Kornél Esti by Deszö Kosztolányi

Author:Deszö Kosztolányi [Kosztolányi, Deszö]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Hungarian Literature, Humour, Fiction
ISBN: 9780811219587
Publisher: New Directions Publishing
Published: 2011-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

IX

In which he chats in Bulgarian with the Bulgarian train guard and experiences the sweet dismay of the linguistic chaos of Babel.

“THERE’S SOMETHING I MUST TELL YOU ALL,” SAID KORNÉL Esti. “A little while ago someone said at a party that he would never travel to a country where he couldn’t speak the language. I said I saw his point. The main thing that interests me when I travel is people. Much more than objects in museums. If I can only hear what they say but not understand it, I feel as if I’m deaf or watching a silent film without music or subtitles. It’s irritating and boring.

“After I’d said all that, it occurred to me that the opposite was just as valid, as is so often the case. It’s marvelous fun going around in a foreign country if voices are merely sounds which leave us cold and we stare blankly at everyone that speaks to us. What splendid isolation, my friends, what independence, what lack of responsibility. All of a sudden we feel like infants that need to be looked after. We start to display an inexplicable trust in adults wiser than ourselves. We let them speak and act on our behalf. Then we accept everything, unseen and unheard.

‘I’ve seldom had such an experience—as you know, I speak ten languages—in fact, it’s only come my way once, when I was en route for Turkey. I was passing through Bulgaria. I spent a total of twenty-four hours in the country, and that was all on the train. Something happened to me there that it would be a shame to keep quiet about.

After all, I can die at any time, as I shall one day—a tiny vein in my heart or my brain will burst—and no one else, I’m sure, will ever have a similar experience.

“So, it was at night. After midnight. The train was racing along through hills and villages that I didn’t know. It must have been nearly half past one. I couldn’t sleep. I went out into the corridor for a breath of air. I was soon bored. Black shapes were all that could be seen of the beauties of the countryside. It was quite an event if a point of light appeared. All the passengers around me were sleeping the sleep of the just. Not a soul was stirring in the carriages.

“I was on the point of going back to my compartment when the guard appeared, lamp in hand. He was a Bulgarian, a stocky man with a black mustache, and he’d evidently finished his rounds. He’d seen my ticket some time previously, so he didn’t want anything from me. But by way of greeting, in friendly fashion, he shone his lamp and his eyes on me. Then he stopped beside me. Clearly, he was bored too.

“I’ve no idea why or how, but I decided there and then, come what may, to have a conversation with him, and at length, meaningfully. I asked him in Bulgarian whether he smoked.

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