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an even better place to do this later, in the middle of a bomb-
            site, which they could attack from two sides only. There were
            more and more children around, as this was the Ratkó era, when
            abortion was forbidden. We did not know a thing about this, we
            were just happy to be in groups. Zugló, our suburb, was famous
            or maybe notorious for this. Maybe even dangerous because of
            it. Ficek became the strongest  amongst us. He  was the oldest
            and was superior to us all physically, and as so, he had shown
            off  with  it,  especially  towards  me,  since  I  came  from  a
            “bourgeoisie” family, as he referred to it. And those have to be
            dealt with. So, after he had beaten me numerous times, I was
            afraid  to  go  out  on  the  streets  in  many  cases.  My  parents,
            though, did not really mind.
                   I was playing with a slingshot in our garden one day,
            when he stood in front of our gate and declared I did not dare to
            shoot at  him.  Unfortunately,  I  did  shoot at  him and  he lost  a
            tooth. The fact that I fell to the teasing made me feel ashamed,
            and I knew that there would be consequences. His father came
            over  and  told  us  that  this  shame  upon  his  son  would  not  be
            tolerated and he would not spare me. For three or four months, I
            could leave the house only after taking precautions. But there
            are always traitors among us, and my “good friends” one day
            lured me out to the draw well – Ficek was nowhere to be seen,
            or so I was told. We started to go when he turned up, coming
            from the direction of our house, from behind a bush. No matter
            how tenaciously I fought, I was punched in the face, but to my
            biggest surprise, he let me go. We befriended each other later,
            and  I  watched  him  with  admiration  as  he  was  marching  the
            streets with a machinegun in 1956 during the revolution against
            the communists. Many years later he visited our house and was
            looking  for  me  to  invite  for  a  pint  of  beer.  He  was  visiting
            home,  a  former  dissident  coming  back  from  Sweden.  I  feel
            sorry to this day that I was not in Budapest at the time, because
            I would have loved to have drunk a beer with him.





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