White hat tipped across a crown of wintering hair, it’s how the children got to know him; Gedeon bácsi, the ice cream parlour man with his kind owl eyes blinking from behind the windowpane of his glasses.

“How is Tamás today?” he would greet each of his clients with a smile that tickled giggles out of children and mothers alike.

Gedeon bácsi was not only an ice cream man stationed with his booth under the dome of Budapest’s Parisian court; he was also a magician who brewed his flavours out of flowers. Lavender and honey. Jasmine and mint. Rose and basil. Except lilac. The small, handwritten cursive sign was always without an and.

There was something calming about the bácsi’s presence. He somehow seemed to understand and accept the noisefulness of youth, the smile beneath his thick white moustache never once wavering despite the shenanigans that went on in his parlour.
The bácsi’s hands, covered in white gloves as pristine as the rest of his appearance, were forever frigid. Gedeon would claim it was due to his profession, the coolers, the process of freezing cream.

Then the lady came in. Again. Chestnut hair falling in curls to her shoulders, an early autumn wind blowing behind her as she closed the door with its timid silver bell tinging its announcement. She came up behind the counter, waiting awkwardly in line
despite her rush.

“How is Tamás today?”

“Gedeon bácsi, are you sure?” She caught her breath as the rest of the parlour grew silent. She leaned closer, fingertips balancing on top of the freezer’s door. “I had to come back to check because – well, Tamás said he’d be here with his friends after school yesterday.” Pause. “He still hasn’t come home.”

The bácsi sighed.

“As I said earlier, he came here as always but then left. I am sure the police are doing their job.”

Another pause.

The bácsi removed his gloves and placed a chilling hand on the mother’s shoulder.

“To get your mind off it while we wait, do you care to see how the magic is done?”