Baron Pal Podmaniczky and the Norwegian Bible | Page 5

in the drawer. So I went to this professor to ask for my analysis

if she did not need it. She told me that she had needed it because she
gave it to one of the foreign professors but she did not remember to
whom. I asked her to get it back so that I would be able to copy it. The
week after, she said perhaps she had not given my papers to anybody as
they did not remember it. The next week after that, I asked her again,
but she said she was very busy. Suddenly, it was clear to me that the
journey of our short stories and analyses was very simple. After being
collected in the classroom their final destination was the first
waste-basket.
Yes, I could understand her. She was bored with our assignments. She
was busy. But why did she promise? Why did she not tell the truth?
Because it was her character? I believed the reflection I saw in the
mirror.
And now the last story: something about an unposted "The Norwegian
Bible". There was a young man in my life. We were classmates in an
English course many years ago. After each lesson we went out of the
school together and almost every time we met my then
boyfriend--(today he is my husband). He attended a German course in
the same school, just after our lesson. We greeted each other every time
and everyone continued on his or her own way. My future husband
went to his class, and we, my classmate and I walked along the street.
We talked about the English lesson, about my studies, about family,
about childhood, about religion. He was very religious. He was very
curious about my being a daughter of a minister and living without the
daily reading of the Bible. He gave me a Bible with a dedication note in
it. This inscription was a nine line "poem", a clever introduction to me.
The first letters of the lines read vertically formed my name
ILONKÁNAK (to Ilona). The nine letters were written in different
colours, the rest of the text in blue ink. I still have his present, this
Bible. I preserved it in the same way Mrs. Morel preserved John Field’s
Bible in D.H. Lawrence’s novel "Sons and Lovers". But it is not a relic
for me: it is used by my younger daughter in her everyday life at the
convent school she attends.
This classmate once invited me to ski and visit his family in a mountain
village. I hesitated a little bit, but at last I refused the invitation. I had
my boyfriend at that time whom I loved very much and did not want to
give him up for another man. It was a little unpleasant for my boyfriend

to meet me every Monday and Wednesday while I was chatting with
this other man in a very friendly manner. I did not want to hurt my
boyfriend nor did I want to lose him, so I refused the invitation,
although I loved skiing. My boyfriend felt my hesitation because he
knew how much I liked to ski. One evening he came to me with a big
bunch of red roses and asked me not to go skiing. So I remained with
him and we are still together, in love and in harmony. I thought about
sending my former classmate a copy of "The Norwegian Bible", but I
do not want to disturb this harmony, so I have not sent him one.
So this is the story of the small short story up to now. And it will be
going on I hope. Perhaps the other twenty or thirty friends will answer
my Christmas card as well. I can say "thank you" to my absent-minded,
unreliable professor, who gave us the assignment idea to write a short
story.

BIRTH OF A MULTI-LINGUAL SHORT STORY
The essay is finished, but the story continues.
In May my English pen-friend since 1964 corrected my essay
grammatically and sent me a small white English New Testament.
There was a friendly smile that I have to mention. I got it as an
appreciation for the essay from my son, a former water-polo player
who is now a marathon runner and a folk dancer. He read the essay on
the train to Budapest. He did not say anything but laughed at me. I
think he enjoyed the stories of mine and his father’s.
Instead of answering my Christmas card my half-Polish, half-Slovakian
pen-friend since 1963 sent me a copy of an article. He published my
"Norwegian Bible" in "Zivot", a newspaper of the Slovaks living in
Poland and he wrote an article about our friendship, my grandfather of
Slovakian origin and about the short story.
Now I have