How did I save Budapest from suicide?
The mystical story of a smile on my train trip to Hungary and a life lesson…
As the poet says:
‘’Now I wished to be in Budapest On the edge of the Blue Danube Watching that beautiful architecture While getting lost in your hazel eyes On Margaret Island.
When the green and blue making love You had to write poems In Danube’s bosom…
…Now I wished to be in Budapest’’
(Harun Resit Aydin)
About an hour left to reach Budapest. I remembered these words while looking out the window of the train. In the summer, the scorching heat was hitting from one side towards my shoulder. I was sitting on an old train and didn’t have air conditioning. I was sweating all over the body but did not care much. Because I had the joy of a child who saw the chocolate hidden behind the aluminum foil on his way to Budapest.
It was not like any other city, the value was very different. Budapest was a city that had maintained intellectual accumulation even during the time of communism when the western world accused the whole bloc with backwardness and even at that time, this city was the only scientific and cultural answer against the west. While most of the countries in the eastern bloc were destroyed by the madness of getting a little money and capitalism when the iron curtain collapsed, the cultural accumulation behind it still made him proud and sane.
Hungary has always been different throughout history. There was the smell of many different civilizations over its skies, which even represented mine as a Turkish descendant whose grandfathers lived here for long together. Just after many other countries were independence, Hungary had claimed these priceless works as their own history, while the past works of other societies hit the sledgehammer at the cost of erasing and destroying its history. There were so many works that still stand proudly in the elegance of the first years. You won’t end with counting, you won’t get tired of traveling.
Gellert Hill, which was visited by Nazım Hikmet (Turkish poet), came to my mind while reading his poems. And after that, the famous Hungarian Poet Benjamin Laszlo who said about him: ‘’The Turkish poet with the huge smile’’
I have never found myself in the political trend followed by Nazım in my life. So it was always very romantic when comparing it with the realities of life. But he was the person of my land, he was a beautiful person, that these lands bred. Just like Nazım, Necip Fazil, but also Kuczka Peter of Hungary came to my mind, when I was passing his land now by Train.
They all suffered a lot, they had a lot to say about this world. They had ambitions, the thought of leaving the people of their homeland more beautiful tomorrows. In this world, which has already been nailed, we consisted of tiny pieces of trash when I think back to them. Tiny pieces of humanity, eating from the food put in front of us, buying the first smartphone we see on a TV advertisement, trying to learn life by reading magazines that have now become monotonous.
Did the Gellert Hill still stand as in the photo taken by Nazim? Or was he already defeated in history like us?
With this exact question, the door of the coordinated compartment was opened loudly. Someone had finally come to this section where I was sitting alone and I was no more alone on these roads. A man in his 60s, whose hair was white, his mustache was similar to our sweety old uncles of Anatolia, he came in front of me when there was so much room. I was trying to read the newspaper, which he squeezed between his arms, in a very serious gaze. I did not understand much because it was in the Hungarian language.
I was just looking at the pictures in the newspaper, and on the other hand, I kept watching the Uncle sitting in front of me. After putting the newspaper on the side seat, he took out the obsolete nostalgic glasses in his eyes and looked outward, pulling a hidden sigh behind the sadness of his country of unique natural wonder. This time, after taking his head back to the newspaper, he looked up to me for the first time. At that moment I turned immediately my eyes and fell into a shyness because of my age.
‘‘Youngster’’ he called me.
I don’t know why, but behind this call, sparks broke off and my tongue dried. As if my first cigarette package at the age of 14 was caught by my father in my pocket, I had the impression that the disaster at home would be repeated. I heard a very authoritative voice in front of me. Fortunately, I was finally able to gather my courage and say, “Welcome’’.
He asked me where I came from and the destination. I said that I was traveling around the Balkans and my last stop was Budapest, the city of poets. A smile started to appear on the face of that very serious man. The environment suddenly turned to a glorious garden, while I felt that I had just met one of the former eastern bloc police officers inside the horror empire.
The Person in front of me changed from a stranger and cold men into the sweet Uncle role very fast. I was very relieved. When he asked where I wanted to see the most, I said that I wanted to go to Gellert hill to experience Nazim in my dream.
He paused.
He looked out again and turned and took a cigar from the black clerk bag. While carefully placing his tobacco, he continued his words.
‘’Beautiful ! “Fine,” he said.
I did not understand. I think he meant that to visit the Gellert hill was beautiful. As I guessed, ‘’I will tell you a story than’’, he said. While listening to him, my eyes were stuck at the carnation worn around his suit collar. I was observing this mysterious Man in a suit very carefully. He lit his cigar and stared into my eyes.
Do you know the song ‘’Gloomy Sunday’’? he asked.
I hadn’t heard and shook my head. The old man was talking about a very old song. A song that is said to cause people to commit suicide in the city of Budapest in the 1930s.
‘’Many people’’ he said, knows this song from Billy Holiday. However, it was originally composed by Hungarian Rezso Seress in 1933.
After the First World War, the losses of his country and the incredible economic crisis had taken away the happiness of the people. And suicide rates peaked across the country. However, as always, mankind was putting the blame on art, instead of confronting the facts. Yes, even the highly educated, have linked this high suicide rate to just one song. While the big boats were waiting to prevent people from jumping, the radio stations were busy banning the song, Gloomy Sunday. However, the kinds of pressures circulating around the song in no way prevented people from going to death.
Taking a breath from the cigar, the men looked back briefly at the window and then turned to me and continued. “Anyway,” he said. ..It quickly became apparent that banning was not a solution to man’s troubles. It was at this time that Jeno, a Professor at the University of Budapest, and Hypnotist Binczo, had an ingenious idea: ‘’Smile Club’’ (Laughter Club).’’
They knew that the only reason that pushed people to melancholy and despair throughout history was unhappiness. No matter how different or complicated the reason was, they believed wholeheartedly that they could prevent suicide if they could solve the state of unhappiness that the inner world was trapped. Therefore, the words made during a joke would become reality shortly after: ‘’Smile Club.’’
The idea was simple. To make people laugh again, who forgot to laugh. They taught the Roosevelt smile, the Mona Lisa smile, the Clark Gable smile, the Dick Powell smile, the Loretta Young smile, and so many different types of smiles in the school they set up for this. Instead of saying ‘’let’s laugh’’ they were using people about whom most of the people had no idea about in their real life, didn’t really know their inner world, they knew only from posters and movies and believed that they had dreamy lives.
This team, which instilled the smiling techniques and reasons of these personalities, which they drew in the paintings, to the people who came, even though there was a lot of jokes about them and were able to change the infamous name ‘’the city of suicide’’ in all continental Europe, in a short time, into the ‘’the city of smile’’. It could not be said to have had real effects on suicide cases. There wasn’t a scientific experiment that was done at that time. But it was a fact that the real target was hidden years later in Professor Jeno’s words:
‘’If we could save only a single person from drowning in the cold waters of the Danube river, this is a source of pride for us. Because a person commits suicide not after listening to the song, but after forgetting to laugh.’’
After completing the story, the old man smiled as if he had lived at that time. The person I was so afraid of a few minutes ago had thrown me into such emotions that I wanted to hug him very tightly now. In the meantime, the announcement had passed on the train:
‘’We are about to enter the Budapest Station!’’
I didn’t even understand how time passed with this stranger who came to me into this compartment, where I was bored and thought deeply. I finally came to the city of dreams. While the beginning of the story started as the City of Suicides, I was finally experiencing the comfort of coming to the City of Smile. I turned towards taking my bag with the authoritative voice he called to me again:
‘‘Youngster, you were going to Gellert hill, right?’’
I answered with the glimmering of my eyes: ‘’Yes, I am going to live Nazim.’’
‘’Well, he said, is this Sunday not too gloomy?’’
I looked at his face, showing that I did not understand.
‘’The song I mean, he answered, Gloomy Sunday’’
He meant the song he was talking about. Meanwhile, the train got into the station and people started to get off quickly. And I was just staying and looking at the face of the old Gentleman.
He said, “It’s Sunday, today.” I was just standing in my place.
‘’I’m talking about the gloom on your face. Nazim suffered these pains not for you to be sad but for you to laugh. I hope you will not go out with this face to Gellert hill’’ he frowned.
For a moment I forgot that I was always melancholic. Probably I was wearing the Melancholic spirit of Budapest in the 1930s while I was traveling. Or I was constantly thinking about my own gloomy life.
I said, ‘’okay, promise.’’ At that moment I threw my strongest and sincere smile in my life to a stranger in front of me. When I got off the train, I shook the hand of that stranger and said, “My name is Harun.” After looking at the pocket watch he pulled out of his pocket, he grabbed my hand again next to the train when I was leaving, and he stretched out the Carnation to me which was attached to his suit from what I couldn’t take my eye off during that whole trip and said…
“Nice to meet you, my name is Rezso, Rezso Serres.’’
Carnation in my hand, I was still shocked by the name I heard. In other words, this man, who took my hand and quickly left, was Rezso Serres, the composer of the song, ‘’Gloomy Sunday.’’ So I had the honor of listening to the story firsthand. I entered with such beautiful and inexplicable happiness. I wished to take a memory photo at least. Or maybe a signature, a souvenir? But it didn’t happen. I said it didn’t matter, it was nice to be part of such a story.
I walked out of the station in slow steps and turned a Taxi to Gellert hill.
Watching the elegance of the beautiful Buda Palace and Szechenyi bridge was a joy when passing through the beautiful Budapest. It was as if a poet’s subtle spirit touched the heart of the architects who built it. Suddenly, the story told by the old uncle came to mind and I asked the driver to play the ‘’Gloomy Sunday’’ song, if possible. I was quite curious, and it was time to listen.
The driver turned and said:
‘’You are young but you know the history of this city well. You’re the first to ask for this song.’’ He smiled at me in the rearview mirror.
‘’Frankly, I wouldn’t have played anyway, because I wouldn’t want a Tourist to commit suicide in my car..’’ and laughed aloud. It seemed to me that he smiled at such a tragic story. After a moment of silence, I asked him about Rezso Serres house. He suddenly disappeared at the train station, but I was setting up in my head because maybe I could try my luck to have a coffee after visiting the city. Suddenly, the driver pulled the vehicle over to this question and said:
“Did you lose your mind or are you kidding me’’. I was surprised. Did I make a mistake, why did this guy get such a facial expression after so much smile?
He said, ‘’it’s been years since Rezso Serres died. Exactly in 1968!’’
To get out of the strange situation I was in, I said, ‘’No, I don’t know much, I just heard the reputation from a Hungarian friend, I heard the song, I wondered.’’
He shook his head a little, turned the ignition again, and started his way. Of course, I could not stand and asked a question again:
‘’Well, why did he die, did he have a disease?’’
The driver took a serious look in the rearview mirror:
‘’No, he committed suicide in 1968..’’
I was sitting in the back compartment of a car in my life a lot. But after I got this answer, I never felt such weight as in that moment on my heart. What dream was this? Rezso Serres had just told me this story in front of me alive, how that could be? Tears were running right out of my eyes, in my ears, the following words of him echoing:
‘’Nazim suffered these pains not for you to be sad but for you to laugh. I hope you will not go out with this face to Gellert hill’’
For years they had banned their song in Europe because it caused suicide. That’s why they even named this beautiful city, the city of suicide. Whereas people committed suicide, not because of the song but because they could not laugh. Yes, one person committed suicide due to this song, this was true. However, not the ones who listened, Rezso, who wrote it personally, committed suicide. He could not bear this burden anymore. And maybe, even if he was a dead body, his spirit still continued to travel over this city to make people laugh.
I immediately erased the tears in my eyes and, just like in that train, I threw the biggest smile of this world. Against everyone who has killed the humanity here in Budapest, and everywhere else…
Author: Harun Resit Aydin
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