Worthy of the torture of seven and a half hours

Horgos Sanyi: You've never seen fog before or what?

Irimiás: I am in a state of deep emotion. As you can imagine, I am totally confused. I am bewildered and shocked. Yet I must pull myself together. Though right now all I can say is that I share in this broken-hearted mother's misery. In a mother's never-ending mourning and sorrow. In the grief of losing the one who is dearest to our hearts. This tragic event weighs us all down with sadness. I don't think there's anyone who would disagree with me. And now the hardest thing is, in this sadness with our teeth clenched, to get our minds over the heartbreak, to defy our tears when our voices fail us. For, and I would like to call your attention to this, nothing can be more important than for us to reconstruct the shocking events which led to the terrible death of an innocent child... before the police start investigating. You'd better expect that the inspectors from town will try to make us primarily responsible for this awful event. Yes, my friends, they're going to blame us. Because, to be quite honest... with a little caution, care and attention, we could have prevented it. Just imagine this vulnerable creature wandering all night long in the pouring rain, at the mercy of the first passer-by, of the first tramp, of anybody. She was whipped by the wind all night, she fell easy prey to the elements. She must have been around here, wandering here all the time. She may have looked in through this window and saw that you were all drunk and dancing around. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to accuse anyone personally. I am not accusing the mother, who is never going to forgive herself for getting up too late in the morning of that awful day. I am not accusing the victim's brother, nor any other members of the family. So I am not accusing anyone. But let me ask you the question, aren't we all guilty? You will, of course, answer that we are innocent. But then, what do we call this poor child? The victim of the innocent? The martyr of the faultless? The slaughtered of the sinless? I'd rather call her innocent. I spent the night turning in my bed till I realised this. Not only do we not know how the tragic event happened, but we don't really even know what exactly happened. I am quite convinced that this event was fated to happen. Now you also seem to suspect that. It is not enough, however, to suspect something. Things are to be understood and said without delay. It had been quite clear for you before coming here, but you were too afraid to say that this yard was ruled by misfortune. You didn't dare talk about it. Now you may rightly suppose an irrevocable judgment is coming soon. You are slouching around in this decay, far away from everything that means life. Your plans come to nothing, your dreams, still blind, are shattered. You expect some miracle which will never come. But what kind of misfortune are you the victims of? Is it the crumbling plaster, the roofs without tiles, the crumbling walls, the sour taste our friend Futaki keeps talking about? Isn't it the shattered prospects, and broken dreams, that bend our knees and wear us numb? Don't be surprised that I speak harshly, but let us be honest. If you felt the yard was ruled by misfortune, why didn't you try to do something about it? You thought a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. But this is a coward's way. It is disgraceful and careless and it has serious consequences. This is called impotence, sinful impotence. This is weakness, sinful weakness. This is cowardice, sinful cowardice. Because, and bear this in mind, it's not just to others that we can do unforgivable things, but also to ourselves. And this, my friends, is even more serious. Yes, when you think about it, all kinds of vileness are sins against ourselves. And you know, my friends, if I think back and see you lying half-dead on the chairs and tables, on top of each other, dribbling, exhausted, my heart sinks and I cannot judge you, for I will never be able to forget this. From your panting, snoring and groaning, I heard your cry for help which I have to answer. We know each other well. I have been keeping my eyes wide-open for decades everywhere. I bitterly observe that, under the thick veil of trickery and deception, nothing has changed. Misery has remained misery. The two extra spoonfuls of food we can have only makes the air thinner in front of our mouths. But I realised what I have done so far is nothing. A much deeper solution is needed. So, using the opportunity, I decided... to get some people together and set up a model farm, which will ensure a stable living, and bind this tiny group of the dispossessed together. I am creating an island where no one is powerless, where everyone will live in peace, and will feel safe as human beings. That is why I left for the manor in Almás. The main building is in good condition, the rental agreement is a simple matter. There's just one problem... no use in trying to keep it a secret from you... the money. Without a penny, the whole thing is dead. Capital is needed for production, but this is a bit complicated. There's no point in going into details. And you'll understand that the circumstances of our meeting made me feel uncertain, whether you would be able to do it. Whether you would be able to offer the little money, the result of your extra hard work and much hardship, to hand over for a hasty idea. Think about it. Calm your thoughts. Do not decide straight away. But if fate decides that from now on we stay together, inseparable, do remember the price that has been paid. Do not forget the child... who may have had to perish for the very reason so our star could finally rise. Who knows, my friends? All we know for certain is... that life is very hard on us.