The doubtful

I always envied the frog.

Why did the Creator have to bless this with ambiguity?

Wouldn’t it have been better if our father, Adam, had been given this discount?

This, even if found in original sin, would have been of great benefit to the first pair of people; for the angel could only drive them out of paradise, but how would he have driven him out of the lake? Angels have no floating wings.

What a princely thing such a frog has!

When he feels good, he swims ashore, climbs the stems of the umbrella elves, begins to crackle: he surrenders himself as a naturalist; the whole world believes in its prophecies, they say: the frog preaches rain. And the only problem is he’s hungry.

But there are so many air-dwelling flies, buzzards, butterflies in the world to ensure the pleasant existence of the frog.

He climbs up the grape grove and watches the squirrels there, which dibeze the ripe bunches of grapes.

During this useful session, the widow gets acquainted with the leather mouse, who keeps her quartet under the eaves. The bat’s batman was once caught by the cat, and he has been living in an era of sad widowhood ever since.-252- While a suitor is not: – whenever he is of another denomination.

Which impresses the other in beauty: the frog or the bat? thezis is still undecided to this day. It’s enough that they fell in love. Love needs no justification.

It’s not about love, it’s about marriage. They compounded their earnings. And since the bat is a much better seeker than the frog, because he catches the beetles in flight, while the frog only hunts for them ambush: hence the frog had a very great advantage from the conjugal connection. He also gained weight enormously.

Then in the morning, when the bat lady rested (the bats used to sleep during the day), or when the frog felt the approach of prolonged rainy weather through its susceptible skin glands: then the frog climbed off the vineyard, walked down to the lake shore, repeating this melodic sound instead of a word: “coke, coke, hood!” By the time a frog lady of similar beauty struck her head out of the water, inflating her blisters on the side of her head, she began to swim after the familiar sound, with great technique.

To this the lord of the frog jumped into the water with a quick leap, swam in front of the lady of the frog, and when they met, they both disappeared hastily between the leaves of the watercolors and frog jars floating on the water. Bat-mommy couldn’t go here after them because she can’t swim. The frog has such a privilege!

We called this frog lord Dr. Bonafides. I knew his life well; but only the mainland; I also got a glimpse into his aquatic life later of how much he could have been from the shore, but not further away: because I can’t swim. He was not a practicing doctor: he was a scientist. We were still foal-age buddies; from here the acquaintance survived among us. It really looked like a frog. Just such crooked legs, such a long waist, so no neck, no big head, -253-so wide-mouthed ears so eye-popping bulging eyes.

I also knew his wife.

His face was a painted skull and crossbones. And it wasn’t painted. But nature itself counteracted her, blessing the skin tensed to her cheekbones round with cinnabar, in our appearance there was no sign of disease, that is called the «roses of chest». She wore a loose hairstyle to her as if she wanted to get a wing on her head. He could never hold his mouth together from his very protruding teeth: hence he was always forced to smile. Deep-set dark eyes and a very pissy nose complemented her beauty. By the way, her stature lacked everything that the neighbors classified as “eternal feminine.”

But he had four houses. One in the city center, the other in the outer quarters, multi-storey. They had their own apartment in downtown.

I saw something thirty years later when that downtown house was demolished to build a palace in its place. There was not a piece of stone in it, not a lost red brick. It was full of adobe from the foundation to the ledge. Their suburban houses were also built of such valuable material for horticulture. But they drove a lot of income. They were divided into one-room flats, which were usually taken out by pious privateers and gentle girls who pay the rent for seven people. There is no gold mine that is more profitable than clay. “It’s a real usury with adobe.”

My esteemed friend had all sorts of qualities that make it difficult to maintain a friendship. First, he was a vegetarian and a water drinker, ours, I know, goes along. And not yet how he would have concealed these troubles: but he even went to our table, where we had dinner with good buddies one night at a time; there he spent his damn feast: crushed on a plate-254-squeezing radishes, apples, onions, lemons on it; he foamed with a spoon and drank the water on him like a dromedary, and scolded us, how can we poison our blood with the flesh of animals?

His wife was also a vegetarian: but that was more of a sting.

This family was not visited by anyone for the sake of their kitchen.

And in terms of his occupation, my esteemed friend was a naturalist, even of the practical kind. He went hunting, fishing, and killed many animals with rifles, nets, hooks, and crowbars, but not to turn their flesh to his own purposes, but to pull off their skins and stuff them, and to clean their skeletons. He worked with vitriol and arsenic. You could feel it in your coat from afar.

His workroom was always full of stuffed animals and their skeletons.

Of these, he brought a chest of drawers to Vienna every week, and there he found a man to buy. There is also a man in Vienna who trades skeletons and stuffed birds. My friend worked for that.

Biz this is a fair claim for anyone who likes it. Well, whoever touched it. Because it’s not as easy as writing a short story.

But first of all, the question to be discussed is what it takes for someone to write a short story about frogs, bats, and skeletons?

… It is already true that there is no need for it.

Well, let’s move on to another matter.

I put it on animals that (or what) talk about.

I had an animal: a starling.

He spoke Hungarian and German.

Were you able to tell the difference between who you speak Hungarian and who you speak German with?-255-

He learned German from the laundry (the mother of the educator), Hungarian from my wife, who bought it from the former.

Seriously, he was a very smart animal.

Members of my family piled him up with me with their love.

However, the starling lives not only with love, but also with ant eggs. He also got enough of it.

Once, however, came a notable year in which, among other things, the ants also went on strike.

Would it be lengthy to discuss why ants went on strike this year? It’s a matter of politics! “A verdung ant egg wasn’t available for Denique gold (let’s not swear! A crab dog tongue banker.”

My Hanzim (that was the name of the bird-man) spoke neither German nor Hungarian. He did not want to accept the carrot and grated egg provision instead of the ant egg.

I lived abroad with my family on Svábhegy.

I also had to keep two horses for the purpose of carrying the daily drinking water from the Danube. There was no drop of rain from January to August.

We had an acquaintance of a peasant woman: the Swabian lady Mariaeicheli. We believed Frau Midi. He owned a property worth fifty thousand forints. But he used every means of making money that we only see in the wild forests. He collected all kinds of mushrooms, tin mushrooms and porcini mushrooms in the pagans and baits of Swábhegy, the free-growing soma and hazelnuts, but especially those sublime strawberries and crackling strawberries, the other ones of which I did not see anywhere and carried them for half a day. usual customers.

We were such a kundsaft.

No mushrooms were grown in this droughty year, but the wild strawberries gave a richer harvest. This is the most modest of fruit plants in reality-256- he hid in this all-drying sunshine.

The Frau Midi brought us the juicy strawberries to the basket number.

“Come on, sweet Frau Midi,” I called the waist Swabian bride, “couldn’t you walk somewhere in the woods and discover an anthill where you could get a shipment of ant eggs for my favorite starling?”

– Oh no! replied the Frau Midi. But there is indeed an old forest in the «wolf valley», which is full of ant nests. There are ants as big as beech acorns, they are certainly well stocked.

“Well, bring me as much of it as possible, I’ll give you a price.”

Frau Midi replied to this assignment that although he was once in the wolf forest in the Wolf Valley, he would not go back because ghosts lived there.

Are you haunted? I got this discovery. What kind? How do they look?

But Frau Midi refused to tell me that for all the treasures of the world. All he confessed was that they were something terribly awful. Avoid because of them the landscape of all kindness. These are certainly the causes of the national drought that is now prevailing; for they shall drink this rain and dew. He also decided in the guiding circles of the public in Budaörs and Budakeszi that on the next Sunday, strong-hearted men would march into the Wolf’s Valley with dorongs and petrencer rods, and the tempting prikulics and ludvérczs would be solemnly crushed into izzé dust.

But we are already eating from this!

I have never seen a ghost in my life; now is your harvest! I didn’t expect the next day either, I even caught my spade at the end of that day and tucked it into the Wolf Valley.

This is a beautiful, outcast place! Where is the car not driving yet, -257-one clings to the waist of trees if he wants to penetrate or up in it. The centuries-old trees are run-in, decorated with flycatchers, strips, and gaping nests on their sides, which are covered like carpets by ferns. And beneath the nests are huge pyramids of ants, on which all kinds of species of the ant nation roam, black, red, large and small; on foot and in wings; even knights are found among them: small ants trotting on the backs of a larger one.

As I dismantled such a tall anteater with the spade of my stick, the ant egg I coveted so much fell out of its side at once. I hastily saw him to provide this prey for my starling. Biz this is illegitimate domination; but at that time the password was, “Macht geht vor Recht”. (Power takes precedence over law.)

Well, like I demolished the anthill, what do I see in the woods behind him? A very large hard paper box with several holes on the side. Ants ran out of them.

On the side of the box was drawn in lapidár letters dr. Name of Bonafides.

Inside was the box – a stork converted into a skeleton.

This is what he watched the Frau Midi ghost.

Well, I’m already aware of that.

Well, my doctor’s friend’s museum-enriching secret is to use Swabian ants as a preparation workshop, and to do the work with them for free, which would normally cost a great deal of human effort, sulfuric acid, and cost. The ants do all this cleanly, according to their own instincts.

And the number of wilted trees in the Wolf Valley was all provided with vases of all kinds of animals to be worked out.

These are what my Swabians want to beat to death, like -258-who drink rain and dew. – Swabians don’t drink!

Well, at this discovery, the good old buddy and even the nature diver moved in me.

That’s when I started my career in nature, which has been making me a lot of money ever since.

The intellectual author of this was my dear friend (then «younger») Gusztáv Emich; who, returning from a trip abroad, brought me a precious collection of snails as a gift, which has now grown into a whole museum for me.

However, I did not know the names of any of these sea snails back then.

So, as I returned home to my viscose with my prey in the Wolf Valley: immediately after feasting the Hanzi, I wrote a letter to my doctor, Bonafides, that if his new bones were kind, hurry to clear them from the wolf valleys of the Wolf Valley. as a atoning sacrifice. I sent the letter to Pest from Major.

The Hanssi then had his throat quite open as he had received his favorite food; he kept saying, «Dear» – «Rose» – «come home».

My wife was visiting the countryside as a guest at the time.

I was home alone myself.

The melancholy came all the way.

I had a good reason for that.

They prophesied to me that I would not live for more than two years.

He was not prophesied by a gypsy woman; but a man of knowledge: a doctor; – and ex officio.

It so happened that I once got into the head the motto of insuring myself in case of death. (Not myself! An amount for those I left behind.)-259-

The insurance company then regularly sent me my official doctor to examine my life instruments. The doctor knocked from front to back, listening to the sounds of my lungs, my heart; he said nothing: he went on.

A few days later I then received my offer back in a letter with the note that “it will not be accepted”.

The secretary of the insurance company was a very dear good friend of mine, my fellow writer: I went to him and asked him (with a foolish head) what could be the reason for this refusal?

My dear friend was a very cheerful boy: he laughed a lot between my eyes and slapped me on the shoulder and said, “no, my sweet buddy, because the doctor referred to you that you can’t live longer than two years: then the devil will take you.”

Well, I can say that this is not a pleasant encouragement! To receive the official verdict for a career of two years and no longer.

I didn’t tell anyone about it, neither at the house nor outside the house. I kept the secret to myself. Then I tried to arrange my things so that I could fix everything in a short time. I sat at work for him: I wrote one book after another; I edited; I paid my debts; I didn’t go to any fun, not even a theater; I lived an Ascetic life; I did not speak loudly; if I went from a warm room to a cold room, I wore an overcoat; throughout I enjoyed all the infallible medicines of József Török’s pharmacy; I drank milk. Melancholy was perfectly suppressed.

As the last quarter of the second year promised to me came, I didn’t dare to start another bigger job then, because time doesn’t run out to finish it. I also wrote my will.

When I walked there under the rows of my linden trees, within myself -260-I uttered Cæsar’s self-made clap poem about death:

«Animula, vagula, blandula!
Hospes comesque corporis:
Quos nunc adibis locos?
Frigidula, palidula, noodle…
Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos. »
(My soul, my clown, my dear!
He is a guest and companion of my body.
What places are you going to go now?
Shivering, pale, naked…
And you don’t give jokes, the way you’re used to.)
Surely the lease has already been canceled here, the quarter and who knows where the new accommodation will be?

After all, even if a man is denied only by his master, how much concern there is: even if this beautiful world itself is denounced! Man examines the stars throughout; where do you stay? It is very hot in Venus, it always rains in Jupiter; every plant is red on Mars: my eye cannot stand it; in Saturn one must first become a plesiosaur, for it is still burning; it is very far to go home from Uranus. Because it’s certain that I’m going home to this beautiful land. There is no such beautiful planet in the entire solar system.

That year, though, he didn’t really serve that glorification. There was a great drought across the country. We didn’t even get a drop of rain from the sky as Death Yeast. Even the fruit trees sucked it. My apricot peach trees grew full of dried peaches. Only the noble vine did not allow itself to be exhausted by the scorching heat: the sun shone hotter along the way, the grapes boasted all the more, the bunches just laughed. This is the one that is worth reclaiming on the ground. The grape. There is no such thing on the other planets! There is no wine beyond the land!

And I was already forbidden by my ordinarius.-261-

The nice thing is when one thus leaves this beautiful world step by step.

– Don’t speak out loud, – don’t sing, – diet, – don’t eat what you love, – don’t love! – do not dance, – do not bathe in the cold, – do not work… These are all many big steps from the familiar world to the unknown. The last stage is then when the oracle tells the man, “do not drink wine.”

Why not drink wine? The reason why you take digitalin drop by drop, every hour, is that the blood throbs in your blood vessels more slowly.

Suddenly my frog friend stumbles in front of me, surprised at my pensive loneliness.

We were very happy to see each other for a long time.

He always wore a white vest, the frog shape of our stature honored even more. The whole figure is a belly.

– I came out to you for a little ozone.

(Well, you’re doing well! I thought to myself; I didn’t grow fruit or beets this year: I have nothing but bread or honeycomb from the feast of Philemon and Baucisi; I live with it myself.)

I ushered him onto the porch closed by the window and sat him down next to the table, right where the Hanzi cage was hung on the nail.

– «Tu Spiczpúb? Kommszt szo spét czhauz! Can you shoot me?

My doctor raised his head in fright.

– Holy Father! The blood froze in me too! (The frog blood!) I thought my wife spoke up.

I then made it clear to him that this talking starling was originally the property of a launderer: from it he learned these powerful German expressions, which he probably had a frequent opportunity to hear.

“But why did I say that to me?”

“I was very surprised myself.” He doesn’t usually tell me.-262-

But I got even more stuck with something else.

“But buddy, do you tend to be apostrophized by your wife with such addresses?”

My frog friend squinted falsely, his head pulled even more between his two shoulders; his two-sided eyes bulged even more.

– Let’s not do this, buddy! Even euphoria has its own caterpillar.

“And its butterfly is the death-head sphinx.”

– That’s it! The only one among the butterflies that can lament. But let’s keep it a Turkish custom and don’t talk about it. I climbed up to you (he lives well above 360 ​​feet above sea level) to thank you for saving my pelvic skeletons from destruction. For me, my existence depends on it.

– How? Would it really be such a lucrative company: to supply finished skeletons to foreign museums?

My frog laughed as much as his horrible mouth could.

– Oh, but you’re an innocent boy! It earns a long time! It’s just a privilege for me to be able to run up to Vienna once a week with natural history preparations: I hand them out as gifts. The real office, after which I draw a busy income, is medical practice. This is what the Germans call it: “Das Geld, wovon die Frau nichts weiss.” (Money the woman doesn’t know about.)

– It can be a wonderful medical practice to be used once a week in Vienna.

– And you can’t figure out your imagination, what is it? I am the agent and doctor of a huge foreign insurance company.

I jumped up from my chair.

– Are you a doctor from a life insurance company? -263-Forgive my buddy if I settle on the far end of the table; to have this table between us in length.

Dr. Bonafides laughed at me even more.

I then told him quite seriously what I had already done with a doctor like that.

My friend Bonafides made a fuss about this.

– That doctor was a big ignorant.

I then defended the doctor. That is right. I feel like I’m going down the slope. Next winter will be an eternal winter for me.

– Bliktri! cried my frog. You have nothing serious trouble. I know for sure. I don’t knock anyone’s ribs, I don’t listen to his breath, I just look into his eyes. Do I see from your eyes whether it is worth living or dying? The eyes give the infallible diagnosis. There’s a pretty red succulent figure to whom, when I look into his eyes, I say to him, “this is a corpse!” From your eyes I see that you are ticking Mathusalem.

I just smiled sadly at this encouragement.

“Well, to convince you how serious I am,” Dr. Bonafides said, “there’s an insurance policy from my company in my pocket.” Dictate how much you want to provide in the event of death: I will accept and your company contract will be in your hands tomorrow.

I said to this, «you know buddy: I’ve never cheated in my life, I didn’t steal, I don’t want to cheat, steal someone in the event of my death».

Dr. Bonafides did not dilate.

“I’m telling you very seriously that you have no organic trouble.” What you’re suffering from is mood swings. Elmulik. Accept my offer. You just can’t imagine me risking my lucrative job for your joke. If I accepted a man who had died with my insurance company, I would be knocked out right away.-264-

I just didn’t stand it yet.

During this, my maid brought up the ozone: she slept with milk, honey, bread.

Dr. Bonafides said this:

– Do you know what buddy? Let’s put this ozone on tomorrow! and now kill chicken, make paprika with dumplings, and then bring it up from your cellar out of that good Schiller wine.

– Paprika Chicken! noodles! schillerbor! Believe me, my GP all classifies them into the category of deadly poisons!

– Wow! said Dr. Bonafides, if I, the incarnate herbivore, do not die from these, you just will not die from them.

– You’re right! Well, God for him! Let’s excel. For the sinner exposed to the mourning house must be satisfied for the last time.

Then my friend and I slapped a jukundus ozone so that it became dinner: towards the end we even sang, “Let’s fold the jugs, we’ll invent the good ones inside.”

Did I sign the insurance contract after dinner? surely I do not remember accurately, but that two days later I had the life insurance policy in my hands: that is certain.

And from that day on, I did not go to Mars or Jupiter in search of accommodation, but saw after my earthly things.

And I can say that I did not cheat on the insurance company of Dr. Bonafides: because thirty-three years have passed since then, and during that time I have paid the full amount that the charities will receive after my death.

But I am not that certain double-edged man: but in the end it will be revealed who served this title?-265-

That Dr. Bonafides has become the most sympathetic figure to me since that day is straightforward logic. This is true friendship! Whoever breaks the vegetarian vow for the sake of his good buddy and will one day be a carnivore, a wine drinker! The miracle doctor who cures his patient of melancholy by teaching him par-kompanyi age.

Dear medical system!

I quite share the opinion of my dear man, who, hearing of the miracle effect of the Kneipp cure, exclaimed enthusiastically, “Well, I love that Kneip cure too!” (But he did not mean that word with two «p» at the end, but with an «e».)

But let’s get back to the missed thread.

I said above that I got a box of shells, a snail shell, from a friend of mine who traveled abroad (my younger publisher).

This was a problem for me at first, later on for him again. (I’ll tell you in turn how it happened.)

Well, my problem was that I didn’t know the names of those beautiful conchillas.

But here was Dr. Bonafides, who came to me frequently (to repeat the cure), as a naturalist, had an incorruptible duty to know the land of snails. He made the friendship that helped me determine the pieces. I brought from abroad an expensive book for that: Lamarke’s Malacology, in which the most famous acephals and cephalopods were painted.

Enchanted by a piece of my collection, my frog friend said, “Wow, buddy! this is the queen of the tortoises! But this is only half of the mussel and the thorns are wrapped off of it: if the right part is fitted and all its outgrowth has remained intact on it, it is a masterpiece of nature; the why it bears this name: «Venus Dione».

I wondered about it.-266-

“Hja, it’s a very rare rarity, and not only is it expensive: but whoever owns it is hard to get rid of. With us, only the museum has one, completely intact copy. It is kept under lock. Our waist museum director, the Royal Counselor, whenever he visits the science department, always visits the snail of the goddess Venus Dione. You can see it there too.

I even looked at it.


– Well, I’d give it a price.

– Oh, that’s hard to get. I know someone in Vienna who has such a Venus Dione; maybe you would sell you someone you like as a writer.

“But I have nothing to do in Vienna, and I’m not going up to Vienna for a snail.”

… Well that was then!

Biz has been a long time since.

We have been to Vienna many times since then. They also complained!

My collection of snails has also grown into a whole museum, and in it lies the honorarium of an entire novel, the Novel of Snails.

So this is my problem.

But the «snail novel» was bought from me by my dear friend, Gusztáv Emich, who gave me the first collection of snails: who gave it, it also remained on his neck. This is his trouble.

My collection will one day be good for the museum. Have her Dione of Venus in duplo.

Such a passion for collecting then only needs to be tasted in order to be touched by it. We land-goers have no idea what kind of world is below sea level? What a luxury there is, where they do not know the light! Snails do not see: they just feel, suspect sunlight, like man the afterlife; but they do not see.

So to whom is this splendor explained?-267-

(For whom does one cultivate one’s soul?)

I say that what is the soul for man is the snail shell for the snail. The immortal noble part.

The living snail is a mortal gelatinous squirrel, and this softness intended for transience creates (from what?) Great works (how?) That never pass away. His works from hundreds and hundreds of thousands of years ago are there in Jurassic, coal, marble, iron. Snails transformed into marble and iron can also be seen in me.

How much sense, how much taste do you need to create a porcelain tower of scalaria pretiosa! It is an architectural masterpiece: a Tower of Babel, a kampanile with porch trusses connected by columns.

And the solarium perspectivum creates its amazing masterpieces of goldsmiths with filigree work, all made up of rows of colored pearls.

Who can learn the secret of the halyotis irises? How do they make green and navy blue gold? pink silver, opal silver?

Is it the meleagrina margaritifera that makes the true pearl in its rainbow-playing tortoise? Who tells him that in a higher world that pearl will be worn strung by the white necks of angels.

I have a snail: the euplecteia aspergillum, which, looking at it, is as if it were woven from silk fibers with a lace-blending machine; it is only by hand that he reveals that that silk thread is all made of stone: it is as transparent as a veil. Sometime an enemy animal had punched a hole in one side: the snail, with careful stitches, the way the stocking is used to gobble up the hole, nicely folded it. How did you get it? This, ours does not go into my head!

On the other hand, there is the huge tridacna gigas: before a five-year-old child with its ruffled headband: a small baby; another specimen is already a twenty-five-year-old milf, with the same number of ruffles on his headband, the number of years. A third copy, which may have been a hundred-year-old matron, was national-268-I gave it to a museum, a separate iron stand was made for it there, it traces two glazes. This clashed his two turtles, cutting the rope between them as if he had been struck with an ax.

The turbo chryostomus lined its entrance with perfect gold, and to prevent thieves from gaining access, it makes itself a separate door that closes its house.

The conus litteratus is a true scribe: he writes his house full of black Chaldean letters, in a long, winding line, and at the fifteenth line paints a series of orange runes in the process, then continues the black again. And every copy keeps that. Who teaches him to do this? When you have no vision!

The most beautiful of the snail houses is the argonauta argo. It’s no longer a snail, but a headgear: it already sees. It may be the spiritist among the inhabitants of the sea. Its shell is white, and as delicate as the honeycomb, it forms a prehistoric galley; his head legs, his cloak under the water propellers, the turtle on top. Then when he comes up to the color of the sea, to glow in the rays of the sun, he turns his turtle, it becomes a ship, he stretches his mantle, it becomes a sail, he steers with his tentacles: the wind sweeps away like a galley on a flat sea mirror; the sails are pink, the oars are crimson. Fairy game!

And what a life story these beautiful creatures have! “Well, it was enough to cripple a publisher by describing this!” – Enough of the snails: – Let’s see the frog.

Well, – with a snail step, – but our story is moving forward. As you know, my esteemed friend, Dr. Bonafides, who has since traveled to Vienna and carried me home from here (for good money) more and more rarities, was of constant help to me in all these sea wonders.

One of the last was the wonderful animal plant: actinia, the sea tulip.

This is the exact opposite of my doctor friend. A vegetarian -269-an animal that eats a plant, and an actinia a plant that eats an animal. “Of course, I could only get the sheath that turned into bone: Oken and Lamarck talk a lot about the living being himself.” It is a plant that sticks to the rock with its root and stays there until it sees fit. A beautiful tulip emerges from the opening, boasting all the splendor of flower gardens; czafrangji like the male threads and pistils of flower cups. Then, when a flying sea spider climbs on the flower cup, believing that the edible prey, the goblet of sea tulips, wraps it around at once, pulls it into its sheath and sucks out its kidney, throwing out its shell. But the actinia also does, when they get hungry, he pulls himself out of the rock in which he has nestled, and goes on there (a flower that goes!), Visits an oyster colony, immerses himself there, and then he nails the oysters nicely from their shells, as many as he can reach. Real gourmand!

– Wow! But I want to one day see such a living sea tulip eating snails! I told my doctor.

– You could see it in Vienna: it’s there.

… During this time, it was time for us to reconcile with Vienna, and one day I was sent to Vienna to listen to the joint Minister of Defense’s exposé.

But I wasn’t as curious as the secretary of casting their Uchatius bed like the living sea tulip.

“If you want, I’ll take you where you can see,” offered Dr. Bonafides, who was also in Vienna with his prepared skeletons.

We met each other after the theater at Sacher.

Actinia loves gas lighting.

Arriving at the restaurant of the famous and expensive restaurant, I inquired about Dr. Bonafides. The waiter immediately guided him. He dinners here in a chambre separé. He let me in the cell door.-270-

The cheerful voices of my greeting greeted me.

My doctor, Bonafides, was sitting on the sofa at the set table, and on the same sofa was a young lady with a golden chignon, both wearing hats: one had a white shepherd’s hat on his head, the other a strucco-feathered pamela hat, but the cylinder she adorned the lady’s chignon, and the pamela covered the doctor’s bald neck; – that they might have been a good acquaintance outside of me, I guessed from the point of view that they were tossing their champagne glasses together then. Then another glass for my health. It was spread out for me too.

Well, I didn’t run away. I just secured my hat under the chair.

They were even at the beginning of dinner: – at the oyster. “Even then, I wouldn’t have eaten the oyster for the world’s dense treasure.” Swallow a live animal! Well, at first I only stayed watching.

But the red-haired lady was able to consume the oysters immensely. In addition to his own, he even scurried the dozen he brought me.

She was a very cheerful, amusing lady. He was able to perform gorgeous adomas, with great chic, from the worlds of the top ten thousand and the boards that represent the world.

At the dinner, of course, there was no mention of potatoes and radishes, my vegetarian doctor did well with venison backbone and my Strasbourg pate, and he did not consider renaissance salmon heresy either.

For a while, the red-haired lady left the cello, leaving her hat, mantilla, as a pledge of return. Using this interval, I asked Bonafides:

“When do we look at the actinia who eats oysters?”

He looked at me big with those frog eyes.

– Didn’t you see it? Here he saw two dozen oysters in front of your eyes.-271-

“Is this your living actinia?”

That’s why they just laughed at me again.

“But don’t tell my bat back home!”


How does my starling say:

«You spitzbúb! wo warst du? »

Well, I’ve already learned what an amphibium is?

He who is a land animal in Budapest and an aquatic animal in Vienna.

Yet one only learns something from the frog.

This double life went on so beautifully for years, with variations.

While one day my friend Bonafides was suddenly hit by the guta after such a feast in Lucullus and he immediately settled down with both lives. He died fulfilling his mission as a hero on the battlefield.

The insurance company paid thirty thousand forints to his widow.

The grieving widow erected a magnificent tombstone for her, a black obelisk overlaid with a grieving lady figure: certainly her own portrait.

And he engraved these words on the obelisk in gold letters:

“To the most faithful husband.”

(What you certainly deserved.)

And even those words:

«His life was useful,

His death was beautiful. ”

(You deserved that too.)

But the foolish stonemason confused the two words and carved out, “His life was beautiful and his death was useful.”

(Well, you really deserved that.)