On this page, I share the background of the novel and its cover.
I also publish a confession about how I write.
When I felt that The Half-Handed Robber was finished, I sent the manuscript to a few friends and close acquaintances for their opinions.
At that time, the manuscript was 430 pages long. Taking into account the feedback, I slimmed the text down to 408 pages. Then, I even edited the proofread version two weeks before going to press, so the manuscript had 380 pages. Among other things, I edited out the retired teacher, who was also a victim of the foreign currency loan, from the novel. I did this because there was criticism from several quarters that my novel had too many characters and that the teacher's role could be bridged by the hacker. I am publishing the cut part here because it is still an enjoyable, well-rounded story.
Dávid finds the right person
The sixty-four-year-old retired teacher was evicted from his one-and-a-half-room apartment in Újpalota eight months ago. He could not pay the increasingly high installments of his foreign currency loan. His pension was only one hundred and ten thousand forints, because for the last twelve years he had chosen home care assistance to be with his seriously ill wife. Three months before the final court decision, the woman died.
The man was glad that his wife did not experience the eviction. He found a flat to rent for sixty thousand forints, but he still had to pay extra for the utilities, which averaged fifteen thousand. Yet he hardly used water and gas. He went to bed early to save on electricity. But he could not cut back on his share of the heating. So the rest of his pension turned out to be not enough for food.
The sight of people begging in the subways always angered him. He thought that they must be saving for alcohol or drugs, and that it was their own fault that they had ended up in this situation. He had never thrown a single forint on their plate. And he had never thought that he would be forced to beg one day. The thought of suicide crossed his mind. But his life instinct was stronger. Or rather, his rage. He decided that he would not leave his pension to the state that had allowed the banks to do this to their customers. Now he was forced to look for a busy place from where the police would not chase him away. Dávid had seen the old man several times on Deák Square, on the bench in front of the metro exit. He was not as ragged as many other homeless people. His clothes were worn, but they were clean. He did not say a word to the people who walked past him or were hurrying to work. He had a piece of cardboard in his lap, on which he had written the following two lines in large letters:
I AM A VICTIM OF CURRENCY LOAN.
He held a paper cup on the edge of the bench. Those who sympathized with him and could afford a modest donation threw coins into it. The man sat on the bench every weekday morning.
On Tuesday, April fourteenth, at eight in the morning, Dávid left home wearing a silicone mask. He took the metro to Deák Square, and when he got there, he left oneself his protective mask on. The old man was still sitting on the bench with his cardboard sign. A maximum of 300 forints had accumulated in the paper cup next to him. Dávid slipped a twenty-thousand-forint banknote into it.
The victim of the foreign currency loan raised his head and stared at Dávid with astonished eyes. His honor dictated that he speak up.
− Sir, didn't you reach into the wrong place in your wallet? This is a twenty-thousand-forint. And today's paper money is so similar in color...
− Can I sit here next to you? − Dávid asked.
− Of course. I’m only trying to occupy half of the bench. But you haven’t answered my question yet. Did you accidentally put this large amount of money in my glass?
− Don’t worry, it wasn’t accidentally. And put it away before anyone else notices. I’m a journalist and I’m writing a book about the victims of foreign currency loans. I already have a few heartbreaking stories. Would you like to share yours with me?
− Well... I could say it, with pleasure, but I might cry in the process.
− Have you eaten anything today?
− Yes, I also had a sandwich at home and drank coffee. I can’t exist without it − his voice cracked at the word “home” and he sniffled a little, but then he pulled himself together.
The slight distortion in his voice didn’t escape Dávid’s attention, but he didn’t want to rush her. He considered it important to gain the old man’s trust.
− But you could still have a cake or a ham sandwich. I would be happy to invite you to a place where we could talk in peace. There is an excellent bakery nearby where you can sit down.
− That would be too much of you. I will only accept the invitation if I can use this money to pay for what you are eating. I need to change the note anyway.
David felt the silicone around his mouth tighten as he smiled and said only:
− Okay, as you wish. Then he stood up and waited for the man to fold the cardboard in half and slide it into the inside pocket of his windbreaker. He put the money in his wallet and the glass in his outside pocket.
As he unzipped his windbreaker, David noticed that he was wearing a tie under the collar of a brown V-neck sweater. He remembered his elementary school history teacher, and during the subsequent conversation it turned out that the old man was also a teacher, but a physics and chemistry major.
At the bakery counter, the man chose a baguette sandwich and ordered tea, and Dávid a pineapple juice. They sat down at a corner table, keeping the necessary distance from each other. They took off their protective masks. Dávid sat with his back to the service counter. He had already observed which way the security camera in the bakery was facing.
− Forgive me, but I thought that he had become homeless, like many of the foreign currency borrowers. Or did he live in a homeless shelter, and for lack of a better word, he called it “home”? − Dávid guessed.
− I was also evicted, but I only spent a few days in the homeless shelter. I couldn’t stand that life. Fortunately, I was able to get a cheap apartment. I called it home. But my pension is so small that I really save for food, the old man said, and introduced himself. His name was Géza Tordai. He also added that he was a retired physics and chemistry teacher.
− Mireny Levéd, who defends everything – Dávid joked with his preconceived name.
– Do you know what Mireny’s Hungarian name is?
– Arsène. But only a chemistry teacher would ask that − Dávid smiled restrainedly, because he felt the tension of the silicone. − I searched, but I couldn’t find a suitable analogy for Lupin. By the way, Arsène Lupin was primarily a thief and a con artist. A master of deception. I prefer to expose financial scams. Maybe you read my article about Hungarian pyramid schemes. It was published on 24.hu a year ago.
The teacher shook his head and swallowed his mouthful.
− We haven’t had money for the Internet in the last four years.
− I understand. If you’ve eaten your sandwich, I’d be happy if you could tell me how you got into this situation.
Géza Tordai wiped the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin and complied with Dávid's request.
At the end of his story, he was more angry than sad.
− If I were younger, I would go into the bank branch where they made me believe that the foreign currency loan it is the most advantageous credit structure for me.. I would pour gasoline into the bank branches and set everything on fire. Of course, I would mix a little nitro in it. That's all I would use... from my knowledge of chemistry.
Dávid was already on the verge of saying: "My father did it, if not with the bank branch." But he realized in time that he could not say anything that could bring anyone closer to his identity. After all, he liked the old man's temper, on which he could base his plan. He started and presented what he wanted to ask, of course for a fee.
− Now I would like you to listen very carefully! I have a business offer that doesn't require you to invest a single penny. You will receive two hundred thousand forints if you do what I ask of you.
− Okay, I'll listen − and Géza Tordai, the victim of the foreign currency loan, did indeed look attentively at the mustachioed man sitting opposite him, whose features seemed familiar to him from somewhere.
− If you accept my offer, I will add another sixty to the twenty thousand, and you will receive almost one hundred and thirty-three thousand forints...
− But that's already more than two hundred and ten thousand − interrupted the retired physics and chemistry teacher, who was also well-versed in arithmetic.
− If I may, please don't interrupt. Would you rather answer whether you have a contract with Einfack Bank or another financial institution?
− With another. A larger bank put me out on the street. I paid my debt to them − the teacher said, with a sour expression.
− After you accept my terms, we'll walk to the Einfack bank branch, and you'll open an account with seventy thousand forints, − Dávid continued. − I'll wait for you at the nearby bus stop, because I need to take a photo of your contract. Only then will I give you the rest of the money, − Dávid explained. Then he asked an important question.
− Have you registered for your apartment? Or are you still using your old address card?
− My landlord didn't want to register because then he would have to pay tax on my rent. He had just pinned his photocopied advertisement to a tree when I went there. After we agreed on the spot, he tore it up so they wouldn't call him unnecessarily. That way I could only prove the old address, − Mr. Tordai admitted.
− No problem, maybe it's even better this way. Order a Visa card! Tell the clerk that you will come to the bank branch to pick it up in person. When you receive the bank card, which will take about ten business days, withdraw thirty thousand, and then repeat this a week later. Leave ten thousand in your account, which will be blocked for a while, − Dávid explained, then called to the retired teacher. − Now you can ask your question!
− Well, there would be more...
− It's your turn, − Dávid became more relaxed.
− You're not a journalist, are you? And, if I'm guessing correctly, you're planning some serious financial mischief...
− Yes, and yes − Dávid answered succinctly.
− Excuse me, I have no idea what you're planning, or what they're planning, − said Géza Tordai. He lowered his voice and leaned a little closer to Dávid. − But you said that the account would be blocked. For me, the question is whether it’s worth being an accomplice for two hundred thousand. If the police question you, they’ll immediately ask where I got the money to open an account.
− First of all, it’s not at all certain that they’ll find you. This amount will supplement your pension for at least four months. Until then, avoid the area! Watch TV, read, keep yourself busy. If all goes well, I’ll send you a larger amount within six months. But let’s take the worst-case scenario. They’ll issue a warrant for you and the landlord will turn you in. I’m prepared for that too.
− Should I tell you that an unknown person paid me to open a bank account?
− If you say even one word about me, you can say goodbye to the amount I’ll send you if everything goes well. You’ll receive the support through a foundation, completely clean. As for the current seventy thousand, it already has legal cover.
Mr. Tordai shook his head in confusion. Then he asked:
− What are you talking about now?
− I have the cover here. I can show you, − Dávid said confidently. Just as a falsh cardplayer pulls the Joker from his sleeve, he took the winning ticket with his left hand from his wallet, which he kept in his lap under the table. He didn't want the teacher's attention to be drawn to his prosthetic hand, which he didn't take off the glove from. − This is a five-hit lottery ticket on the six-number lottery. The prize is 132,875 HUF. Keep this safe. If they find it, you can prove to investigators that you obtained the money legally. It's not your fault that someone hacked your bank account and used it for something
David had time to think through every step in advance and was thoroughly prepared.
He met the young man on Friday afternoon, April 3rd. They had arranged the meeting by email. He got to a professional gambler who played the system with four hundred tickets eight days earlier, and did win.
He met the young man on Friday afternoon, April 3. They had arranged the meeting by email. He had reached a professional gambler who had played the system with four hundred tickets eight days earlier and had indeed won.
Géza Tordai, the retired teacher, the victim of the foreign currency loan, just watched as if he were in a movie theater. Two minutes passed before he spoke.
− You've prepared yourself thoroughly.
− We agree on that. Think about it, but you have to decide within a week. Otherwise, I'll be forced to negotiate with another person in need.
− I've thought about it. Let's go to the lottery! Or to one of the tobacconists, that's closer. You can also collect your winnings there. If I remember correctly, up to two hundred thousand forints.
− Okay. I won't accompany you, but I'll wait nearby. It would be nice if you could play around a bit to show how happy you are with your winnings. Just so they remember that you collected the money yourself.
− It won't be hard to cheer. I've never won a penny in the lottery before, − he said with a grin. For the first time in the entire conversation, Géza Tordai seemed relieved.
− Then can we go? Do you know a National Tobacco Shop nearby?
− There is one on Deák Square, but to be on the safe side, let's walk towards Nyugati. There will be another one a few hundred meters away − the teacher replied.
− When we're done, we'll take care of something. I'll give you money and you can buy a used cell phone and SIM card for later. You'll know when to turn it on. Don't use your own! − Dávid explained.
− Do you think I had enough money for a cell phone? And who would me call with it?
This image above was featured on the first cover of the novel.
How do I write?
At my book launches, I have been asked several times: “Where do the ideas come from when you write your novel?”
Most recently, my publisher, András Kemény, gave me an acceptable alternative, according to which “a good book writes itself”. I accepted this as a lifeline and replied that while writing, ideas, situations, and new characters come unexpectedly, who begin to live their lives on the pages of the novel. I referred to the theory of Béla Balog, who is an expert in quantum physics, and claims that the human brain works similarly to a radio transceiver. It is able to pick up and process information circulating in the Universe. An example of this is the Italian Marconi, the inventor of the radio, whose invention was registered somewhat earlier than that of a Russian inventor whose name has sunk into oblivion.
With this, I avoided András’ question about when the story is born in me. He raised; maybe while walking the dog, or before falling asleep...
Reflecting on it, I realized that yes, I do write the story in my head even when I'm eating or needing something else. When I sit down at the computer, I just have to type it, but the text is obviously taking shape even while I'm typing. Of course, this doesn't always happen that way. When I'm working on a novel, I usually write for five or six hours a day with minor interruptions. But sometimes, new thoughts or modifications to what I've already written pop up before going to bed. I write these down by hand in a notebook. Sometimes it's difficult to decipher my own handwriting, but what I've written down once is easier to recall.
In this regard, an old experience came to mind. In 1995, Miklós Jancsó opened my wife's exhibition of the painter Márta Ilyés at the Budapest Bookstore. We had a good chat before the opening. Miklós offered to do it. He had a tangible aura. That night I woke up and a cinematic scene began to unfold in my head. I saw it all so clearly that I had to pick up a pen and write it down until four in the morning. I can’t think of anything else but that I had fallen under the influence of the Master and that his spirit had made me write the story, which takes place in a ruined church. A group of young revolutionaries meet in secret, but there is a traitor among them, and the church is surrounded by soldiers. It is not revealed whether there will be a bloodbath or whether the soldiers will turn against their commander. I gave my writing the working title “Before or After”. I didn’t have a computer then, so the story still lies in one of the boxes I packed with other documents when I moved.
I am a visual person. It is no coincidence that until I was sixty-one I tried to leave some kind of mark in the field of fine arts. This intention of mine was realized in some objects (memorials of Petőfi and Attila József, a giant poster titled “Statue-Standing Game”) and in my tube paintings. (www.tubusvilag.hu)
When I look up at the sky, the changing shapes of the clouds also stir my imagination. I discover fish, whales, elephants or even birds in the clouds. The foliage of the forest, the varied lines of the tree trunks all help my visual imagination. I see human figures, faces, animal figures in the patches of the tree trunks and leaves that always show a different image. But these can happen to other people as well.
It is a similar process, when I put together meaningful lines of thought from the associations that flash up, like from the pieces of the picture in a puzzle game. By the way, the working title of my third novel was “Puzzle”. That is also how I named the folder on my computer, in which I put the parts of the manuscript of “The Half-Handed Robber” – because I edit the text parts of my novels afterwards – and I saved the related elements (cover, invitation, poster). The rag rug described in the introduction is also a kind of textile puzzle.
All this does not answer the frequently asked question of how I acquired the professional knowledge described in my novels. I have found two explanations for this. On the one hand, I am seventy years old and have been observing our world with interest since childhood. I have mastered several professions (goldsmith, wood sculptor, locksmith), as an amateur I created the website available at www.ilyesmarta.hu and learned the basics of computer imaging. My readings and film experiences contain a wide range of knowledge. This collected, often forgotten information comes to the surface when writing.
The other obvious explanation is the Google search engine, which is available to everyone. It is a repository of an incredible amount of data and visual information. It is worth mining it persistently.
At the moment, that is all I could gather for the questions that arise. I also wrote down the answers because I considered them to be clear for myself. But I have not found a rational answer to how the story develops in my writings, how the characters with different characters are included – and I am not only thinking of my novels, since I have also written at least sixty short stories in addition to my three novels.
The exceptions are those of my stories in which I recall real events, such as my stories from Surány, most of which were published in the monthly magazine Pócsmegyeri Kisbíró, or my collection of short stories entitled “Under Angel Wings”, in which I wrote almost unbelievable stories about life-saving manifestations of Providence and other irrational phenomena, but each of these cases really happened.
The back of the cover was a success straight away.