I sneak in through the yard. It is shortly after half past ten in the morning, and all the corridors are empty. I can hear people talking whenever I pass a closed door and every time I hear this noise my heart wrenches. I open the door carefully, turn my head toward the teacher’s desk, and I retreat to my seat with silent tread. There is an empty seat in the last row by the heater. The teacher did not look at me; he just dismissed me with a wave of his hand. He thought I was the boy who left five minutes ago. I sit down. There is a reddish-blond, freckled boy sitting next to me and I almost shout out with joy in my surprise: “Well, this is Büchner!” I have not seen him in ages. Where have I been? Goodness, I’ve been having some horrible dreams. It is so good to be home, back here in good old reality, in my real life which I hated leaving. I am home; this is me, Frigyes Karinthy from sixth grade. Oh, it was all just a bad, stupid dream. All of a sudden all the smells are familiar, I’m shaking as I reach into the desk and pull out a notebook. For a moment I cannot believe my own eyes but there it is, written in precise letters on the cover: my name, sixth grade, literature compositions.
Büchner, my sweet Büchner, how are you, my dear fellow? He looks at me surprised, he does not seem to understand why I’m overjoyed to see him, but how could he understand it? He shushes and nudges me, looks at me angrily. Of course, here I am fussing about when somebody is standing at the front of the class answering the teacher’s questions. But my dear Büchner, you must understand that I can hardly contain my joy.
Well, listen here, dear Büchner, I had such a silly dream and now I am happy that it was all just a dream. You know, in my dream I was already over my school-leaving exams, and was twenty-seven years old. In this dream I was actually sitting in a café, I was a real writer as I had planned. I published a number of books, and people were asking for my autograph. But you know what? It just did not feel good. Isn’t it weird? As it turned out, things weren’t quite as good as I hoped they would be after school. And while I was sitting in that café, it started raining and I remembered my class, my sixth-grade class. I remembered that I had so much to do; I had to complete my geometrical drawing, go over history and think about my future that would be wonderful because I was still sixteen.
So I thought it all over and I figured out that the best thing to do would be to force myself awake, and review geometry and come into class. I pushed my head to the rainy window and decided that I would wake up now and look at my real life here, at secondary school, differently. I will not think it boring and tiring and depressing, but rather pay attention to all that is fun and memorable, things that I can see clearly now from afar. This way I can show you, my dear friends, secondary school students, how all this life is full of colour, strangeness, memories and hope.
to wrench – elszorul (szív)
to retreat – visszavonul
with silent tread – nesztelen léptekkel
to dismiss – elbocsát, elenged
freckled – szeplős
sixth grade – hatodik osztályos
literature composition – irodalomdolgozat
to shush – csitítgat
to nudge – bökdös
to fuss about – lármázik
can hardly contain one’s joy – alig bír magával örömében
silly – ostoba
autograph – autogram
weird – furcsa
geometrical drawing – mértani rajz
to figure out sg – rájön vmire
to review – átnéz (tananyagot)
tiring – fárasztó
memorable – emlékezetes
from afar – távolról, messziről