The family has already had dinner. The elder Bagyinka read the Free People, Bagyinka’s knit, Mariska wrote her lesson, and Jancsi watched Jóska’s lecture with his mouth open. Jóska sat in an armchair in a chair with a curved arm, holding the two armrests of the chair forward like the rudder of an engine, her eyes burning in an unearthly fire and explaining:
– There is no more “cooler” feeling than when you are on the engine. It engages, throws gas, carefully releases the “clutch”, the engine starts, then goes! I switch to two, three and I’m already flying. The wind roars past my ears like a storm! The engine purrs under me like a cat and flies with me! Little beetles slam into my face, stab like a needle, tears flow from both sides of my eyes and back into the back of my neck! The brakes seem to have grown together, they just rustle past me and I enjoy the speed. That’s when I always want to shout!
Jóska took the armrest of the chair hard and leaned on it as usual on the engine. Jancsi imitated every move on the stool, he didn’t have an armrest, so he just grabbed the air and watched as Jóska continued:
– Then the bend comes! Down the gas, turn on the “clutch”, carefully “pump” the brake, switch it back on and, when we reach the corner, tilt the machine…
Here the illustrative lecture was interrupted, because Jóska “tilted” the chair, its two legs slipped on the slippery parquet, flew out from under the boy, straight to her little table, which was full of Mariska’s trinkets: small porcelain figures, glasses, boxes. The table overturned, all rolled over, shattered by a shattered, unpretentious clatter over the silence after dinner. Then there was silence again, and Jóska, sitting on the floor, finished the illustrative lecture like this:
– Of course it is, in reality…
Bagyinkáné dropped the bandage on her lap, Mariska – seeing the destruction of her treasures – burst into tears, Jancsi sat frozen on the stool, and old Bagyinka pushed the glasses on her forehead. There was a pre-storm silence, and as expected, the older Bagyinka broke it:
“I’ve told you many times to stop the engine.” You keep getting him in trouble. You came home from the race with your arm tied up last time, before you tore your clothes and hit your head on the edge of the sidewalk, now you smash the equipment. I’m tired of your perpetual motorcycling! You constantly smear everything at home with your oily hands, where you get kicked into a gear that you fall on your stomach on an engine block in the kitchen. And you crush yourself to the top one day without fifty doctors making you human! That was enough, the glass was full! Don’t let me see you sitting on an engine again! Sell the engine! If I hear you being motored again, you’re not my son anymore!
A shocked silence followed the old man’s words. Jóska kept her peace alone. He got up from the ground and went to his father:
– I am very surprised, my father, that you are among the first to receive the badge in Hungary and you have been a live worker ever since, so you speak. You who have been sitting in the mult system for five years because you are not afraid to stand up for our cause, you who are one of the strengths of the socialism being built: a member of the peace commissioner, , you who really fought for freedom, now you can talk like that. Did you fight for your freedom so you wouldn’t live with it? Could I have sat on an engine before? Would I have had the money to buy it for myself? Would we now live in a living room apartment with a bathroom and parquet? Before, only the rich boys had a bike, now we can buy it. Before, I couldn’t have raced, I couldn’t have helped to improve our engine through racing. Did you think you could hit a bullet when you were fighting the fascists? Well, how do I think about a graze when I know that the experience of racing can improve our engine industry. Anyone who can ride a motorcycle who has access to the engine will have a hard time getting into trouble. The engine only takes revenge on those who sit on it without touching it. I can ride a motorcycle and I’m not scared. Motorcycling is also a battlefield, we build peace and socialism with sports and motorbikes and I want to be involved in the construction, just as you are involved in your own way.
Old Bagyinka was just listening to her son, who was coming more and more on fire.
– You’re the enemy of the engine – continued Jóska, – because you’ve never sat on it! Sit on it once, taste it and then your opinion will be different! And anyway…
That was a lot for the old man. Interrupted by:
– Enough! You are like a revived brochure! You are not convinced, you can also work in the factory for socialism. Don’t see you on the engine again!
With that, he retired to bed. Dense clouds towered over the family sky.
The next day, Jóska transferred her bike to her friend Feri Kerekes and parked it with her. Of course, he didn’t overdo it, and of course he went on to workouts. Old Bagyinka noted with reassurance when he returned home in the evening that the engine had disappeared and plunged with content to study the latest issues of the peace war after dinner.
So the days were quiet at Bagyinká’s, the engine case was slowly beginning to be forgotten, until one day, after work, old Bagyinka saw the butler secretary at the factory gate: Lajos Bukovics, with whom he had fought and once sat together. Bukovics is branded on a brand new 125 Csepel engine.
– I just bought – he said proudly to Bagyinka. – What do you think?
Old Bagyinka shook his head.
– Have you fallen into this motor fool?
– Why not? I wanted to buy it a long time ago. Come on, sit up, I’ll take you home.
– I’m not sitting! Leave me alone!
– Aren’t you afraid?
Finally, after a long persuasion, id. József Bagyinka sat up behind Lajos Bukovics. Little Csepel carried them on the road, cheering cheerfully. I reached an empty plot, Bukovic slowed down:
– Well, aren’t you trying to drive?
– Come on – adapted to Bagyinka. “I don’t understand that, and I don’t feel like it.”
– It’s not hard, you can learn easily! Come on, give it a try! Fear not, no one can see you here, I won’t tell you.
The words of his son resounded in the ears of old Bagyinka:
“Sit on it once, taste it…” Then he was ashamed of his momentary weakness and frowned.
– Come on, let’s go home!
In five minutes he was able to get off to a good start. Bukovic panted beside him and explained:
– Now, switch in two. Tighten the “clutch”, lift the switch lever with your foot until it clicks, then carefully release the “clutch” and add gas.
Old Bagyinka carried out the instruction with great effort. Things went smoothly, the old man’s eyes twinkling.
– Don’t drive so fast, hey! – Bukovic noticed. – Take the gas!
Then they started all over again!
In the evening, when the whole family went to bed, id. József Bagyinka climbed out of bed, slipped to his son’s desk on the tip of his toe, wandered through the books for a long time – he was like a swaying ghost in his big nightgown – then slipped back into bed with a small book in his hand, put on his glasses and started reading. The title of the book was “The Little Cat of Motor Driving.”
From then on, Bukovics and old Bagyinka regularly went to vacant land after work. A week later, the “deadly enemy” of motorcycling was already driving as if he had always done so.
– You have a pretty serious sense of motorcycling. Learn a little more, then start a tour!
Bagyinka just waved:
– I’m old for that. I’m fifty-two years old.
– That’s nothing! – answered üb. Secretary. “Old Bauer is already sixty-three years old and racing!” In fact, slag!
– Do you think they wouldn’t laugh?
– In fact! They would celebrate!
– Well, we’ll see. Don’t just say anything to my son for now.
The boy didn’t know anything about it, of course. Both father and son were secretly on their own paths. The boy had in mind that he would win the next tour and that would be reason enough to conquer the old man. And the old man Bukovic’s encouragement for hours was more and more speculated. He already knew the motorcycle from the outside, a month later he already knew the Csepel engine from the inside, because Bukovics had disassembled and explained it to him several times. Now he, too, came home with oily hands and hurried to wash his hands in the bathroom in great secrecy. So time passed. Father and son watched each other’s eyes every night: wasn’t the other suspecting something of a secret. Neither guessed it.
Then, two months later, the big time came. The freedom fighters announced a distance race. József Bagyinka Sr. said to himself, once again he thought through all the possibilities (if he was “burning”, if he would be laughed at, if he could not go all the way for 350 kilometers, etc.), then he knocked on the freedom fighter’s department room. The comrades were very welcome and left a few minutes later as one of the participants in the upcoming tour competitions.
They were working on the engine all afternoon on Saturday. Bukovics kept explaining and encouraging Bagyinka. However, it no longer needed encouragement. He just made sure his son didn’t figure out the thing ahead of time so he didn’t have to hear “I said so”. So they dawned on the big day. At home as early as Saturday night, they both figured out some excuse for leaving early.
What we deny was the heart of old Bagyinka throbbing in his throat as the checkered flag fluttered. But then the start went well and it gave him confidence. He soon disappeared in the twilight of the morning at the first turn. His son started a few minutes before. They started in one category, both at 125 Csepel. They didn’t notice each other at the start. József Bagyinka Sr. squeezed the steering wheel with satisfaction and really felt how good it felt when the engine was purring under it like a cat.
“Well, the boy will look great when we meet at the run-in!”
They met much earlier. It may have been south when Jóska’s engine stopped on the open country road. He immediately jumped off him and looked at what was wrong. He soon realized “candlestick.” He reached into his pocket for the spare candle and then turned pale. He forgot the spare candles on the table at home. He was so careful that his father would not notice anything as the candle went out of his head. What else could he do, he sat down on the bank of the ditch. Then he asks for one of the following “drops”. He was sad and annoyed. Now the victory is there, even though there are only 300 kilometers left and there is no point of error.
But he soon heard engine noise. Csepel! He stood in the middle of the highway. Soon the engine showed up in the corner. Jóska waved, then as the engine got closer, he got to know the person sitting on it. Pale! This can not be true! And it was true: his father was standing in front of him, on the engine of Bukovics!
– My dad! Well you… well yet…
Old Bagyinka smiled:
“You were right, those little beetles do bite when they cut into your face.” Even the brakes rattle and the engine purrs.
Then he reached into the pocket of the leather vest and handed the box to his son.
– Here are your spare candles. You left them on the table. Great inattention from a racer.
Jóska took the candles, but she still couldn’t speak in surprise. He just looked at his father and would have preferred to jump around his neck. However, the old man soon cut his way into emotion and turned to the practical thing:
– Let’s see what’s wrong with “leprosy”…
“It’s not a leprosy, it’s a Csepel engine, and it’s okay.” Only the candle needs to be replaced.
“Well, change quickly, because the victory will be there!” I’m going forward in the meantime because I didn’t leave the spare candles at home!
He’s gone on. Jóska didn’t speak, just looked after her father and screamed so much that the sparrows scraping in the middle of the road flew in fright. And old Bagyinka, leaning on the handlebars, took a turn just then. It seemed that he was trying to get the most out of it. At this age, it does not hurt to have a small right over young people!
Source: Autó-Motor by www.automotor.hu.
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