My sister Pali was a fine newcomer. Even her everyday clothes were made of velvet. When she went to school, she was followed by a gaudy mocking servant who carried her books. When we got home, a glass carriage whisked him to the marble-pillared castle that dipped low at the end of the town, looking down on the thatched gates of the merry-go-round.
- "Whatever, children, I wouldn't change places with the master," said Pista Kőmives, who was famous for wearing a linen jacket to school in winter and summer.
None of us would have traded places with him. For, even as a child, our father and mother loved us more than all the treasures in the world, and the great lord of the castle did not even like to look at his son.
My sister Pali's father was a Hussar colonel, a soldier with a stout, rugged face and a haughty air. He was said to have smiled only once in his life. It was when Pali's son was born. He waved his big, strong hand in the air.
- Hey, little lad, I'll make a good knight of you!
- "Oh, oh, oh, oh!" the little knight screamed, his cheeks blue in the face, from the back of his throat. He was so frightened by her pretty soldier's gown that he could never have loved her.
He grew up to be a pious, gentle little boy, with laughing eyes and a smiling face, but when his father's sword rang, he was in a frenzy. When he heard the sound of a spur, he would crawl frightened to his mother. And when he saw a horse neighing, he would run out of the world. And he'd seen enough of that. His father found his greatest joy in wild horses.
But she was growing increasingly discouraged with her son. He saw that he would only become a soldier of his mother's, but that he would be a rarity. She was even frightened by his swallow-tailed whistle, when he mistakenly struck her eye, thinking it to be a lily flower.
But that's all the child needed: a garden. Flowers that were as quiet as he was, and birds that were as scared as he was.
He had no other friends when he came to school with us. He almost flinched when he was spoken to. When we walked in the school garden, he would plug his ears so he couldn't hear the ball booing.
- "Hey, mister," Pista Kőmives Pista shouted in his ear, "come and play!
- "Thank you very much," he said, scared, "I just like to watch the game.
- It's not for you, my sister Pali - grinned Pista Kőmives.
This name was then lost. It passed from mouth to mouth, and never stopped until it reached his father. He was soon shouting it at him:
- Come here, my sister Pali! I'll give you something for you.
The child strolled into his father's room with a flaming face. He never liked to go there. Glowing swords laughed mockingly, guns of all sorts dared him angrily from the wall.
Well, now there was more. A porcelain doll with a broken leg. His father had put it in his hand.
- Here you are, my sister Pali!
She hurried to hide her tear-stained cheeks in her mother's lap. There she cried out the bitterness of her little heart:
- My mother, my good mother, why is my father angry with me?
- 'He's not angry with you, darling,' her mother patted her sorrowfully. - 'She just wishes you'd be a little more disciplined.
My poor sister Pali tried that too. She bit her lip and snuck into the gun room.
- Oh, don't let my father see me!
He didn't even see it, because he was asleep on the mattress, facing the wall. With a beating heart, the child lifted a sword from the nail and tried to swing it. The heavy weapon fell from his thin hand with a clatter.
- "Oh, sister," said the Colonel, in pity, "that's not a spoon!
That was about the last good thing his father said to him. No matter how many drawings and writings he put in front of him, no matter how much he boasted about his good grades, his father just shrugged his shoulders. Oh, what he would not have given to have his blond curls stroked just once by his father's hand!
And soon he was not even caressed by his mother's blessed hand. The castle was in mourning, and my sister Pali was twice an orphan. It was as if the father's loving heart had been buried with his white-faced mother in the wild grape crypt: so alone was the poor child in the great empty castle.
Weeks passed, months passed, and each one added to the child's pain. His eyes softened, his face paled, and his father never asked: why? He asked the dark night, the silent crypt, his own little heart:
- Why doesn't my father love me, why?
The poor man never had the courage to ask his father.
He was afraid to look at his father, mostly from the window, when his father was riding his horse in the yard. It was then that he watched, heartbroken and yet proud, how the strong, brave man could restrain the most mad steed with a jerk.
Once they brought the Colonel a beautiful horse. His mane was black as a raven's, his eyes burned like embers. He kicked, spurred, spurred, and three grooms held him until the Colonel jumped on him. And then he flew like an arrow, flew like a bird.
The child looked after him in horror, and shivered as he clung to the window sill.
He was still standing there, his feverish face pressed against the cold glass of the window, when the steed came trundling back. Now not like an arrow, but like lightning. With a fierce whinny he spouted his mane, his mane fluttered like a black flag, and his rider fell back on his back with a deathly expression on his face.
The stumbling animal snatched him away and carried him straight to the marble pillar of the gate.
My sister Pali screamed, and ran down the stairs, through the yard, out into the street, and threw herself with outstretched arms at the terrible animal.
The wild horse staggered at the sudden fall of the body in front of him, and with a great snort picked up his head. That moment was enough for the Colonel to leap from the saddle and catch the sleeping child in his arms in the dust of the road. He picked him up as easily as a flower.
- My son, my sweet little hero, can you forgive me? - she asked in a hushed voice, kissing his dusty little face.
My sister Pali opened her eyes, laughed happily, and with her two arms held her father's tear-stained face firmly and soldier-like.
- My father, my dear father, was a soldier!
From that moment on, the whole town, old and young, all of us greeted my sister Pali with our hats off. And the troops, when they met her, saluted her like an old general.
