A Guided Tour Through the Museum of Communism (13 page)

Though, in light of the discovery that the Wall(s) existed it doesn't seem important, I continue to ponder over bananas. Where did all these bananas come from? And in such enormous quantities that everyone could eat them? This doesn't seem to have been a problem after the collapse. Newcomers to the banana world discovered that bananas grew in places called Supermarkets, together with an abundance of other fine foods, even finer than
megadriles
from the
Tubificidae
family—or whatever stands in for them in the Overworld. They soon discovered that the beauty of such Supermarkets consisted in the possibility of moving from one food item to another; you were even encouraged by posters called advertisements to do so. There were such enormous varieties of food there that, at the very beginning of their stay in the West, newcomers didn't even have names for some of them. There was a fine worm called caviar and another called cheese, and there was some very posh water with bubbles called Champagne, but it is hard to understand exactly why it excited Men so much. There were all kinds of dead animals in the shape of “prosciutto” or “salami,” and lots of fine, dead fish and birds, and perhaps even nice tasty mice, caterpillars, and a crunchy grasshopper or two (but now I am daydreaming) . . .

However, Men would not be Men if they would not complicate their lives, as they are of a species not guided by
ratio.
Judging from their behavior it is clear that they are in constant need of supreme beings, some kind of super Men called Gods. This need is usually referred to as “religion.” Traditionally, Gods are old Men with white beards who often claim to be invisible. It is, therefore, interesting to notice that the religion newcomers found on the banana side had nothing to do with these old, bearded, invisible Men. Rather, this particular type of religion was founded on an irresistible and therefore powerful (although foolish!)
desire to possess things
. And by this I don't mean only food—that would have been rational!—but
all sorts of things
. The newcomers learned that this ruling religion, the one they had not experienced before, was called “Consumerism.” This was the big secret of the escapees, who had been ready to risk their lives in order to join its believers—a desire for bananas was only one aspect of it.

The newcomers came from the part of the Overland where religion of any kind was rather unpopular, if not forbidden. But in the former prison of West Berlin, churches of Consumerism were not forbidden at all. On the contrary, they were everywhere, situated along the main avenues as well as way out toward the periphery of settlements. They were brightly decorated, lit edifices, seductive in their appearances. To the admiration of newcomers, one could get everything in those huge churches (called Shopping Malls) celebrating Consumerism, anything at all
without even a prayer
. But there was kind of a trick that this religion played on its believers. They were free to enter a church but not to get out of it! From what we all know about religions in general, a person has to fulfill a set of rules in order to become a member of such a congregation. But in this case, it was (again!) just the opposite. This is how it works, and it has not changed, from November 9, 1989, to this day: Every Shopping Mall (as well as even the tiniest Supermarket) is supervised by slot machines called cash registers. These machines are positioned not at the entrance but at the very exit of the church. When a believer approaches the machine with a basket full of desired goods to quench his or her thirst for possessions, the machine scrutinizes the person in question. I imagine that the reason is to perform some sort of test of faith; it lets you pass and get out only if you are a true believer. That you have to demonstrate by either pushing a plastic card into the slot or by giving symbolic paper or metal tokens to the person, usually a female, sitting behind the cash register. Men who fail the test have to give back all the fabulous goodies they collected, and then they get very, very sad. Sometimes even uniformed assistants (lower priests?) come and take such persons away. To comfort them, I suppose. There is speculation that these tokens are so powerful that they could even be used to buy indulgences for sins, but this is hard to imagine. I would assume that, if sin exists, there must be a hell, and a paradise too, of which no proof has been found. Therefore, I assume such speculation must be unfounded.

I was also interested in what happened to the dangerous pestilence called socialism (curiously enough, sometimes also called Communism, but I could not make out any substantial difference; this, however, in my opinion, deserves further clarification). Did not everyone get infected by it when the Wall(s) collapsed? Or was the world suddenly somehow miraculously cured of it? Well, first of all, soon after the invasion (or reunion), it turned out that
socialism was not a pestilence at all
. This was only a myth produced on the banana side, although it seemed to be true that bananas could not be obtained where socialism ruled. Socialism seems to have been a political, economic, and social order; its particular characteristics were lack of genuine elections and the aim to achieve equality of all Men but under the rule of only one. For example, before the time of the collapse of the Wall(s), that person was called Comrade Honecker. But everyone who lived during the period of socialism was called Comrade, so we could not be sure that this really was his first name. Comrade Honecker was well-known for kissing mouth-to-mouth with another old Man also called Comrade. You can see that even today on a painting on that remaining part of the Wall. It may well be that this was the habit of those days. I heard that Men call this way of kissing a life-saving method, and it is perfectly possible that elderly persons were saving each other's lives in this way; why not?

Anyhow, as it was not a pestilence, socialism could not have infected the entire Overland. The young generation of Men born after the collapse of the Wall(s) seems to know little about it or still believes (like us!) that it was only another Legend. But there are some from their grandparents' generation, and even their parents', who got sentimental and invented fairy tales about what allegedly used to be a “better life,” times when equality ruled (equality or egalitarianism are the terms they seem to use for a lack of every kind of
megadrilles, haplotaxida
, i.e., food in general). Equality in hunger? In lack of bananas? This might seem absurd to you, but the doings and beliefs of Men should no longer surprise us. It is clear to me that they must have invented such tales for the very obvious reason that I described earlier, the fact that they were not qualified for the new church for lack of tokens.

Having arrived at the end of my presentation, it is perhaps important to add that I also found some artifacts connected to the political, economic, and social order that ruled on the other, i.e., Western, side of the Berlin Wall during those days. It was then, as it is still, called democracy. It means the governing of the
demos
, which is to say—in the Old Greek language that disappeared even before the Wall was built—the rule of the majority of Men. During the times of the Wall(s) there were rare individuals from the Eastern side who escaped to the Western side just because of love for democracy. I think it was appealing to Men because it was closely connected with an idea of freedom that had less to do with bananas and Consumerism than with so-called ideals. Today democracy governs in most of the Overland. However, I assume it must be hard to put it into practice. When I try to imagine such an order applied to us Moles, it looks to me like no decision could ever be taken, regardless of the beneficial result such an order would yield. I am therefore sure that there must be some technique unknown to us through which democracy can be efficiently applied. But all I managed to find out was that some Men had more power than others, although properly elected, and that they impose their power upon others from top to bottom, in a kind of pyramidal structure. But to tell the truth, they usually don't rule long. And it happens that even such an improved system as democracy,
sometimes
results in the rule of just one person, who then brings about a huge disaster called fascism. That happened a long, long time ago in the part of the Overland where we are now. In fact, we are holding our conference at the very same place where that particular Man—his name was Adolf Hitler—allegedly committed suicide because he could not bear his own defeat. He was defeated in the Big War by the united forces of banana and nonbanana countries, a fact as intriguing as it is puzzling. Needless to say, he must have been a weak character.

Still, in spite of this unfortunate event, Men must have considered the democratic system much better, as they almost completely abandoned socialism. Today most of them simply don't care about any political system or politics (this is what they call the fight for power to define the rules under which they live together). I dare say that nowadays they try to survive in a harsh world ruled not so much by Comrades or any other personality or personalities, but by a totally impersonal superior force called the Global Market, one of the by-products of democracy and capitalism
.
This phenomenon is hard to describe, as I, predictably, do not dispose of enough material yet. But it is said that it is bigger than all the Shopping Malls added together, so big that it encompasses the entire Overland, and perhaps even the Underland. From what I have heard, the Global Market is a mechanism which enables everything, and I mean literally everything, including human beings, who can be bought or sold; poor ones can become rich overnight and, vice versa
,
rich ones can become poor (although this happens less often). It looks like some new kind of miracle centered around possessing and tokens. And if you don't have any tokens, you are down and out. Apparently it doesn't help to pray for mercy, as the Market appears to be merciless.

One more thing: I hear from Moles living in distant places that there are tunnels being built in faraway territories, such as Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and others, mostly ending with -stan (this ending seems to have some secret meaning). Even if they are supposed to have both democracy and bananas now, Men there are not pleased and want to leave. So they dig and dig, and try various other methods of coming here, believing (wrongly) that what awaits them is paradise. But obviously not many tunnels have reached us yet. If it were so, we moles would be the first to know.

I am ending my presentation with—I dare say—incredible information: In the meantime, somewhere in the deserts of the Middle East—as well as in the Never-Never Land called America—huge walls were built at their borders. But it is simply hard to believe that, after the Berlin Wall, Humans would repeat the same mistake again. If so, the only thing we Moles can conclude is that there is no help for them, because they really are their own worst enemies.

I
am not a professional cook. The life of a pig is not easy, and the life of one who is an intellectual and immigrant from Hungary is even more difficult, first of all because no one ever expects a pig to be an intellectual, an immigrant—or an amateur cook, for that matter! As if a pig in connection with any of these characterizations would be a
contradictio in adjecto
. In addition, there are many intellectuals who are unsympathetically called “pigs.” This is usually the case when they sink morally, not only literally, too deeply into mud. Not to mention that we pigs are called intellectuals—also contemptuously, of course!—when we aspire to something higher than our generally low status in society.

My name is Magda. I am a female pig of the illustrious and almost extinct Hungarian Mangalitza family. Here, in London, friends call me Ms. Piggy after the famous puppet from the TV series
The Muppet Show
. Allegedly I resemble her, with my curly blond hair, being nicely rounded and very opinionated. And also “hot,” because that goes without saying for any female of Hungarian origin in this male-dominated world. However, she is Miss, while I insist on being addressed as Ms. That complicates my life even more, as if it weren't complicated enough already.

I have to say that, in the first place, writing this cookbook has given me the chance to go back in time. A sentimental journey into the kitchen of my mother and my grandmother—which actually was one and the same until we moved to Budapest—remembering and re-creating the smells and tastes of my childhood. I recall my grandma taking down the dried hot paprika from the rope in the storeroom, where it had been hung to dry. As she pulverized it with her mortar and pestle, I felt the sharp smell in my nostrils. I also remember the strong smell of cabbage from my mother cooking Székely goulash and the smell of
barack pálinka
brandy. Sometimes I get carried away . . . My family comes from a small village near Kecskemét, where I used to spend my summers surrounded by the
puszta
plain and plum tree orchards. In the late autumn, the main occupation in our village used to be cooking apricots to make strong
pálinka
brandy.

My parents moved to Budapest in the seventies. They simply wanted a better life for their children, and a free education was the way to bridge social differences. Back then, and until twenty years ago, Hungarians lived under a political system called socialism. Or what in the West was wrongly called Communism (because of Communist parties' leadership in Socialist countries). Why wrongly? Because Communism, in the fulfilled vision of its theoreticians Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, is the last stage in the development of human society, a kind of “end of history,” as we would say today. Socialism was only a step along the way. Fortunately or not, depending on the political beliefs one holds, this whole Socialist practice of life, together with the Communist dream, collapsed in 1989. I was twenty-seven years old.