25 September 2012
Lastly, round the table was Lazlo Füst, seated between Cecília and Anna. Still his air of self importance lingered through the softly scented candles. His jewel eyes were quietly, intimately studying each participant.
Not much was known about Füst. His parents were acquainted with Forgachs family before they fled to France. His father was the surrealist Sebastyen Füst and his mother E Varga, his muse and poet in her own right. The family based themselves in Paris, at the heart of European avent-garde. Lazlo was their only child, and despite their limited fame, he was educated at one of Paris' elite schools. He excelled but was never able to live up to his parents literary and artistic success. Although he had obvious, dark, good looks, he was withdrawn when it came to the fairer sex, but he wanted more. He wanted it all.
He left Paris, they say, shortly before the withdrawal of the Soviets from Hungary. No one knows where he went or what he did. It was only recently that he made contact with Forgach in Budapest that anyone knew if he was still alive.
He was no longer the reticent, introvert that distanced himself from women, but a confident, so very self assured man, who was now a master of the spoken word.
It was as a result of this rather unexpected encounter, that Forgach arranged the untimely gathering.
~~The Gathering~~#13. ~Part 13~ • Opuss № I