exactly, but she has got a serious illness, perhaps several illnesses! - in the meanwhile my son had prepared some coffee, offered some to the bint of an officer, not me, though, for i have been told to abstain from coffee, cigarettes and everything else i love by doctor gizella bartosik, laci boy took a careful look at me, askance, and, in an even softer tone, he asked her if all this might be a consequence of manic depression and all that medicine taken in such a chaotic order, to which the bint of an officer shrugged her shoulders and replied, after all everything is possible, thus agreed they considered the topic of me to be over, and switched to another one

my son put question after question to the bint of an officer, what was life in ambulancation like, how many times she was on duty a week, how much extra she was paid for the night shift, oh, my laci boy is a master at this activity, once he is interested in someone all he does is take a look at them with his dark eyes, shining like two buttons on your shoe, and the person in question will end up in telling him the story of their entire life, down to the most intimate details, unfortunately it is most rare he takes this kind of a look at me, isn't interested in me at all, i bet he would have been glad, had i left him alone with that bint of an ambulance officer in a discreet way, for they really had a thing about each other, oh, i would have loved to do it all the more to give hello there it's zsuzsa speaking here the hump, didn't have the strength to get up, however

what a pity this time it's the crawny officer who came and not the nice little bint, besides, the fat head chauffeur is what you would call a most displeasant person, i wouldn't mind him not touching me, on the contrary, the crawny officer asks my son's permission to borrow the armchair, the berger, my son nods towards him, go ahead, take it! - either he didn't want to know what these people needed my armchair of a raft for, or he has guessed

the thick reek of the chauffeur's perspiration has almost given me pain, it's a miracle my smell has remained so sensitive in the state i am in, something that works at last, the guy put me in the armchair and started to roll me out, hey, stop, stop for a minute, stop scratching my glazed floor all over! - oh, what the hell, they may as well scratch it

how did the fat head know the berger armchair fits the elevator exactly

a little while ago the elevator was out of order, my laci boy said, oh, we came up here no problem, the chauffeur answered, were i able to speak i would have told them that's how it goes, this rotten elevator of ours sometimes just gets mended, with no particular reason, exactly the way it stops working, doesn't seem likely anyone has repaired it, mechanics take their time in coming to the site

the chauffeur had a minor struggle in pushing the armchair into the cabin, and before closing the door he told laci boy he would take the berger back soon, my son made a gesture of generosity, adored to pick up the bill all his life

What are you to do if your mother is taken away by the ambulance with the siren on?

Ladó was standing by the window in Mum's flat abandoned to orphanage, with the indifferent prophecy of the lean ambulance officer, no hope if she's taken it all. And this time she was not joking, she tied her jaws up with a colourless muslin shawl to become a pretty little rigid carcass - she has obviously taken it all.

It occurred to him how many times and in how many different ways he had wished for his mother's death. On one occasion he literally wanted to grab her by the throat and strangle her - the only thing that stopped him in doing so was that the light carpet under his feet slipped on the glazed floor, and he fell on his knees before his mother.

What's going to happen? What will become of me? - he asked mumbled, staring into the thickening fog, and it was not his mother's face he was seeing any more, but Vera's, with her dawning smile, her nacreous teeth, her shiny hair cascade.

Strange that you never really wanted to hurt Vera.

Two people dying on the same day. A little too much for one and the same person.

Why was it so important for the fattish chauffeur to haul the shabby old berger back to the seventh floor, if the only future there is to it is to be hauled down to the street the next junk day anyway? Whatever made it a question of honesty for the guy to place the wreck piece of furniture back into its original position, not letting Ladó help - I'll manage myself, thank you, Mister Funny - ? What if saving Mum would have depended on these five particular minutes? No, no way… were matters so, the ambulance officer would not allow the chauffeur to spend his time with transporting furniture, off they would be to the hospital, with the siren on.

No hope if she's taken it all.

All of a sudden Ladó found himself dialing Vera's number, and listening to the answering machine hopelessly.

She's never at home when I need her.

What will life be like without Mum? - Ladó asked the houses surrounding him, they have already wrapped themselves up in a dense fog, with a random square of some window in light here and there. The answer terrified him. Life will be easy without… without such a mother, a mother whose problems you have never been able to solve, whose every single movement you were ashamed of, in whose presence a hot and sudden desire got hold of you immediately, the desire to flee, a mother whose manic depression kept you in constant fear: whatever will she think of next? You knew she was suffering, but so were you, swearing at your own fate for not having given you a better mother, confess the truth to yourself at least if you have not the courage to confess it to anyone else.

On the other hand - you really can't have more than one. She is the body from which you have come to this world. Like mother, like son. Blood is thicker than water. Etcetera, etcetera.

She has killed herself. Killed herself. Just like that. Simple.

Maybe if you'd hurried here sooner, there still would have been some hope.

If Sári is not this dumb… furthermore if you all take better care of her… if you yourself come and see her more often… if you love her more… Jesus…

By the way, where is Sári? - He strolled the flat looking for her, but there was no sign of his sister. He suddenly realized, Sári must have started for the hospital at the same time as the ambulance had, she wanted to be present when mother…

Sári was the one who announced him the death of their father too, back at that time. Ladó just returned from a high school camp, half a day earlier than he ought to have, for he had had a dream about his father dying. As, accordingly, he was absolutely positive his father was alive, the news struck him as if he had been kicked by a horse in the stomach when, her eyes stale with crying, Sári made the declaration in the open doorway after a long pause for the better effect: daaaaaddy sdied. Ladó's lips twirled into a painful grin: You mean… now? Right now?

Death sure does have a sense of humour. Let us hope the dead have a sense of humour too. Only the living don't. Although… Following father's funeral, Mum told Ladó, You see, Laci boy, your poor daddy's life really was a failure, but as for his death, it was a complete failure. Ladó could hardly stop himself from bursting out laughing: How on earth can your death be a success? - he asked. Both of them were still dressed in black. His mother put her black lacquer purse on the desk, and, with her hands crossed as if in a prayer, said, Successful death, my dearest Laci boy, is quick, smooth, short! - the monosyllabic words hit the ground with a dark flash.

Father was in pain for a year and a half, on and on from hospital to hospital. You lived in a constant feeling of guilt for not visiting him enough.

To the hospital at once, quick! While your mother is still alive… practically…

He did not move. Because the place he wanted to leave for was not the hospital - it was Vera's. What would she say if he visited her without any previous notice? She would say nothing, she is not even at home. Nobody would open up - except for the answering machine, perhaps.

What if she did, after all? If she is at home all right, but it… but vvv… lll…

Ladó's stomach gave an enormous sign of indignation, he pictured himself Vera simply… simply lying to him. After all… this is also a possibility… one of the many.

Maybe the reason for her rejecting him so stubbornly is being in… being with someone else… - he imagined Vera in a most base pornographic scene, and it hurt him so much all his strength abandoned him via the legs, he slid down the wall, onto the floor.

God, he said half aloud, I am lost.

I'm over.

I fell for la Femme Blanche hook, line and sinker, but in vain, because she doesn't give a crap about me.

How do you fall hook, line and sinker? - he asked himself. The professional joke cracker came to the foreground, he tried to think of an answer that would make the audience crack up.

No joke. Vera pushed forward on the screen again with her shining hair cascade and her dawning smile - naked this time. He imagined her with the nipples sticking up on her tiny breasts, the pattern of the pubic fluff of her slim loins the colour of her hair.

Oh… my mother has killed herself, and I'm… I… - he staggered to his feet. He patted his trousers clean. He called a taxi. When the young woman at the other end of the line asked him his telephone number, he answered it was one three one six six two four. By the time he would have corrected the mistake, she hung up. The message continued in his mind: unfortunately we can't come to the phone right now, but we will call you back as soon as possible.

Like hell you will, he thought. Naked Femme Blanche was still lying on the screen of his soul. He left the flat, forgot to lock the door, and started down the steps. Suddenly his mother's bare body came to his mind, the stomach slightly puffed, the breasts hanging down, the pubic hair sporadic… Soon all this will start to decompose… owowoh… why haven't we found her earlier? why has she taken that whole whack of medicine?

WHY ARE THEY DOING IT TO ME?

WHY DOES FATE PUNISH ME SO?

WHAT HAVE I DONE???

This sentence rang the bell at once:

By the time - not taking the least notice of father eagerly protesting - mother bought the family the second hand Trabant, she was high, fat with pride for having a car of their own, she was planning enormous excursions - all her skivvy women colleagues had already obtained second hand Moskviches, Trabants and Wartburgs, Mrs. Radó being the first in the line - she was the main target of all mother's hatred and jealousy, the woman whose husband the Germans had recompensed. Nobody recompensed mother's husband, despite the fact he too had been at labour service, but he was not able to present witnesses - or, rather, did no wish to.

In nineteen sixty-six mother sold the tiny land in Balatonszabadi, had a final row with her brother over it, they had had some ambiguous affair of heritage following the death of their parents, anyway, mother decided to make justice herself, divided the money she got for the land in a two-to-one proportion, as a result they spent years in a lawsuit. The money ended up in a brand new Lehel refrigerator, a television, "Duna" make, also brand new, and a slightly used Trabant.

However, by the time she executed all these maneuvers, she was way low again, did not even go to the office, all she did was lying on the bed, motionless as a log, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. The used Trabant of a light blue colour - it always reminded Ladó of the sink in their bathroom - was gathering dust down in the street, with no one to drive it. When mother got high up again into the pinnacle period, she signed up at a driving school for the entire family. Not once did father appear at the course. Sári succeeded in passing the test at the first go. Ladó succeeded at the second: he forgot to pull up after stopping. Mother passed the test at her third attempt. In the meanwhile she had been high and low and high.

When mother received her driving license by post, poor thing was falling low again, she was not in the mood for driving at all. Ladó insisted, she should try, driving is great fun, perhaps it will cheer her up. Mother consented. She took a tense hold of the steering wheel, perspiration was abseiling down her face. Ladó tried to encourage her, saying, You're okay, don't worry, don't worry! - and his blood ran cold in the meanwhile. Mother proved to be a slow, but deadly dangerous driver.

At Körönd, the round square of Budapest, Mum noticed a police car was following their Trabant. This made her so nervous, she began to move along the painted stripe separating the two lines, and only there. The police officers took over, asked her to stop. Mum rolled the window down, What have i done?, she asked, in the tone of a moribundus, thus embarrassing the two policemen to such an extent that they made a gesture, All right, you may go. But Mum did not start the engine, staring ahead in a fixed gaze she put the question again: What have i done? Move along, for chrissake, before we change our minds! - the younger one snarled at her. Mum did not move, Ladó got out: Let's switch roles for a while. Mum swooned to the other seat obediently. Just a sec!, the officer hooked both his thumbs into his belt, how old are you, buddy? Sixteen. Then how come you have a driving license? I have had permission… we've handed in a request. Let me see it!, the policeman said. But he did not have his driving license on him, so they had to lock the Trabant up and trot along home to get it.

What have I done?, Ladó kept asking again and again, recognizing his mother's intonation in his own, perspiration abseiling down his body, running along his spine. As for Vera, she does not sweat at all…

… no, she's way too slim to sweat, and way too white, Ladó is telling the cab driver, snarling. Is it you who's called a taxi, sir?, the bold man blinks in surprise. Me, yes. So where to, sir? To the hospital… the one where the… where suicides are taken. How should I know where suicides are taken? I… er… I've forgotten to ask, Ladó moans, already making a move to get out, but the chauffeur puts his hand on his shoulder, All right, sir, don't worry, I'll ask them on the radio, they sure know it in the center… He takes the microphone in his hand, Hi there, does anyone have any idea where suicides are taken? Here I have Mister Funny sitting beside me, Ladó the funny, it's for him! Where are suicides taken?

To the mortuary, Mister Funny says to himself, Ladó the funny, doing his best to keep away the image of Vera's dead body from his mind.

Let thy will be done.

i am still totally conscious, i can sense the smell of used oil in the elevator, on the plastic covering painted apple green you can see the enamel sign, saying no smoking, it's there i always stick the scented little pieces of paper pine trees, the ones you can get at the blue supermarket, they are made for cars, but how could i have a car? - it's a little while i haven't stuck a new one behind since, that's why the smell of used oil is so strong just now, it's what mechanics grease the copper wires with, i can't turn around to take a look at the sign, my limbs won't move, besides, the fat head chauffeur is standing right behind me, as if my raft of an armchair was a wheelchair

the guy thrusts the berger out of the elevator with a single move on the ground floor, hugging it from behind he tilts it against his belly to carry it down the three steps, and out through the glass front door, panting heavily, it can't be a very amusing job to carry around my likes eight hours a day, if all he has is clients like me he's never even tipped, i myself wouldn't be able to tip him even if i wanted to, thing number one is i haven't got my purse on me, but i also don't want to tip anyone, no one's never tipped me either, everyone should do what they have to do, and that's all there is to it, although my laci boy may have tipped him, or he may be creasing a note into the crawny officer's pocket right this moment, perhaps he will let the fat head chauffeur have a drop of it or two

he's pushed me into the cab, onto the stretcher, and banged the back door on me, left me here all on my own, he must be taking the berger back to the flat, so long, my raft of an armchair, you shall take others flying on the open sea from today, i can smell petrol, smell petrol and feel the cold, he may as well have thrown a blanket or two on me, i'll end up catching a cold, how funny it would be if i started sneezing right now, i haven't even got a hanky on me, i would have to blow my nose into my palms, could i lift my hand, that is

here they are, the crawny ambulance officer takes his seat beside me, the chauffeur sits in the front, they slam the doors, off we go, and my son? where is my son? is my laci boy not coming?, is what i would be asking them, but i would not be able to talk in this position, lying, even if otherwise in this state i could, the nether line of my false teeth has slid, maybe i could signal to the crawny ambulance officer with my eyebrows, pah, what the heck, he doesn't give a shit about me, what, i can't believe my eyes, he is taking a cigarette, he lights it and puffs the smoke, hey, doctor, are you allowed to do this? you, a physician? the holy priest of sanity? - i am sure he would say the physician is also a human being, he offers the pack to the chauffeur, helicons, that's what i smoke too, used to smoke

i wonder why my stupid son hasn't come along with us, relatives should stay with the sick in such situations after all, when my father was dying, i spent the entire night in the hospital, even though they tried to send me home, and when my mother was trying to die, and didn't succeed for all the world, i decided to take her home, so that she be in a family circle, once there wasn't nothing else we could do, so it was there she died after all, in sári girl's bed, we packed up the two kids at once and sent them down to lake balaton, they only learned we had buried their grandmother later, you should be tactful, as long as you can, my laci boy, on the other hand, does everything not to get into uncomfortable situations at all, obviously he is trying to avoid people staring into his face at the hospital and whispering about him when he doesn't look, provided it's to a hospital they are taking me at all

the more i think about it, the more it hurts, the fact he hasn't come along with us, i'm trying to find excuses for him, maybe the ambulance officer didn't let him come, because there's only one seat at the back - he still could have hopped in at the front, what a fart my son is, he's never treated me the way you should treat a mother, he's given me what he thinks i deserve, hell of a little, that is, he's thought me not to have been too good a mother to him

whatever he's thought, i've always tried, done what i can, it's not my fault things sometimes turned out in a different way i wanted them to

this ambulance car is not exactly what you may call comfortable, what if someone is dying here following a severe accident, someone who'd prefer to live on a little, but they are dragging along their intestines, or they have their head half chucked sideways, this clunker is bound to rattle out the little life there is in them, the other thing i can't understand is why this crawny officer doesn't try something for me, he sure could give me an injecton or an infusion or artificial breathing or heck knows what, after all he can't be sure he's doing me a favour by leaving me alone, although it's possible he does, he must have dealt a lot with patients like me

i can see some of the neon signs in the upper line of the car window, can't read them, so here i am, taking these word fragments blinking irrationally to a place where i won't need words at all

my laci boy always reproached me for talking too much, whereas sometimes days go by with me having no one to talk to, that's the truth, yes, only on the phone, perhaps, provided either of them calls me at all, sári calls me more often, but conversation is not easy with her, hi, she snorts and goes quiet, unless i start saying what i have to say silence lasts for several minutes, or, if she speaks, her recurring questions make me fly off the handle, how're you doing? have you had breakfast? lunch? dinner? have you taken your medicine?, that's what my daughter is interested in, nothing else, once i got down to putting the same questions to her, she kept a dumb quiet, what medicine?, she moaned a little later, a sense of humour, that's what she's never had, the poor thing

i've had i mean i had the chance to listen to my sári girl more often face to face even, visited me more than her brother, although her whole entire life she has had the feeling i love laci boy more than her, completely impossible, this thing, all your children mean the same to you, it's really not my fault my sári girl has become such a dumbhead, it's impossible to have two normal words with her, and before leaving, or before hanging off, she says kissy!, sometimes kissy-kissy!, that gives me the pip, what kind of a way to say good-bye is that? where has she learned that? where has she heard that?, it sounds like the name of an ugly rodent, the muskrat, the weasel and the kissy

at last we've got to the hospital, the driver has got out, slammed the door, boy, did he, the crawny ambulance officer has also got out, slammed the door too, what the heck's going to happen? what a way to treat someone! are they doing this to everyone? let them rot here?!, seems like that is their way, yes, not that it disturbed me, i wouldn't even mind them never coming back, although it's quite cold, that's true, they may as well have a blanket in an ambulance car, all there is on the edge of the stretcher is the muslin shawl, the one i tied up my jaws with so that my chin-chin doesn't flap around, so that my face doesn't get distorted like my mother's did, who went rigid with her mouth opened into a spasm, not even the chaps at the autopsy hall could do anything about that

this is not the way i've pictured the whole thing, i hoped by the time they would come and get me i wouldn't see or hear or feel nothing, only the latter has come off, whereas my sight and my hearing is clearer than ever, many times i've tried to think about what it will be like, i expected the world to go down gradually until all is dark, and that would be it, cut, but instead i feel as if a shining globe had descended on me, where contours are sharp as ice, sound seems to reach my eardrums straight through an amplifier of some kind, human words go jingle jangle, all the vowels are twinging, all the consonnants are twanging, buzzing and whirring, i almost feel like telling these two women of a tired face something, they've taken all my clothes off and started to clean my intestines by way of a thorough gastric irrigation, you're wasting your time, my dearest ones, here, doctor crawny has told us it's too late, everything's absorbed in the system by now, you've pressed the rubber tube down my throat all for no nothing, luckily i can't feel anything of it either, could i, though, i would definitely spew you both in the clock, true, my stomach is empty like hell, nothing but gob would have come, that wouldn't make you happy either though

the respiratory machine is sizzling exactly the way our radiator does at home in the autumn when they check heating, they've placed two enormous lead bottles beside me, although they are wasting their oxygen too, the doctor has said so!, there are five other ones like me lying on the hard stretchers covered with imitation leather, the stretchers roll off on bicycle tyres when the time comes, you don't even need to pack the body onto a stretcher, rolling it out of here to the autopsy hall will do

autopsy, what a word, hee hee, what does it matter if it's all autopsy-turvy, once you're rolled down there everything can be autopsy-turvey for all you care

plastic tubes are droning, the artificial supply of air blows your lungs up again and again, since i arrived here, they've switched off the machine for two patients and rolled them out, but their places didn't remain vacant for more than a moment, immediately there came two other ones instead, seems they think big, but what if there arrive more than six volunteering corpses at the same moment? will they let the one who is too much pass out? hell of a nerve

aaah, at last! - here they are, my dear children, first my sári girl, with her eyes swollen from crying, then my laci boy, his lips chewed till they bled, if only i knew why he can't give up this habit of his, he keeps chewing his lips, and wrings his hands in the meantime, wringing his hand of course is better than biting his nails, sometimes he bites his nails, like that professor he had in chemistry, mrs. vince, they gave him a headmaster's notice because of her, terrible uvular r's that woman had, mrs. vince, my deeast ones, that's what she called all the pupils, obviously because she was unable to learn their names, now this mrs. vince used to bite her nails like hell, and my laci boy, well, one day he stopped before her, does missus like ice cream, he asked, what's chemistry to do with i squeam, she asked, no, i didn't mean to ask if you were squeamish, laci boy said, i only wanted to know if you like ice cream, in the end laci boy was given a headmaster's notice for impertinence, bandi created, i was hardly able to calm him down, a headmaster's notice is no disaster after all, apart from this, laci boy had good reports

maybe mrs. vince got so angry because laci boy was biting his nails just as much as she was, and therefore he had absolutely no righteousness to be impertinent with her, other than that she was always fond of him, she always wanted laci boy to awainge the stuff in the chemistwy lab

here they are standing next to me, with their backs at the apple green wall, i hated oil colours all my life, this time however it feels good for my eyes, although they are still closed, i can see everything, perhaps that is god's reward, so that i saturate with everything from this world in the last moments, it's something i don't need at all, by the way, i am completely fed up with this world, now that i come to mention it, god - fate, blind chance - always gave me rewards i didn't need at all, in most cases i didn't get anything at all, whereas i, on the other hand, gave and gave and gave, had to

there they stand against the wall, my two children, winking into my clock, terrified, they don't dare to talk, they think it would be a sacrilege, ha, would i like to know what's going on in their head, self-reproach must be torturing both of them for treating me the way they did, fucked them up, didn't i! - my laci boy's face would twist in pain, would he hear this word, he doesn't like foul language, his soul is like virgin snow, oh, you must never, never swear in his presence, he's a little saint, isn't he, with that eloquence of his, he has got a more elegant version to each word, more elegant than that of the other blockheads, he always behaves the way you would expect a well-known comedian to, a comedian you often see on television and hear on the radio, he writes articles for journals, you have to read them at least twice if you want to understand what my laci boy is getting at, and if i don't laugh at his jokes enough, he says i can't get them, there are always some who do, or at least pretend, that's why my laci boy is so popular, invited to shows all over the place, that's what makes him so busy he has no time for his dear mother at all

in comes the unshaven boy nurse, fixes the blankets and the catheters to everyone, no one says thank you, ha ha

we're lying naked under the sheets, have nothing on except for the plastic tubes adjusted to our mouth and genitals, one of them carrying oxygen, the other one taking away the fluids we let go unconscious, our head moving in a subtle sway to the rhythm of the air blown into us, oh, sleep, why dost thou leave me, this is a famous line from some poem, my laci boy often quotes it when he can't sleep, oh, he's a terrible sleeper, he's like father like son in this aspect, and in many others too, most annoying thing is that he's begun to resemble his father like hell, first of all from the outside, and unfortunately from the inside too, now my laci boy hands me over everything my bandi used to drive me nuts with for crying out loud, these flat and reproachful looks, for example, who cares, i'm all but over

what the fuck will there be? how long will they be farting around? not that i find it uncomfortable, i'm okay in this soft, shining globe, follow the way you have begun in firm steps, comrade lenin said so, i mean my poor bandi said so, quotes of the kind are what he always got away with at the office in the fifties, although to me he confessed he himself had invented most of these lines, trusting the comrades would never make the effort to check, and they didn't, follow the way you have begun in firm steps, perhaps this one was also born in the gray and bold head of my bandi, instead of the bold head of comrade lenin, i don't care, comrade lenin is not too topical nowadays anyway, although if the socialists win the elections they may make him fashionable again, it's not what they promise though

another thing i won't be here to know, who will win the elections, that's what my laci boy has been jumpy about for a year, he keeps explaining me too how the chances they are achanging, the only thing he's interested in is that those up at the moment clear off, and if i happen to remark my laci boy, my dearest one, politicians are all tarred with the same brush, as your poor father used to say, my son starts yelling at me, mum, what the heck do you know about this?, as if i was an imbecile, an idiot, whereas i am i mean i was only a manic depressive, for thirty years, practically, terrible even to say it, has been going on for thirty years this way, high today, low tomorrow, and no matter i feel so wonderful when i am high, doctor gizella bartosik explained to me a hundred times high wasn't normal either, not good enough, nothing is good enough

my brain's begun to grow blunt at last, the decomposed piece of flesh i never could take real use of, worked badly all my life, never at the right time, i may state i made all my decisions the other way round, i shouldn't have married my bandi man to begin with, i mean make him marry me, as for him he didn't want it at all, kept repeating he wasn't the husband type, what a shame i didn't believe him when he told me in that jocular tone of his he had no ambition whatsoever, didn't want to make any money, his main principle was whatever you have is a burden to you, the best thing is to live in a single room, without any furniture, only a mattress on the floor, and a few nails in the wall where you can hang your clothes for the day, you don't need anything else

i thought he was joking, but i soon had to realize he was serious, but by that time i had already had sári girl, we had moved to budapest from pécs, and i made another enormous mistake, i shouldn't have let my parents sell my little flat on queen vilma alley, the one they had bought me for my first marriage

my first marriage was also an enormous mistake, i was too young, i sure did know sanyi kazal was a hell of a chaser, all my friends had predicted he wouldn't stop his binges just because he led me to the altar, and he didn't either, on the other hand he sod off for canada in a few months saying they were after the jews over here, to tell the truth he had a point there, i for myself had to hide in kObánya in the most difficult days, at my friend klári's place, she was a schizophrenic, chased me around in the backyard with a knife during the time of air assaults and made me responsible for the war, in the end she always calmed down and said sorry, poor klári, hanged herself about fifteen years ago, on the iron bar of the swings in that very backyard

letting my brother karcsi disinherit me was another enormous mistake, getting confused in that trial eleven years later was also unnecessary, i should have known i had no chance against my cunning brother, my poor bandi man had been gone by that time, laci boy was completing his first year in law, boasted his head off saying he would see to it, so losing the process was a matter of moments, and were it not for attorney rakutz i would have paid the earth, but he was smart enough to lodge a protest, the case ended in my receiving a slim little recompense, finally i got some of the money for the land that was a hundred percent mine

i wasted all my life in fOmav, but once things turned out this way i shouldn't have consented to them sending me to retirement in such misery, earlier than it was due, but at that time i was low down, wasn't interested in anything

made mistakes also concerning my two children, didn't have any influence over them as for their careers, nor for their marriages, truth is they are grown-ups, as they make their beds, so must they lie in it

the affair with bélos was another fatal mistake, i made a fool of myself in the eyes of the whole entire world, i was just about high enough not to give a flying fuck what the whole entire world thought, what a burning pain it was, when i got a little lower though, to realize everyone despised me, my two children first of all, perhaps i deserved it too, anyway, that's not the point, i saw i would only get into terrible messes of the same kind in the future, that i might also expect some ugly illness to attack me, diseases are crowding around you in my age, all they are meditating on is which one of them should stab you first, heart diseases and cancer on both maternal and paternal sides, all the way memory can see, something has to be kept for me too, the best thing is not to wait for someone else to make a decision or a step instead of me for the first time in my life, actions speak louder than silent words, as my poor bandi used to say, whereas he was also only mentioning those actions, never listened to them speaking louder, so this time i took measures about me, in a brave and decided way, the way i always should have

my laci boy has asked for a medical consultation, soon a wild boar dressed in white has come up to me, called him over from the hospital in szabolcs street instead of calling doctor gizella bartosik, after all she has been my physician for thirty years, no matter how negative an opinion my son has about her, doctor gizella bartosik has stood by me, she's the one to be asked for a professional statement, instead of this wild boar

what good will the medical consultation do, it's only invented for relatives to toss a little more money out the window, when my bandi man's condition suddenly became critical, i asked for a medical consultation immediately, so another wild boar came over from rókus hospital, didn't even examine my poor husband, all he did was have a little chat with zoli lászló, bandi's physician, with his elbows on the edge of the white iron bed, they puffed a few latin words in the air, and then that physician of a wild boar put his hairy hand on my shoulder, sorry, madam, i cannot suggest anything new, doctor lászló has already seen to everything he can, and here's where what we know ends!, i burst out in tears, folded three hundred forints into his pocket, oh, surely madam you will need this more than i do, the wild boar said, but didn't give the money back of course

this wild boar here is also puffing latin words in the air, my laci boy has studied latin at the faculty of law, my sári girl on the other hand just stares at them with her calf eyes, repeating so-this-means-there-is-some-hope-doesn't-it-doctor over and over, and the wild boar sighs, and pours his latin abracadabra on them again, keep talking, doc, whatever you will, i am far-off, far gone, can't catch me if you try

my laci boy folds the two five thousand notes into the pocket of the wild boar with the exact same movement i did way back, but not the same exact amount, of course, my stupid son has given him ten thousand forints for nothing, it's deadly, even i was cleverer than to do this, i only gave three hundred forints for nothing, true, three hundred forints at that time were worth much more than today

my son loves to exaggerate, i'm sure now he feels he has done everything he can do for me, after all he's asked for a medical consultation and paid through the nose, he's features have become so peaceful, not my daughter though, she's still crying, whining in falsetto, this is deadly

this is d

What you should do is go home and tell Zsuzsa what's happened.

Ladó was just as unable to get rid of Sári's trembling-crying voice - So this means there is some hope, doesn't it, doctor? - than of the picture of Vera, he took them into the street on him, and although he has started running, both Vera' smile and Sári's whining kept pace with him.

Zsuzsa would know what to do at once, she would forget about everything, rush to the hospital and turn a doctor. That is the role she likes best, she is perfectly familiar with the Great Book of Medicine, she is fond of talking about illnesses, health schools, pills, magnetic bracelets, sole massage, brain control and autogenic training… she is open to all kinds of transcendental cure.

You would have to tell her about Vera, though, Ladó said to himself, and he got a cramp in his stomach at once. Zsuzsa would most probably fling all the plates to the floor if she got to know her husband was in love, she would insist he tell her the name, and after she learned the woman was a television compere, she would continue destruction at a higher speed, getting on to the larger objects in the flat, and perhaps finish it off with Ladó's computer, CD player and telephones. While Mum is swooning over to eternity.

I shouldn't have left her… Sári stayed on, of course… another step I will find hard to forgive myself.

Suddenly Ladó finds himself in his mother's desert apartment, without the faintest idea how he has got here, he cannot recall it whether he has come all the way from the hospital by taxi, trolley or on foot, he cannot recall whether he has used the elevator or he has hauled his ass up to the seventh floor, nor whether he has opened the lock using his bundle of keys. An icy darkness filled his skull.

Night was drawing near, pale stars were swinging slightly in the sky above the surrounding buildings.

Once a clear winter evening they Vera and he were having a walk on the Gellért hill. Suddenly Ladó had a capricious idea. Let's pick a star! Vera laughed at the obvious allusion to the PetOfi poem, The four oxen-cart, and asked, Where's the cart? Ladó insisted: Pleeease, for sheer pleasure, let's pick one, perhaps it'll bring us luck! Vera shrugged her shoulders, fixed her gaze on the fabulous army of the stars, and pointed at one of them at random: That one… what's it called? It is called Vera, Ladó said theatrically. Laughter rolled out of Vera again: Where's your sense of humour gone, Ladó?

Yes, well, yes. Where's Ladó the funny's sense of humour gone?

My mother has died and I've fucked it all up with Vera the very same bloody day… what would I have to be joking about?

Icy breezes below zero degree licked their tongues into his spine, he had to sit down. He lowered his forehead into his palms. He wanted to cry. To bellow, letting hollow vowels out his mouth, wetting his face with heavy tears. So he tried hard. He carved the nail of his forefinger into the bottom of his thumb, so that it hurt.

And it hurt, from head to toe.

Bit he was unable to cry.

He went through the same struggle to start crying the day his father died. Pa Vili, father's best friend kept suffocating, when he read his mourning speech at the funeral from the dog-eared sheets, and he always got stuck with it, as if unable to decipher his own handwriting, although Ladó would have sworn he had rehearsed at home it at least ten times, in front of the mirror in the hall. All this seemed so painfully pitiful that it made Ladó burst in tears at last. And it felt so good he didn't even stop until the sexton placed father's urn into its stone slot and fixed the stone plate onto it with cement. He was nineteen years old at the time.

Does it mean I won't be able to cry before her funeral?

That… will take a little time… - his stomach started to creak. The idea of all the disgusting red tape he will have to go through occurred to him, the autopsy department at the hospital to begin with, way through to the cemetery management.

You should call home. Zsuzsa knows nothing, not even where you are.

He called Vera instead, for the who-knows-how-manieth time. Thank you for calling one three one six six two four, unfortunately we can't come to the phone right now, but we will call you back as soon as possible! - Ten short beeps and a long one.

He rummaged his bag for a while and took the small chrome box he had originally kept the pins for his cork memo board in. At present there were twelve joints lying in that box, each of them wrapped in celluloid, he had bought them at an action price in Vienna from a young man who looked Armenian. Vera mentioned to him once she had tried pot in Amsterdam, it had made her feel ever so light, true, she was frightened next morning when she noticed her pupils were almost as large as her iris in the mirror, but it only lasted a couple of hours.

I wouldn't mind Vera feeling ever so light with me, Ladó thought, and acquired the stout little marihuana cigarettes fro the CRUCIAL day, hoping they would smoke them together on the fresh bedclothes of the hotel room, before and during and after making love. The scenes closely connected to the situation in Zabriskie Point were going on in his head. He knew Vera had not seen this film. There were a lot of films and books that Ladó found indispensable which Vera hadn't seen or read, upon seeing each other he kept listing her the titles of these films and books, until Vera came to say, You're going to destroy me with your intellectual superiority. Destroying is not what Ladó wanted to do to Vera. He wanted to… to love her. Or, to be more precise… to love-and-make-love her.

He tore off the celluloid from one of the joints, and lit it.

Wwwell then.

It occurred to him that they would not have been able to spend the day together even if Vera had happened to consent to it, as Sári would have called anyway, saying Mum's asleep and I can't wake her up. Mum has always had an excellent sense to ruin what is… well… quite dicky without her even.

Maybe if Mum hadn't bulged into his happiest and unhappiest day Ladó would have been able to insist until talking Vera into…

Oh, come on, were you ever able to talk her into anything? You go chicken in her presence, your willpower crumbles into dust, and the hot globe comes and settles on your larynx, your lungs, your heart.

That's love, see?

Love, sweet love, who needs anything more?

Smoking the third joint.

Can the Armenian have clipped me, can it be there's nothing in these cigarettes at all? Considering I don't smoke I'm doing it pretty chic… - he was doing circles with the bright embers in the dark.

Mum was a chain smoker. She was able to talk with smoke seeping from her throat. Her whole head was coiling with smoke. Her head, now lying lifeless on the bunk covered with white waxed linen, with an oxygen mask on her mouth, her skull lulling gently to the rhythm of the respiratory machine, her hair also fluttering slightly. Provided she's still. if they haven't taken her off the… if they haven't taken her down to the… yet… my God.

Vera only smoked extremely thin and long cigarettes. She never had matches on, it was always Ladó who asked the waiters to give her a light, and then watched the move let them approach her more she had allowed him to with jealousy. After some time he threw a box of matches into his bag so that it would be him who gave her a light. However, by bending over the table he never could get as close to her as he wanted to.

What an impossible situation! Here you are, stuck in your suicide mother's flat, puffing the joints waiting for something to happen, for it hurts you so that Mum… and Vera…

He was trembling, cold sweat was running down his body. I ought to open the window.

Suddenly he had the feeling it was not sweat his body was soaking in but blood. Have I got hurt? - he felt himself here and there, but found no wound or scar. Still, it's blood! He recognized the smell and the touch.

So what if it's blood? Let it be blood then. If you suffer so much, it's normal to bleed.

Well I ever, he thought, annoyed, smoking the tiny cigarettes, the Armenian sure did trick me… Perhaps there's no marihuana in these cigarettes, but by and by I'll pick up the habit of smoking… and to think I've paid a fortune for these nothings, in Schillings! Bravo, bravo, bravissimo.

My shirt and my trousers have become slippery with blood, he thought. he was wondering whether he should turn the light on to make sure, but didn't move. He knew what he knew. Everything is wet with blood on me, from the strap of my watch to my socks, the best thing for me to do would be to crawl to the tub on all fours, let the water run and climb in with my clothes on. Water, in that case, would be dyed pink, of course.

When a few months ago he found Mum here, on her back and in her excrement in the hall, he did his best to peel off her stinking nightclothes, tried to lift the seemingly lifeless body, but it turned out to be amazingly heavy. He did not know what to do, did not dare to get hold of her legs or arms and drag her along the way you see in films, so he groaned and tried until he took her into his arms, thus giving up his former concept to prevent his clothes from getting soiled with shit - so it got soiled with shit to a considerable extent. He laid his mother in the tub and turned the tap on. By that time Mum showed some weak signs of life too, her open eyelids fluttered slightly again and again, she was breathing, Ladó could feel the faint stream of air at the chapped lips.

He was unable to tear his gaze off his mother's genitals. Poor thing… can't have used them too often… my God… - by and by the tub was full. Water, as if coming from corroding tubes, was whirling brownish around Mum's body.

Just like it would be whirling around mine, only in pink. Oh… what the hell. Vera's milk white skin would probably change water into milk. Jesus Christ is said to have completed this act without having to lie into it. Bathing in wine would not be so bad. Or in champagne. This time - in style - in red champagne.

Red champagne and pink delight.

Mum's dead, and I'm so scared it's my fault. I've been promising to drop in for days, and something else always came my way. Too late now. Never again will I find her at home.

No father, no mother. According to a poem. No cradle, no quilt… er… there's a line missing… no lover… but we'd better skip that part… Oh… Femme Blanche… why don't you simply come in here? I'm going to count till three, and then I'll…

One.

Two.

Three.

He pulled his trembling palm across his wet - bloody - locks of hair. Ohmamma.

The fervent stream of blood was set all his body on fire, the last joint was burning the tip of his fingers. Smoked them all, where are the visions? Where are the illusions of the senses? The world in its wild, glamourous colours? Relief? What the hell will I have?

I'll tell you what you'll have. An immense suffering you will have, biting of the lips until they are bleeding you will have, tearing off the skin along the nails you will have, gnawing of the teeth you will have! - and completed it all accordingly. Let it hurt, the motherfucker! The fervent stream of blood went into more and more violent vortexes over his body.

Or to bleed away, that is the question.

Mum's way over this phase, although she didn't exactly bleed away, she… she obviously suffocated away. The immense quantity of sleeping pills has cast a rigid and deaf sleep on her brain, her nervous system, her stomach, her heart, her everything.

Now go to sleep… no go to sleep… the world is resting… the world is watching…

For some time now sparks have been flying up just in front of his nose, he thought his eyes must have been too tired, so he closed them, but the lighted embers didn't stop spinning like thousands of crazy luciolae, and they have become so many recently that they lit the whole room up. What a practical solution for the energy problem! He started wondering about a method to perpetuate the sparkling. And there he went again: it was already Vera's crown of hair gleaming in the light, her dawning smile.

My God, had I once, not more, only once been able to see her naked, were I able to cuddle up the memory instead of imagining what her two tiptilted breasts look like, how her hips curve in a bend, what the bow of her shoulders, the valley of her thighs, the silk of her loins feel like… - but what he was vividly seeing were the naked parts of her mother, in this order, instead, and he suddenly realized it was too much for him.

Poor mother… no wonder she has had enough of this life, for what has she got in the past few years? She was let down by her children, by men, by all her friends, by her grandchildren, by her daughter-in-law, by her brother-in-law, by the old age pension institute, by the house representative at the municipality, by her general practitioner, doctor Gizella Bartosik, by male nurses at the madhouse - BY EVERYONE.

He started for the bathroom on all fours. I'll clean up the blood traces later… if I… if… at all…

He stood up, took a look of himself in the mirrored door of the cupboard, and amidst the sparkling he could see his face was really and truly covered in blood all over, and, in a sudden and slight vertigo, he leaned against the cupboard, whereupon it got opened. There was a huge quantity of medicine wrapped up in newspaper on the lower shelf: sedatives, sleeping pills, antidepressants, pills for abnormally low blood pressure.

The move made Ladó realize what he had to do. He has had enough of it, thank you. ENOUGH. He poured the pills onto the glass shelf above the sink, and started taking the colourless pills of that slightly mouldy smell by two or three, depending on how his fingers grabbed them, sipping warm water from Mum's light blue plastic cup. It was hard to believe he would ever finish off the immense quantity, but his diligence has had its wrath, all that remained on the glass was the white dust. He then heaved a deep sigh, as if reckoning work well completed. He got into the tub and lied flat. Just like uncle Buci way back at that time.

No one will open up and intrude into your privacy: Sári is still in the hospital, Zsuzsa will never guess you've come here. May you rest in peace.

The rest is silence.

Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

Cut.

Over.

That's it.

***

No novelist will ever invent that - Ladó thought, when he figured out a hard and cold object was pressing his forehead - pressing it for real. The sparkles had not stopped flying, what is more, they were now accompanied by some noise, some small rattling sound.

The rattling sound turned out to be produced by his very self, Ladó the funny, the cold object the toilet, a little insecure - he had been promising his mother to replace the missing cement around the bowl for months.

Vomiting he was, throwing up the sedatives, the sleeping pills, the antidepressants, the pills for abnormally low blood pressure, and God knows what else, by two or three, just as he had taken them. He was hugging the porcelain waist, he liked its cool touch very much. You are my best friend, toilet bowl, I'll really replace the missing cement soon, you will see. Provided we live long enough.

The pills turned up from Ladó in their original shape, only somewhat softer. He flushed the toilet again and again, enjoying the sight of clear water attacking and sweeping away the greyish-yellowish medicine pulp. No brown, no blood.

Why didn't Mum vomit more or less the same pills?

Luck.

Unluck.

Blaaaaaagh… - he retched.

He lay his forehead on the toilet bowl in the intervals between two assaults. He was panting. The slang expression Talking to Ralph on the Big White Phone crossed his mind. So he kept shooting his cat into the big white phone, not the least interested what Ralph would hear - only in what Big White Lady would say to all this.

Death has got a sense of humour. And some style too - it did not allow itself the impertinence to take away suicide mother and suicide son on the very same day, perhaps in the very same hour. Could have had a double funeral though… Pay one, get two, funny Ladó thought, for not only death, he too had a sense of humour.

He started grinning, but the next attack forced him over the big white phone again. The cramp of vomiting was shaking him from head to toe.

He had not had time to get scared yet.

Time to become terrified.

 Time to grow desperate.