He takes you to Budapest on a green slow train. Along the way, the train passed through low shrubs, winding rivers and golden wheat fields. Will you remember the bright red flag that was removed overnight? You will come to the abandoned church by the river. The bell tower spire was blown to pieces 34 years ago. Those Soviet guys will not repair it. Only the peacock green glazed bricks and the gilded Christ crucifix on the top are still remembered by your grandmother. She will play the dusty pipe organ for you, no matter whether it is Bach or Travin. Ski, you have to sing Soviet songs, one after another, until you are hoarse. You will think of the Soviet urn on the wall of Red Square and the ubiquitous Lenin statue. The bloody smell of Katyn Forest will not be far from you. Then you cry loudly and suddenly find that you can never belong to America.