Vuelta a casa

[Estación de tren de Gÿor, viajando en dirección a Viena]

[...]
The December quality of light on boles of trees,
Black and shining out of the gathering dark,
The sepia brushwood, against the western skies
Filtering the last watercolour light.
(Why should the eyes fill with tears, as if
One should not look upon the like again?
So many eyes have seen that coign of wood,
That curve of river, the pencil screen of trees,)

[...]

(the sick man leans upon the window, weeping
He knows not why, at his home-coming
After many weary months of weakness.)
In the moment of breathing in my native land
I remember to hate: the thousand indignities,
The little humiliations, the small insults
From small people, the hidden emnities,
The slights that hurt the sensibilities
Of a child that, longing for affection, learned
To reward envy with contempt, to speak
The biting word that freezes sympathy,
The instinctive expectation of a blow
To pride or self-respect or decency;
[...]

[Siegfried Sassoon, Homecoming to Cornwall: December 1942]

[Viajar al otro extremo de Europa es volver a un hogar que no reconozco. En junio de 1991 las últimas tropas rusas abandonaron Hungría. Sólo 10 meses después un grupo de quinceañeros cruzaba la frontera con Hungría. En casi veinte años tantas cosas han cambiado que aquella me parece otra vida. O yo soy otra persona.]