My neighbor Attila is a nice guy – he plays guitar, tries to support his kids (with ex-wife), is trained to drive fork lifts and as a stone mason, and is is honest and reliable. The only problem is that he lives in Borsod County, the poorest region in Hungary, and cannot find a job. Of course, it does not help that he is gypsy – it doesn't help at all. Attila has been cutting my grass with a scythe for almost seven years. When winter arrives I get a call about every 6 weeks from Attila – a relative has died and he needs to by a wreath, he has a job interview but needs money for the train ticket, he was in hospital and needs money to pay the doctor of for the medicine – whatever, it is somehow always 4000 huf, which just happens to be what he gets for a day's work. And although he always works it off in the spring, his calls still annoy the hell out of me. I am not responsible for this 45 year old man – I can barely support myself. I have provided him work, clothes, food, even a guitar (which he sold last winter for medicine and broke my heart). After hearing me rant after receiving another call from Attila, Bottlehugger Ben suggested that I provide Attila with something that he could use to dig himself out of the hole and support himself. Attila did not like the idea of using my fruit trees to make palinka because there is a 1000 huf tax per liter, and therefore not worth the effort. Instead, he suggested a weed-whacker. He was sure he could find work in the area with this, and I finally found an affordable one for him this week. He brought his mechanic friend Zoli over, who for some reason showed up in white bikini briefs to assemble to machine. In the afternoon he brought over Laci bacsi, who supposedly had a certificate in using weed-whackers but did not know shit and could only make crude suggestions that I could get cheap blow jobs over on gypsy row. Attila was like a pig in shit practicing with the machine all day. Of course he was using it barefoot because his sandals had broken... The deal is this – Attila will cut my grass as often as needed for free, and in return he gets to use the machine whenever he wants to find work for himself. I even provided the first tank 5 liters of fuel, protective goggles and a mask as a starter. If he cuts my grass 11 times, at least the machine will have paid for itself. Now to see if my experiment works, and if a this man can pull himself up.

Last night Attila, bored, came over to visit me. He has an uncanny ability to come over just as I am in the middle of cooking something. Talking about something or other, he was amazed that I had no idea where the doctor's office or anything else was in town even after 7 years. It is a very small town with a little over 900 people, but still, my business never took me to the old folks home, etc. So he invited me for a nice evening walk and he would show me around. It was only the second time I had been through gypsy row, and I was surprised how clean it was at least from the outside, compared to other gypsy rows in the area. Behind me I heard, “Daaaniiiieel!,” and there was little Hajni, not so little anymore, who used to lead a relatively harmless band of kids in town and who used to often come by and chat. The town won an EU grant to install indoor plumbing along gypsy row, and all front yards are being dug-up for the new water pipes. There is an unofficial store at one end of the row, where one can get beer, ice cream, meat, whatever, regardless of the strange hours of the proper shops in town. .There is a ruin of some sort of ancient tower at the other end of the row, which Attila claims to have been the crypt for the counts that lived at the Bonis-Gedeon Manor (est. 1800's) across the field and next to the school. Follwing WWII, the building was used as a school and poet Kalász László taught for some time here.

He explained that on top of the tower was a spot where people used to picnic with the dead on All Saints Eve. Legend has it that there was an escape tunnel extending from the manor to the Arpad-era monastery in the hills near Martonyi a couple kilometers away, but the Germans blew it up. The monastery ruins are very impressive, and until renovations began a couple years ago, used to have a beautiful ancient giant of a tree growing up out of the roof. Attila explained that masonry used to be held together by laying a row of stones, then a layer of limestone powder, then stones, etc. and then pouring water over it which made the limestone powder burn and weld the stones together. Further along our route I discovered that the modern-ish split-pea soup green building hosts the local authority, a community center for pensioners, and even a pharmacy open a couple days a week for a few hours. Last summer an OTP bank went up next to the ABC, and to my horror an ATM machine. I had no idea, but it went up on the site of a sweet old woman's house, Lenke-neni, the grandmother of my friend Balazs's wife whose family used to own most of the village, including my house. Up towards the older part of town there is an unofficial solarium in someone's basement, and an ice cream place in someone's garage. It seems most people have an angle here. I hope Attila has now found his.