In Memory of Jenő Rejtő
Discover the first pieces of the Pendors Pen Wielders series.
Each year, I create a fountain pen named after a great Hungarian writer. These pens are limited edition, individually numbered, and made from special materials that are in some way connected to the writer or poet.
Why Jenő Rejtő?
I grew up reading his books. I devoured the worn-out Albatrosz editions. I loved them. Those were the good old days.
Let me tell you a bit about the pen:
The barrel of the pen is made from briarwood, the same material used to make pipes. Since Dirty Fred smoked a pipe, it felt natural to use pipe wood for the pen body.
Dirty Fred the Captain
The old man was a peculiar figure. He would fidget with his chest-length, slightly pointed white beard using his long fingers that ended like vulture claws. His small schemes and deep thoughts seemed to play out silently through his beard like a strange instrument as he slowly toyed with its long, wild, dirty-grey strands. His face featured a few large, round warts, a characteristic hawk-like nose, a drooping wide mouth, and bright, intelligent, restless eyes, ringed with a hint of red. His disheveled, greyish-white hair hung over his forehead, and with a habitual motion, he would occasionally push it back to his nape or, while scratching his neck, pull his torn, grimy, peaked cap—a very worn, dirty yet unmistakably captain’s hat—down to the tip of his nose.
Because Dirty Fred was a captain…
Who else could be a captain but the man who knows every harbor pilot in the world by name, is on a first-name basis with the shaman of the Tsarungi tribe in Australia, and has only ever sailed through one cyclone—during which his pipe went out…
The center band and the cap’s end finial are made of warthog tusk.
What else could they be made of, really? It’s a perfect match for books like The Three Musketeers in Africa or The Bone Brigade.
The Three Musketeers in Africa
Four different nationalities sat at the table: an American infantryman, a French corporal, an English machine gunner, and a Russian meat salad.
The infantryman, the corporal, and the gunner sat on the bench. The meat salad was in a bowl on the table.
Time: 7 p.m.
Location: Africa, Rakhmár, a remote garrison lost somewhere in a Saharan oasis, home to a few forgotten legionnaires and some destitute Arabs.
Characters: indistinct.
Plot: nothing happens…
Why the cognac color?
There’s no record of whether the writer actually liked the drink, but his pulp fiction characters certainly did.
The 14-Carat Car
He walked into a bar. Whenever something was bothering him, he shed the airs of high society and mingled with sailors and other simple folk. Other times, he simply enjoyed being there.
– “Cognac!”
The bartender eyed his well-dressed guest suspiciously.
– “What are you staring at? Bring the cognac, you fool!”
– “Yes, sir!” he replied, his suspicion instantly vanishing.
A zither joined in with the accordion. The smell of Caporal tobacco mixed with the scent of cheap wine. After the eighth cognac, his inner tension eased a little. He breathed in deeply the steam rising from damp coats and rubber rain jackets soaked in fog.
Why a fountain pen?
Because writing is at its noblest when done with a fountain pen.
Owning a fountain pen is a higher state of being. Even Jenő Rejtő himself put it this way
in The Embezzled Cashier:
“The demarcation line of low wages opens up!
A new suit, a good hotel, a taxi, a porter, a fountain pen,…”
