Talk to the Hand.

Back in Budapest…

One of the national treasures of Budapest, I kid you not, is the preserved right-hand of Hungary’s patron saint, St. Stephen. Canonized by the pope for converting the heathen pagans, St. Stephen died in the 12th century. However, when grave robbers dug up his grave, holies of holies, miracle of miracles, his entire body had decomposed except his disgusting, mummified right hand. The pope deemed it a miracle and to this day, in St. Stephen’s Right Hand Chapel, attached to St. Stephen’s Basilica, his hand is on a red velvet cushion in a glass box on display. Our tour guide proudly pointed out his intact finger nails, tendons, and flesh while I tried not to breathe for fear I would somehow inhale some ancient particle of this guy’s hand. What a strange country. On St. Stephen’s Day, the holiest day of the year, believers parade around with the glass box, home of the decrepit wrist. My father, behind the guide's back, started singing the Adam’s Family Theme song. Overall, we are a cultured and accepting family.