In the art school, where I study drawing there is a very special model. She is special because she differs from the most of the people in basic things, which are usually common for others. For example I saw her once coming to school in pair of sandals; it was wintertime, big snow covered the streets. Some say she is schizophrenic.
Once Noémi, our teacher asked her about her week-end. She said, she was working on the week-end in the Palace of Arts (a big cultural center, which holds a concert-hall in it). Noémi asked wonderingly what did she do. She said she was working with Fischer Iván (a well-known Hungarian conductor). He was playing, and she was helping him.
Noémi laughed, she said she never heard more beatiful sentence about reception.
Today I encountered a poor man on the bus. I dont know, if he was homeless, or just very poor. He had serious difficulties with speaking, probably his larynx was sick, maybe it was operated because of cancer. He wanted something, and he turned to people around him repeating one series of burble voices. Some looked at him for a while, than turned away. It was so visible in this situation, that the person who is listening should put energy in understanding, it was obvious that it would have been necessary by the listener make an effort for the succes of communication. All listeneres failed today. Gave up, haven't even really tried.
A homeless looking person appeared on the funeral of my grandfather. I was shocked, what is this man doing on the ceremony. He walked in the hall where the catalfalque stood with sticks. He was loud, when everyone was silent. He looked scruffy.
Later I got to know, that he is a priest; and he lived in the same elderly persons rest home as my grandparents did; he was a friend of my grandfather in his last year. My father drove him home afterwards, and in the car we got to know, we have common interest - I just started to study in the art school in those times, and he was an artist. Sometimes he crossed the town with his sticks using the public transportation vehicles; buses, trams and metro to get to the zoo to draw animals. He was dull of hearing, I needed to talk in his left ear. We became friends. Later I visited him in the village where he used to be a parish priest before he retired and moved to the rest home. It was january, and there was no heating in the parish, exept for one electric heater in the main room, where we slept. The foods in kitchen and water in the toilet were frozen. We ate frozen aspic, which contained almost only fat and cartilages, I barely stopped throwing up from the taste. I was helping him sorting out his stuff, since he was eliminating the parish. He gave me 2 or 3 boxes of books and plenty of paints, brushes, crayons and papers. I had fever after coming home. Before his death, he gave me many of his drawings. They are not in good condition. I should do something with them.
