Little Bence received an electric train from his mother.
Did Little Bence suspect he was going to receive this kind of present from his mother?
No, Little Bence had no idea.
Was he really surprised when he opened the box?
Little Bence was indeed really surprised when, with a pair of scissors, he cut the nylon string and slowly unwrapped the long, flat gift box encased in a large sheet of bellflower wrapping paper. What is it? What is it? he kept asking, while his mother tried to force a mischievous smile.
Why did she have to force a mischievous smile?
Because Little Bence’s mother suffers from an illness called manic-depressive disorder. Two opposite cycles alternate in her life day in, day out. When she is on the upswing, her mood is ecstatic and elated, she does the jobs of seven people, barely sleeps, comes up with impossible ideas; for example, she wants to open a donut shop, barters over the price of a cotton candy machine, travels to neighboring socialist countries, purchases bicycle chains in Czechoslovakia, only to sell them in Romania, so that from there she can then sneak in, across the Hungarian border, bottles of cognac, polo shirts, and fur caps.
Why is selling donuts, cotton candy, bicycle chains, cognac, polo shirts, and fur caps an impossible idea?
Selling bicycle chains, cognac, polo shirts, and fur caps is an impossible idea because they will be taken away at the border. But opening a donut shop or selling cotton candy is a sure way to quickly line one’s pockets.
Why does Little Bence not like the idea of his mother being able to quickly line her pockets?
Oh, he would like that. But he knows that in his family nobody’s business-minded. His mother is full of hot air.
What about his father?
His father died a long time ago.
How long ago?
Fourteen years ago.
How is that possible? How old is Little Bence?
Little Bence is exactly thirty years old when he opens the oddly shaped gift box.
Does that mean that Little Bence is an adult?
According to his biological age, he certainly is. Hence, the dumbfounded look on his face upon seeing the electric train. He pokes around in the box hesitantly before taking out the engine and the three coaches. Two first-class cars and one sleeper train. On their sides, the emblem of the British Royal Train. The engine is a replica of a Kálmán Kandó model. On the bottom of the transformer are the instructions—in English, of course. Little Bence pretends to be reading them so as to gain time.
Why does Little Bence want to gain time?
Because he’s embarrassed. And because tears are rolling down his mother’s cheeks, which she quickly smears with the back of her hand.
Why is his mother crying?
His mother is crying because she’s really touched. Her long-time wish has finally come true.
And what is Little Bence doing?
Little Bence continues to feel embarrassed. He’s staring at his wife, nicknamed Csöpi in family circles, pleading with his eyes for her to help him.
Does that mean that Little Bence is married?
Yes. Their child is four years old, and her nickname is Peanut.
Perhaps there has been a mistake and Little Bence’s mother meant to give the electric train to Peanut?
No, there hasn’t been a mistake, the grandmother brought the electric train from England specifically for her son.
What was the grandmother doing in England?
She was on an organized trip with a group of people. When she signed up for the trip, she was on the upswing, feeling ecstatic. By the time she had to go on the trip, her life was in a downward spiral.
How does it feel to be in a downward spiral?
Horrible. You have no will to go on, you feel completely useless, you think no one needs you, you want to lie in bed all day long, you don’t want to eat or drink or clean yourself, and you’re waiting for death to arrive at your doorstep. Occasionally, some people who suffer from depression help speed up the end but, fortunately, they rarely get the desired result.
So is the grandmother in one of her downward spirals now?
Not likely, because then she wouldn’t be visiting her son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter. Her mood has gotten somewhat better lately. She went to her hairdresser in the morning, which is always a good sign. This makes Little Bence happy. Csöpi is also happy about it. Peanut, however, is not happy, because she thought that the electric train was for her. She’d seen one before at a preschool friend’s house. She begins to curl her lip in frustration. Why would Daddy need an electric train? Daddy won’t even play with it. Little Bence is avoiding his mother’s gaze. He just wants to hand the train to Peanut straight away.
Why doesn’t he just give it to her then?
He’s scared to, because he knows that his mother would get upset. But he has the same thoughts that the child just said out loud. Let’s be honest, why would he need an electric train? How could a grown man like Little Bence—that is, Bence Little, also known as Dr. Bence Little, corporate lawyer, whose days are eaten up by his demanding job, his family, and societal expectations, leaving him with no time to go to the theater and movies or play cards with friends—possibly find time to play with an electric train?
Does Little Bence’s mother actually believe that her son is going to play with her gift?
Yes, she does.
Does she believe that because she suffers from manic-depressive disorder?
Not exactly. Truth be told, Little Bence had always wanted an electric train. Ever since he was a little boy. But recently—for the past fifteen years, give or take—he has hardly ever mentioned it.
Why is that?
Because now he’s an adult. Furthermore, if Little Bence had talked about the electric train recently, it wouldn’t have been with his mother. They don’t talk much.
Why don’t they talk much?
Because Dr. Bence Little is always too busy. And because his mother is also too busy when she is on the upswing. And when she is in a downward spiral, she hates talking.
What are they doing now?
They are being quiet.
Why are they being quiet?
Because they are thinking. They are silent, which in the literary world means: they are contemplating, speculating, planning, daydreaming, musing, pondering, and so on.
Is it possible to find out what they are thinking about?
Of course it is. In literature it is practically mandatory to see inside people’s heads and to reveal their thoughts to the readers. Here they are:
First, the grandmother can tell that her son isn’t genuinely happy about the gift. I can’t do anything right, she thinks. Though when she wandered into the upstairs train department of the toy store that occupied a few buildings, and found herself surrounded by a myriad of train tracks, train tables, engines, and other parts, there was not a shred of doubt in her mind. After all, Little Bence spent his whole childhood wishing for an electric train. And his Uncle Eugene called every year, and promised him an electric train again and again. And when her son was little, he used to dream about it night after night, shouting: The train is coming! The train is coming! Chug a chug a choo choo! Chug a chug a choo choo!
Second, Csöpi is mad at her husband. She thinks it is touching that his mother had carried the electric train all the way across Europe. Bence has told her repeatedly about Uncle Eugene’s phone calls, the electric train, the sleeping doll, and Csöpi sincerely relived his childhood disappointment every time he brought up the mailman who never delivered the long-awaited miracle train and how, in the beginning of each year, with the holidays just behind them, his heart almost jumped out of his bony chest every time the doorbell rang. Photographs from that era reveal a curly-haired little boy, light as a feather, his hair, adhering to the fashion of the times, pinned back with a bobby pin.
Third, beads of sweat are collecting on Little Bence’s back. Say something, you idiot! Your mother has saved up for this expensive toy from her minuscule amount of foreign currency, be happy, thank her, kiss her face, come on! Instead, he just stands, frozen to the ground, thinking how wonderful it would have been to receive this gift when he was four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten years old. He could have still played with it up to age fourteen had Uncle Eugene sent it, but he never did. Now it’s too late—he’s past thirty.
Finally, Peanut doesn’t want to accept the situation. She hopes that she will get the train in the end. Adults don’t need toys.
Who is Uncle Eugene anyway?
He’s the brother of Little Bence’s prematurely deceased father. Uncle Eugene went to Canada in 1926 and, after the war, he settled down in London. Supposedly, he’s filthy rich.
Says who?
Uncle Eugene says so. During his annual Christmas phone calls he likes to allude to his wealth, choosing his words with an air of utter perplexity. Though it is possible that his complex run-on sentences stem from the faded vocabulary of his Hungarian language. After all, he hasn’t been back to Hungary since 1926. Like clockwork, he always calls on Christmas Eve—always tipsy, according to the grandmother—and tells the family in Hunglish that he is Christmasing, dinnering turkey, and everyone can rest assured that the holiday mood is excellent, everything is alright, and he will send Little Bence an electric train and a sleeping doll for Little Esther.
Who is Little Esther?
Little Esther is Little Bence’s older sister. As a matter of fact, it is thanks to her that the electric train and the sleeping doll were finally dropped from the yearly telephone conversations, because there came a time when Little Bence’s mother had to say to Uncle Eugene: You are very kind, my dear Eugene, but the sleeping doll is no longer relevant since, believe it or not, Little Esther is getting married in two months. Uncle Eugene thought for a few seconds and then declared that, in that case, he will send pots and pans for Little Esther, but what should he send for Little Bence? I don’t want him to send me anything! shouted Little Bence, with bulging veins in his neck, when his mother told him about the phone conversation. But she had already told Uncle Eugene that Little Bence would like a guitar.
How old was he at the time?
Fifteen. And his sister was twenty.
And did he ever receive the guitar?
He never did, of course. Little Esther never received the pots and pans either.
Why was Uncle Eugene always promising to send things but never did?
He was that kind of a man.
In the end, what happened with the electric train?
Peanut did get it in the end. After her grandmother left, they gave it to her at once. Little Bence assembled it for her and, leaning against the wall, watched her play. Csöpi scolded her husband semi-audibly—so that the child would not hear—for not hiding his thoughts better. He could have easily pretended to be happy for the sake of his mother, which would have been the least this poor old woman deserved after having purchased the train out of the goodness of her heart, at tremendous financial and physical cost.
And what did Little Bence do?
He stayed silent.
Is it possible to find out why he stayed silent?
Of course it is. He watched the train set as it went around in circles, and thought that everything they receive comes too late. By the time they finish university, there is no need for lawyers, and they can hardly find a job. By the time they are able to purchase—with generous help from both sets of parents—their first small apartment, a child is on the way. By the time they scrape together enough money to buy a used Trabant, they can’t enjoy driving it because the roads are too crowded, and they can’t park it anywhere because there are no parking spots left, and they can’t take a weekend trip to Lake Balaton because gas is too expensive (it would be pointless anyway, since the lake is polluted and the beaches are crowded). Meanwhile, their mortgage, along with the price of heat and electricity, has increased so much that they can barely afford to pay their bills. If they somehow manage to successfully move to a larger apartment, they’ll soon entertain the idea of another move, back to a smaller one, and even wonder whether it would have been a better idea to stay in the first apartment, where the monthly bills were in proportion to the square footage. They live from day to day, like flies, and they can’t expect a miracle, because there are no miracles nowadays. By the time Little Bence gets a promotion and becomes the assistant head of the legal department, he’ll be over forty, and by the time he becomes the head of the department, he’ll be close to retirement. Too late, too late, everything always comes too late in life.
And Csöpi? Is it possible to know why she’s being quiet?
Of course it is. She has a sneaking suspicion where the winding paths of pondering might take Little Bence. She knows her husband’s theory in regard to the above matter. But she is a born optimist, and likes to focus on the brighter side of things. She seeks out situations to which she can compare theirs and conclude that, in comparison to those situations, theirs is perfectly fine. If nothing else, she can be grateful that there is no war, which is a big deal.
What about Little Bence?
He also thinks that it’s a big deal, but he considers this type of argument demagogic. Because compared to Auschwitz, for example, a place eerily familiar to Little Bence’s ancestors, nearly everything is perfectly fine. There is nothing we can do, we were born at the wrong time, we missed the time to take action, and if there is ever going to be another time when we could take action, we will miss that too because, by then, we will be old, bald, impotent—all in all, incapacitated.
Then what?
We can play with our toys.
And?
We can hope and wait.
And?
We can listen.
And?
We can ask questions.
