A brave man roamed the streets of Budapest at that time. He took photographs. Between October 23rd and November 11th of 1956. So that there would be a sign. Evidence of war, purity, heroes and blood. And then the signs had to be locked up in the rooms of the mind that had turned bleak again. Over a handred negatives la ...
A brave man roamed the streets of Budapest at that time. He took photographs. Between October 23rd and November 11th of 1956. So that there would be a sign. Evidence of war, purity, heroes and blood. And then the signs had to be locked up in the rooms of the mind that had turned bleak again. Over a handred negatives lay concealed in an attic for long and sick decades. And then the man died. And when freedom came again and it was so generous that it left even the murderers unpunished, his widow gave the concealed photographs to the Office of History on one condition: neither her nor her husband’s name could be made public. In case they come back… she said and stared at the ground in front of her feet for a long time.
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