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Passport expired, British man’s body was stuck in Thailand

British man David Donohue died in Bangkok due to illness. His family hoped to bring his body back to the UK. However, the BBC reported on March 2 that the hospital would not let him go because Donohue’s passport had expired.

Donohue’s family, Gemma, said that if the passport issue cannot be resolved in time, Donohue’s body will be mass cremated by the hospital on the 3rd. Gemma sent a request to the British Embassy in Thailand, hoping that they could resolve this “administrative problem” as soon as possible.

The embassy staff responded that they were trying to obtain the correct passport information but were unable to reissue Donohue’s passport information. Because of the new crown epidemic, family members far away in the UK could not rush to take Donohue for the last time. Gemma said: “Holding a funeral for the dead is a basic human right. Please let me take him home.” The embassy said. , Is communicating with local hospitals and funeral homes to help Donohue obtain permission documents to deal with this issue according to the wishes of his family.

The history I have to tell is simple and perhaps very mundane. However, if I were to find this everyday life not in my lecture, but in the traits, heart and object situations I draw, only what would I strive for would happen. I – and I certainly agree with most people in this regard – prefer to see and hear the ordinary and everyday, but more real and easy, pulsations of the heart, rather than reading the descriptions of artificially excited, tent-like, festive, extraordinary heart conditions. . Incidentally, I apologize for daring to show my readers a starting point.

* * *

It will be about a month since a young daughter of a prominent merchant in Pest died. -98-One of the young distant relatives of the poor girl’s parents’ home was also encouraged to arrange the funeral splendor, who was obliged to collect 12 corpses, among others. It was for this purpose that he called the Krajczer Hektor, a town man known in Hungarian as a café , to be one of those who would accompany the unfortunate person to his final resting place.

We take this opportunity here to briefly describe the main features of this urban mourner. The urban mourner is one of those people who were born into this world at the age of at least 12, the age in which our timekeeper first argued with the scribes; it is so true that already in his infancy his grandfather stared at him with a very old talent, his sweet father married and the whole brotherhood somewhere in pairs, in sheer loneliness. Hector and his countless first names show that the talent of all this was noticed in him even when the cross water was poured on his soft head, which hardened over time and according to the order of nature, the talents lurking in him and in other parts of the body were not left undeveloped. Hector learned to draw, carry, swim, dance, and since he did not have a piano, he sometimes placed the violin next to his neck;-99- obscuring countless intrusive ficcats, in front of the beauties of the capital “as a man standing, with ore arms to overcome strife.” However, that our Hector has little to show the world of all these studies is easy to believe when he learns that since he graduated from school and living and living apart from his parents, he is always mourning, a time barely shorter than our six years, after he is already 26 years old.

Krajczer Hektor is more German than Hungarian; more emotional than gloomy in nature; there is little communion in it, but the more susceptible we are, especially to women, as he barely has a total of two months of the year in which he would not be in love with someone, though clearly, deeply, unspeakably, though no one but God and find out. So: for him, the weakest side of courage. They will tell the irons that they are normally proud, arrogant; Hektor may be one in his official occupations, but we leave this untouched, only by focusing on his private life, in which it is true that he does not like to be a writer and not a cancellist.he is called, but he never boasts anything other than his lovability. His higher desires never existed for him.

And that after this we will again grasp the thread of our begun speech, we must tell how Hector, by the above-mentioned funeral call, -100-is frustrated, however, because his mood in a nightcoat has always revolted to the idea that he should be trapped in tight Hungarian trousers and tops that are in no way compatible with Asian or European comfort; nevertheless, the thought of death is stronger than any other thought. He imagined to himself the sentient-hearted Hector, how good it would be for him if he would then be accompanied by the deserted tent of his soul to his quiet resting place among the warlike-sounding swords. And he imagined this for himself, because the pious were among the everyday creatures who were willing to believe that they were not immortal, and that they could live at the height of the ninth floor or next to the bells of the tower, but were forced to move out of the high lodging. to rent a “quarters” in a kind of abandoned earthly hideout.

So he fulfilled the call of the caller on the dead body, and in the afternoon of the set day he put on the camel-rope and button-up garment that the sons of Hungary usually put on when they make laws and break them, when they compliment and bury them (in a word) He fitted the attila to himself; shuddered in the tightness of the Hungarian trousers; protruding ankle bones with black topan shingles; on the side of the pakfong sword hanging on a handcuffed, tufted cord running down its right shoulder than the newer-101-and the desirability of the free digestion of the stomach is due to appropriate fashion; he placed the borrowed egret feather on the borrowed head on his head, which was unusually smoothed and fried here and there; and in this armored state he set out in place of the funeral tribute.

He had already found 11 companions of similar destiny and condition, chirping their swords with remarkably insensitive faces among the rest of the insensitive and the consoling army that sought to soothe the pain of the relatives crouching over it in a sensitive blow. Yet the relatives were so wounded that nothing but time could comfort them.

Wailing, sobs, and words of consolation came from all over the dark, gloomy room, what breathed such a novel pain into Hector’s heart that, despite the armor of all the iron kneaders, he was also close to the wailing, which he had never been ashamed of in general, Not only did God create books in the man’s eyes to have a little juice that would come out when he sneezed and sneezed.

So it was very good for Hektor, as soon as a woman called the 12 mourners, including him, to the bathroom. In this room, four or five unknown pretty girls were found, and on one table veils, bouquets, wax torches, gloves, etc., with which they were to be dressed as corpses. So the knights stood in pairs at the place of the room-102-where chairs, beds, and tables did not hinder them, and the girls began their work: they tied bouquets to each man’s right arm and one’s left arm, and fired a wide white veil on their shoulders that ran across their breasts and backs to their ankles. Everything was quiet and unanimous, not even a small smile; gloomy and silent, clothed ladies dressed in mourning, as if the Swordsmen had seen the Twisting and Intersecting the warp of the fabulous world in their official occupation.

And among these gloomy figures is a beautiful lady, not dressed in grief. The other ladies looked at her, a little confused and amazed, as if to ask what she was doing here? However, out of their confusion, they were soon helped out by the charming stranger.

“You will allow me,” he said, turning to the girls, “to be your assistant in this last ministry, with which I am somewhat in memory of poor Vilma, with whom I had no closer relationship, but whose early death I also wholeheartedly regret.” , not waiting for the others to confirm, he reached for veils and flowers with a charming charm.

The girlfriends of the deceased girl soon figured out the key to the thing and whispered to each other that this lady must be the person who lives on the first floor of the same house that they currently have on the second floor, and with whose acquaintance -103– although it was only fleeting – his outdated girlfriends often boasted in his life.

Our hector didn’t know what was wrong at once. She liked it as if she had already seen this lady somewhere in the realm of her dreams. A whole army of rushes, lean, bile, and hidden desires surprised her battle market at once. This unexpected phenomenon, the harp sounds coming from this heart, pulled him completely out of the twist: he tightened his sword grip in his grip tighter, as if he wanted to put himself in a state of defense against himself and others.

However, as he saw the pretty stranger reaching for the bushes and glancing shyly at the sword-wielding one, the mourner immediately awoke, shivering at the lady and shivering and shaking with a cold fever:

“If I could be lucky, your pretty grandmother”… Have you ever seen such an intrusive fart? The lady confirmed inte.

“Please arm,” the lady chanted. The irn provided the arm whose works might be presented in rich copies by the city archives even in centuries. How could he have provided anything other than his right?

The lady was already bound to the bush, when her companion behind Hektor’s back, Gábor Gulden, an obese, terrible prose writer who never read anything except the Kundschaftsblatt in Pest, but who reverently honored Hector with spiritual superiority -104-and he loved, and with whom Hector, according to preliminary agreements, was now to accompany the coffin in a row, he was already encrypted with his right arm outstretched between them and exclaimed himself:

“Not that, Hekti! “Give me your left hand!”

“You’re right, Gábor,” Hektor said, blushing as far as he could, to whom this inappropriate warning fell a little shocked. “An unfortunate taxpayer!” kart. Yet no one will take him, I think, as a bad name, that he has stretched his right forward, because, oh, how many thoughts lie in this tiny thought: I have given my right to a beautiful girl.

And his left hand trembled during the bridging surgery, and as soon as they touched the cloth of the attire of the delicate fingers of the red nails, Gács could have felt happy at the cloth factory, the more Hektor, who carried a sensitive heart under the cloth of Gács.

After the bushing was tied, the white veil ribbon was shrugged.

“Please bend over a little,” the charming lady’s beautiful voice sounded again, and it was impossible for Hektor not to immediately let go of his excessive length so much that his face -105-be at the same height as the lady’s face from the color of the sea, and so that it may work comfortably on her shoulders.

And Hector was so close to the lady’s face, there was only a small gap between them that a good long kiss would have filled perfectly. In front of you he saw the sum of all that the men of the world used to say, – Or not! he doesn’t usually say anything, but he either keeps going when he’s on his way or going home, he falls to his sofa or bed at home and in a circle of curly cigar smoke ripples secret-sweet thoughts rumble, rocking his imagination in his cradle, he has to confess himself and the world over Darius’ treasure chest before he wants to have something else, that he still has something very big, when Vörösmarty easily leaves his dream pictures with this poem:

“But to whom did spring come from this heaven?
My God, be a happy, happy man! ”
Hector was visibly confused. To grasp his critical situation, I tried to tell him what all he saw and heard around him was and what he must have felt inside himself.

He stooped, as I said, to the lady: he could smell the balm of a rosebud commonly called a mouth, and he wanted to stand full of nose ; his left beard stubborn close to his shoulder felt the intoxicating touch of velvet ducks,-106-and each thread of the beard was turned into a lightning rod, on which it rushed down into the heart of heaven with a nervous shock; he saw glittering silk curls, the dark fairy-like of which he saw neither in Italy nor in the night of the corners of the earth for six months, and into which black night Hector’s whey eyes stared into him like two open-mouthed lunar worlds; he saw in the tent of that dark nightto shine two smiling pairs of stars, shining in light, with true but not as cold, insensitive rays as we see at ordinary stars in the sky, but with hot ones, under which Hector’s soul, like a glowing iron under a snare, vomited sparks; he saw a denture in which a gypsy tent had never seen a more intact and radiant whiteness, and an alabaster statuette could have been carved from each piece; he saw the resting marble breasts, and his breasts began to squeeze, his breath choked; heard the word of the lady, her ringing sounds, and the silver bell of her throat calling the holy inhabitants of her breasts to pray: the quiet and solemn emotions; he saw the consonant stature, and the sentimental Hector could not comprehend in his ironic simplicity who might therefore consist of the angelic army of heaven, if not even this non-plus-ultra of perfection will captivate them? he finally saw the fluffy soft movements of the figure floating in front of him, and in his veins the blood cast a ripple foam.

I wouldn’t give in for much that I could only say all this; however, what is it compared to what-107-I would have to tell you if I wanted to faithfully reflect Hector’s perception and emotions! We gladly wanted out of the many things he felt, at least something to let him know about his discovered ideal. He wouldn’t have given in for a month’s income if the lady had accidentally stabbed him with a pin while tying, let him have told the one who was certainly apologizing: he was doing nothing, and that even the wounds that such hands were falling on him were fine . But he, pain! not stabbed.

After all, the lady had finished the funeral toilet on it, and though she didn’t seem to have much practice throughout the surgery, she was almost happy with her work when she let Hector out of her fingers and immediately jumped to another attila to continue her work there. Hector wanted to pull his boots off of him and get under the tender ducks again. He could barely dodge a few words of thanks because he would have preferred not to thank him yet.

He stood in a corner silently, with a burning face, caring for nothing but his selfish passion; The moment pierced hungry as a wolf into nothing, and also in the ears of sighs dressed desires broke through, what öszpontosultak all these voices: “Oh, Ida, Ida!” – HECTOR not ty clearly benefits the same name of the lady, but it was peculiar system that every beautiful girl He loved to call me Ida. And there is actually something to it. Because what he does-108-in this word: Ida is more than an ivoda , that is, a place around which one drinks lust and pleasure. So he shouted, “Ida, oh Ida!”

Melancholic silence, monotonous whispers, interrupted syllables rather than speeches, sobbing penetrating the neighbor’s morgue, the loud nailing of the coffin lid, and the dull words of consolation, and hearing it all, made it impossible to write. the most determined resignatio and the passion coupled with the most serious emotion should not overwhelm him.

Meanwhile, all mourners fired up tooled. In terms of hectares, the aforementioned corner of the room was still the “homestead of sorrows and hopes”, the step of Ida , not so much so- called as it was so sighed , to be looked at once more, everything is fine and there is nothing to adjust? And he came with a full and complete army of the pleasures listed above.

Hector no longer possesses his temper. His heart was full, and in order not to flood the boils of his breasts with a devastating flood, he had to open the sluice of his throat. The lunar world of her eyes bathed in flood of lust, dispersing her lash yard, letting go of all the light she could, and taking a step out of her strength, she stepped in front of the girl, stretching her left leg forward and her right leg to her left. Grab the electric touch-109-duck, his passion, the statue of Memnon faded, and as a melted ice cream, the cancellist floated out two words without flute and other blowing agents, enthusiastically flowing across the border of the cup, two words with honest instructions. standing and captured by him. And these two words were neither more nor less:

“Forever yours!”

He knew what he was doing! and tell you, who are still on the ordinary path of nature, or whose mouths have not yet been burned by the hot porridge, could Hector have done anything else?

The lady stopped in amazement, baked the dark balls of Hector’s eyes on her, and seemed to want to say something – – Then they tried to free the duck caught by the mourner; but he could not prosper in any way, for Hector grabbed it like a straw with water, and pushed back a short waist but thick representatives of his emotions with some variations, thus fluttering:

“Yours forever!”

All this was done in proper silence in the dark corner of the dark room, barely noticeable from the others.

At that moment, Gábor, his swordmaster’s comrade-in-arms, already mentioned with the above-mentioned resentment, grabbed Hektor’s arm from behind.-110-

“No, you’ve come, let’s go,” Gábor said.

Hector woke up to these words at once, as if he had at least been set on fire, and not in a minute the delicate fingers of his little fingernails: the beautiful Ida ran away, leaving the iron like St. Paul the Olahs. And Hektor turned to Gábor, and now the pain and bitterness that sat on his face should have been seen, I can’t describe it.

“But who are you, an unhappy young man,” he spoke in the most mischievous voice of his throat, “who, as an empty knocker everywhere, intruding to put out the candle of my happiness?” And his sword shook in its sheath, but only by accident.

“What are you talking about, Hektikam?” Gábor asked, who didn’t seem to understand the thing, and I can say to my orphaned soul that he was as innocent of the whole thing as the child born today.

Hektor didn’t answer, but he shot the pious and contemptuous silent moments into the pious Gábor, and perhaps he would have shot him to infinity if he hadn’t soon realized that perhaps Gábor’s call was in place, because they were almost alone in the room, the others dripping down. to the court, with their burning torches, they shall encircle the mourning set up there.

Gábor moved the wax cloth pre-destined for Hektor to the palm of his hand, and under his guidance he started it after the others. Like like-111- he reached the door of the room, involuntarily – as if in a dream – turned his image back to the happy nook, where he fed his flames unnoticed, but his physical eyes could not see anything, but his spiritual eyes could see very much there.

“- – – The rónas are submerged,
But for the distant
Her heart is bleeding, her heart is hurting. ”
Stepping onto the stairs of the house, he grabbed the friend of Gábor he had offended, put on his arm, and asked me gently:

“Can you forgive me, Gabriel? “- Oh, if you only knew how unspeakably happy I am!”

“What are you talking about, Hektikam?” Gábor, who was not suspicious of anything at all, asked, and as he also wanted to look meekly into Hektor’s eyes, he jumped at him at once and grabbed it from his fragrant clusters with a frightening expression.

“What is it again? So indeed, ”Hector exclaimed.

“You’re burning to dust right away, Hekti.” Did your cat’s precious egret feather ignite from the flames of its ignited, awkward torch, or from the fire that had hit her head up to her breasts? I do not know. It is so true that the flag flames were extinguished by the guardian angel Gabriel, then pushed the kuchma over his head again, and Hector, albeit with egrets, but with a very new building of his love, took a place around the coffin.

The funeral procession did not begin long, and the weavers after the mourning carriage were all over -112-to the Jewish market, here they settled in a rental car in pairs and, along with the others, were driven out into the cemetery of Vácz, where the most unsuitable one could be driven out when the person was being traveled backwards.

Arriving at the cemetery, did Hektor get off the car or not? and in general, did you do anything memorable there? I could not have known it from him; he remembered, however, that he was there with such painful feelings as if he himself had been buried. He wept over it because he was gone; he rejoiced in the future because he had high hopes for him in his soul; would have felt sorry for someone and did not know who to feel sorry for; would have left, but was arrested by someone; he rhymed for life and not even died. Oh, believe me, “Beloved Ones!” It’s a terrible thing to be buried.

When Hektor arrived home, it was evening. At the gate of the house where he lived, a pair of pretty maids from the house hung. Seeing him approaching them in his funeral splendor, one of the maids, who could be filled immediately, went to him with modesty (since we don’t say much intact), and addressed him in a somewhat confidential voice:

“Urfi!” – but the cancellista didn’t hear anything, perhaps because he had been on urfikoro for a long time.

“Tens urfi!” The maid repeated, but the minds of the office students were still elsewhere.

“Who was buried, tens urfi?” He finally screamed, losing his patience and tugging at Hector’s flag mourning ribbon, -113-the maid, by the time she stopped right at the bottom of the gate, as if it had turned into a wooden image soon.

She looked at the maid, a faint smile on her lips that seemed to want to express, “Oh, unhappy Kati! what are you in relation to my Idah! ”- However, he knew immediately what Kati needed; he knew that his teeth were hurting on the cziczoma parade on him, and instead of answering what the girl did not expect, he took off all his toiletries, and left everything that could only be scraped off on him. Why didn’t he do that? How many hours before had he thrown himself there, even forever , to an unknown lady, and now wouldn’t he have given a few fleeting shreds to a perhaps not entirely unknown “white people,” though also forever ? And this was for the most part his own reasoning, against which, if I wished to disrupt his happiness, I would have some remarks.

He reached his room. The first thing he did was light a candle. Then he pulled out a pipe, sank down on his sofa and let his dreams, daydreams and thoughts run free. And oh, what a couch this poor furniture had for the bathroom. It was made at a time when the world was still sitting on a “ sofa ” instead of a sofa; and this couch was a seated device covered with worn black leather, extremely narrow and short, but higher, so that the one who sat on it had his legs hanging down into nothingness like that of the valiant János Háry when he sat down.-114-was on the edge of the world, and the upper part of it was always slipped off from the hard seat, which was stuffed high; swinging resilience, of course, not hiring. But Hektor lived the most beautiful hours of his life on this couch, as he used to say, and it was his passion to relax and immerse himself in his thoughts. It gave comfort to his kins, strength to his discouragement, peace to his weary soul, and nourishment to his heart that wanted to scorch and scorch. And he usually spends very happy hours like that. “Happiness does not arise in the abundance of forests of the outside world, he used to say in his softened moments, there you are looking for his shell; the seed of happiness is buried in the garden of our inner world, which we must nurture and often water with the sweat of our faces, often water with the dew of our eyes, but one day we will surely enjoy its fruits. ”Hector must have been right, and he was not quite an empty head;in dormant serenity , about as intact as it was, let alone be, a sweet homeland. For centuries, it lived in such lucid dreams, and many times it felt happy, no matter how sometimes its inner world was disturbed , and now it is starting to look out into the vast forests of the great outside world , chewing thousands and thousands of astringent dinners and looking with gritted teeth throughout the rest. .

Hector dreamed. The wooden clock hanging on the wall of his room could have rang at midnight (if it was your room-115-a clock would have hung on the wall) when he noticed that he was still surrounded by swords and attila with breasts and fringed topans, which in his happiness he had completely forgotten to peel off. he should have been knocked, unlike the tallow candle on his table, whose obscene wick stretched lengthwise, and the roses formed on his tip darkened to blood-red, thereby raising the ceremony of the minute. There was never a hover floating on the lips of the happy mourner , which, in the form of a steam locomotive, was always led to a candlelight by a leader named Ida . In a word: he is loved! Was there a reason for it or not? he did not ask; but who ever asked this in a similar situation? In general, he did not think about what had already happened to him in this matter, but only about what would happen next, and, as the saint believed, everything would surely happen – “or it will come, if it must come, the great death… ! ”“ And is there, please, humble, emerging love other than its future?

He pressed his whole world to his heart, that is, only him, for he was his whole world, and his breast was almost dented, as he did not cramp to his bosom. However, the angel of sleep intervened in the images of the dream, all of which drifted one after the other, and before the flap of Hector’s eyes was finally closed, a few more gentle tones.-116- yawned to his resting place, and these voices were none other than:

“Idam! forever yours! ”

The inside of the candle, not caring about anything, burned softly further, the sword tied to Hector rattled and crashed onto the room ball, then everything fell quietly across the house, only the mourler squinted gently, cheerfully, unspeakably.

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