1.
It was unusually cold and wet for a November afternoon, and the number 7 bus was jam packed. Zsolt was less than happy with the day’s events as the teachers for the day’s last two seminars were no shows, and he felt like he had wasted a completely good Friday afternoon. He could barely wait to get home and meet up with his friends to go out to some drinks and the concert of a local band.
The journey from Ferenciek tere to the Keleti railway station normally took less than 8 minutes and now he had been stuck between two high school students smelling of a generous amount of aftershave for more than 20 minutes and they were still only at Blaha. These brief bus rides were the equivalent of torture for him. He was sure that if the Spanish Inquisition were still functioning, a ride on the number 7 would be their primary means for getting converts and confessions.
By the time he finally got off the bus at Keleti he was in a suitably foul mood to go to the Kispál concert in the evening. He was ready to kick the world in the groin and then spit on it. Once again the thought surfaced in his tired brain that he should have applied to the Catholic university that had recently moved out of the city.
“Too late,” he thought to himself as he thought his way through the crowd towards the underground passage way. “Only 2 semesters left of this,” he tried to remind himself, but suddenly the two semesters’ worth of crowding on the bus seemed unbearable. He was wishing it had been warmer, or at least drier so that he could ride his bike to the University.
The passageway, as usual, was a noisy and busy place. Mingled in with the travelling students, families and commuting crowd were street vendors and homeless people selling newspapers and Christmas cards. An old lady begging by the wall, barely in the covered area, just the usual faces, just the usual sights. And the smells... The cinnamon and vanilla scent of the funnel cakes combimed with the oil and garlic of the lángos, intermixed with a general amount of urine... the typical smell of the railway station.
Among the usual sounds of the rush hour a lovely tune crept through the noise.
“We three kings of orient are…”
Zsolt paused for a second, looking for the source of the singing. It came from behind him, the sound pulling him towards an odd group of young men and women. About a dozen young Americans, probably in their late teens or early twenties, wearing suits and ties and shiny black nametags were singing in front of the Kodak shop.
“Bearing gifts we traverse afar…”
“Ah, Mormons,” he murmured under his breath. He didn’t move though, the melody captivated him. He hummed along.
“Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star…”
Two more young men were walking among the crowd. Zsolt didn’t even notice them, till one of them greeted him with a big All-American grin and a likewise American accent.
“Szia, my name is Elder Steinberg, and I’m a missionary from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We are sharing a message about our Heavenly Father’s plan for us. Would you be interested in learning more about this message?” the young man said without taking a breath. He looked up to Zsolt, who was almost a head taller than Elder Steinberg with hopeful puppy eyes.
“What? Oh yeah, why not?” Zsolt shrugged, not entirely convinced he was not about to sell his soul to Satan. The worst thing, he reminded himself, that could happen was the Spanish Inquisition and an eternal ride on the red 7 bus.
“We are also teaching free English lessons…” the missionary continued in broken Hungarian, trying to look absolutely convincing.
“Uhm, okay, but the message you mentioned before sounds better,” Zsolt switched to English, absolutely annoyed by the young man’s attempts to speak intelligible Hungarian. Elder Steinberg appeared relieved.
“Yes, it’s very interesting. It’s about the plan our Heavenly Father prepared for us so we can return to Him. Do you believe in God?”
“I’m not sure I do,” Zsolt said. “You see my family is not religious.”
“Oh, that’s ‘kay,” the missionary cut him off, “We know that God lives and he loves us. When would be a good time for us to visit you?” he asked in a very business-like manner.
“I live with my parents and our flat is pretty crowded. Can we meet somewhere else?” Zsolt asked back. He was absolutely positive his parents wouldn’t be delighted by the appearance of the missionaries. “Like a church or classroom or something?”
Elder Steinberg paused for a second then pulled out a bright blue card folded into three from his coat pocket. It looked like a weekly planner.
“Do you live somewhere close by?” he asked Zsolt.
“Uhm, yeah, on Rottenbiller.”
Zsolt had never seen someone’s face light up as much about the fact that he was living in Rottenbiler. The young American was close to jumping up and down he could hardly contain his joy.
“Then, how ‘bout you come to the English lesson on Saturday? We’ve a conversational class, too. ‘nd ‘fter that we could talk ‘bout the message we have, okay?”
Zsolt nodded. He didn’t have anything lined up for Saturday. Or, as a matter of fact, for the next Saturday. Or the Saturday after.
“What time?” he asked, searching for his student diary in his backpack.
“Lessons are at two. They’re 90 minutes, mostly. We’ve got cookies!”
“Oh really?” Zsolt asked with only a slightly faked amusement in his voice. He wondered if the young missionary will ever ask for his name, and if he was going to give him his real one.
“So what’s your name?” Elder Steinberg asked.
“Zsolt,” Zsolt answered. “Kálmán Zsolt.”
“Nice to meet ya, Zsolt. Will you come to the English lesson and then to a discussion at 3:30?” the missionary asked, handing Zsolt a little flyer with an address and a map to the meeting place.
“I’ll be there,” Zsolt nodded, and put the flyer in his diary. The missionary flashed his perfect smile – no doubt the result of the work of an orthodontist—and shook Zsolt’s hand before drifting away to talk to others.
“O Star of wonder, star of night
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading, still proceeding
Guide us to Thy perfect light.”
