Csilla’s adventures

…. It’s true that one’s soul becomes shinier if one spends longer time at your place. It’s a sad thing to leave and feel when home again that although life is more comfortable here, the unconcerned and unsociable people of Budapest (with a few honourable exceptions!) cannot hold a candle to that great affection I’ve found in Déva.

I would like to share with you some of my wonderful experiences from last May. Tiny little things that may be overlooked by anyone in our rushing world of today, but they’ve meant a lot to me!

Not more than a few days that I’ve spent in Déva, when in an afternoon two little boys of around 8 years of age (now I have their name, for we’ve become very good friends: Levi Cseresnyés and Adi Peter) for reasons best known to themselves, carried me in the empty church, at all costs. They made me sit down on a chair and before I could say a word and without conspiring with each other, they stood before me and began to sing a beautiful song. I didn’t dare to take a breath. Was only able to listen to their clear voice flying up towards the sky. And when I looked in their beautiful black eyes, sparkling with devotion, I felt that here and now heaven borders on earth. They sang two songs. And I still wonder what I’ve done to deserve this?

 Another story is connected with Andris, a boy in the 5-6 age group in the nursery school. Andris was the most boisterous, strong-minded, and one of those little guys, who were mostly yearning for love. When two weeks had elapsed I told him that I’d be going home, he “in revenge” asked me to read five very long fairytales out to him.  He told me that nobody read him a story at home for nobody had time for him. He did not let me move away from my chair. Later on we went out to play in the courtyard. I sat down on the fence made of stone accompanied by a little boy from the reception class. Andris all of a sudden ran up to me embraced me and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. Then, as if I had dreamt the whole thing, he kept rushing away to subvert the world. I’ll never forget it.

 Likewise, it happened in the last days, when the eight-year-old Adrian asked me not to leave. Tried to comfort him by telling that lots of volunteers would be coming. He said: ‘But you’re different.’ ‘And why’, I asked. “Because you’re pretty’ came the answer. I tried to laugh it away: ‘Sure, you keep telling this all the girls!’ He turned round sharply and left me. The next day history repeated itself and a five-year-old girl, Berni, said exactly the same words. By then, I realised that this word “pretty/nice” has such a meaning in their system of words, which I am only capable of suspecting. However, I knew something for certain. That it was through divine grace, that they had told me.

And there’re plenty other good stories, to begin with Maxi who danced me around the library…

With love, Csilla

Translated by the author