AUGUST 2009: A Bookstore in Budapest

Finally we rambled into the bookstore and browsed the 5’ cubic area of English books at the back of the store. I selected Salty Coffee-”Untold Stories by Jewish Women”, which was the first English translation of oral history by women in Budapest during the Holocaust. I sat on the bench and read some passages, becoming filled with inspiration and enthusiasm like a helium balloon. Any bit of anxiety about the new life before me suffocated in the connection I felt with the woman who was writing these stories. The book was first published in 2007 in Hungarian through the vision of Katalin Pecsi taken from the compilation of meetings and reading that took place in the Budapest ghetto in 2002. I knew I was holding a precious jewel. I had selected it thinking about my friend Patricia who was also Jewish and who I know would fear it’s presumed content but would also be blessed by the inspirational perspective and palatable structure. When I bought the book, the woman at the counter spontaneously erupted in broken English, “That is a very good choice.” As I sat and read and absorbed, she came over and kneeled down next to me. I knew this was a humble woman. She wore librarian glasses and had eyes that didn’t focus directly. It was clear that she wanted to make a connection with me and I was delighted. She asked, “Where are you from?” very clearly, and I explained how I would be living in the area as a drama teacher at “The American International School”--the big school on the hill- for at least two years. I knew I would be returning to this store and was thrilled to be making a global heart connection with local Hungarians. It was the type of connection I was missing from my friends in Zambia and with the language difference I had wondered if it would be possible. I confided in her my desire to find a pillow and was told that I should go to the next village to the large hyperstore called “Auchen” (pronounced “Ocean”). It required a taxi and she would be willing to call one for me. I wondered if she had requested someone who might speak English, or if it was just a very lucky day. So far we had found drivers who spoke only Hungarian; however, the gentleman driver today from Transylvania with dark hair, dark eyes, and prickly face stored an English dictionary on the right of the car and a Hungarian dictionary on his left. He studied mostly on his own and gleamed with pride when he boasted contextual understanding of words like “procured “ and “fortitude”. Our conversation grew with enthusiasm as we found connection in the British English and the American English, finally ending in a banter of euphemisms. When I shared, “once in a blue moon”, he shared, “the fortieth day of May” in Hungarian.