Just Say Nem

I never liked the Reagans (though they did provide great satirical fodder for Gore Vidal in the pages of The New York Review of Books). Since The Great Eviscerator -- the original Talking Hairdo -- took office, and gave us each not a chicken in every pot but rather a truncheon in every hand, to whack at and keep whacking at Washington like some giant, taxes-stuffed pinãta, the American heart has withered to a raisin.

Dutch had the twinkle, but Nancy -- the Smiling Hairdo -- had the vision. Coming from California, and the hippest of circles therein to be sure, the Reagans had learned, and Nancy gave utterance to, the magic bullet for helping teens steer clear of drugs: Just Say No. How simple? How easy? Who would have thought that those three words alone could have worked so wondrously? But wait: I will come back to them shortly.

First though, I would like to talk about some other words. When one is in the process of not learning a language as fluently as I have not been learning Hungarian for over a month now, whether in Hungary or anywhere (with the appropriate translation), there are key words that will get even the most unteachable tongue out of a pickle. Here are a few that I have learned:

Bocsánat (botchanought) = (I'm) Sorry. 
Here, as in the U.S., I think it best to lead with penance. Even if you have done nothing wrong, people will appreciate your apologizing for it nonetheless. However, fearing that even my Hungarian apology may not be discernible to Hungarian ears, I redouble my apology by crossing my hands over my chest and bowing deferentially as I do or do not botch bocsánat. There is no way that even a botched bocsánat would not be understood with such heartfelt chested contrition.

Köszönöm/Köszönöm szépen (Koosoonoom/Koosooom saypen) = Thank you/Thank you very much (an Elvis favorite when he bonded with Hungarians following the 1956 uprising (Köszönöm, köszönöm szépen). 
Saying thank you is also a good pre-emptive strategy, even if, as in bocsánat above, it confuses the recipient who did not register doing anything worthy of thanks. Again, just the fact that you are grateful for whatever they did or didn't do can go a long way in a foreign lang/land. So many Americans are ungrateful. Try to be unAmerican in this regard.

The exponential value of a combined "Köszönöm/Köszönöm szépen, bocsánat" or "Bocsánat, köszönöm/Köszönöm szépen" should be apparent, and so I will move on.

Viszlát (veezlot) = (Good) Bye
Usually said with brio, as Viszlát!/Bye! Now, viszlát serves several purposes, the most immediate of which is to let whoever may be attending to you know for certain that you are leaving. As a twenty-year bartender I can tell you that nothing -- apart from a fat tip -- brought on more joy to me than to see an un-time-tested customer leave (I have seen alcohol flip switches in even the nicest of strangers). Especially if the customer had been grating on me from the beginning, as would The Dour Donalds

Trumpy,

                  

                              Rummy,

                                                               

 








and Ducky,  

have grated on me had I to pour them drinks. So, the first good of goodbye is that it signals its sayer will soon be gone.

The second good of viszlát is that, because one usually says it with a dash of exuberance -- viszlát! -- that emotional uptick shows that you feel some bond with the person you are viszláting, as if, "I am not just any old apologetic yet thankful American, I am an apologetic yet thankful American who feels a loose kinship with you, even if it's only in, and by, leaving." Viszlát!

Igen (eegen) = yes.
Igen is another all purpose word. Most usefully, it helps hide the fact that you don't really know the language but can agree to certain things nonetheless, hence not exposing yourself (totally). So, for instance, if I go into the local hús bolt (hoosh bolt) and order a csirkemell filé (cheerkemell feelay), naturally, the butcher freezes in place as What did the hell did he just say? washes over her face. Then, when I point to the heap of boneless, skinless chicken breasts piled up in the meat case she understands, and leaning into the meat case she'll start sorting through the breasts asking me a number of questions, which, of course, I don't understand, but which I presume have something to do with the csirkemell filé I just requested. Uncertain but trusting in a small margin of error I say "Igen" to one of her questions. She holds up a chicken breast and double-checks with her own "Igen?" "Igen," I confirm as though there could be no better chicken breast for me than the one she plucked. I pay her and of course do the whole "Köszönöm szépen/viszlát!" thing.

The vocabulary I cited above, though helpful, can only be used in a limited way, in response to well-constrained situational exchanges. So, for instance, the seamless conviviality of a viszlát! only works upon leaving; likewise, one wouldn't offer a resolute "Igen" to a butcher who holds her arms wide to include the cornucopia of her entire meatcase. It is only because, like a skilled chess-player, I have been able to back the possible meanings into a corner, that I am able to deploy the terms and phrases above with a modicum of confidence.

Another advantage of those terms is that they thrust the confusion squarely in the lap of my conversation partner. In a sense, they've got to figure me out.

Not all situations, however, provide me such clear advantage. There are occasions where I am more confused than confusing. For instance, when I go to the supermarket to buy a bottle of scotch, and the cashier looks up from scanning the bar code and asks me a question, as they always do, I can't say "Igen" because I have no clear point of reference. I don't know what I'd be saying "Igen" to. Is she asking, "Do you have a shopper's card?" or "Would you like to step in the back and have your liver harvested?"; "Trouble finding anything?" or "We have lots of mangy stray cats locked up in the basement; would you like some?"; "Do you need a bag?" or "My ex-husband, the bum that left me for a woman less than half his age, used to drink this very brand of scotch; would it be okay if I smashed the bottle over your head?"

As you can see, there are simply too many variables to say "Igen" in such a situation, with or without bocsánats, köszönöms, etc. It is at times such as these that the simple wisdom of Nancy kicks in. When in doubt, just say nem. Nem, no, nips it. Clean. Simple. The End. 

Now, of course, just saying nem could cost me, too. It's possible that rather than wanting to harvest my liver the cashier only wants to fatten it, gladden it: "Oh, that brand of scotch has a two for one promotion this week; would you like the second bottle, free?" Or that rather than of an excess of cats, cash is her problem: "My register seems to be too full of money; would you take some off of my hands?" Or rather thank looking to smash a bottle she's looking to raise a toast: "I think you'd be a perfect match for my daughter, Miss Hungary; would it be okay with you if I gave her a call?" 

Igen, nem, both carry risks. But, at this stage of my Hungarian evolution, knowing what I know, and more importantly, what I don't, I'd rather hang on to my liver, stray the strays, and slip the split head and splitting headache, even if it means passing up a bottle of scotch, a wad of cash, and perhaps a mall makeout session with Miss Hungary. 


There is very little that Nancy and I agree upon, but in this instance, I'm with her that just saying nem is the way to go.