Szindbád, bon voyage! Page #2

---

I cannot die in the daylight.

The milkman's coming,

my husband's train will arrive.

I'll be invited

to the country for summer

and today I'll visit

my sick brother.

Some other time, Sindbad.

When we meet again,

one night.

Everybody must start life anew.

Naked.

So that he shouldn't dread

the things that lie ahead.

The acacia knows

when to bloom twice.

The frog and the mouse

sense the changes in the weather.

Only Man

cannot foresee tomorrow.

You know, sir, it's only worth living

for women.

My only one...

She pretends to be a Russian princess

with a line by Pushkin on her garter.

I see you're still interested

in profligate girls.

I don't understand you.

You saddle me with these dancers

and are furious if I'm not rude to them.

But I expected you to be rude.

You're foolish, my pigeon.

I only loved my vanity

and the feeling of my superiority.

Who might love Euphrosina now?

Where could her

ribboned shoes taken her?

I only loved you.

Even now,

you're thinking of someone else.

I always knew when you loved me,

who you loved and for how long.

I had time to think about it.

Here is this small notebook.

Here I write everything

that I don't want to forget.

Let me see,

here is July 21, 1900:

"Two hours in a carriage

with drawn curtains

with the lawyer's wife. "

This pleasure drive was repeated

every week, from July to October.

I had a sad childhood.

Unclad shepherds,

and goddesses on the lids of snuff boxes

were my companions.

And swans,

violinists in breeches and wigs,

mail coaches worked in enamel.

Later, my father brought an old man

who read La Fontaine to me.

I don't remember his name,

but when he looked up from the book,

a pair of unforgettable,

wonderful eyes looked at me.

My first unhappiness led me back here

to the old house.

It was autumn.

Our old Frenchman was still alive.

He watched me unawares

from a corner.

When I'm in trouble

I always come here.

In the hope

the old man is still alive.

You were desperately

in love with Fanny.

How I pitied you!

She was a dear,

faithful mistress.

There were dreams in her eyes,

and enchantment in her voice.

"My sweet one... " she would say,

and fondled me

with her soft palm.

Oh dear, oh dear!

Aged thirty. Two false teeth.

But her hair is genuine.

And this one?

Why do you want

to complicate my life?

You make me miserable.

We spent a drowsy afternoon

in a church in Buda,

then we wandered among the graves

in the old cemetery,

where leaning against the rusty railings

she defended her virtue,

her peace of mind.

While I was standing in front of her

with my head bent down

and thought of

the goldsmith's wife.

No, I'm not like the other women!

I'll die if you desert me!

I swear, I'll die!

I haven't even noticed,

your hair is turning grey.

Your voice sounds like a cello.

I like that very much.

This wasn't the beginning

of my downfall.

Here we are.

God be with you, Sindbad!

God be with you, Florentine!

I hope, we'll meet

tomorrow again!

If chance wants us,

we'll meet.

Good-bye!

I won't come tomorrow.

There's no point carrying on.

I never get acquainted with women

who'd want it.

That's why I've stayed young.

I'm completely

disillusioned with you.

My sweetheart,

no reproaches, please!

You've put your

dark glasses on again.

Life is a chain of beautiful lies.

There's no emotion

more moving than love.

In our age, when noble feelings,

like piety, loyalty, friendship...

...and patriotism are disappearing

from our lives,

only love can conjure up

bygone illusions.

We need the tenderness of women

more than at any other time.

For every woman,

even the commonest one

is akin to the Moon,

the world to come, and superstition.

Only women can improve men,

who've become debased

and they should be

given every chance

to carry out

this charitable act.

Don't talk about that, Sindbad!

We know each other for a long time.

You're an ugly, grey-haired,

puffy-faced, corrupt man.

I can no longer entrust

my honour to you.

I haven't any memories.

I've always been

a good woman,

the best mother

and a faithful wife.

As it is written

in obituaries.

Some kind of fancy is missing

from my soul.

I'd like to keep a name

in my memories.

It always starts like this.

I'm not starting anything.

It always starts like this.

I'm only sad

that no one will ever whisper

sweet lies into my ears.

Please, sir, lie to me.

To amuse you I could invent

a romantic adventure

about a hysterical princess,

who fell in love with me

at first sight.

But instead I'll tell you this:

Women were good to me,

because they never loved me.

No one?

No one was curious to know

what I wore under my coat.

Yet you must be

an interesting man.

Why didn't women love you?

Because I didn't lie to them.

I clenched my teeth

and the words "I love you"

have never left my lips.

I dreamt about keys last night.

In the book of dreams

Monday means pleasure.

I wonder whether they still drink

strawberry brandy in the Blue Barrel?

Forget-me-nots?

Well, what do you want to say?

I want to die.

And I will die soon.

You'd make a pretty bride

in the world beyond.

Please sir,

would you see me home?

God bless you!

And thank you for walking me home!

Lovely child,

you wouldn't regret loving me.

Please,

wait in front of the house!

I'll throw you a flower

from my window

when I got to my room.

You seem to be a good boy.

Are you there, sir?

You should spare

those two old horses.

What are you looking for

in Cat Street?

You.

You're probably after some girl.

I don't like it when you deceive me

in front of my very eyes.

I was looking for you.

I haven't seen you for ages.

Maybe you've not forgotten me.

I don't forget that easily.

Though I haven't had

the pleasure for three years.

You know, Sindbad,

I no longer... I love you

like a forsaken,

forgotten mistress.

But like a mother.

And I know you so well

as if I had born you.

Remember,

ten years ago

you were ill and could only fall asleep

if I stroked your back.

You promised then

to take me to the circus.

But you never took me.

And I don't go anywhere

with anyone,

but you.

No reproaches, Majmunka!

You went to the circus

quite a lot as a girl.

It's almost the same

as the music hall.

Yes, but the horses!

The horses, the horses...

We've seen enough farces,

Majmunka.

Let me tell you this!

In spring,

when women's handkerchiefs

are full of the germs of love,

we'll go up to the hills together!

We'll cross the Danube

in a horse-tram.

The bridge will rumble beneath us.

A couple from the country

will sit opposite to us,

and they will keep asking:

Is it far to the Imperial Baths?

We'll pass an inn

where an accordion is playing.

But we won't get off.

We'll travel on.

The coachman will hoot,

the couple will inquire again.

From the Buda hills fragrant air

will blow into the coach,

and we'll sit there like a

happily married couple.

I am a retired civil servant,

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes