THE LAST POLYHISTOR

He accepted our last, finite meeting - it's safe to say - quite calmly. He tried to adopt a very partner-scientist voice and restrained relativity - at least - while he could do it as a Human on the barrier. Only his eternally furrowed, black eyebrows twitched and pulled up, as if they were ancient, antique shutters, when he heard the news that as a necessary solution I had to drop out of the adoration, but corrupt-cursed Hungarian major to the core.

At a chance and perhaps more suitable moment, it was as if a lost, tiny bug had flown into his flaming button eyes, burning forever on fire; he began to wipe his marked, Roman face furiously, as if he wanted to protest, resist, oppose instead of me; unusual for our teacher-student discussion - so sacred as if it had finally been torn apart under a cloud of smoke.

In his eternally restless, scholarly Polyhistor brain, he photographed not only the crumbs of knowledge that could be absorbed from books and ideas, but more expressive, theatrical personality traits: it was truly terrifying to have such a large horizontal core of knowledge. At the same time, there was also some inner, rebellious protest in the fact that during our last rigorous exam, his eyes kept wandering to the aging elderberry walnut tree in the small courtyard of the Rector's Office; as if he had to put the given XXI. century Sanda-Sunyi Kort, which sooner or later treated him with such ugly unfairness.

We all felt and knew that we would never meet the gray eminence again; He was one of the last Polyhistorians. In our life as a young adult, eager to unfold, unexpected ruptures occurred. His quick and sudden departure could no longer break the conscious silence - fearful - that had wedged between us. - Now they say that the scientist Balatonboglár was a hermit; you can feel most comfortable taking care of and feeding the lovely fruit trees of your heart and in the company of your old literary books!