276 Thank you all very-very much for honouring my Dear Brother on his final journey. I never wanted to say to anyone what I'm about to say. I hoped that this would not happen, and if it did, it would not be my job to tell. This is the hardest day of my life, of our lives, my dear Laci, so many people loved you! Almost all of them are here – you see, you're not alone... It's so strange, so very strange, that passing takes away the bad memories with just one breeze, and only the beautiful ones remain. One thing magnificent and also tragic about life is that you can only live your life in one direction. Although, how wonderful it would be to turn back time just a little, just a tiny bit. To just one last hug, one last brotherly kiss on your forehead, to steal back just one second... It would be so good, that's all I ask, to really say goodbye in a decent way. One last time. My dear Parents, dear Mommy and Daddy. It's been 8 years since I last stood here like this when I said goodbye to you. I promised then that we would be good brothers. My heart and soul were set on being true to my promise to look after Laci. But now I look down with remorse: I failed. I feel a bit as though maybe I haven't done enough, or maybe we haven't done enough... My dear Brother, you know we had three brothers, but it was for you that Mommy fought the most and the most tenaciously. Because you were the fourth. She wanted you so much. With You, she lay in bed for nine months from the moment of conception, with dread and prayers in her heart, to be able to give birth to You. You were the only one of my brothers to live to adulthood, but even you didn't get the chance to grow old peacefully. I looked at your little bundle with a heavy heart. The little pouch of what's left of your life. Some clothes, a pair of glasses, a phone and a photo of your family. You carried it everywhere with you. That's all that's left. And one more glimpse. I can see your frail look – which I didn't know at the time – was the last one. That it was Farewell. You always jokingly said you wanted to be a notary – like your friend Jakszi – because there are only a limited number of practitioners in the profession, and with your words: “you can't get out of the way of the big bucks, even if you're retarded". Then it’s just a “bed of roses", just issue the invoice and get the party started. In other words, the "sweet life". And you lived the "sweet life" indeed! With many blessings and luck. You brilliantly ducked from the speeding trains of Life and Death. And you got away with it again and again. You survived cancer, peritonitis, all sorts of terrible adventures. I may have also pulled you out of the Grim Reaper's hands a few times myself: sometimes we would joke that you were the immortal Iron Man. One with the true Városi-blood... But you couldn’t get away with this last one. As much as it hurts, You wanted to go now. And those who want to go cannot be held back. When you are a child, it is so natural to have a family, to have you here. It's so very natural to scoop Sunday soup, while listening to and agreeing or grumbling about your current political debates with Mommy and Daddy... Or even tolerating your advice given to a teenager with affable giggles: "Gabika, you have to climb a lot of poles, and you'll see how quickly your manliness grows". And of course, it's so unnatural to get used to the fact that you are no longer with me. An unfillable void I can never get used to. I miss you, Lacika! I miss you, my dear Parents. We miss you, but we promise that in time we will learn to live without you. When I was two, you rescued me for the first time – like a real six-year-old big boy – I was just about to topple off the back of the Christmas sleigh Daddy was pulling, while the angels were decorating the Christmas tree, but you caught me by the scruff of my neck. Thank you. Thanks, bro! When you were in primary school, you were the apple of Ms. Mara's eye, the brightest in your class, who soared through these school years with straight As. We were proud of you. So proud. I was in awe of your heroic acts in school. Oh, and you beat me at ping pong too. And everyone. Me too. "Városi the Great". My life was easy, as a hot shot had already set the stage for me. I was "Little Városi". I was proud as a peacock, because I was the miniature version of "Városi the Great"… my Brother, the lad with far-reaching fame and invincibility. Heir to the Name. That’s something big. When we moved into our 4th-floor apartment in the 10-story building, Mommy and Daddy thought we were mature enough to get our first real bunk bed in our tiny room, which seemed huge at the time. Not for a second was it a question that by right of seniority, the royal top bunk would be yours alone. Of course, I had to bow to your strong argument, which meant that your cigarette box collection could only be placed above. Oh sure, the most convincing argument in your favour was being a head and a half taller... Oh, and of course your bulky muscles. You were the bigger one, and that was fine. There is Big Brother, and there is Little Brother. And my God, when Hotel California came on our first cassette player. It was a National Panasonic. Our dear Parents had been saving for it for 1 year. It was so cherished that the Record button could only be pressed by your tiny 15-year-old teenage fingers. We listened to the clumsily recorded – mostly from the middle of the song – music until the tapes were worn out: Hotel California, Love is my Life, Wish you were here, Fly high, or even Pavarotti. But let’s not forget Manu Chao or Chiclete com Banana, although these came much later. We established that there was no greater coolness. And others established that you had done well shaping my musical taste. Thanks, Bro! I was proud that no one could beat you in History. All your challengers walked away with shame following a war of words with you. And you were proud of me when I knocked down Mestercsiki who was 4 years my senior with a well implemented cross buttocks throw! But I was the proudest, because my Brother was this big, strong and clever guy, who had long hair which he rarely washed, very rarely. Then again, he often hung out on Batthyányi square, with his cool, hobo friends. Listening to Beatrice. And of course, I was proud that he would become an archaeologist. Then came the high school years. Jeez, now that wasn't an easy one. If anyone, You were a true oppositionist. "In the Damned years", back when we were still shot at. Eötvös High School... Good old Ernő Török. Your homeroom teacher. He had a total nervous breakdown in the third year. If I recall correctly, he ended up in the Lipót Asylum screaming: "Városi is a reactionist". Well, you had to leave Eötvös. But your enthusiasm was unwavering. I mean your enthusiasm for disruption. New school, new opportunities... and indeed, your entrée into Szilágyi High School was also splendid: Lacus appeared with a huge hammer and a fat six-inch nail in his hand, and a map of Greater Hungary under his arm, on which it was written with bold letters "Hungary maimed is not a country, Greater Hungary is heaven", and there was a cynical smile on my Brother's face: “You're going to love this!” -:))))) And he nailed it above the desk of his good, faithful communist homeroom teacher, and left as if his work there had been done. Smart. K.O. On the second day, he was sacked – only on the second day, because of course, he didn't even go in on the first. The year was 1978... Yes! Congratulations, Bro! At the age of 17, with excellent references from headmasters, with a gradebook thick from disciplinary notices, you were kicked out of the second, or no, sorry, the third high school practically because of your political views... Not a lot of today’s boys can say that about themselves. Smart. Very smart. In the end though, you did manage to graduate. Then you were admitted to law school. Which was an impossible category, given your oppositional stance. But you made it! We were happy for you. And the university years began... That is, the time of house parties, when Mommy and Daddy were digging the soil for the sweltering tomato plants at Lake Balaton... You put on your most serious face and solemnly swore to Daddy that we wouldn't disturb the new neighbours with a single sound. The first house party ended at six in the morning. The police showed up three times! And the firefighters twice. And the military police only once. If I remember correctly. It was fun. Right there in the military housing complex. Then, at noon, we woke up half-soaked in Daddy's Sacrosanct Head-of the-Family Bed, in the middle of a big pile of girls, naturally. I enjoyed your brotherly care. You loved me and protected me, and of course, by the right of the wiser, you made my unpolished little character grow. Which process focused of course on the most important thing: how to sneak into the Red Zone most effectively with my innocent high schooler face and raging hormones. I think you were pleased with me. I was a hardworking little trainee. And we lived through the hangovers the mornings-after, or rather the mornings after that... I remember one morning we sadly faced the reality of your idea, which seemed brilliant the evening before: the nylon parasol, the DIY-pride of Mr. Józsi (who was a gifted master in DIY and slightly higher ranked than Daddy) stabbed with 300 gaping holes. Because it seemed like a good idea to throw burning cigarette butts onto it during the evening's wine-soaked party. I think he too... – Lipót. But we survived that too. And how Mommy's eyes sparkled at your graduation. Because you did that too. Then came the epic love stories. The never-ending nights of discussing hopes and disappointments... When we cried or laughed together. It was good, so very good. Then we established our first company. We didn't know exactly what we were going to do, though. What we did know with crystal clarity was the name: Városi and Városi, two brothers who are going to conquer the world. The sky. The future. We dreamed with sparkling eyes, because nothing was impossible. Everything was just about to happen, the future, life, success, career, money and, of course, love was also still ahead of us! And it did arrive. You started from nothing, hand in hand with a fantastic person who became your wife and gave you two children. And of course, unfailing love. Your dear Partner who has persistently stuck by You for 20 years. Houses have been built, new developments have sprung up – these were the outlines of an amazing success story. You both succeeded. You should be proud, an empire was built. You were creating, and you were truly respected. It was a beautiful family. One that everyone dreams of. Maybe you shouldn't have wanted more. What is really dramatic is when a successful person fails. Because You were a successful man. Full of dreams, plans and hopes. BUT! But I had dreams too. I had a dream where you were gone, but then you knocked on the door: “here I am, here I am again, your Old Brother is back"... And I suddenly wake up and realise it was all just a horrible nightmare. Lacika, if you looked around now, you would see how many people loved you. They are all here. For 8 years we fought, I for your life, I, We for it, you against it. Addiction is like a machine, it never tires. We fought, my Dear Brother, but You won this last game of arm wrestling. Though I even tried to cheat: I blackmailed you that I didn't love you, or rather, that I would love you only if you were cured. But very cleverly – you were superintelligent – of course you called the bluff. But unfortunately, there will be no rematch. Ever. People, as long as they live, leave traces in the minds of others. When they are gone, these traces ensure their continued life, as long as there is someone to remember them. I can safely tell you Bro, we have You imprinted in our minds forever! And now I make a solemn promise again, this time to You: You know best of all that I never meant to contaminate – not even for a moment – my bohemian life with responsibility, since that is always the duty of the older and wiser. The firstborn. The Brother. The lawyer. Yours. But now Daddy and Mommy are gone, and you're no longer with us, so I'm taking over your role as head of the family. I promise to keep the Városi Clan together. And I promise to love your beautiful girls as my own, and to support them in every way I can so they can be happy and successful. Please don't worry, they have a fantastic mom. They will grow up surrounded by love. They will have a beautiful life. Farewell my dear Brother!
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