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MAGYARÁZAT:Konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg
Értékelés eladóként: Takács Zsuzsa: A megtévesztő külsejű vendég. A megrendelt könyvek a rendelést követően azonnal átvehetők budapesti antikváriumunkban a bolt nyitvatartási idejében, vagy kiszállítjuk Önnek a Szállítási és garanciális fül alatt részletezett feltételek mellett. Főoldal Könyv Regények Klasszikusok. Termékkód: Látogatók: 9. Ablak bezárása. A termék elkelt fix áron. Fix ár: Ft. FIX ár: Ft. Megveszem most! Kosárba teszem. Biztonságos vásárlás.
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Hozzájárulok, hogy a Vatera a telefonszámomat a hívás létrehozása céljából a szolgáltató felé továbbítsa konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg a hívást rögzítse. Bővebb információért látogass el az adatkezelési tájékoztató oldalra. Az "ingyenes hívás indítása" gomb megnyomása után csörögni fog a telefonod, és ha felvetted, bekapcsoljuk a hívásba az eladót is.
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Szabálytalan hirdetés? Termékleírás Szállítási feltételek Elérhető szállítási pontok. Takács Zsuzsa. A megtévesztő külsejű konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg. Takács Zsuzsa: A megtévesztő külsejű vendég A megrendelt könyvek a rendelést követően azonnal átvehetők budapesti antikváriumunkban a bolt nyitvatartási idejében, vagy kiszállítjuk Önnek a Szállítási és garanciális fül alatt részletezett feltételek mellett.
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This page is available to subscribers. Click here to sign in or get access. After the light childbirth that passed almost without her noticing, the newborn, a fat waxen doll, is lying by her side. Scattered on the bed that might just as well be a table are the requisites of an interrupted breakfast, covered with a white cloth.
She wants to cut a slice of bread but the knife runs into the waxen forehead and a short, deep cut opens exactly konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg the bridge of the nose. Her protest is subdued into a mumble. All this happened in her dream as she knows well, but still, she is shaken by remorse. Cutting through the dirty fog and the city drenched in cold sweat, she was going to the swimming pool. A cottonwool vapor covered the water surface, the predatory globe-faces of swimmers popped up from it and were immediately submerged.
When she turned over, as usual, from backstroke to breaststroke, a broad horizon opened. In the diffuse light of uncertain origin, on the side of the pool a greenish-blue stretch of lawn met an immaculate water surface of only slightly different hue. Because of its gentleness of movement, it crossed her mind that it might have rabies. In the windowless hall only one of the three hair dryers was working. She watched with chagrin as an almost completely bald old woman was basking in its warmth.
She took a few steps toward the changing room but when she returned, a young man was already queuing up before her. The young man took it in jest, this made her feel ashamed, so she tried to redress it by striking up a casual conversation. The old woman shuffled out from under the hood and her place was taken by the young man.
Her frustration dissolved the lightness of their earlier chat, but she was soon consoled, for in a few moments konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg man—as though inviting her to an intoxicating liquor—gave up to her the still-working hairdryer. He hurried out to the bench by the pool and sat konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg, facing her. By that time the mist had lifted in the weak sunlight. The man was sunbathing with legs crossed, arms hanging, face thrust upward.
All of a sudden—this made her cry out in anguish, as she could almost have foretold it—he fished a white handkerchief from his pocket to wipe off the blood oozing from his nose, eyes, and mouth. She saw the rapidly spreading stain from so close as though she herself were holding the cloth that the young man lifted now and again to his eyes, blinking fast. She sprang up from under the hood, freeing herself from the threads of the gaze lifted on her; she put on her cap in front of the mirror and tilted it to the side as always, carefully arranging her hair.
On the street she "konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg" into the earlier soggy mist. As if it were April or at least an April whim of the weather in January, a heavy drizzle fell from the darkened sky. No trace of sunlight. The dripping streets were vibrating in lurid neon light, lighting rattled on in all the shops. There was a thick crowd in the tram station: the last tram from the Pest side must have passed quite a while ago.
She crossed the street to the station. Only after long minutes of waiting did she learn that it was hopeless to get the bus from there, the bus stop had been moved more than half a year ago. She was informed by the architect wearing his unfailing hat, who made his way to her through the crowd.
They had broken up recently, after seven years of love. Seeing him she grew so weak that he offered to walk her home. He let her struggle under her load, moreover, he seemed to deliberately quicken his pace. She almost had to run to keep up with him across the tracks, puddlesspits on the asphalt, across mists and underpasses, to the station from where the suburban trains started. Or at least she hoped she had only dreamt it, because she had a clear memory of it happening. The cold light looked like the electric bulbs of operating theaters or labor rooms, reflected on the white tiles.
In the elevator at home she often met the physician living upstairs, who once bumped into her on one of her first meetings with K. She and K. For years her husband had suffered from fits of suffocation. His disease had nothing to do with the season, diet, or with the pills he swallowed by the handful.
On the night after the watering she was woken by his moans. Driven by the specter of the swollen eyes, bulging ears, lips distorted into sausages, she ran upstairs to the doctor for help. She looked at the paling, most likely razor-cold lips and her mouth went all cold, even konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg tongue clinked like an icicle. The fits of edema recurred a few times. She knew the man, the erstwhile authority of librarianship, whose serious heart condition was an open secret among those in the trade but who, notwithstanding rumors of his imminent death, was not only alive but engaged in all kinds of affairs.
The withering woman turned from the steps of the carriage back to a tearful, dark-eyed, tall, old man and, throwing her arms around his neck, kissed him on the mouth. At a sudden brake one shoe rolled on the floor and she, struggling to the door behind the architect with her heavy shopping bags, almost tripped over it.
They were already walking down a dank corridor with her former lover but, without turning round, she was still eyeing the woman who traveled on. Neither her stare nor the presence of the other passengers would disturb the woman in her fly-like routine of hygiene. On top of it all, her eyelid was jerking in an ever more agitated tremor, as if a large flock of white birds were flying inches from her face.
Small wonder she kept tripping, as though she "konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg" guilty of overlooking something and compelled to repeat it. Perhaps it had to do with Christmas, the feast of love, with the waxen doll, the bitter fruit of their love. When they had struggled past the frozen stretch of the road, she said goodbye to the architect. She stopped for a few moments by the fountain, drained for the winter: the rain falling incessantly from the heavy clouds glazed its walls with a silvery glitter.
After long waiting she finally got on the last carriage of the tram. She found a seat and sat down, placing her shopping bags on her lap. She considered emptying the contents of the one into the other when she noticed that the outside pocket of her backpack was empty: her wallet had probably been stolen.
She jumped up and skipped out between the closing doors. But in such an infelicitous way that, although she landed safe on konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg feet, the metal frame fastening the doors tore up the skin on her thumb. There she was in the tram stop again, with a bleeding hand. Still, konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg one brief moment she felt relieved, but she had only managed to get rid of the physical weight pulling down her shoulders: her swimming things and the fruits she was just about to repack were left on the tram.
The assistant was just airing the office, Doctor Vajk was standing in the hall, as if expecting her. With compassionate tss-tss-ing he asked where and how the accident happened. As it turned out, her report was unintelligible for two reasons. Armed with konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg and bandages, he led her to the sink in one corner of the office, and in the lamplight directed the spray at her thumb. She was sure Dr. Vajk felt it and that the assistant saw the whole scene in the mirror, because neither of them said anything when she loudly thanked them for dressing the wound.
The icy wind that in the meantime started blowing froze the drizzle onto the asphalt; still, she decided she would not wait for the infrequent buses in the nearby stop but walk a while and take the tram in the same station where she got off on her way here. Leaning against a lamppost that bore a litter bin, there was a man in a trench coat holding one trekking boot, who detached himself from the post when she got near.
The icy drizzle gave way to slushy snowfall, there were no pedestrians in sight; it seemed that tram traffic had been blocked beyond hope. She dimly remembered that not long ago, in the window of the bookshop across the street she had spotted the album she had wanted to buy for weeks.
On its cover there was a reproduction of a landscape entitled Allée in the Gardens of Kammer Castle. In the image the path leading to the red-and-yellow building was as deserted as the street whose dismal length now made her shudder. She heard a click and glanced back. The man in the trench coat, detaching himself from the post, started out in her direction. This was just about enough for a last, decisive motivation to walk back to the bookshop; from the curbside she stepped down on the road.
A long loud screech of brakes startled her, a young man with earrings leaned out of the car window and threw at her a string of obscene insults. On the fourth floor above the bookshop used to live the erstwhile mathematician who was so savagely beaten up by the police for his illegal religion classes that he went deaf in one ear. He had told her that once in a dream he was making his way to a lit-up building in the back of a garden immersed in darkness, obeying a relentlessly repeated call from the house.
But he dared not take the name of konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg one summoning him, although in the course of their conversations he always spoke of this dream profoundly shaken. The thought that the shop was not merely refurbished but transformed into something else saddened her. She could make out the silhouettes of piles of bricks, buckets, a splayed ladder, and, in the back of the room, a half-unpacked slot machine.
The konyv: A megteveszto kulseju vendeg lighted place was the tram stop she now walked back to. Like the faces in the pool, rising from the vapor and submerged again, the spheres of car headlamps appeared and drew closer, spraying her sideways with a few tiny drops of luminosity.
She was sorry for not having taken notes of her conversations with the mathematician at the time, and for having never invited him to her home. For all her reserve with which she understood to relate to his unkemptness and deafness. The man in the trench coat, his plan gone up in smoke, withdrew to the back of the carriage. Whenever he saw them on the street, saying goodbye in front of the house, or during their evening walks, he threw the side window open and greeted loudly, waving his hand.
Last time, when he started from the terminus with her as the only passenger, he opened the door and asked rebukingly why she was not traveling with the gentleman. The decrepit old man next to whom she plopped down a few moments ago, safely out of reach for the man in the trench coat, was meticulously arranging his growing heaps of documents, steadily pushing her outward on her seat.
During a turn the tram took, which she used for slipping back, he even pushed her away with one hand; his nails were broken, black-rimmed. She answered by giving him a push, at which the old man jerked away with a whimper and pretended to be slipping down to the floor. Fortunately, he was only preparing to get off and, scraping up his belongings deposited under the seat, flumped down to the door. The driver probably followed their combat in the reverse mirror, for he opened the cabin door so she could hear the announcements on the radio.
Get up and walk to the front! There were only a few stops left now, then they reached the military barracks. For a second she believed the order touched the passengers: her heart gave strong blows to her chest box.