HUNTER-ADVENTURE

HUNTER-ADVENTURE

Until I was seven years old, I lived as if I had been inhaling loneliness all at once. I spent a remarkable amount of time in the company of adults, so most acquaintances, relatives, or even family members immediately drew the appropriate conclusion that the child is too old, too young, or just for you! Which - especially in today's age - is synonymous with the concept of a psychological technical term struggling with integration difficulties.

"Gyula!" I don't know what Milanka is doing, but it's not right either! - said my grandmother with an ingrained sense of justice and a stoic iron hat, in whose kitchen I can still smell her honey gerbera and her fantastic horn cake.

"Come on!" So what's wrong?! He's just thinking! - said my grandfather casually, who must have been a wise man himself, because being tight-lipped, he only spoke when someone asked him.

As a little brotherless boy, I spent pretty much the entire summer at my grandparents' house, and certain periods of autumn and winter as well. Which meant that I didn't even meet kids my own age by chance. Not because it was strictly forbidden, but because I quickly realized that I could not learn and master the rules of social interaction and making friends.

Books and movies were my first friends. I tried to learn to read and write letters from the picture books of Gedeon Gúnár G�'gös, Zsiráf Ablak, Nagymama. After a bit of scribbling and swinging the pencil, I was tolerably able to write my name - it's true - only in large printed letters. My father often came into the outside kitchen, which was built next to the house with a garden, as if it were some kind of annex or just an outbuilding. He sneaked up behind me with a quiet, complicit attitude, then immediately pressed a peach or coke on my head with his thick, knobbly hands, on which the blue-green-purple veins were always profusely swollen, and questioned me:

"Well, it's Milanka!" How about you? What are you doing? Are you writing yet?

Many times I preferred not to answer anything, because I knew and felt that it was more than likely that no one would take it from me in a good name, - instead, like a little dragon-slaying warrior or action hero, I proudly showed the "holy paper" with "Milán Berkesi" on it. there was a name, at least in as unfamiliar, silly and adult writing as my mother always tried to show. My mother had both artistic and extremely delicate, soft hands, which barely touched the often rough, wood-free paper, and the pen glided in her hands as if she were doing the most natural thing in the world. My grandfather told me many times that the poet János Arany was also four years old when his father tried to teach him the science of lettering using letters written in ashes. My father could see this as some kind of rude insult or a direct, open provocation, because in a careless moment, - when I was looking the other way -, he wringed my neck a little and I received a medium-sized slap, because, according to him, I amused my time with such "uselessness".

Later, my grandfather came to me in the living room. He handed me his dreaded hunting rifle, which he truly cherished like a swaddling baby. Of course, he always strictly removed the cartridges from the gun, because he didn't want any trouble. It was the first and last time I picked up a gun, and even when I was little, I was racking my brain from Octon, East Germany, why do you have to go to war all the time and hurt others? I haven't been able to figure this out since.

"Well Milanka!" Now I'm taking you hunting! But be careful! Don't say a word to anyone, because then we'll get it on our heads! - then he always smiled mysteriously, and only one bottom tooth in his toothless mouth shone yellow, which made him look almost like Captain Dirty Fred, except with one eye.

A childish, naive excitement came over me. I had never been in a real forest before. Of course, I tried to read many - mainly Indian stories - about what it was like when Apache chief Winnetou rode to Silver Lake on his black horse and long-barreled rifle with Old Shatterhand. But these could only be the byproducts of my childish fantasy, and often a pleasant reading experience was organically mixed with the disappointing facts of reality.

Since it was autumn, I put on my brand new ankle boots, which my mother polished with a black shoe polish, then I added my jeans and a jacket, which was also considered trendy and fashionable at the time. I could look like a strange alien who had not yet mastered the rules of dress on planet earth.

"My little grandson!" Are you sure you want to come like this?! - pulls my grandfather aside. I couldn't tell if the strange, mischievous smile on his face was for me or for my astonishing outfit, but he gave me a workman's overall that was at least three sizes too big for me, and two size thirty-four massive, black rubber boots, because there were a lot of them in the forest. the mud, and in elegant half-shoes I would have quickly gotten stuck in the unknown swampy ground.

When I changed my wardrobe and the way of silent thieves n we sneaked out - on purpose - through the back gardens I felt for the first time that I was someone. That maybe I'm not as unfortunate a child as many people thought I was.

We penetrated the depths of the Monori forest, believed to be untouchable, like the old Columbuses, or explorers who wanted to discover new parts of the world and did anything to make their expedition a success.

My grandfather carried a rifle and I carried one. In the meantime, he kept explaining, telling stories, or trying to teach me which kind of forest plant is good for what, that you can tell from the moss where north is, and that you can tell exactly what time it is from the movement of the sun?

"Quiet, you child!" You make such a noise with your feet that the deer are immediately scared! - signaled my grandfather to be quiet, and I stood next to him with my feet rooted to the ground.

"Do you see these marks?" That must have been a nice stag! You can easily read a lot of useful information from the hoofprints! - he leaned closer to the marshy, avar-smelling ground to examine it.

My grandfather was like a wise Indian who understood, respected and accepted the laws of Mother Nature. He often mentioned that each animal has a separate soul, and these are called totems in certain cultures.

- Grandfather? Why shoot deer? I risked an innocent question.

My grandfather rose from the ground. He wiped the slightly glistening sweat from his bald head, then a very wise, thoughtful and sad expression appeared on his wrinkled face:

"You know Milanka!" Some people shoot animals as a hobby or sport, while others shoot them to eat or bring food to their families! We'll just watch! Remember! he leaned closer. "The deer and the roe deer are the king and queen of the forest!" There needs to be a good reason for someone to drop even one of them!

We continued along a well-trodden forest path until we reached a small wooden house, where hunters used to rest or observe the animals due to the lush, bushy vegetation.

"We will camp here!" - my grandfather took his large rifle off his shoulder and propped it up behind the door. He walked over to one of the peepholes and waited in deathly silence.

I also put down my weapon and carefully crouched next to my grandfather, wheezing. The peephole was at least four heads taller than me, so I could see nothing but the thick pine boards that the forest house might once have been made of.

"Shhh!" Not a single pee! They are nearby! - he gestured with his peasant hands, then continued to listen.

There are people with special abilities who sense the presence of moving objects, people or even animals. After a few moments, we both suddenly became aware that two deer, leaping through the bushes, like nimble grasshoppers through the trees of the forest, came close to us. It was impossible to know what they were looking for? Fresh water, or food, in any case, my grandfather took his rifle and in a tenth of a second took aim at one of the male bulls, which had such a decorative crown of antlers on its head that anyone could have envied. Could it be that he wanted to overwhelm the female kid who faithfully followed him?

I can't know what caught me, but suddenly I had to sneeze because my nose was being choked by some unknown stimulus. Unfortunately, this was even the minor problem, because the two deer suddenly stopped, they both smelled the air, and as if they knew that there were two human beings besides them in the safe ranks of the forest, they already fled in terror from our field of vision.

"So what happened to you?" - my grandfather turned and looked down at me with mild but kind resentment.

"I'm sorry grandpa… I had to sneeze!" �" and I already took out my handkerchief like a sick little boy.

"It's fine!" Nothing wrong! Maybe next time! - he lowered his own weapon, then picked himself up and we started on our way home.

Back home, my worried mother first came to us with my grandmother, and the so-called scolding head washing began:

"Where have you been Milanka?" We worried ourselves to death here! We were about to call the police! Shame on you! This is how to scare your poor parents! - my mother's voice sounded strong and determined, but at least as much dread and conscious fear was mixed in it.

My grandmother was just about to sneak up behind my back and spank me heartily, because slapping - with the exception of my father - was also strictly prohibited in our house. It was my grandfather, who proudly brushed it off to save my skin, that his little grandson nearly knocked down a huge bucking stag with at least seven pronged, princely antlers from five hundred meters away.

"Don't tell me anymore, dad!" - my disbelieving father lightheartedly admonished the old man, as he had a habit of only believing what he saw with his own two eyes. Thus, he refused to believe in Santa Claus and Jesus.

"It's true if I say so!" He held up this rifle like it was just a toy, go away he missed the shot because he accidentally had to sneeze!

"Well!" �" at this my father raised his head, as if he could sense exactly when he was being told the truth. "So…he sneezed, huh?" This unfortunate bad luck!

"I will calm you down, my dear son-in-law!" Your son said some incredibly wise things! he continued to boast.

"Yes?" Well, and what? �" my father crossed both his hands in front of his chest, as if he were judging or just questioning.

"He said that you shouldn't kill deer just for fun or as a hobby!"

"Haha!" That kid knows what he's talking about! - my father waved arrogantly. "Once he has a family, he'll find out that sometimes he has to do things he doesn't want to do!" �" As it turned out later, my father was trying to convey how proud and satisfied he was with me in this very, very thick, but at the same time deeply disturbing critical comment. Unfortunately, he was never able to show his feelings towards anyone.

Later, many years later, when my grandfather was no longer alive, I went out again into the Maglód forest, which has since become a vile, humiliating prey to the illegally dumped waste and garbage dump, and the memories of the time we spent together came rushing back to me. How I wanted to be able to introduce my real girlfriend to my grandfather, so that I could brag to him that maybe my life is on the right track or that I've written another book.

Even now, I can see his shiny, always freshly shaved, always spotless, striking face in front of me, as we silently converse with each other without words, just in the ancient, telepathic language of our gazes. Yes! I feel he was my second, more real father!