Józsi, my unexpected teacher

I'm sitting on the train. I'm going to some fancy art exhibition at Szentendre.

A messy guy puts a porcelain angel and a postcard depicting Székesfehérvár on the windowsill above the bin and moves on without saying a word. I take out my headphones and stop the music. I prepare a coin because I know what this is about.

He comes back and holds out his hand. I give him the money readily but I add that he can keep the knick-knacks. He smiles, sits down next to me and starts talking.

He tells me honestly about his checkered life, his past and present, and his words seem so true and real that I start to feel sorry for him. He is very cheerful and this is exactly why I feel less and less comfortable.

I ask if people give some money to him? He shrugs embarrassed, not so much. I say all right, I'll go with you for one round. I'm good at marketing, I will easily collect a bunch of money for this guy, I think. We hardly walk two meters, the porter says to our little team "Stop that please, right?" I talk ourselves out of it. I say come Józsi, 'cause that's his name, let's go to the other direction. Humiliating looks, rude answers, to be regarded as nonexistent, it is all disappointing and humiliating. Though I am well dressed, handsome, communicative and intelligent. But now I feel like a piece of shit among the grass and I'd rather sit back and put in my earphones, listen to music and forget the humiliation forever.

Foreigners are a bit kinder to us, but they don't understand what this poor thing is talking about. Luckily, I have paper and pen. I write big letters on the paper and I know that it will dismantle language barriers at least. Though I don't know that would help this morose crowd understand what Józsi would like and why. Józsi is happy, he almost jumps out of his green coat that is three sizes bigger than him.

He says this is the best day of his life and I am his best friend. We arrive to the station. I must hurry because I'm waited for. We say goodby. He asks for my phone number but I don't give it to him. I shake his hand and wish him good luck. He is sad and so am I. Next time I think of Józsi, I'm sitting on the bus and I have two thoughts running in my mind. When have I last learnt that much about life for one euro? I should have invited him for a gyros before he starts his next shift, he might be hungry now.

The blog entry was written by the students of Kepes György Special College at the Roma Heroes workshop of Independent Theatre.