Sweet Jesus, let me make a wish this Christmas. You don't need a tie. You don't even need a warm scarf. And no matter how special it sounds, you don't even need a book, because there are already so many that it would take five lifetimes to read some of them. There is no need for any human solutions, because I already know some of them, and I am not even saying that human solutions are completely hopeless: they are just so human. And you don't need a wallet or a silver cigarette butt, you don't need anything useful or flashy and unnecessary. I examined myself before writing this note. I am not asking for anything as a gift, dear Jesus, nothing that can be worn or tied around the neck or placed on the table. A floor lamp with a colored shade, you don't need anything special, much less anything made of marble, crystal, or silver. I don't need anything like that, I'm giving up all Christmas kindles.
But as I walked down the street, between the bright shop windows, I suddenly remembered a few wishes this Christmas. I'm writing this now. I would like to see Szamos again. I would like to bathe in Küküllö once more. But if this is a lot and an immodest request, I will accept it, dear Jesus, if I can stand under the linden tree in Cluj-Napoca once more. But if this is also an unfulfilled wish, then help me, dear Jesus, so that I can drink black coffee once more in Nagyvárád, in that small pastry shop in the square where Endre Ady often visited. I would be very happy if I could once again walk across the footbridge leading to the Citadel, from where my parents and I could see the whole city. Is this impossible?... If it is impossible, of course I will give it up. Grant me that I may visit my grandmother's grave, Uncle Widmann's resting place in the Házsongárd Cemetery one last time, and place a flower next to the memorial tree of Csere János Apáczai. It was once on the tombstones of my masters. I just wrote it down because at this time, on the eve of Christmas, it is a common custom to wish for something.
Then maybe I wish for something else, Jesus: grant that once again in my life I can enjoy great, pure music, the works of great artists, without feeling guilty, and I don't have to think about the fact that millions and millions of people are suffering in the meantime. Give back art: music, pure literature, noble thoughts, perfect pictures and statues, give back to people, without guilt, all that is higher and purer than life. Is this a lot?… I think it is a lot. But you see, the hometown, the journey, the great works, the places of childhood, this was the most beautiful thing in life, and everyone secretly longed for it, even if their life was so sad and hopeless that they didn't dare and couldn't put it into words. desires. I'll say this again because it's Christmas. And because all of this, the grandparents, the masterpieces, the cities, all of this is far away, hopelessly far away. What should I wish for?… A silver cigarette case? God damn it. Give me back the Cluj-Napoca Promenade, for one morning, and that small accommodation in Caorle, where I was so calm and cheerful for a week that it is more than what is called happiness in the cinema. Give me back the beginning of my Tarhor years, when three small children woke up around me in the morning, or my first years in Vörövár, the laughter of the little girls, the smiles of their mothers. And that it will be like this for many years to come. But if this is also completely impossible - excuse me for haggling, it's Christmas - then I will be immodest and ask for more. Give me, dear Jesus, instead of cities, travel, art and the Házsongárd, so that people do not suffer needlessly: all those with whom I am related, who speak the language in which I make these wishes, and all the others who speak incomprehensible and wild languages excitedly. You don't need anything else, dear Jesus, just let there be less suffering. Is this impossible? They say it only costs you one word. It's too bad if it's impossible, because then everything else you can give is pointless, warm stockings are just as unnecessary as the Promenade or the trip. Because the greatest gift and main meaning of human life is still that innocent people do not suffer needlessly. Look around the earth, hundreds and hundreds of millions are asking, silently, this Christmas: give me peace.
He asks for this, very modestly and quietly, instead of everything else, and because it is Christmas; - Following Sándor Márai - Attila Dobó
