One day, the clever, beautiful, blonde Klára Horvát received a letter. The envelope was addressed in English and the stamp in Japanese.

“Sir,” the letter began, “I have heard from my friend Yamatori, who is in touch with Miss Cleminson, your former English teacher, that you are willing to correspond with someone to practice English.” Since my friend is now traveling to America, I offer to replace him. I work in the State Department, I already speak English well and I hope my letters will be interesting enough.

Klára Horvát replied to the Japanese the same day:

“Sir, I am not a sir, but a miss, and I gladly accept the offer.” My father is the president of the tribunal, and I am nineteen years old, I have a teaching degree and I hope my letters will be interesting enough as well.-25-

The answer came from Japan. He is very glad that chance has brought him to such a kind acquaintance; otherwise he is an amateur photographer and sends a photograph of his house attached. She read a lot about Hungary and is happy to be in touch with such a witty, smart and lovable girl as her unknown acquaintance among Hungarian women famous for their beauty.

Correspondence began. At first, just quickly and accurately: immediately writing the reply to the letter he received, later with growing interest, fiercely, even passionately.

The correspondence went to both of them in a strange and interesting diary. There is, wonder, someone beyond the seas, an interesting, clever thinking and feeling person to whom everything can be told — desires, thoughts, and events — without danger, in a sure consciousness of understanding. A boy and a girl found each other through seas and countries; know, understand, and love each other’s souls; each is dear to all the thoughts of the other, and to all their feelings and — sons of two distant nations but equally noble children of culture, of human progress: once written by the Japanese — they speak to one another in a vast and wonderful foreign kind of language.-26-

The leaves went and came. They brought the girl’s thoughts to the boy, the boy to the girl, and linked the two souls with the golden thread of an unknown feeling.

Hodito had the charm and special charm of this correspondence. They did not even wait for a reply and a new letter was launched; I liked it sometimes — when the girl was captivated by the delicacy and ingenuity of a letter — that the rushing trains, smoky steamers at sea, had no choice but to take and bring those letters.

The girl wrote from their house — wild grapes run up all around her; about his father – the dearest old ur in the world; about his readings – Jókai is also translated into English; about her entertainments, her feelings, her dreams, her acquaintances.

“A young man comes to us,” he once wrote. His name is Sándor Csák. Tall, black, shiny eyes. Teacher. Dad really likes it. This Only One wants to marry me.

“For God’s sake,” came the answer, “take care.” Don’t rush the most important decision of your life. Happiness or unhappiness depends on it, salvation or damnation. Be careful. Don’t decide yet. Young.-27-You get it. Get to know that person better. I never loved teachers.

“She’s only here with us every day,” she wrote. – I love teachers. I’m sending you my portrait here.

There was no answer to this letter, she wrote again:

– He just asked for my hand. I was given time to think and I can’t decide. Did you get my portrait? Send yours.

“I got your portrait,” came the reply four weeks later, “and happiness and fear tremble in my heart.” For months, since I have been waiting with ever-thirsty anticipation for his sweet leaves, a passion is growing in my soul, flowing and swelling, which erupts now that I also see his brilliant image. The boundaries of the race, the alienation and the distance, the mountains and the seas soar in love and he breathes a kiss on his white hand. Although wisdom and doubt forbid it, no matter how terrified the fear of looking at me with its own aversion and superiority, my love feels that our souls are equal and kindred, that our souls who have found each other so miraculously do not can also become never. Her blonde hair radiates light to me through the seas, her white face radiating light to the path of my life. I’m in the depths-28-and like the sun, I look to you. “Lean down to me and redeem me with the touch of your hand.” My happiness, my life depends on your answer. If I was not deceived by the conjecture that love spoke to me from the delicate letters of his letters, then life is mine. If you cheated, my life is over. It ends as truly as the blood flows in my veins from Japanese nobles who, for a mistake or mistake, a semblance of dishonesty, or a suffering they had to endure wordlessly, stabbed their hearts through with their swords.

… Klára Horvát read the letter with wet eyes. From the lines, deep love spoke to him, grabbed him, stunned him, intoxicated the strange romance that was in this pleading, great love. Outside the seas, on the other side of the earth, there is someone who will die if he says yes to a request.

He looked at Sándor Csák in disgust: that man would die there at sea if he said yes to that. And he loves it – there at sea; he was already quite sure he loved her. How delicate is his soul to beg for his love, to worship him Dreamed he went for two days.

On the third day you received a letter:-29-

“I have received your second letter,” said the English writer, and I will send my portrait here if you wish. I look forward to your response, trembling.

Klára Horvát looked at the photography. A Japanese face looked at him. A yellow-faced, short man stood in the picture. An oblique eye. An operetta man.

She stared at him in shock: did her dreams come to him beyond the seas?

It was over in an instant. Her eyes covered in tears and she cried bitterly for a long time. When he cried out well, he sighed.

He went to his father.

“I’m getting married to Csák,” she said calmly.

He wrote to Japan a few days later. Short; not cruelly, only indifferently.

– Yesterday I exchanged tickets with Sándor Csák.

A month later, he forgot the whole thing and didn’t care a spark about what the yellow man was doing out there at sea.