him

I don’t know exactly when I started paying attention to him. It was progressive. I began noticing this tall man whose features struck me as very singular; He obviously wasn’t Hungarian. I became curious. I wanted to know where he came from. I knew he must be from one of the neighbouring countries, but I didn’t know which: Slovakia, Slovenia, Czech Republic? I took note of the few pupils he could have a conversation with; that young one, whom at one point I thought might be his son, and the one whose particular eyebrows I really like. I somehow knew that they were speaking a common language, and not his own. I was right. They were speaking Russian. I remember that once he came to Erika when I was sitting and talking with her on those plastic chairs outside. He came to ask her about the time they would leave for the station. He didn’t seem to know a word of English. Once he said goodbye, it seemed to me in particular. I was sitting on the step by the wooden benches. He said goodbye; I don’t remember if it was ‘hallo’ or ‘ahoj.’ Anyway, I was very pleased to say goodbye back, with a smile and a wave. I began looking for him amongst the other familiar faces. I began hoping to see him walk near, even stop to look, like the time I was playing basketball and he walked past. And then, - or had it already started before? - I found myself staring at him during the meals, because he was sitting facing in my direction, several tables away. - Did he do it on purpose to look at me? Only he knows. - I really found my eyes resting on his beautiful face. As if his face was like a safe harbour amidst the tempest. He, with his serene, noble face that radiated a calm force, was truly a ‘landmark’. (The term that one of my lady friends had coined when we were teens, referring to someone we were attracted to.) I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was gazing back at me or not, because there was no sign that this might be awkward, to be staring at each other for so long. I couldn’t read his expression. He seemed impassible. Then, once he came and sat next to me in the temple. I was slightly nervous. I put his songbook down by his chair, as I thought he would not need it, because he had the book in his own language. He was a bit confused and picked it up. It turns out they have only a limited number of songs that have been translated, but I wasn't aware of that. I felt I had made a bad ‘first impression’. Anyway, I was careful to memorise what was written on his leaflet, so that I would finally know from which country he came. At the same gathering, he was sitting right behind me in the youth service. I thought this was a lot to be just a coincidence. I looked up the two words at home. I knew now he was Slovakian. I found myself writing all sorts of sentences in Slovakian, imagining we would talk, but never truly believing that I would ever dare to use any of those sentences.

At the next gathering, which was in August, we were swimming in the pond when he came to stand right on the bank. He stared for a long time. Then, there was no mistaking it; he was interested in me; there was a certain eagerness in his expression, almost hunger. It seemed he would have said something, there and then, if only he had the language. He left. Later, I was sitting outside for tea, and he hovered by. I knew that this time, he was finally going to speak to me. That is what I was ordering him to do with my eyes. But it took him so long! I don’t know if he was looking for a clean cup or if he was gathering up the courage to do it. However, when he finally came and sat right in front of me, and very close too, and I believe with his shirt open, he didn’t seem nervous at all. He said quite confidently, in a matter-of-fact way, something like,

“Hi, I speak Slovakian and Russian.” He seemed to be saying, ‘This is the situation. Now, what do you do with it?’ I laughed, of course, as I always do when I am nervous and happy. I already knew we had no common language. Still, we managed to struggle bravely with the few words of German and English he knew. Then we greeted each other, as it was time to attend the service. Next time we spoke, he shook hands with me. I was vaguely aware that he had touched my shoulder, too. Vaguely, I say, because I was beside myself with excitement at speaking with him. Now, this physical contact was no trifle to me. And then, after the service, I went to change and came back to sit on the wooden bench, waiting for him to come to me. And he came to stand by me. I was so nervous that I hardly dared lift my face towards him. There was this weird sensation in my belly. I could almost have fainted. He wanted to talk more. We walked a little, and he made sure to ask whether I was free, whether I had no husband. I also cried at the last service of that gathering, because I was afraid that this meeting meant I had fallen. I felt that the balance and happiness I had managed to reach in my life over the last years would be destroyed. My attention was being taken away from God; I was losing focus, and I would lose my purity. I foresaw all the evil of taking this any further, yet I didn’t want to resist the temptation. At the end of that gathering, I went to shake hands with him. I really wanted to have one more physical contact with him, show him I cared. He laughed when I did that. I thought he found that funny. I discovered afterwards that this was a demonstration of pleasure and excitement.

The summer holidays came after that. For a month, I was closing my eyes every day to remember his face. I was carving it in my memory. I could see it very distinctly, accurately. I think I had never seen anyone’s face in my head so clearly before. I was reviewing over and over every moment spent with him, with the accompanying jolt in my stomach. I tried to remember every gesture, tone of voice, words…but his face was what interested me the most and was the only thing I could remember precisely. He didn’t show up the following month. I learned later that he had been too ill to come. I tried not to be disappointed and mostly succeeded. By then, I was not able to see his face in my head anymore.

October. With the next gathering approaching, came the hope of seeing him again. Once on site, I was constantly on the lookout, and I finally spotted him in the dining room after lunch. I hardly dared to greet him, though over those two months of separation, I had gone a long way with my imagination, had made love with him several times. I said ‘hello’. Again, he laughed as if he were half surprised I remembered him. Again, I misinterpreted his behaviour. I was a bit angry. I was totally taken by then; I had spent two months thinking about him at least once a day, and he thought it was a good joke. But no, I saw he was disappointed I didn’t stay to talk. Indeed, I hurried straight to the kitchen to do the dishes. I had planned to go. At any rate, I was too nervous, too shy, too overwhelmed to stay and try to talk just then. Later, I was looking for him. I spotted him in the A building and sat not far off, hoping he would come to talk to me, but he didn’t. It looked like he was ignoring me. I went for a walk, grew frustrated and angry. Angry at not being able to think of anything else, frustrated because my desire to be in contact with him was not fulfilled. Then, when I had given up the vague hope of a chance meeting with him outside, I finally repaired to the tea area. He was sitting facing the entrance. It was as if he had been waiting for me. His face illuminated, and he gestured towards the empty seat next to him, inviting me to take it. We struggled to talk again. And then, gathering up my courage, I handed him the paper I had written three months before, the paper that said that we could get to know each other by email with the help of a translator if he wished. He seemed to be a bit puzzled. He was looking at the paper for what seemed like hours…Now I know that it might have been hard for him to read, because his eyesight is not so good anymore, and it was handwritten, and perhaps badly translated. But I didn’t know that then, and I was getting a bit worried to have messed it all up. Was he offended? Disappointed? I didn’t know if I should regret giving that paper to him. But then he said something like ‘okay’ and stood up to try to write his own email with a pen that refused to work. He left in search of a more cooperative pen. He returned holding a tiny scrap of paper with his email scribbled on it. After the evening meal, I gestured to him that I would put my daughter to bed. When that was done, I came back to the dining room where most pupils were assembled for a live Skype with the writer of the book ‘called from the heart’ or whatever the title is. I was afraid he hadn’t noticed me entering the room, because I was sitting a bit behind, but he had seen me. We looked at each other a couple of times. I showed signs of boredom that weren’t feigned, and I cannot imagine how he would have found it interesting since he could understand neither English nor Hungarian. When we looked at each other again, he pointed backwards at the door with his thumb. I nodded and went out through the other door to meet him outside. It was pitch black. He said we would talk, and he started walking in the direction of the entrance to the grounds. We met my sister on the way. We exited the seminar grounds and walked on the main road. We had gone quite far with our walk, but not so with our ‘conversation’ I thought that ‘Mike - Anabella - Gespräch’ was a bit of an overstatement. We went back. I thought we would go back to the buildings, but he came to a halt at the bus stop. For a wild instant, I thought he was interested in the books that were there and found it highly surprising that he should, especially in that particular moment. But I soon realised that he was looking for something else. He had spotted a chair, and again, I didn’t understand why he should be interested in that chair, until I realised that he was asserting by the light of his phone that there was nothing objectionable to it before sitting himself on it. Yes, that’s what chairs are for, of course, to sit on. And still I did not understand why on earth he wanted to sit for. Was he tired from the walk? Okay…and what was I supposed to do? I felt quite awkward standing there next to him, who was sitting. I was almost offended; This was quite ungentlemanly of him to take the only seat available and leave me standing there. As I told you, I had already made love several times with him in my imagination; however, the scenes I had pictured were all taking place in the warmth of summer, during the day, in nature, and not one cold, dark evening at the bus stop. So I felt a little awkward when he invited me to perch myself on his knees like a child. And that is how I felt, too, at that particular moment: as innocent as a child. I had momentarily forgotten that men and women could do things other than talk. Maybe I was tired or too cold to think…whatever the reason, I still did not understand his intentions when I put my arm around him, - because it was more stable and since I was already on his knees, it was not something too forward on my part - I still didn’t understand why he wanted to know how the mouth was called, or how to say ‘kiss’ in French. So when I said ‘embrasser,’ and he asked ‘real?’ I thought he meant: Is it really called like this, and I said that it was. But then, we kissed. And he said, ‘Anabella real’, and I understood that he had been asking me if I was going to do it as well as say it. His way of kissing had something methodical about it that disturbed me, but this was our first kiss after all. He touched my breast, and that felt much nicer, though I wondered at his boldness. I was surprised we were already kissing, though we couldn’t even put one sentence together that would be understandable to both. Did that not bother him? How did he picture a relationship in these conditions? - I found out later that he hadn’t been thinking at all. - He licked my ear, which excited me very much. Then we got interrupted by someone passing by. We walked again on the road, and we were back again on that chair, and this time I was standing above him at first, and he squeezed my ass, and that was also quite arousing. That is how the most painful, absurd, dirtiest, but also the most instructive relationship of my life began: in full consciousness of how wrong it was and yet unwilling to step back. I had precipitated from my spiritual mountain, and I would have to fall all the way down to the bottom of hell before being able to say,

“I had enough.”