Mr Enigma
Sometimes the improbable just happens. Interpreting the
improbable is damaging.
Sometimes the improbable just happens. I know because, to date, my life
has been plagued with these randomly inexplicable impossibilities. On a
good day I just put it down to worm holes and discontinuities in the
space-time continuum. On bad days, it's clearly the malicious actions
of whatever deity has decided to adopt my cause and clearly doesn't
like me.
Maybe a true story will help. I know it's true 'cos it happened to me,
but in the scheme of things I came off lightly with my sanity intact,
if slightly bruised. So...
In the early 90's Hungary played host to a gob load of marauding
do-gooders from around the globe, all offering their version of
economic, educational and ecumenical salvation. I was one such
unwelcome parasite. They put me in a town in Western Hungary, far away
from where I would do any real damage and far from most other expats.
It took all of 5 minutes to meet every other misfit in town and
determine that I was the misfitiest of them all. Or at least I thought
I was.
At the end of the Summer, towards the end of my first year, I noticed
that someone across town somewhere was getting a copy of the British
newspaper 'The Guardian' delivered to them. I came to a number of
startling conclusions: 1. The person understood English 2. They were
probably British 3. I hadn't got a clue who they were.
Already life had taught me to be wary of other expats, but a year of
sensory deprivation through speaking quasi-English with only a copy of
'Finnegans Wake' for company had made me eager to meet with my own
kind. So as the newspaper passed through the central delivery office I
attached a note introducing myself and asking that they get in touch.
Nothing happened. So when the following week's paper arrived I wrote a
new note, trying to sound more upbeat and less desperate. Zilch. Time
passed. So much in fact, that I forgot about the mystery person.
But then there was one of those staged bufé/conference thingies, to
which every nobody in town was invited. And it was there that I finally
met Mr. Enigma (not his real name).
He looked plainly shocked when I introduced myself, but I was kind of
use to that. Still it wasn't the friendliest of greetings for two
people stuck on the Austro-Hungarian border will little in the line of
entertainment outside of the Finno-Ugric Society and a Western theme
bar. But I put it all down to him being a class 3 expat (in my yet
unpublished treaties on 'Expat personality types and other
dysfunctionals'). A class 3 expat is a person who has escaped their
native land in the final hope that by going somewhere remote they will
be treated in a way they believe is owing to them. Basically, class 3
expats believe they are unique, they want people to treat them as
special. But more than anything they want all that extra, unwarranted
attention that special, unique people think they deserve. My turning up
at the bufé just watered down Mr. Enigma's uniqueness quotient and he
was having none of it.
Anyway, I was wrong. He wasn't a class 3, Mr. Enigma was something else entirely.
The day after the bufé my department head knocked on my apartment
door (5am) asking if I knew anything about what had happened to Mr.
Enigma.
'Happened?' (that's me speaking by the way, the other bloke follows)
'Yes, he has disappeared and left everything behind. All the mirrors
have been smashed and there are thousands of bits of newspaper rolled
up and stuffed into every tiny crack or crevice in the floors, walls
and ceilings.'
End of conversation. I hadn't got a clue what had happened, but clearly something had. There was his apartment looking like the Mary Celeste, only a bit more like a porcupine turned inside-out with all the bits of paper hanging out of every orifice.
And for a while the mystery of what happened to Mr. Enigma remained.
The silence, the shock at meeting me, the sudden departure, the smashed
mirrors and the bits of paper. What did it all mean?
Then, out of the blue, I got a call from my sister. She sounded pretty
shaky and began to tell me about a new patient that had come in to the
hospital. He had been enrolled, self-diagnosed as suffering from
depression.
My sister had visited me in Hungary the previous year and stayed in my
apartment for about 3 weeks. I had moved out of that apartment at the
end of that year and it was later lived in by Mr. Enigma. So my sister
knew quite a lot about Mr. Enigma's apartment on the outskirts of
Western Hungary. My sister happens to be a psychiatric nurse and
normally her work doesn't effect her home life, but now something had
upset her.
So she began to tell me about a new patient that had arrived (something
she has never done before or since). He was convinced that British
Intelligence (oxymoron?) was pursuing him. You see in the past he had
been to meetings and written to friends sympathetic to Irish
Nationalists. He was sure he was being watched and pursued. They had
even followed him to Hungary, where their agents had met with him in an
attempt to extract intelligence.
As part of their surveillance efforts they had placed cameras behind
the mirrors in his apartment and audio bugging equipment around the
apartment.
And then I understood how this horrible riddle had gotten so out of hand. You see I have a very
Irish name, all my siblings do too. We were blessed with such
ridiculous names we even out class a lot of the trendy names that are
current. So when I introduced myself to Mr. Enigma with my ridiculously
Irish name, I can now understand the shock. I can understand the lack
of response from the notes I sent with the newspapers trying to contact
him. And when we had a conversation about his apartment, the bathroom,
mirrors, paintings etc... I can see that none of that was particularly
helpful or sympathetic to his fears.
What's worse, it probably didn't help that my sister knew everything
about his apartment, the bathroom, mirrors, paintings etc... She had
just started a normal conversation with him as part of the induction
for day patients. The topic of Hungary came up so they chatted about
that, then the coincidence that they had both stayed in the same town,
knew the same streets, the apartment... He was inordinately interested
to hear about her brother (me), what I looked like, name etc...
Mr. Enigma disappeared again. To date that is the last I ever heard of him and his fear of being watched and pursued.
I have greatly simplified this story. In actual fact the sheer number
of coincidences that befell Mr. Enigma would have provided any
reasonable person with food for their fears. For the brief time Mr.
Enigma was in Western Hungary there was a inexplicable conversation of
forces that fed his fear. Had I been him I would have reasonably
concluded the same.
Sometimes the improbable just happens.
"The rest of us, not chosen for enlightenment, left on the outside of
Earth, at the mercy of a Gravity we have only begun to learn how to
detect and measure, must go on blundering inside our front-brain faith
in Kute Korrespondences . . . kicking endlessly amongst the plastic
trivia, finding in each Deeper Significance and trying to string them
all together like terms in a powers series hoping to zero in on the
tremendous and secret Function whose name, like the permuted names of
God, cannot be spoken."- p. 590. Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas R.
Pynchon.
Cherries are not the only fruit
There is always some weird stuff going on in the garden. Spring had the woodpeckers out in force each morning and late afternoon, sounding like the noise of distant road drills. Right now it's the emergence of pomegranate blossom.
I know, it doesn't sound much like Budapest, but this is Buda, the hilly side of town. The bit that forms a backdrop to the castle district. Up here we get woken up by the raucous din of warblers, chaffinches... fighting over their mating and nesting territories. It's noisy, but you can get use to it.
I'm trying my best to pick the two cherry trees clean of fruit before they are go over. I'm getting through about a breakfast bowl a cherries a day so far and have rediscovered my childhood talent for scaling trees effortlessly. For the first few days it was great, but I'm beginning to hate the prospect of eating any more cherries. So I've taken to giving the things away in big bags. It's retarded, I know, but I just can't let the stuff go to waste.
Elsewhere in the garden the walnuts are coming along. The English word 'walnut' comes from an Old English word meaning "foreign nut" ('wealhhnutu' - wealh meaning "foreign"). I was a bit slow on the uptake last Autumn, as I had never had the opportunity to collect walnuts straight from the tree. This meant I picked some too early and was put off by the bitter taste of the unripe nut oils.
I was a bit over eager as I know the nut oil is much higher in omega-3 when fresh and young. It's also meant to have preventative properties against the onset of Alzheimer's. Anyway, by the time I tried them again, half had already gone. The ones I did manage to collect managed to last me through till early May. Which meant suffering for about 3 weeks while the garden never offered anything free to eat.
But while I never made full use of the bounty offered by the walnuts, I completely missed out on the almonds before it was too late. Truth is, I hadn't got a clue they were there even though there are 5 of the things scattered front and back. I just never expected to see an almond tree and especially one full of nuts.
Two of the trees are currently doing battle with a form of wood ear or cloud ear mushroom (Auricularia auricula-judae), which is that jelly-like mushroom that Chinese love and westerners seem to hate - and I'm indifferent to, but it's fun to pick and eat occasionally. Always worth trying to serve them to unsuspecting guests to see their reaction.
But as you can see, the almond trees are pretty packed with nuts, so I'm collecting new recipes to try out. Particularly those that use almonds and pomegranate or walnuts and pomegranate.
Of all the trees in the garden the pomegranate was the last to come
into leaf and the last to blossom. It's not much of a tree all told, more of a straggly bush or shrub and stands about 5 meters tall. But it is a wonder that the thing is here at all. It's not the hardiest of plants, so can only cope down to about -10C, so that it has managed to get through all the Winters unscathed is great.
As the plant was the last to come into leaf (starting as late as April), the blossom buds only really started to show up 10 days ago.
They all bare an uncanny resemblance to a viper's head when looked at head on.
About 4 days ago these buds broke open and the blossom has started to emerge, ranging from deep orange through to blood red.
I know of no others anywhere round here, so I am pretty certain that the tree is self pollinating. I am also experimenting with some pomegranate seeds I collected last year to see if I can get some to grow. Only recently I found out the best method of propagation is by hardwood cuttings taken in Autumn, leaves removed and buried 2/3rds into soil.
Useful Vocabulary
- Az élet nem habos torta - life isn't a bowl of cherries
- Kiválasztja a legjobbat - cherry pick
- Hullott gyümölcs - windfall (this is the literal meaning of windfallen fruit)
- Váratlan szerencse - windfall (this is the meaning of unexpected gift, blessing...)
- Fafüle gomba - wood ear mushroom
- Bogarat tett a fülébe - plant the seed of an idea (the Hungarian literally means "put a beatle in someone's ear")
- Potyázik - to freeload
- "A dolgok természetéből következik, hogy..." - it is in the nature of things that...
The far right go green
Thankfully we have survived March 15th yet again. Like previous years the March 15th 'celebration' of past glory was hijacked and turned into a political dirge by pen-pushing heroes of new.
Despite Orbán's victory parade the events were, and are, largely predictable. We will be back here again next year. It is after all how Hungarians like to spend their free time, crowding together and complaining about everyone else who doesn't agree with everything they say. The object is never progress, it is always to 'win'.
Compromise is about as dirty a word in Hungarian life and politics as you can get.
This time of the year always brings to mind Rakovszky Zsuzsa's poem Fehér-Fekete:
fekete logika – érv-ellenérv –
őröl, s zsarol, hogy el kell döntenem:
egész-igen, vagy az egészre: nem.
It's a black and
white logic - thesis and antithesis -
that wracks and tears at me to choose:
embrace it all, or to everything, no.
(translation note: deepest apologies to the poet, it's only here to guide. Please take the time to read the original or a translation that wasn't just done off the top of my head. Rakovszky Zsuzsa: Fehér-fekete, Jelenkor Kiadó, Pécs, 1991)
But you might have been forgiven for thinking that the whole of the weekend and series of demonstrations/rallies were a dead loss. Well not all. From the most unexpected corner came a sign of some clear thinking.
It seems the path to the future health and prosperity of Hungary has finally been worked out by those hyper intelligent members of the right. The basic plan is a return to old style Hungarian values and traditions. Which in their books means a return to mother nature and hunter-gathering lifestyle.
No kidding.
On Saturday, whilst the various members of the leading parties were doing their peacock walks around town the far right members of Jobbik gathered in Erzsébet Square for an all in hate-fest. During which, however, a Fogyasztóvédelmi kommandó (something like 'Commando in charge of protecting consumption') pointed out that the quality of supermarket food fruit and veg was basically, well, it wasn't good.
Actually I'm with them on this, the quality of veg and fruit in the supermarkets here is criminal and it wasn't always like this. The tomatoes and fruit here is just as rock hard and unripe as anywhere else in Europe now, special thanks to Tesco and the others. I'm not a big fan of advocating commando style back to nature foraging for food, however.
My main reason is selfishness. I just don't want you amateurs getting in on the game. The last thing I need is the forests full of hunter-gatherers striping my carefully mapped hunting grounds of all their free food.
That said there is a lot of free food on offer here right in the heart of Budapest. Last year I made the (hopefully temporary) move up into Buda. And noticed, to my delight, that life really is richer up here.
My apartment has a communal garden in which there are, wait for this, walnut, almond, cherry trees and one pomegranate tree; in addition to some brambles that must have started life long ago in the 60's as cultivated varieties.
But the current residents just can't be bothered, so they let all this seasonal bounty rot on the vine (or branch).
Well they did until I turned up. So anyway, as my part to help Hungarians find their way back to nature here is my contribution to the yet to be compiled 'Book of Magyar Munchies from the Wild'.
Using pomegranates and walnuts together is a very Persian and Armenian thing so you could have the Persian recipe of 'Khoreshe Fessenjan' which is chicken covered with pomegranate and walnut sauce, but how about just some simple Armenian pomegranate and walnut paté:
Measure Ingredient
2 Pomegranates
¼ cup Chopped walnuts (1oz) lightly toasted
¾ cup (to 1 cup) bread crumbs
2 cup Red bell pepper finely chopped (2 small or 1 large)
2 tablespoon Lemon juice or to taste
½ teaspoon (to 1 tsp) red pepper flakes soaked in
1 tablespoon Hot water
Salt and pepper
3 tablespoon Cilantro, coarsely chopped1. Cut one of the pomegranates in half and juice on a citrus reamer. You should have ¬ cup juice. Break the other pomegranate apart and extract the seeds, Reserve half of the seeds for garnish. 2. Grind the walnuts and 3/4 cup bread crumbs in a food processor. Grind in half the pomegranate seeds and the bell pepper, pomegranate juice, lemon juice, pepper flakes, cumin, salt and pepper. The mixture should be the consistency of soft ice cream; add bread crumbs as necessary. Correct the seasoning, adding salt, cumin, or lemon juice. The pat? should be highly seasoned. 3. Transfer the paté to a bowl and sprinkle with cilantro and the remaining pomegranate seeds. Arrange pita chips around the pat? and serve at once. Makes enough to serve 4-6.
Useful Vocabularly
- "Bolti bűnözés": shop crimes, the phrase mirrors that of corporate crime ('társasági bűnözés'), which gives you an idea of how serious they think you should take this.
- Gránátalma: pomegranate
- Kiegyezés: compromise or conciliation. They have a word for it, so it's not completely alien.
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