It was five years before I learned to conjugate in the past tense. A tall and brown-eyed boyfriend who was a strict magyartanar (Hungarian teacher) taught me the correct pronunciation, but what use now are those many terms of endearment? After years spent at village tables drinking small glasses of coffee or palinka, and two godchildren who tutor me while laughing kindly, still I can hardly make myself understood.
Yes, it’s a terrifically difficult language. Yes, as the Bishop once told me while we were waltzing (I badly, he beautifully), they speak Hungarian in heaven because it is so difficult it takes an eternity to learn. Yes, it is in some ways a useless goal, although perhaps less so if you are (like me) Unitarian and prone to twice-yearly visits to the Unitarian churches around which are centered the Szekely villages of Transylvania. Nevertheless, I am determined to speak intelligible sentences to creatures other than barnyard animals and two-year-old godchildren.
