Page 62 - Microsoft Word - 01_A MÁSIK OLDAL English.doc

the front room. Some outrage followed the action. What does
this white, well dressed lad want here, and two clerks headed
towards me.
Hungarian. Well, it's not popular with the French - so I've had
heard but I could have reassured them that from the majority of
us we were not enthusiastic about the French either. It's hard to
forget the Cognac conspiracy against us at the beginning of the
th
16 century. That's it.
I said I wanted to talk to the consul. Some shock and giggles,
they wanted to answer something, but I stepped forward and
opened a door to my right.
Opposite the door, on a large desk, sat cross-legged a beauty
wearing the miniskirt, so popular in those days and for me the
pinnacle of women’s dressing. She was reading something.
She looked up and for the miracle of miracles she smiled and
asked what I was imagining, what I was doing.
- Help me, please, - I said and told the desperate situation. She
obviously couldn't believe her ears, but she listened while the
others went back to the front.
I can get visas for drivers in three weeks with discounted speed.
- she reassured me - After all you are from a communist
country. This is the official way.
I explained that in an hour the bus should be leaving the hotel
back with the other group and take the five-hour ferry across to
France, otherwise the ferry ticket, the French accommodation
and everything will be lost. Not to mention mine my eight-week
theater-film-museum-work project in London. In any case, I do
not see and feel the rigid rules of officialdom in this room.
- What if we were Germans? - I asked.
She stared at me and slid off the table, adjusting her tiny skirt.
Of course, that didn't make it longer. I didn't mind.
-Well, you made the right decision this morning to choose this
skirt, it fits well, I said.
She smiled and, looking back out of the corner of her eye,
entered the other door where it was written: Consul.

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