Spring in Autumn

Author: Báky (Hungary) Translated by Ba Jin
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-04-01
Features: This is a short story written by Hungarian author Júli Báky, telling the brief encounter of two orphaned children brought together by fate's magic wand, who experience a pure first love but are forced to part soon after. Translated by literary master Ba Jin in the 1930s. The translation is elegant, the plot touching, and through a love story, the author expresses his philosophical reflections on the world, life, and love.
Author's Self-Introduction:
Autumn. The green pavilion has turned yellow. Frost-damaged leaves fall from the branches. But the sun still smiles warmly through the window, lying to the beautiful flowers on the table about spring. Is it only for the flowers? No! For everyone. For you, for me. The sunlight sneaks into the heart, bringing back memories of spring to warm those hearts in the frosty autumn.
Autumn. Silver threads have already appeared among my brown hair. Autumn (the troubles of life) has stolen the rose-like hue from my cheeks. The frost-damaged dreams, the dreams of my soul, have fallen. Yet in my heart, the sun still shines warmly: that of love. It gave my lovers an illusion of spring. Did it only give it to them? No! It also gave it to you, to me. Love's warmth caresses the tired souls, giving them golden dreams of spring gilded by sunlight. Spring smiles in autumn; the eyes shine brighter. Frank optimism comforts the heart. The elderly see their childlike innocence and forgive the frivolity of youth; the young look at the white-haired elders with devout understanding. Yes, yes! All of this is reflected in this story of a fleeting encounter tinged with faint sorrow, because we have all encountered spring, all been kissed by unforgettable memories imprinted on our hearts. This story is the tearful smile of my heart as it weaves dreams. Accept it with love, for I dedicate it to you with love. September 15, 1929. Preface written in Budapest.
Excerpt:
Lin, don't forget, she is already sixteen years old. Yesterday, she asked me, "Grandpa, are those middle school students proud things?" Yes, she asked such a question."
The student's heart beats fiercely. He listens nervously. Silence reigns over the entire tent. Fritolin does not answer. He worries about what Bádarachar said. His old companion is right. This question is the harbinger of something brewing. The middle school student who came yesterday has come again today. Yes, he has remembered. The girl greets him with a strange smile. That middle school student will come again tomorrow. Actually, he is not alone. He will bring his friends, the older middle school students, but Fritolin clenches his fist, thinking, "The thief is watching around the house. He should be careful."
"You think they already know each other?" "Who?" "Well, the girl and that middle school student—the one who came yesterday and today, and will come again tomorrow." "I don't think so. That middle school student has not even seen her face." "But he saw her sitting by the ticket booth. They looked at each other with shining eyes and smiled." Bádarachar, do you think what the strange smile means, and why their eyes are shining so unusually?" Bádarachar the master does not answer. Fritolin continues to murmur. The student listens outside, holding his breath. His heart trembles.