The New Hungarian Quarterly Winter 1967 [antikvár]

HUNGARIAN WRITERS ON THE OCTOBER REVOLUTION ZSIGMOND MÓRICZ JÓSKA SAMU KIS ^ ¦ ^ hey hailed from the same village, somewhere at the Transylvanian I border, and they were as happy a pair of rogues as any of their I Székler compatriots. Always cheerful and in good spirits, always side by side in the line, the two lads came to be known by the same name throughout the regiment: one of them was Samu Kis, the other Jóska Samu, but the two together were simply Jóska Samu Kis. "Brother," said Samu Kis, "I'm beginning to feel hungry." For two days already they hadn't eaten. Nothing in the world was theirs. They had been sent forward to the barbed-wire entanglements, and behind them there was a big clearing through which only at night a few men could sneak to bring them shells rather than food. "What'll we eat, brother?" asked Jóska Samu. "What have we got?" I ve got water. "And I've got salt." "Great! Let's make soup!" "But what of?" "Grass." "Will that be good?" "Of course." "Wait a bit! No, that won't be good. I'll cook pigweed soup, that'll be better." "But we haven't got any pigweed." "We'll pick it. In this big meadow we're sure to find some. At home, Mother just runs out and fetches a potful." "Well, that'll be fine." They even had a good laugh at the idea. They crawled all over the trampled meadow, but found no pigweed they dared to cook.