Home

The Hungarian, My Life
by Baka Imre

Mr. Imre is a former long time Keys resident forced to live in Hungary. This is his story.*

 

1.[Dömsöd ]
The name of the village is Dömsöd it is only fifthly kilometers from Budapest, but it could be two hundred. It wouldn't make any difference.  A collection of peasant houses, all of them almost the same. Same color white wash, same lay out, facing the same way on the side of the road. Most of them constructed the same way too. Mud bricks and thatched roofs. It was a well-to-do farmer or a tradesman who had a tile roof on his house. The sharp spires of two churches dominate the skyline. The third church doesn't have a spire--the catholic church. All three are on the same street just about equal distance from each other. I don't think it was planned that way it just happened. Nothing was planned about Dömsöd, it's really two villages that kind of grew together, Dömsöd to the north and Dab to the south. That’s why there are two reformist churches, it makes you think that the catholic church was just an afterthought.

The people who live in Dab talk about the people in Dömsöd as if they were from a foreign country and visa versa. Many a fight has been fought between young men just because they tried to chat up a girl on the wrong end of the village. The two churches have large clock faces on the towers and huge bells in the belfry. I was told that during the revolution of 1948, the bells were melted down and made into canons (then they played a different tune). The bells are rung in all three churches every day at noon, or to call the villagers to services and mass. In times of danger, flood or fire the bells are rung by beating the clapper against the bell rapidly.

Rout 51 is the main road that runs thru the village, north to south. If you leave Budapest and head south on Rt. 51 you cant miss it. It has been there for ever, the first time I saw it was in the spring of 1948, it was old then. I was only five years old, my parents along with my kid brother moved here from Budapest. Dad had a house here, it was some house! Built of red fired bricks, it was four walls and a roof--a tile roof! It had gaping holes in the walls where the doors and windows should nave been. The unfinished building hummed from hundreds of pigeons nesting under the roof. Dad told me there was a grain mill nearby that was where the pigeons went to feed. They ate up all the spilled grain. I asked dad to take me to see the mill, I didn't even know what a mill was, but I wanted to see one. My mother walked me thru the unfinished building, pointing out where the kitchen, living room and bath would be. The house ended up never having a bathroom. Mom washed Steve and me in a large enameled pan called a Vájling.  There wasn't any running water either. We shared a well with a neighbor, a sweet rotund old woman that I got to know as Nanah. She was as wide as she was tall, had long snow white hair that she wore in a bun, and the kindest face you ever wanted to see. She could have been the wife of Santa Clause himself!
 

2.[Moving to DÖMSÖD!]
Dad was a mechanic by trade but didn't work at it since the end of the war. Instead he tried to start his own business. He found two or three abandoned shot-to-pieces and partially burned Skoda automobiles. He begged, borrowed, maybe even stole, to get the parts and patch them and get them into running condition. Finally he started his enterprise, and called it 'Gray Taxi'. It was grey because that's the only color paint he could get ahold of. If I remember correctly, it was the same shade of grey as the German military vehicles were, Wermacht grey. There wasn't many cars running around the streets of Budapest in those days, transportation was at a premium. From the start, dad and the other driver were working eighteen hour days, and they were raking in the money. The biggest problem was getting the fuel. Dad knew the Russians well, they were queer for wrist watches. Dad made sure that he always had two or three inexpensive models in his pocket. He wouldn't wear any on his arm because a Russian could demand it at gunpoint. He would walk up to the driver of a Ford or Chevy truck, show the driver the watch, and walk away with two five gallon cans of gasoline. He had to take the cans back, that was part of the deal.

The Gray Taxi finally caught the eye of the communist authorities. The ÁVÓ (acronym for state police made up from communist thugs) came calling. They asked dad for the papers for the cabs--he had none! The ÁVÓ confiscated the whole kit-an-caboodle. There were no banks, dad stashed his cash. A week later he borrowed an old motorcycle from somebody and went hunting for a truck. He took me along and I’v never forgotten my first motorcycle ride. Mom didn't know about it or she never would have let me go. She dressed me in a blue and white sailor outfit and by the time we got back I was a mess. If you're thinking how a three year old can remember all that, I don't. 

It has been told and retold in my presence so many times that I can't help but remember it. Dad remembered real well because mom just about chewed him a new ass for the way I looked and for taking me on the motorcycle.

(I started cussing from the time I could talk.  I was with dad a lot and the mechanics and drivers taught me. They thought it was cute. By the time dad tried to put a stop to it my cussing vocabulary would rival that of a sailor’s.)

Our trip was successful; dad bought a 2.5 ton Opel Blitz in runing condition--with papers. With cash in his pocket, he started going to villages, including Dömsöd, and towns buying produce. Chickens, ducks, geese, eggs, sides of beef,  pork, vegetables and fruit. Budapest was a hungry Hungarian city in 1947. He sold everything to the markets and made a good profit. The producers saved the cost of transport and passed that savings to dad. He was making money for us and was even thinking of buying another truck when the ÁVÓ showed up again.

It was June of 1947, soon after my little brother arrived. I wasn't too happy about him. He stole all the attention I used to get. While mom was pregnant with him, I asked her what was in there, she said, "It's your new little brother." I looked at her totally amazed and asked, "How did you swallow him?"

The ÁVÓ told dad, "Your operation has been nationalized along with all the other trucks in the city. You will be a part of a company called TEFÚ.  You will keep doing what you have been doing, but will have to keep records. At the end of the month you take your books and the money to the main office. You will get a salary and operating expenses." I wasn't there to hear, but dad told the ÁVÓ major, "You take the truck, your books, salary, and operating expenses and shove them up your ass!" Mom had to beg him to calm down. He was lucky that he wasn't arrested. The following few weeks were taken up with the task of moving to DÖMSÖD!
 

3.[The move to Dömsöd]
A friend of dad’s moved the last of our stuff to Dömsöd on his truck; he was inducted into the TEFÚ. On a bright and sunny spring day the whole family arrived in Dömsöd by bus. The houses had thatched roofs and the other interesting thing was that there were these columns sticking thru them spewing smoke. I was told they were chimneys. I was a city kid, I didn't know! On the top of some of the chimneys there were a jumble of sticks, branches and dry grass looking like unruly hair. These were the nest of storks and it wasn't long before I saw one. Long legged with a long red beak. And in black and white finery, they moved with the grace of a butler. These magnificent birds flew all the way to southern Africa in the fall. I didn't even know where Africa was and hadn't a clue that I'd be going there someday.

The family had to rent some rooms until our house was finished and I was introduced to the outside toilet (W.C., long drop, poop hole). It was frightening. Like I said before, I was a city kid and was used to the porcelain goddess. In our bathroom in Budapest we even had a bidet. But this was something else, sitting over a large gaping hole that I was afraid of falling into. The structure itself didn't look or feel too sound. The stink was overwhelming! I tried to hold my breath, but that was futile because I was forced to take another breath. I felt so sorry for my young lungs and wished that I didn't have such a healthy nose. If I would have been a hunting dog and forced to sit there I would have committed dog-icide.

Next to our house, that was slowly progressing, was a little peasant house at right angles to the road just like all the others. Two rooms only, the larger closest to the street and the smaller one in the back. Dad knocked out the window on the street side and put in a door. He made the place into a Kocsma, (pronounced Cochma) a place where one could get a drink of beer, wine, liquor, food and entertainment. On weekends there was a gypsy band providing music. The back room was the kitchen--mothers domain. Dad constructed an air compressor. It was the only one in the village and it was free for use by all. Soon buses, cars, and trucks were stopping to pump up the tires, have a drink and a bite to eat. Mom's specialty was Paprikás pork or tripe. Dad would put out the sign and there was a line at the door. Mom would hire Nanah to come and help. She would bring her grandson Pista to wash dishes.

One day a city type lady came in and asked mom if she had anything Light on the menu. An old farmer standing off to one side suggested to the lady that she should try to eat some feathers. The whole place roared with laughter!

West of the village is the dead branch of the river Danube. It is dead because it's closed off by locks from the main branch below Budapest.

The village is protected by an earthen dike from the spring floods when the Danube decides to step out of its banks. Dömsöd is home to 3500-4000 souls, this grows to 6000 from early spring until late summer. The big attraction is the Danube. Because of it's slow pace it is ideal for swimming, boating and fishing. The forested banks with poplar and willow are ideal for campers. I was seven and it was a year before I started school. The village was a safe place. Mom would let me go anywhere I wanted to; sometimes with friends and sometimes by myself. I liked to go to the mill and the blacksmith shop.

The mill was a wondrous place and very dangerous for a little kid. Mr. Rakszegi who was the owner and operator of this mill before the communists nationalized it, was a good friend of dad’s. Noticing my interest he showed me everything from the giant diesel engine that powered the mill to all the steps a kernel of wheat went through before it becomes flour. The mill was alive with a constant hum while a fine dust of flour that I could smell and taste hung in the air. In the engine house the huge diesel mounted on concrete labored away day and night. The flywheel was taller than a grown man. You could see right into this engine. It had steps that went up to a catwalk on top. The engineer with a long spouted oiling can would go up there and put extra oil on the parts that needed it. Sometimes he would let me go up there and “help” him. From up there I could see the camshaft as it opened the valves. On the way down I could see the huge connecting rods moving and the crankshaft. This wasn't just an engine, it was a happening!
 

4. [At the blacksmith shop]
I could watch for hours as the smithy worked the red hot iron and watched the sparks fly with each strike of his hammer. I can still hear the rhythm and the chime of the anvil. He shod horses too; and made fittings for wagons, repaired plows and all kinds of farm machinery. It made me very happy when he asked me to pump the bellows. He arranged the coal in the forge and heated the iron until it was white hot. With long handled tongs he put it on the anvil to be shaped. I tried to guess what he would create from that lump of hot iron. The only reason I went home was because I was hungry.

Nanah's grandson, Pista, who was five years older than I, had taken me fishing to the canal. We came home with a bucket full of catfish. Nanah w fried them up in a batter made from paprika and flour. They were sooo gooood!

September came and I started school. Many of the kids had to be dragged to school kicking and screaming. Not me. I saw the other kids as potential friends and playmates. A lot of neat things happened in 1951. I turned eight, dad bought a grey donkey named Olga and a little wagon for her to pull. Olga had a baby daughter, Buksy. She was brown and still nursing and oh, so cute. Mrs.

Meggyessy was my first grade teacher, a bit taller than the average woman and easy on the eyes with red hair worn fashionably. I was always talking in class. She would sneak up on me, grab my hair next to my ear and jerk upwards. That hurt like a sunofabitch. Or she’d call me up to her desk. Then she had me hold my hands out--palms up. She had this stick about twenty inches long, I think it was cherry wood. She would hit my palm with that stick as hard as she could. Aow, aow, agony, it felt like a red hot iron was laid in my palm. If you went up there for a palm spanking and pulled away you got two. Every time you pulled away the strikes doubled. It didn't take me long to hate her and I had her right on thru the fourth grade.

Mrs Meggyess’s husband became a prisoner on the Russian front the year I was born 1943 and the Russians didn't free him until 1954. He had a son a year younger than I. The first time he ever saw him was when he was ten years old. I don't know what Mr. Meggyessy did during the revolt of '56 but one night in 1957 the ÁVÓ took him away and he was never heard from or seen again.

Finally half of our house was finished and we could move in. there was one big room for the four of us. Then there was the kitchen with a pantry, the bathroom that didn't work, and the foyer. The big room was difficult to heat. We had a large iron stove. Everything was burned in that stove: wood, coal, walnut shells. Sunflower seed husk. Yes, dad bought several wagonloads from the mill. When the husks were burned, that stove sounded like a locomotive and got cherry red. You could not stand three feet from it, but in the far corner of the room you froze your ass off.  The insulation on this house was nonexistent; all winter long the water was frozen in the jug by morning. The one who awoke first had to start the fire.

Early in the spring of '52 we had a visit from the ÁVÓ, they wanted to nationalize the Kocsma. Dad said; "Not in this life!" Then and there he took down the sign and the next day he tore out the door and put back the window. That was the end of the Baka Kocsma. The communist didn't want anybody to have their own business. They wanted everyone to work for the party. They wanted to control everything and everybody.

To prevent the little house from getting confiscated (there was only one house allowed per family) dad wanted to move his parents down from Budapest. I could hardly wait for my grandparents to arrive. My cousins Joe and Susie would be coming with then. Joe was a big guy five years older than I was and Susie was just four years older and a very pretty girl. Dad with his parents and sister lived in Dömsöd before Gramps was sent to prison. Let me clue you in on that.

It was 1920, Gramps was a cabinetmaker, his son (my dad) was eight years old. When Gramps came home from the war Hungary was in turmoil. Marxists, Fascists, Anarchists had all tried to grab power. Dömsöd was a microcosm of all that. When neighbors started to kill each other grandfather ran to the post office to the only telephone in the village to call the authorities in Budapest. His misfortune was that at the time of his call the communists were in charge of the exchange and somebody wrote grandfathers name, date and time in the log. On this evidence he was convicted of helping the communists and was sentenced to seven years at hard labor. The man didn't even know what a communist was, he was an artisan. The communists had nothing to offer him. He received a terrible beating in prison; it injured his stomach wall so bad that he had to wear a special girdle for the rest of his life. His son was a teenager by the time he got out.

Dad was apprenticed to a master mechanic when he was fourteen years old. He wanted to stay in school and go on to high school; there was no chance for that. With his father in prison his mother had her hands full just to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. There wasn't any welfare or help of any kind for single parent families. My granny sold the family home in Dömsöd and moved up to Budapest with her son and daughter. From there she could visit gramps in prison and take him some good food. She couldn't send him food because the guards would just steal it. She was doing house cleaning and taking in washing to keep going. After the Kocsma was closed dad was crushed. I could tell that he had a different attitude. How many times can a man be knocked down before he finds it hard to get up? The communists forced him to give up trying. He hated them for that!
 

5. If you're going to be dumb, you’ve got to be tough!

My grandparents and cousins moved into the little house. Gramps bought a piece of land in the “Island”. It wasn't really an island, but if you wanted to get there you had to cross canals or the Danube.

Dad got a job on the local bus as a driver. He made four runs to the train depot six miles east of the village. It was always an occasion when the bus arrived from the train station. My brother and I would always be at curbside to see who arrived and to greet our father. While people were slowly filing off I was looking at dad thru the opening by the hinge of the door. One time when everybody was off the bus I wanted to get dad's attention so I stuck my face into the opening and puckered my lips and tried to whistle. My signal was successful because dad looked my way; then for some unknown reason my little brother slammed the door. The pain was instant; my upper and lower lips were trapped in a slot that a dime wouldn't slide into. Those Rába bus doors fit tight! I couldn't even scream, my mouth was clamped shut. I was making some noises in my throat and I could taste blood in my mouth. It seemed an eternity before someone opened that door. When I was free of the bus my hands went right to my mouth, the blood was flowing freely. I was in a panic state and screaming like a banshee. Dad grabbed me up and ran with me toward the house as mom was coming out to see what all the screaming was about. When she saw me in dad's arms and my face a bloody mess she damn near fainted. She thought that I was hit by the bus. Dad explained what happened.

She got a towel and wrapped it around my face, sat me on the handlebar of her bicycle, and took me to Dr Székely to have my lips stitched. The doctor was a fat dude; it showed that he didn't mind spending on groceries. His clinic was at his house, he was a country doctor, he even made house calls. He got around in a Hintó pulled by two beautiful black horses driven by his brother. When mom told him what happened I was sat in his dentist chair where his nurse came and removed the towel and cleaned up my face. Then came Dr Székely, the huge sonofabitch sat on me! He straddled me in the chair, trapping my arms in the process. I could hardly breathe. I was thinking that if I didn’t bleed to death I would surly suffocate. Dr. Székely wasn't a believer in anesthetics or pain killers. His philosophy was, "If you gona be dumb, you gots to be tough". His nurse held me by the ears and forced my head into the head rest. Then the good doctor began to sew. He had a curved needle threaded with monofilament fishing line. I saw a needle like that at the mill; they used it to sew up flour sacks. The needle was being forced thru my lip, I could hear it, the pain was excruciating. Two stitches in the upper and two in the lower lips, a little disinfectant, two pieces of plaster and I was done. When I got out of the chair, to my surprise I could stand, it was the first time in ten minutes that I could get a full breath of air. Mom took me back home on the bike and when I looked in the mirror I was worried that from now on I'm going to look like a rabbit. My lips were sticking way out, my face was swollen, and I think the nurse stretched my ears.

Speaking or eating normally was impossible. I asked mom if I could stay home from school. I don't think she understood me, she just said, "You will make Mrs Meggyessy very happy." I don't see how I would do that? Since I couldn't eat a sandwich, she made me tomato soup and put it in a baby bottle. It was bad enough that I couldn't explain what happened, but at recess when everyone was having sandwiches and cupcakes, I pulled out the baby bottle and started sucking. Oh the laughter and the humiliation was unbearable. I could not fight; I was afraid of getting punched in the mouth and tear out the stitches. Five days I had to endure the abuse and the humiliation. By the third day I could talk and let it be known that when my stitches came out there be hell to pay!

The first order of business after my stitches were removed was to confront the sonofsbitch that was the ringleader of the harassment and I broke his nose. To this day his nose sits to one side. If you're going to be dumb, you’ve got to be tough!
 

6. Winter and Summer
I was very happy that Joe and Susie were here with us. Their mother, my aunt and Godmother, escaped to the west before the invading Russians and left her children with her parents. Dad was a father to them; they were his sister’s children. Gramps was making plans to plant fruit trees on the land and start bee keeping, he was sixty three years old.

I could hardly wait for summer vacation to start. I always had a great time around the village. We had a lot of snow around Christmas and in January. I harnessed Olga in the sled; and Steve and I would ride all over. When the Danube froze it was time to search for the skates, the kind that clamped on the shoes. We'd play hockey until the sun went down. We never had proper equipment so we made do with what we had or could make. Joe had proper hockey skates, his father sent it to him from Canada and he was envied by every kid in the village. My aunt sent me a pair of figure skates from West Germany, but dad removed the skates from the shoes and took them to Búcsi's uncle who was a cobbler. Had another layer of sole put on them and I wore those shoes to school. It damn near broke my heart to lose those skates Dad did it because there were no shoes available in Hungary.

It wasn’t long before summer vacation and it was time to kick off our shoes so Joe and I could go explore the island. Almost all the trees were in full foliage by now and there were plenty of them around the village. Along the river and the roads, poplar, acacia, willow, sour cherry, chestnut, boysenberry. Ah, boysenberry, what a wonderful tree! It was easy to climb, the best fishing poles could be cut from its branches, and Ys for catapults. By midsummer the berries were ripe. There were purple ones and white ones, and they were, oh, so sweet. Since it wasn't a marketable fruit nobody minded if you climbed their tree. Many of the trees were along the streets. Some people collected the berries and made a strong drink called Pálinka. Most of the berries were shook down and the ducks and pigs ate it.

There were lots of animals in the village, other than dogs and cats. Since the populace was mostly farmers, there was a large selection of live stock. There was an abundance of fowl and rabbits. Most of the pork and beef consumed was locally raised. There were the draft animals, horses and oxen, a few donkeys were used also. The village had herdsmen and from early spring until late fall they would drive the live stock to the common pasture. The pig herder started the earliest, he would blow on his trumpet and the pigs were turned out into the street. Not to the amusement of the vehicles trying to negotiate the highway, but like it or not, they were stuck axle deep in pigs until the herd turned off toward the pasture. With the cows it was just the same, only a larger obstacle. The Puli dogs of the herdsmen made it all possible; they managed to keep the animals together and moving. The most amazing thing was in the evening when the herds were on the way home. The owners open the gates as the herd approached and the animals finding their own home go right in the barn or pen. I always wondered how they knew where they lived.

Gramps got the fruit trees and Joe and I was employed to dig the holes, haul the fertilizer, and water them. The water came from the canal that gently flowed at the eastern end of the would-be orchard. The canal had fish in it too. After the work was done the canal looked inviting and Joe and I would jump in and wash off the sweat and dirt. It was a little chilly but it felt wonderful.

When the fruits were starting to get ripe, my friends and I visit the local cantaloupe and watermelon patches. The owners sometimes chase us with a coach whip, but no one ever got caught or hit. Close to our cabin was an orchard that belonged to a man named Varga Gergő, in his orchard was a big beautiful cherry tree. This tree had the biggest, crunchiest, and best tasting cherries in the world. The soil under that tree was sandy, old Gergő would rake the ground under that tree so he could tell at a glance if someone have been stealing his cherries. One day three of my friends showed up, I asked them if they would like to eat some cherries, they said that they would. Gergő's cherries were the closest

The four of us were munching cherries up in the tree, spiting the pits at each other just having a good time. When a voice from below put an end to our merriment;" You boys get down from that tree! What are you doing up there?" Like he didn't know, he was pissed! One of the boys yelled down;” Were just trying to cut a fishing pole!" Old Gergő wasn't having none of that. "You li'l bastards come down this instant!" I yelled down, "Naw, I got a better idea, why don't you come up?" "Hey I know you, you're that Baka bastard, I'm going to tell your father. Now I'm going to get the Agro guard!" He never did, and we had fun! Toward the end of the summer dad told me that Mr. X or Mr. Y came to see him and complained about us stealing fruit, he just asked them, how much fruit did we eat and paid what they asked.

The summer ended, the cabin was closed up, and animals, bees, and everyone moved back to the village. I had to put on shoes. The first day of school and I was in trouble, one of my little friends ran off with the mouth about the fiery snake, and his parents wrote a note to the teacher.

Mrs. Meggyessy asked me about the burning snake but I played the big dummy and denied everything. She went to see my dad, and with the threat of severe bodily harm I had to give up my treasures. I don't know what happened to them. I think dad buried everything in the trash pit.

It was in the third week of school, I was in our yard trying to rig an antenna for my crystal radio, when I heard a loud explosion. I looked in that direction and saw a puff of black smoke. It was a quarter of a mile south of our house along the main road. Wondered what the hell that could have been? I haven't finished with the antenna when I heard the siren of an ambulance, it stopped close to Attila’s house who was my classmate.

I ran there as fast as I could, Gramps came along too but he couldn't keep up. When I got there an older boy said to me, "Your brother and Attila blew themselves up, they are in the ambulance already!" I tried to look thru the opaque glass of the ambulance, but couldn't see a thing. Gramps got there and talked to one of the ambulance crew. They let him in the ambulance, and thru the partially open door I saw my little brother on the stretcher and he was moving!
 

Forty years later Attila told me what really happened. He and Steve were playing in Attila’s yard. The mortar bomb laid under the corn crib for years when on this day Attila decided it would be fun to blow it up. A mortar bomb arms itself when it is fired from the tube, and it didn't blow up on impact. I know it was a mortar bomb from Attila’s description. It was either a Russian eighty-two or a German eighty millimeter. It had to be at least that size to reduce a three foot high steel reinforced concrete post to dust. Thank God that it only went off when Attila threw it.  A shard tore away part of his left calf, a piece went thru his right hand, and another piece cut him at the end of his right eyebrow. A golden horseshoe must have been up Attila’s ass that day. Little brother’s guardian angel worked overtime too, he only received a piece of shrapnel a size of a green pea on the inside of his left leg. It was deep, but it only hit soft tissue and the doctors were reluctant to dig after it so they left it in him. He still carries it, lives near Orlando, Florida and lost in Viet Nam. After that fiasco everybody in the village referred to Attila and Steve as the Explosive Experts.
 

This cemetery is at the south end of the village and it1s like the cemeteries you've seen in horror movies! Weeping willows with low hanging branches, creepers climbing ancient wooden grave markers, giant spider webs, owls hooting, and that heavy smell of flowers that only a cemetery or a funeral parlor have. It was enough to get an eight or nine year olds imagination soar! The game was simple, but fun. Just had to walk alone from the south gate of the cemetery to the north gate without braking into a run. The game started when it was almost dark, from then on it just got better. No one could do it, neither could I. Just before I started running, I could feel cold fingers closing around my throat.

I hated to go to school more and more every day, we were forced to learn the Russian language, I hated it. The old, badly lit, drab class rooms, with the pictures of comrade Stalin and that Hungarian asshole traitor Rákosy everywhere. When I started school two years ago my dad told me in the most serious manner not to repeat anything in school that I heard at home. He explained that we were living under the heel of a communist dictator. He told me to remember well if I don't want to be raised as a ward of the state. I knew that something was not right. Mom had to get a permit to slaughter our own hog. Then had to give half of it to the state. Others with cows had to turn in half the milk. The commies were ripping off everybody!
 

12. Violin Lessons
The storks and swallows have flown south, winter was on it's way. Dad came home with a violin case under his arm. After dinner I asked him; "Hey dad, who's the violin for?" "It's for you son! You will learn to play the violin!" "But dad, I don't like the violin, I would like to play the guitar!"  "Son we don't have a guitar, we have a violin. So you will learn to play the violin. Besides once you know how to play the violin, you can play anything." That was explained plain enough, I guess I will learn to play the violin! It was late in the fall, all the leaves were down and the harvest was over.

Gramps got hold of Joe and I, he needed a little assistance. Olga was harnessed to the wagon and a lot of old newspapers and some balls of string were loaded. We had a leisurely ride to the orchard. Gramps explained that we will have to wrap the trunks of the young trees with newspapers to protect them from the deer and rabbits. I told Gramps, "The rabbit will make quick work of the newspaper, and then lunch is served." "Not so." said Gramps "The rabbit presses his nose to the paper, the paper crackles, the rabbit runs away, it's that simple." "Rabbits sure are stupid!"

Mom told me that my violin teacher will be Nagy Judith and my first lesson will be the following Saturday. It was not something I looked forward to. It rained off and on for the next couple of days, mud puddles were everywhere. Then it was Saturday. My lesson was from eleven to twelve so I wanted to leave by ten thirty because there was about a mile to walk. I looked like a sissy in the clothes mom made me wear, and I hoped that I would not meet anyone I knew. I made it to Judith's house without being spotted--that was lucky. She lived in the center if the village with her parents and her sister, it was a big house. Judith's parents were landowners, but all of it was confiscated by the “workers’ paradise”.

She answered the door and ushered me in. She was a very likable young woman. She asked me to tell her about myself. There wasn't much to tell, but I did anyway. The room was in half light and I noticed a huge horn hanging on the wall on a yellow silk rope. I knew it was the horn of a Hungarian grey steer, but it was unusually large, at least five feet in length. I asked Judith if I could blow it. She said, "Maybe after the lesson!"

So it began, she showed me how to hold the violin and the bow. She said that the stance was important, and the way my hand curled around the neck of the instrument, and the placement of my fingers on the strings. I dragged the bow across the strings, it sounded awful. I had encounters with cats that sounded better. I was extremely uncomfortable, and my underwear was creeping into the crack of my butt. Then it was over. I asked if I could now blow the horn, but she said, "Not now, my mother is still sleeping, maybe next time." I would have thought that the violin woke her up by now. On the way out I noticed a large oil painting in the foyer, it was very interesting. A beautiful lady in a long black velvet dress with gold trim was fleeing down a stone corridor. Panic was on her face and a flaming torch in her hand. Behind her were a half dozen men dressed like Turks with curved naked swords in their hands. I asked Judith What is the painting was about? and she answered, "The girl is Zirinyi Ilona the sister of Zirinyi Miklos the defender the fortress of Szigetvár. The fortress has fallen and she is on the way to blow up the powder magazine and all the Turks!" I was impressed, I learned about Szigetvár in school but not this part.
 

Winter arrived with a vengeance and smothered us with lots of snow. There was no such thing as “snow days” school was on regardless. I remember going to school on skis. There were no school buses and some kids come from far away. I remember three kids from one family, two boys and a girl. When there was much snow or ice they come to school alternately. There was only one pair of boots between the three of them. Sometimes the oldest one brought the youngest on his back and toke him home the same way.
 

I will tell her it was for a good cause, cause I needed it, he, he, he. Oh, it turned out to be a beautiful csúzli, even if I do say so myself, and powerful too. In less then a week cats gave our yard a wide berth. They must have talked among themselves, "Hey pal, don't go that way! That crazy Baka kid will shoot you're ass. He shot me two days ago I haven't been able to catch a mice since!"

I gave a pair of the rubbers to my good friend Búcsi, we’ve been friends since the first grade. I showed him the one I made. A couple days later I noticed that the tongue from one of his shoes was missing. His mama will have a fit too! The projectiles were found on the beach of the Danube. We had to choose gravels that were round as possible. We filled our pockets, and from that day we always had some gravel in our pockets. We’d never take the Csúzli to school because Mrs. Meggyessy liked nothing better than to confiscate them.

Búcsi and I were on the way to Bődi's house and were confronted with the four guys that beat me up. The one that I exercised my revenge on kind of hung back, but he joined the chase when Búcsi and I started running. We were going as fast as we could, but they were gaining on us. One or more was yelling, "There's no one to save your ass this time!" My csúzli was in my hand and I was digging in my pocket for gravel, Búcsi was doing the same thing. We ducked around the corner of a plank fence and opened fire. Both of us shot as fast as we could. The chase came to a halt. Our pursuers were feeling the gravels, “Yaay, Áow, Ouch.” They were only five to ten yards away when we opened up on them, they were easy targets, a lot easier than the cats I practiced on. Now it was our turn to chase them. Before the day was over we would have to fill up on gravel.

A few days later Búcsi and I went to a movie. It was a Russian war flick. The Nazi hordes were purged from Mother Russia. It was dark by the time the Ivans were celebrating their victory. The street lights were burning all along the road. These were not the high tech light of today, no, no. These were just bare bulbs on the end of a metal pipe that was attached to wooden telephone poles, an enameled cover protected the bulb from the rain. We were half a block from the movies when I let one fly at one of the lights, CLANG! I hit the cover, and I hardly aimed. I aimed and shot, PUCK, the bulb went out! That was fun, Búcsi on the left and I on the right shot out every single light all the way to Dab! When we looked back toward the village center it was dark as grape jelly.
 

This Decsóv principal was a sadist; he beat kids mercilessly all the time. Dad told me he was a mad dog communist too. I was scarred shitless! Búcsi started to whimper; he knew about Decsóv and knew that we were in for a serious beating. Mrs. Meggyessy wrote on a piece of paper, sealed it in an envelope and gave it to me with the instruction that I'm to give it to principal Decsóv. I saw the name on the envelope and my hand was shaking when I got hold of it. We got our coats and hats and started walking to the Hajós Kastély, it wasn't a long walk a little more than a  mile. At one time it was the estate of a rich landowner family that escaped to the west before the end of the war. That way they only lost their lands and estate. The communists confiscated everything and made the country house into a school. It was a very impressive building for it's time. They didn't have wax for the hard wood parquet floors, so some socialist idiot had it smeared with used motor oil. There were several buildings in the village that were used as schools, but Hajós Kastély was the most impressive, that's why Decsóv had his office there. Búcsi stopped sniveling; I felt for him. I was trying to figure out what to do at this stage. If I threw away the envelope and went home that would just postpone everything until a later date. We will just have to face the music. Plans were forming in my head. If he starts beating me I will stab him in the eye with my fountain pen; it was a Pelican brand and real strong. If he hurts me badly dad will beat the shit out of this Dachian (Rumania) bastard. When we arrived we went into his ante room and I knocked on his door. The door opened and there he was and my butt cheeks squeezed together when I handed him the envelope. He took it and said, "I will be with you in a minute" and closed the door. I wanted to say, “Make it three, five, or an hour.” I wanted to ask Búcsi how he felt, but I knew that already. The door opened again and he ordered us into his office. We stood in front of his desk with downcast eyes. I glanced around the room to see if I could spot some beating utensils, there wasn't any that I could see. He will probably use his belt. He screamed at us, "You little bastards the Party sends you to school for free and this is the way you repay the generosity of our great leader Rákosy Mátyás?"

I knew that what he just said was a lie because every year my father had to buy my books. Fuck Rákosy that traitor Russian puppet. "By destroying the peoples property. I’ve had it with you two. You think we don't know about the dangerous explosives you play around with, the stealing, and the hooliganism? This is the last straw. I'm sending both of you to reform school." Búcsi started crying, I hated this man and I'm not going to give him the satisfaction to see me cry if I can help it. I didn't know how much longer I can hang tough. He told Búcsi to wait outside and I thought that now the beating will start, but it didn't. He asked me, "Have you got a pen?" "Yes" I squawked and held up my pen, I had it in my hand all the time like a dagger. "Pull up a chair and have a seat, you will write a farewell letter to your parents." This dachian sunafabitch will have me gone before mom and dad get home. Panic was taking me over. He put a sheet of lined paper in front of me and said, "I will tell you what to write. Begin now: Dear mom and dad, I damaged the property of the Peoples Socialist Democratic State and this is a crime that I must be punished for..." All of a sudden the dam that was holding back the tears burst and flowed freely, not a sound left my throat, but I couldn't control my tears. "I will not be seeing you for a very long time....." the paper was getting soaked, the tears fell on the writing and the ink ran, my letters were growing hairs, "Principal Decsóv is sending me to reform school. Good bye, your loving son!"
 

I was waiting to be knocked on my ass, but he just sat there and started talking to me. The last thing I remember that he said to me was, "If I ever see you with another..." I sent him away and tuned him out. I didn't hear one more word. I was looking right at him; he was real small, like if he was a mile away, yet if I would reach out I could touch him. But then the magic would be over. I could do this to mom or anyone, and one day in my teens I couldn't do it anymore.

Mom was ranting and still wanted to punish me after dad’s talk, but he would not let her. I think he was glad that I destroyed something of the communist infrastructure. We never heard any more about the lights or reform school. Decsóv sure put a scare into me, for that I just hated him more. He did the same with Búcsi. By the time he finished with him, classes were over and he told him to go home. Búcsi's dad confiscated my friend’s csúzli and destroyed his too, plus he got slapped around.
 

22 Shit Hole
"Take off them dirty clothes before you stink up the whole place!" That smell is etched in my memory for ever. If sheep or mutton is even mentioned around me, I still smell and taste the experience. Slowly but surely spring was arriving, the storks and swallows were returning after their winter absence. All over the village there were nesting pairs on chimney top nests. On the way to school I found violets at the base of a tree.

When I arrived at school, close to the boy’s and girl’s toilet, about twenty feet away there was a huge pit. Eight by ten feet by my estimate and four feet deep. Eszti Néni (Aunt Ester) was just squaring up the corners. She wasn't anyone’s aunt as far as I knew. She was a middle-aged woman who cleaned outhouses in the village. She wore men's clothes and you never wanted to be down wind from her. Have you ever been close to a house where a septic tank was pumped? She stank worse than that. She wasn’t kind to the eyes either, in fact she was down right ugly, had a hair lip too! She even talked funny. I thought it was because she tried to keep her nostrils closed. She had a long pole with a German helmet attached to one end that she would dip the crap from the outhouse into two large buckets. The buckets were emptied into the pit then she’d cover up the pit with dirt and marked it so that no digging would  be done there for a year. Yeah, Aunt Ester was our honey dipper. As soon as she’s finish she’d throw down her shovel and be off to the nearest Kocsma to get a stiff drink. The Saturday previous we saw a nature film about trapping animals in the wild. I talked to some of the boys and told them, "Let's throw the girls in the pit!"

My idea was received with enthusiasm. In twos or threes guys would catch a girl and threw her in the pit. Some of them landed on their feet while others climbed right out and wanted us to chase them again. All of us were having fun when the bell rang and the fun was over. I talked with the boys in class, lucky for me that Mrs. Meggyessy didn't spot me. Everyone agreed that the “animal” trapping would continue at the ten o'clock recess. At ten we poured out of the classroom with my buddies and me in the lead. Aunt Ester wasn't around and we thought that she was still at the Kocsma. That’s when I spoted Gyönösy Ibolya, and yelled at the boys to get her. She was screaming and tried to bite and kick us. I remembered that she ratted out Búcsi and me when we shot out the streetlights. I yelled, "Into the pit with her!" and they let her fly. SPLAT! SPLASH! Awful screaming followed. I looked into the pit and to my horror there was Ibolya on her back a foot deep in shit. Unbeknownst to me Aunt Ester had been filling the pit with shit for the past hour before deciding to go back to the Kocsma

 

The girls were not too eager to help Ibolya out of the pit as she stood up and was covered with shit. She stunk just like Aunt Ester now. With all the screaming Mrs. Meggyessy arrived on the scene and helped Ibolya out of the pit and got shit all over her hands and dress. She picked two girls to escort Ibolya home. She told us to just wait and that she’d be right back. She went home to get cleaned up too, and to change. Her apartment was at the end of the building. We had a long recess. As soon as she got back she ordered us into the classroom. I could tell she was not amused. It was so quiet that the ticking if the clock seemed loud. She picked up her stick, lightly struck her palm and asked the question, "Who's idea was it to throw the girls into the pit?” The girls answered in a chorus, "BAKA'S!" Oh, oh, I'm in deep shit now. I protested, "I didn't know there was anything in the hole ma’am. I thought it was still empty." "You come up here right now!" She was looking at me like a judge looks at a criminal before passing sentence. With her stick she motioned for me to get moving. If I knew what was going to happen next I would have ran out the door. She had two bigger guys come up front too. Both of them took part in the girl catching. She pulled the chair from her desk; it was a high backed chair with a gap between the seat and the backrest. She told me to kneel down and to stick my head in the gap. She told the two boys to hold my arms and not to let go. I snarled at them with clenched teeth, "You muthafuckers will be sorry for this!" I heard the stick whistle thru the air and when it landed on the cheeks of my butt the pain went straight to my brain and took my breath away. I wanted to scream but no sound came out. The second stroke hit and the pain was excruciating. I heard myself screaming at the two sunafabitches to turn me loose, but they held me fast. The third stroke felt as if it hit bone. I was screaming, snot, tears, and saliva was running down my face and chin. At the fourth stroke my bladder turned loose and I pissed myself. The fifth stroke I didn't even feel, my brain and butt were numb with pain telling me that it couldn't possibly hurt anymore. My ass felt like I’d been sitting on a red hot stove. When I was turned loose I went at the two bastards. They ran out of the classroom.  I was in a fog of anger, pain, and humiliation. I heard my name called from far away; it was Mrs. Meggessy calling me back.

I was more than halfway across the classroom. If in that moment I could have gotten hold of a sharp instrument I would have run her thru, repeatedly. Just then the fog lifted and she ordered me, "Come here!" I was surprised at the deathly quiet as I walked toward her nursing my butt with both hands. My cheeks ached and throbbed, spittle was still dripping from my chin and my crotch was soaked. I wished I could have grown three feet in a blink of an eye. I would’ve dragged Mrs. Meggessy out in the yard and throw her in the shit pit. I was standing an arms length from her when she looked down at me and said, "Go home and change your clothes. I looked up at her and I wanted her to see how much I hated her. I didn't care if she hit me. I told her, "When I grow up I will come back and find you and I’m going to beat the shit out of you!" She laughed at me, but no one else laughed. I could hear her laughter all the way home. Nanah was beside herself when I told her what happened. She soaked a cloth with vinegar, I removed my soaked pants, laid on my bed and Nanah spread the cloth on my butt. It was soothing, and it stopped the throbbing. One of my friends brought my backpack home and I heard him asking Nanah how I was. I didn't go to school the next day or the day after that. It was impossible to sit. I didn’t' dare complain to my parents because I heard them sanction this when I started first grade.
 

Another boy on shore was waiting with a sack and you throw him the fish. Everyone would take a turn in the water. The peaks of excitement were when an angolna (eel) got in the basket. At those times baskets were abandoned amidst much cussing and screaming. The basketeer thinking it was a snake because we hadn't a clue that there were no poisonous snakes in that part of the country. On one occasion when cousin Joe was with us, I was left at a bridge with a stout pole to beat the water. The boys were coming toward me. Where I was standing it was smooth concrete steeply inclined. I should have taken off my sandals because while beating the water I started sliding. While trying to find some footing I let go of the pole, the end of which slipped into the right leg of my shorts. When it could go no further, my weight started to push the pole into the muddy bottom of the canal. I thought that I was going to get a dunking for sure, but everything came to a halt when I was hanging upside down about a foot above the water. My frantic yelling got the attention of the boys. Joe came charging over and took me down. Jakos Zsiga was the best angler that I knew. He was seven years older than me, but was small for his age; my cousin Joe looked like a giant next to him. Zsiga’s dad was my dad's conductor when he was driving the bus to the train station. To this guy fishing was everything. Almost all the money he earned went for hooks and fishing line, everything else he made himself. He was the one who taught me how to fish. The first time he took me to his house I could hardly believe it. The four of them lived in a tiny cabin not much bigger than ours at the orchard, but this one had a loft. Zsiga lived up there year round. It must have been real cold during the winter. The previous summer Zsiga was the talk of the village because while fishing on the Danube he hooked and landed an eighty-eight pound channel catfish. These suckers eat ducks! He only outweighed the fish by four pounds. He accomplished this feat from a Ladik using a hand line. The fish pulled him around for a couple of hours before it was tired enough to be pulled into the boat. When he fished from the shore he could never cast his line in far enough so he swam his baited line far out. Zsiga is a nice old man now and lives very close to the Danube. A few years ago he suffered a massive stroke that partially crippled him and turned his hair snow white. I visit my fishing friend from time to time and we talk about the times of our youth.
 

The past September I was ten years old. I could hardly wait for summer vacation to start when I’d move to the cabin at the orchard. For now is was just school and the band as usual. Ever since we had to do a book report on the Egri Csillagok (The Stars of  Eger) all of us were taken with the story and we used it in our play. Eger was a fortress in northeastern Hungary that was taken under siege by the Turks. The defenders were greatly out numbered, but thru their ingenuity and heroism held out all thru the summer. With the arrival of the cold weather the dejected and humiliated Turks gave up and went away. Naturally there were sword fights with sticks daily at school and as the boys got carried away there were casualties--lumps, bruises, a slashed face, a broken finger. Finally Mrs. Meggyessy had to put a stop to it. The sword fighting barely faded when another popular book at the time started the Indian fad. 'Irokézek Fia' (Son of the Iroquois) made for exciting play. 

The story was about an English boy named George, ten years of age. It takes place during the time of the French-Indian wars. English General Braddock is trying to build a wagon road from Virginia to Pittsburg Landing, George Washington is the surveyor. The boy is captured by the Indians in an ambush and taken far to the north. He is adopted by an Iroquois family and has the time of his life. He goes on a trek with his Indian family to a great big lake to make salt. When there is a chance for a rescue, he escapes back to his Iroquois friends. Places that are present today are mentioned, Warrenton, Virginia was just a tiny settlement so is Front Royal which was on the edge of the frontier at the time. Since it was getting warm, most of us were half naked after school. I borrowed mom’s lipstick and put on war paint, on my friends too. We had to use petroleum to get it off. Guys made bows and arrows and it was getting pretty dangerous. It was a miracle that nobody lost an eye. Many years later I would visit all the places mentioned in that book
 

I looked around real good to see if any one was around and to note any reference points so I could find my bomb again. I couldn't see a soul and I hurried off to get the smoker. On my way back to Gramps I found it again with no problem, but just to make sure I got a stick and stuck it in the ground next to it. The farmers plow unearthed this thing, if it didn't explode from the collision with the plow, it must be pretty dormant. I must figure out how to wake it up. These things were dropped out of B-17 and B-24 bombers on Hungary in 1944 and 1945. Fifthly or a hundred of these things were packed into cylinder-shaped containers. The planes dropped them from a great altitude, but the containers only opened one thousand feet above the ground releasing the deadly seeds to insured a thorough saturation, The seeds had winglets that induced a spin like a maple seedpod, this spin armed the mine to explode on impact. The bomb I found was missing its winglets. They had probably rusted away because it had been nine years since the end of the war. I have seen the larger deployment cylinders all over the village being used as feeding troughs for live stock. This bomb was a dud for sure, but I would blow it up. All the way home I was trying to figure out a way to transport this monster without blowing myself to smithereens. I couldn't blow it up where it was, it had to be moved!

At home I checked my kite string; it proved to be too weak for my purpose. The next day at school I told Búcsi what I found, and asked him if he had anything stronger than kite string. He said that he had a roll of packing twine that is used to tie grain sacks shut and other securing jobs. A ball of it was at least a hundred yards or longer. I asked him if he could get it. "Sure I can. What do you want to do?" "After school we'll go to your house, get the twine and I will show you what I want to do."

When we got back to the field the bomb was laying just as I left it and that stick I stuck next to in made it easy to find. Luckily there wasn't anyone around. Búcsi knelt down close to the bomb and looked at it with amazement, "What do you want to do to with it?" "What do you think? blow it up, of course." "Hey, don't you remember what happened to your brother and Attila?" "Sure I do, but I am not going to throw this thing, I'm not even going to touch it." "Then how are you going to move it, smart ass? I know you ain't no magician!" "That's what the twine is for. We will not be near it when it blows up, but we will hear and see the fireworks!" "How are we going to do that?" My friend was getting interested so then I pointed, "Over that way, just outside of the dike there is a cut corn field a half a mile from here, maybe a little more. The cornstalks have been stacked. We have to get this there without blowing it up. Give me that twine."

I unwound about ten feet and tied a large loop on the end and made a clove hitch from the loop. I then carefully slipped the clove hitch over the bomb. There was a delicious tingling of fear in my stomach. I had to put my hand on the bomb when I tightened the clove hitch. Now the bomb was secured to the end of the twine. I had no idea what the killing radius of this bomb was, but I figured that the farther away the safer we were. So I told Búcsi, "Take the ball of twine and slowly unwind it, but don't pull on it. Go that way!" I pointed in the direction of the cornfield. When he was thirty yards away I yelled for him to stop. I joined him and he handed me the ball of twine. I held the ball in my left hand, wrapped the twine around my right hand a few turns and took up the slack. This twine was strong but it stretched a lot. I pulled and pulled. I took a few steps backwards and pulled some more. The twine was tight as a banjo string when all of a sudden I saw the bomb leap into the air flying toward us! We got moving real quick, but the bomb only bounced toward us fifteen or sixteen feet before it came to rest. It must have been stuck to the ground. Now that it was free, it was mine. I got the twine off my hand and unwound some more from the ball and started to pull. The bomb came sliding along like some pull toy. I told Búcsi if he sees a flash to drop without hesitation even if he has to drop into a cow pie. We crossed a piece of pasture and the bomb came along like a puppy. "Hey buddy, do you have any matches?" "What the hell for?" "To start a fire!" "Why would I want to start a fire, Imre?" "To blow up the bomb!" "This is getting more complicated by the minute!" "This is a lot better than sitting at home doing homework. This you will never forget if you live to be a hundred!"

As we walked toward the corn field the stacks came into view, I was hoping that the bomb wouldn't hang up on something. If it does either Búcsi or I will have to go back and free it. The next thing we must do is to place the bomb into a cornstalk stack closest to the dike. "Búcsi, go into that stack and wiggle thru to the other side. Take the twine with you. Do you have your knife?" "Sure, I have it right here. What will I need my knife for?" "Once you are out of the stack and the bomb is positioned you cut the twine. No point of leaving it here. I will tell you when. OK, get going, but keep an eye on me and stop when I signal you too." We had been very fortunate that nobody came by or even came close. Búcsi climbed into the stack and came out the other side. The bomb almost followed his footsteps into the stack. When the bomb was totally buried, I motioned for Búcsi to stop and cut the twine. He started to roll up the twine, "Stop, Stop, just cut it!" I yelled. No point in going closer to that thing than we had to. I guess he didn't want to waste any twine.


He came walking back, "Now what?" "Since neither of us have any matches, we have to go to my house or Nanah's to get some. By the time we get back it should be dark enough!" As soon as we walked in the door Nanah asked, "What are you two birds up to now?" 
 

27 Bombs Away
"Were not up to anything Nanah, can we have a box of matches?" "Matches! What do you need matches for; whose house are you going to burn down?" "We just want to make a little fire, Nanah, to sit around after dark." That was the truth, we would not sit too close to the fire though. "Here you are. Just be careful with the fire." "Thanks, Nanah." If the old lady only knew. Well, I’d rather not think about that. I wasn't about to tell her what we were about to set alight so we beat feet from there in a hurry. Everything was the same as we left it and there wasn't anybody around. The closest building was a stable and that was three hundred yards distant and on the village side of the dike.

"Búcsi was beginning to have doubts about the soundness of my plan, "Imre, if you set a corn stack on fire half the village will be here in less than a minute to see what the hell is burning." "Búcsi, you're crazy. The gypsies always set these things on fire for one reason or another. How many times have you or your old man ran to see what was burning?" "Well, never!" "You see