In my childhood, there were two rich men in our little town. They were brothers, the younger one was called Gáspár Tót, the elder one Antal Tót. But the younger one was called Fukar Tót, the older one Sebaj Tót.
Fukar Tót was famous for reading the hemp seed out of the canary's eyes. Tót Sebaj was so called because when a poor man complained to him about his troubles, he would comfort him with that:
- It is all right, my friend, you have it as long as God gives it to me.
No one ever asked him in vain. Nor did he need to be asked, for when he heard of someone's trouble, he himself would rush to help:
- Never mind, my brother, I will support you as long as you can stand on your own feet.
But in two borders, people did not talk about Sebaj Tót, only about the hatplate.
One day a gypsy called to ask him if he could find a hat in the attic that he was wearing.
- Why do you need that, you dick? - Mr Antal smiled. - Your bush doesn't like hats.
- "There's a reason for that, please," said the Bird, "I'm ashamed that the whole town is obliged to the gentleman, but I can't, because I dropped my hat the night before.
- "Never mind, Cock," laughed Mr. Antony, and from hat to boot he kicked Cock so hard that he might as well have been a count, if he had nothing better to do.
But Gáspár Fukar Tót always shook his proud head when such news reached his ears.
- I tell you, there's going to be a lot of trouble from all this bother.
And that is how it came to pass that Mr. Antal Tót once reached into the box tree in vain, when he wanted to drill a well in the schoolyard on the poor line of the school.
- "Never mind," he consoled himself, "my brother Gáspár has so much money that he can't even read.
It was so much that he weighed his gold with a shovel and his bank with a beak. He didn't even tell his brother he wouldn't give, but rather said he would, but he wouldn't give it for free.
- 'I'll give you money, brother, if you give me the meadow of Bodom,' he fixed his cold eyes on his brother.
- "Never mind," Mr Antal slapped his palm, and the next day he was drilling the poor man's well.
He built schools and hospitals, fed the hungry, clothed the ragged, and slowly gave away all his money with his good heart.
Land, forest, vineyards, everything went to the miserly Tots. But Tót had nothing left but a small house and a big pear tree at the end of it.
- 'Never mind,' smiled the good man, 'my poor people will find me under my pear tree.
And so it was, because even in the worst year, the red-faced bell pear always pulled it down. Traveller, child, beggar did not go hungry from under it, and Mr. Antal nodded along with the laughing pears:
- Yea, I will leave this tree for the poor and the children, if I am harvested in the house of God.
And he stroked his eyes over the old tree, as if to say to it:
- Then take care of my poor, whom I leave you as an inheritance!
And it must be that the tree has a soul, for the old tree rattled its branches very mournfully when the widow of the blacksmith of Nekopogi stood under it with a great whine:
- I'm in big trouble, my soul. My cow is pawned by the Reverend Gaspard. What will become of me now?
- "Never mind, my soul," the words came out of Mr. Antony's mouth, but then he looked around in confusion, "how could he help this poor man when he has not a pear tree to his name! And he has already done that for his poor!
- Never mind, my soul! - the old man's two eyes flashed again. Then he went to his brother. He was still reading the money, and when he saw his brother, he pushed the drawer shut angrily.
- I am poor myself!
- "Never mind," Mr Antal elbowed me on the table, "you have enough money to buy my pear tree?
Fukar Tót Gáspár was eager to get the word out. Besides, he had long since noticed that his brother had herded all the poor people of the town under his tree.
- "You don't even need money for it," Mr. Antal continued, "You give back Mrs. Kovács's cow, and the pear tree is yours.
- "I don't mind, but I'll have it cut down by autumn," said the younger brother grimly.
- "Never mind," the wrinkles in Mr Antal's face broke into a smile, "but I have one condition. If I am found dead before my tree, bury a basket of pears in my grave with me. I would like to save at least that much of my fortune.
- "He was a faddish man in his worldly life," said Mr. Gaspar, looking after his brother.
And he jogged home to his pear tree, as happily as any man jogs home to his family.
He sat under her, stroked her torso, whispered and whispered to her. And it must be that the tree has a soul, for all its leaves rattled and rattled all night, though the wind did not blow.
What did the old tree and the old man talk about, who knows? All that is certain is that Antal Sebaj Tót never woke up again, as he fell asleep under his tree that night.
But the sun was shining on his kind, gentle face as the basket of pears was placed on his funeral pyre. And it was as if the red face of the pears smiled too:
- Don't worry, we'll keep our bets!
And they kept it. Even if Mr. Gáspár cut down the old pear tree the next day, he could not cut the memory of his brother from people's hearts.
The buried pears have sprouted and ripened, and the cemetery still has the most beautiful tomb of Mr Antal. Above the dented grave, a small grove of pear trees rustles its foliage; when a wanderer, or a child running, or a bird of the air quenches his thirst with its fruit, the breeze always glides merrily through the treetops:
- I will take care of my poor in my grave, won't I?
