No apology: A super-sensitive subject treated with a scientific mindset in Richard Dawkins' book, The God Delusion. A review

Reposting from last year a Christmas chapter from the Life in the Barracks with modifications.

Laszlo Hopp: Love must keep them warm!

Last year around Christmas time I published on this site four installments of a chapter from my book "Live in the Barracks. I thought the chapter was appropriate for the season, since it describes Tibor's visit home for Christmas. In this past year I made changes to the book. In fact, the rewrite is still in (slow!!!) progress. In the spirit of the Christmas season, here is again the first of four parts from Tibor's reworked Christmas adventures with his Father.

(The brief introduction is the same as last year's.)

Short of a big advertising budget, I try to promote my book with what I have. I have winter and the Christmas season approaching and I happen to have a long chapter in the Life in the Barracks about Tibor visiting his father for Christmas of 1978. So, I decided to break down this chapter into a few manaegable sections and post them on this blog in the course of the next few weeks. Admittedly, my hope is that a few of those who stumble upon the blog may get inspired to purchase the book: either as a present for a loved one, or to surprise themselves and start reading the story in front of their fire place in the company of a cup of hot chocolate or fine winter liquer.

The chapter starts with Tibor elating about Zsuzsa, who apparently reciprocated his interest - in the previous chapter -. He is also happy because Christmas is getting close and he got permission to visit his father for the Holiday. Christmas has a special importance in Tibor's life: it symbolizes the warmth of his family he grew up with.

Chapter 9 Home for Christmas

The next two weeks flew by for Tibor. He was full of excitement to see his father and his little town with its long main street lined with horse chestnut trees. He wanted to see the river, almost certainly frozen solid this late in the year, and waiting to impress him with loud metallic crackles as the ice sheet expanded with the daytime warming.

The anticipation of going home was further enhanced by his elation over Zsuzsa. He knew it had just started, but it started so well! With the help of his vivid imagination and dreamy soul, Tibor felt Zsuzsa’s presence everywhere. When he made the short walk through the park to the infirmary, he held Zsuzsa’s hand in her oversized mitten. When Katona vexed him, he told Zsuzsa, You see what assholes I have to deal with? Or, toward the end of an exhausting afternoon clinic that stretched well into the early evening, he heard her soothing voice, as if she were sending encouraging subliminal messages to him.

He wanted to gush out his happiness to Keri but decided to hold himself back. He had frequently fallen into the trap of his own exuberance over new relationships. He would let his guard down and reveal his naked, undisguised feelings prematurely. He was convinced that his last relationship ended, painfully as it did, partly because of his torrential outpouring of emotions that overwhelmed his girlfriend. Although he knew he couldn’t change his natural instincts, he was determined to control how he revealed his inside fire. But when night came, nobody could interfere with his sigh before he’d fall asleep: One of those stars above the Owl’s Nest must have pitied me.

Unfortunately, the holiday season was very busy in Kisliget and Zsuzsa had to put in a lot of overtime at the café. For his part, Tibor had to finish his end-of-the-year reports in the infirmary before his Christmas furlough. They were both so busy that it wasn’t until a few days before his leaving for the furlough that Tibor could manage to visit the café. Zsuzsa smiled and waved when she noticed him. He asked for a chicken sandwich with cucumber, a beer, a coffee, and a creamy French pastry.

“Whoa, you’re going all out tonight, aren’t you?” Zsuzsa said. She came to his table more than usual and this kept Tibor’s heart pleasantly warm. He noticed that their usual cheerful bantering during Zsuzsa’s brief breaks took up a new air of amicability.

When Tibor was ready to pay, Zsuzsa put a thin worn book on the table along with the bill. The book contained two novellas by Stephan Zweig: The Royal Game and Amok.

“This will be good reading for you on the train.” she said. “I’ve been carrying this book since the dance, but you never came.”

“Not because of lack of wanting. You know how bureaucracy works, like an unwanted pregnancy: as the delivery day approaches, the burden one carries grows exponentially.”

“The end of year rush?” Zsuzsa said, smiling. “Didn’t you say that you have an administrator to do that for you?”

“Yes, Marosi, of course. But he gets overwhelmed very easily. He’s been hopelessly tangled up in the intrigues of those year-round statistics, accounts, and various registry statements the military is full with.

Thanks for remembering the book, though!” Tibor said and squeezed Zsuzsa’s hand as he handed her the payment.

When Zsuzsa saw the tip, she made a playful grimace and scolded him. “You’re a conscript now, not a doctor. Don’t be such a show-off!”

Tibor shrugged his shoulder.

Zsuzsa sneaked in brief kisses on his cheeks and whispered, “Enjoy your trip and be a good boy! I’ll see you in the New Year.”

“In the New Year?” Tibor exclaimed. “We can’t spend New Year’s Eve together?”

“Sorry, but no.” Zsuzsa said, her face lengthening like a child ready to burst into tears. “We are going to visit my uncle, who is turning 50 on New Year’s Eve. It’s a big family event. No way out.”

“Where does he live?”

“Budapest.”

“Oh!” Tibor sighed. “You’ll see the city at its best. How I envy you! The lights of the bridges, the splendor of the king’s castle, the jingle of the trams, fireworks at midnight ... and all those carefree, happy people flooding the streets ready for the holidays.”

“Shh!” Zsuzsa locked her lips with her finger. “I don’t want to hear complaints. You will be at home with your family. What more can you ask for?”

“True. What more?”

With a smile and a hug they parted for the rest of the Old Year.

***

A few days later, Tibor sat on the train heading home. Despite the approaching holidays, he was the only passenger in the compartment. When the conductor came to turn on the electricity, only one of the three lights flickered to life. Tibor didn’t mind. Zweig’s book was tucked in his luggage for his Christmas reading, and the manuscripts that he planned to work on during the trip lay untouched on the seat next to him. His head was filled with thoughts and memories. Words and faces jumped out unpredictably from hidden corners of his subconscious. Scenes from the past two months played out on richly embellished stages set inside his mind. His thoughts moved back and forth in time as if he were turning pages of a playbill with slow, aimless motion. In this imaginary playbill Vida was the leading man with the strongest performance during their dinner with Tibor. In fact, Tibor realized that since that night, Vida was not only the leading man but he also became the director of Tibor’s role on the stage of Kisliget. How much can he follow the director’s instructions? When does he have to start doubting Vida’s coaching? Does he, Tibor, have enough flair to remain his own director in a military stage play so odd to him? Can he flaunt himself as the naïve, altruistic doctor wanting nothing but the best of his patients while passing sentence on Vida for his unprofessional selfish greed?

The leading lady on that playbill was a far more agreeable character. Tibor’s heart thumped with excitement when Zsuzsa came to his mind. How is she going to spend the holidays? With whom? Who is she going to dance with on New Year’s Eve? Will their burgeoning relationship be put to test with the nearly two week separation?

Until nightfall, Tibor stared at the passing landscape: featureless, yet somehow fascinating for him as it spread out to the horizon under the thick white cover. His body rocked with the rhythm of the train. Fighting to stay awake, eyes half-closed, he stubbornly scanned the growing darkness outside. His breathing deepened as he sank into the twilight between sleep and consciousness. The monotonous clicking of the train’s wheels and the darkness that now took over the faint lights of dusk finally overcame his pensive thoughts, the rush of memories and childlike excitement over the train ride home. He drifted off into a dream.

He saw his younger self running alongside a train in the snow. Children pulled their sleds with him and yelled something at him. He waved back but didn’t stop running, trying to stay alongside one of the cars. He wanted to see the people behind the bright windows. They looked warm and comfortable and Tibor was delighted to observe their silent gestures and facial expressions. The scene reminded him of a bizarre comical pantomime act. He wanted to see how their faces changed during the animated discussion. He felt an insatiable curiosity to know who would get the slices of an orange that a woman in the compartment was peeling. But he could not keep up. The train passed him and in a blink of an eye only the two fading lights of the last car winked back at him mockingly from the distance.

Next in the dream, his mother showed up, sitting on a stool. She saw him on the verge of crying in frustration over the disappearing train and gestured for him to sit on her lap. They were transported to their old kitchen, and the two of them sat and stared out the window. Tibor knew they were waiting for the angels to bring the Christmas tree on that cloudless winter night. His father was in the living room, opening the windows so that the angels could get in. Tibor curled up in his mother’s lap and waited for the jingle that heralded the arrival of the tree with the presents.

His mother pointed at the star-covered black sky. “Do you see that angel there? She’s coming this way!”

Tibor strained his eyes. First, he didn’t see it. But then, finally he noticed the angel. There she was, riding on a bright streak of light. No doubt that’s her star. The wings of the angel were tightly closed next to her body and her long hair streamed behind her. Tibor couldn’t make out her halo though. With the tree and all those presents she can’t fly with her own wings. That’s why she’s using her star.

With grinding metallic sound the train pulled in the empty station and with a brief judder it came to a halt. Tibor woke and shook his head. He almost missed his stop.

This old memory with his mother on Christmas Eve came back in many of his dreams. Tibor always wondered whether he’d seen a comet or Venus had been visible on that long ago early Christmas night, giving him the vision of the angel with her star.

In a hurry, Tibor grabbed his luggage and left the warm compartment. As he descended on the icy steps, nippy wind cut into his face. Only a few other people got off the train. Nobody that Tibor knew. He stood there, on the open platform and breathed in the familial air. The wind carried the fragrances from the empty fields on one side of the station, mixed with the distinctive leathery discharge from the shoe factory. If one paid close attention, a delicate scent of the nearby river could also be detected.

Tibor waited until the train left. He wanted to see the stationmaster come out from the small office in his night-blue colored uniform and trapper’s hat to raise the crossing gate by the old fashioned mechanism. Since a child, Tibor liked to listen to the clicking and clacking of the old gate as it rose while the stationmaster turned the rusty wheel. Once done, clapping his hands and shivering with cold the stationmaster disappeared in his office. Tibor started off the mile-long walk home all alone. He could not notify his father of the arrival time. As he tried to keep balance on the unplowed narrow walkway, Tibor imagined his father’s beaming face at the open door. I’ll be an expected surprise tonight, he chuckled.

The footpath from the vacant train station to his home passed by the factory. The pride of the small town, the largest shoe factory in the country, worked in three shifts and this was the last shift before the holidays. The quiet humming of various assembly-line machines followed Tibor as he walked along in the cracking snow. Behind the factory’s brick fence one of the larger warehouses sore imposingly over the dark sky. Its small, bright windows resembled holes poked in black fabric, like the stars on the night with Zsuzsa at the ruins in Kisliget. Only there were no recognizable constellations. On the other side of the walkway ran the highway. The normally busy thoroughfare was eerily deserted now, as the latest snowfall leveled it with the empty fields alongside. Tibor walked listening to the crunchy snow under his heavy steps. In a distance, the lights of the town flickered invitingly. He knew that one tiny bright point among those lights was the window of their old apartment and that behind that window his father was busy preparing dinner. Tibor quickened his pace.

The familiar sound of their doorbell echoed in the stairway as he pushed the button next to his father’s nameplate. Almost immediately, as if he were waiting for this sound behind the door, his joyful father opened the door. Tibor gave him a warm hug.

“Good to be home, Father!”

“I figured you’d take this train,” his father said with a slight break in his voice. “Come in! I have dinner ready for us! But first let me see you in uniform, Mr. Second Lieutenant!”

Tibor had to leave the base in his uniform and his father found great pride in seeing him in the masquerade, as Tibor thought of it, of a junior officer.

Toward the very end of World War Two, his father had been enlisted to serve as a sort of “buffer” between the retreating German and advancing Russian troops. With tongue-in-cheek humor they called themselves the “bullet catchers.” The whole squad was captured and his father ended up spending two years in a Russian coalmine as a POW. Tibor was always surprised that after the painful years of war and captivity, his father could still show any enthusiasm at all for the military. Tibor had concluded a long time ago that it had to be the combination of nostalgia for youth and the healing power of time.

“Oh, enough of this, father. Let me change into decent civilian clothes!”
  

WILL CONTINUE!

Book available on Amazon.com by clicking on this link.

New section added to the Life in the Barracks

I may be stubborn. Even unreasonable. But, I am working on an improved and expanded new edition of the Life in the Barracks. Among other plans, I want to make the tension between Tibor and Vida more prominent. In this spirit, I added a new section to the end of Chapter 4: Dinner with Vida. Here Tibor writes a poem inspired by the dilemma he had to face after Vida proposed him to join forces. For Tibor, it is a Mephistophelean offer and he spends some time about his response.

Needless to say, any feed-back is welcome from the occasional visitor to this "Occasional Reflections" site!

So, we are at the end of the dinner:

...They both smiled.

“I expect an answer by the end of this week. We could start next Friday. I think Friday is a good day since many soldiers leave for weekend furlough.”

“Thanks, Feri. I’ll get back to you. And thanks for the dinner. You don’t need to drive me back, I’d rather walk. The fresh air will help to clear my head. This was a most unexpected conversation, I must admit, and I need to think about your offer.”

Tibor plodded along the road back to the barracks with his head full of vertiginous thoughts. The night was dark. Thick clouds covered the stars. The faint glow of the city behind him was multiplied by the snowy fields, giving Tibor just enough light to see the ditches on the road. When an occasional car passed by with bright lights on, he had to stop and wait until his eyes accommodated again to the near darkness. He had four kilometers to go; plenty of time to reflect.

Vida’s intellectual complexity stunned him. Yes, he’s a SOB, a selfish brute, but with a great practical sense. His intellect, no doubt, is far above most people Tibor knew. For a moment, Tibor thought of Vida as a devilish genius, a formidable opponent—one who could hurt him if he lets his guard down. But could he be a worthy ally too? Did Tibor hear a veiled invitation when Vida had said: “They are soldiers, not the kind of professionals you and I are.” Could Vida be his path to headquarters and perhaps even to the colonel himself? Isn’t he Tibor’s chance to cushion his life in this snow-bound hinterland? Tibor recognized that ahead of him laid the opportunity to heed his parents’ warnings: “You need to learn real life, Tibi.”

When Tibor got back, Kerekes wasn’t home. This didn’t surprise Tibor although he wished Kerekes’ round face would emerge from behind his door with a glass of wine in his hand and a warm invitation to join him. But, Tibor was alone. He sat down at the bare table and pulled a sheet of white paper from the drawer. It has been one of his old habits to put down his reflections in writing. It started in his early teen years and stayed with him ever since. At times, he would turn the diary, but frequently a hurriedly found piece of paper had to do. A few of his musings turned into poems. Not necessarily good ones, but faithful to his state of mind at the moment of writing—and now he had plenty of stirring thoughts to ponder.

An hour later Tibor had a newly sprouted poem. As he re-read the final version for a last time, the straggly rows stared back into his face like a mirror. A mirror of him not visible to anyone, not even to himself. A mirror, which the impulsively spilled words coming from some undiscovered depths of his soul had to clear. He named the poem: “Proud Castle.”



Proud castle with slender spire:
Where the screeching hawk builds her nest,
And into the wind a prankish chimney
Spouts grey stream of smoke that flies
Adrift toward blue mountain crests.

The weathervane's grinding
As it squeamishly turns into the breeze,
"Why wouldn't I dance with my friend?"
 He says, "Like the poplars around me
Do as they please?"

From a distance I marvel at the scene:
Oh, that splendor of the castle!
A vision takes me over softly,
Like my first dream at night,
To which I gently surrender.

But no! Go away dream!
Don't try your vile temptation on me!
You know I could never live in that castle!
You know that those dim walls
Would never let my heart soar free.

I am coming from an earth color hut
With the scent of clay and straw,
Where my mother with drawn face
Showed me how to remain man
Among hollering wolves.

The castle bathes in the fading light
Of the setting Sun. The windows glitter.
I train my curious eyes on the arched gate
As it opens and bolts, when
Brisk chaises enter.

… An old fairy, through the hedgerow
Smiles at me with peace!
“Is it you, Elder-Tree Mother?” I cry.
“That’s your house, Son, you like it?”
“No, I don’t! Please, give my hut back to me!”

*** 

Next day, Tibor woke up with a heavy head. His sleep was restless with agitated dreams about flying in bliss when, in mid-air, the terror of height struck him, or fleeing rapidly approaching chariots rumbling ever so close behind him. His eye half-open, he reached for last night’s poem and read it again. He liked it. He saw himself in the verses as if he were standing in front of a flawless Venetian mirror. A shudder of peace and contentment passed through him. I know where I am now. But where do I go from here?

This question preoccupied him the whole day in the infirmary. The others didn’t notice anything but Peter asked him.

“Tibor, you seem distant today, is everything alright?”

“Peter, have you ever heard the tale of the nightingale and the Chinese Emperor?”

“Now that is an odd question, Doc!”

“I know, but have you heard it?”

“Well, yes. I used to have a book of Anderson’s fairy tales. That’s the story where the real nightingale saves the life of the Emperor when the mechanical nightingale breaks down.”

“Very good, Peter! Now would you like to be the mechanical or the real nightingale?”

“The real, of course. The mechanical broke after all.”

And the real one could fly in and out of the Emperor’s window between her forest and the Emperor’s palace. And she still could sing for the Emperor!

*** 

That evening, by the time Tibor turned into the driveway of his barracks on the way home from the infirmary, he knew he had found the solution. I’ll ask the Asclepius representative if Vida’s patients could be enrolled into the study, he decided. Instead of simply working for Vida, this way I’ll continue my earlier research work for the benefit of all. I’ll have to ask Vida for a few weeks’ extension of his deadline, until a decision about my proposition is made at the study center.

Tibor felt that he’d reached a reasonable compromise with himself. Vida should also feel pleased about the possible study since no doubt it would improve his patients’ perception of him. Tibor heaved a sigh of relief as he climbed the dark stairs.