On October 22, I was at the Technical University.

We already knew what the architects had done in Szeged, and my friend George Fek told me that a group of students was gathering on the Danube embankment in front of the central entrance to the university's main building.

The students were shouting: “Flowers to Bem!” and “Long live Poznan!”

There was a historical reason for choosing General Bem.

In the Hungarian Revolution of 1848-49, one of the most important revolutionary periods in Hungarian history, Bem had been a Polish general who fought on the Hungarian side. In 1956 there had also been an uprising in Poland, and the Hungarian students wanted to show their support for the Polish people.

The students began marching along the Danube toward Bem Square.

I did not join them immediately because I had arranged to meet Vera somewhere else. Later I returned from the north, coming from the direction of the Margit Bridge.

By the time I arrived at Bem Square, students had already placed flowers beneath the statue. The brief proceedings and speeches were essentially over, although a large crowd remained.

At the time, it probably did not look like the beginning of a revolution.

That is one of the strange things about history.

When you read about an event afterward, everything seems to lead naturally toward what came next. There are dates, explanations, causes and consequences. The story appears organized because someone has already arranged it for you.

When you are actually living through it, there is no such organization.

There is only the moment in front of you. A gathering. A crowd. Some flowers beneath a statue. Young people calling out slogans. And no one knows what will happen tomorrow.