Kaytek the Wizard

by Janusz Korczak

  “He grabbed a stick.”

  “A big stick, and jumped over the fence.”

  “And whacked the drunk on the head.”

  “What else could he do? He had to defend the child, didn’t he?”

  “The drunk got revenge,” remembers Kaytek.

  “He did indeed. He knew some secret way of getting the rats to invade our house. They didn’t do much harm because Grandpa had his own special ways too. Until there was only one left – a great big monster of a rat.”

  “Was it as big as a cat?”

  “Not quite. But it was impossible to catch, that rat.”

  It must have been enchanted, thinks Kaytek, but he doesn’t say anything.

  “Grandpa lured the rat into the kitchen. It was in there. Good. He shut all the doors and looked for it. It was gone. He looked here, there, and everywhere, but it had simply vanished.”

  “It was hiding under the step.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You didn’t listen carefully. There was a step from the kitchen into the hall, and Grandpa whacked the step with an ax, but the rat wasn’t there. Come on, Antek, try to remember.”

  “I know. It was hiding in the pocket of your apron.”

  “No, that’s not it either. The apron was hanging in the corner. But the rat was clinging on to it by its teeth. It had jumped up and was hanging by the teeth – it had bitten into the cloth. That’s enough now.”

  “Grandma, tell me about the rainwater barrel.”

  “What’s so interesting about that? The time I found a toad in there?”

  “And what about the fire, Grandma?”

  “No, no. It’s late. Your father will be angry!”

  “Then tell me about the hens who laid eggs in the woodshed.”

  “No. You’re sleepy. You’re yawning.”

  “I don’t feel like sleeping at all.”

  But Kaytek can see Grandma doesn’t want to go on, so he gets changed for bed.

  Grandma told the most stories when Mom was in the hospital.

  Kaytek is lying in bed.

  His eyes are closed.

  He’s thinking: “What does it mean, Grandpa was made of strong stuff? Why does Grandma say you can’t know what a dog thinks? Why was it a wild vine? Grandma said a wild vine has ordinary leaves, not poisonous ones, not even like a nettle, so what’s wild about it?”

  It’s unpleasant to have to keep asking them to explain. Sometimes they’re willing to tell him, sometimes they’re not. And if they’re not, they twist and tangle it all so you can’t understand.

  It’s maddening.

  “I’ll have to learn to read. Then I can find things out for myself from books. Why wait till I start going to school?”

  Everything’s written in books. Anyone who can read knows things. And can do everything himself. Doctors know how to cure illnesses from the things they read in books. That’s what Dad says.

  If Kaytek knew how to read, Mom would be well.

  He’d only have to seek out a good remedy in a book.

  Kaytek already knows four letters. He can write a one and a four.

  “I’ll give it a try!”

  When Kaytek was small, his dad gave him a newspaper.

  “Here you are, read that.”

  Kaytek looks at the paper and speaks gibberish, which makes saliva fill his mouth: “Etly, fetly, metly.”

  He doesn’t understand what “to read” means.

  And everyone’s laughing.

  Or he makes marks on a piece of paper with a pencil, and thinks he’s writing.

  Now he knows it was all a joke.

  “Grandma!”

  “Aren’t you asleep yet?”

  He jumps out of bed and fetches a book – it’s Tom Thumb.

  He looks. T-O-M. Three symbols. He counts them: three. There’s an O in the middle. A circle is a letter. So where’s Tom? How do you get Tom?

  “Grandma, is it true there’s a letter O in the middle of Tom?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Now go to sleep or your father will be angry.”

  Kaytek woke up early.

  And went straight outside.

  He asks a boy who goes to school: “Show me some letters.”

  “What do you want them for? You won’t understand anyway.”

  Kaytek promises him a reward – a pineapple candy.

  “So pay attention. Look.”

  He looks hard. He pays attention.

  But he can’t understand.

  And the boy’s laughing.

  “You’re too small. Too dumb.”

  Kaytek feels embarrassed.

  He didn’t ask any more boys after that. Because girls are more patient.

  They explained a little bit.

  And his dad did the rest.

  “You see. Like that it’s cat, that’s cap, and that’ll be can.”

  At last he knows.

  He guessed for himself why you have tap and top, why bat and but.

  In the street he read: Bar.

  Then he read: Milk – Eggs – Beer. Barber.

  He reads the store signs, street names, tram tickets, and cigarette packets.

  One time it’s easy so he sings and whistles to himself. Another time he’s riled because he can’t do it.

  “I’ll buy a school book. Why should I keep having to ask?”

  So he started saving money. He saved thirty groshys and lost it because he had a hole in his pocket.

  Until his father took pity on him and bought him the book.

  “Here you are. Now read. Maybe you won’t go racing around the yard anymore.”

  His father guessed right. Kaytek sits and reads.

  “He’ll soon get bored.”

  His father guessed wrong. Kaytek doesn’t get bored.

  He wakes up in the morning and he’s straight into his book. He goes to bed with the book under his pillow.

  But best of all he likes reading by the River Vistula.**

  He reads and reads until he gets tired and his eyes ache, then he looks at the water, at a cloud, at the boats. He has a rest, and then it’s easy again.

  He already kind of knows and can do it – here you read two letters together like a single one.

  There are symbols you don’t read at all.

  There are big and little letters, handwritten and printed.

  But suddenly alongside the easy phrases there’s a tricky one.

  Or a word written differently from how it’s said.

  Because you say enuff, but you write enough. Why?

  Sometimes a word looks familiar, but you have to guess what it means.

  There are also new words in books which Kaytek has never heard before.

  Because grown-ups use harder words when they talk to each other.

  Kaytek is already trying to read the titles at the movies.

  Buuuut . . . it’s too much all at once.

  Mom came home from the hospital and was amazed.

  “Antek can read. Well, well, what a surprise.”

  “The boy’s got character,” his father praised him.

  “He’s going to do well in life,” said Grandma.

  “Keep learning, son, so no one will mess with you.”

  His father didn’t say: “Keep learning, Antek.”

  He didn’t say Antek or Kaytek. He said: son.

  That’s fine, that’s grand.

  Son. Three letters. Ssss – o – nnn.

  Now at school Kaytek doesn’t just read fairy tales, but fat books with no pictures too.

  He reads a lot. He has even forgotten he ever found reading difficult.

  * * *

  *See Translator’s Afterword.

  **The River Vistula is the m
ain river that runs through Warsaw, Poland’s capital city.

  Chapter Four

  A dragon, a water sprite, and a mermaid –

  Occult science – Kaytek wants to be a wizard – Thirteen spells at school

  Kaytek reads.

  He reads about wars.

  About fires.

  He reads about countries and people. About animals and about the stars. And about what happens to other people in the world.

  And so . . .

  It looks as if everything’s fine.

  As if he’s getting to know more and more. As if he’s understanding better and better. He almost understands them by now. But not the way he wants to – not everything perfectly. There’s always some mystery.

  Until he had some luck. One day there was a lady substituting for the teacher who was sick. The lady was fun. She was happy to give answers. You could ask her precise questions.

  Kaytek had been waiting ages for a lesson like this.

  Somehow it began with the dragon on Wawel Hill, in the famous legend about Krakus,* the prince who killed it.

  “Were there really dragons, or not? How many heads did they have? Did they belch fire? Were there really water sprites and mermaids?”

  “There were winged creatures,” explains the lady. “Antediluvian birds. And there were mammoths. There are archeological excavations to prove it.”

  “What about a king?” asks Kaytek. “And a page, and a royal squire? Princes and knights? Did the jester have to be a hunchback? Why were there astrologers and alchemists, and Egyptian dream books?”

  The lady gives an answer about predictions and fortune tellers.

  “Astrologers read the future from the stars. Alchemists made gold, and medicines to cure old age and all diseases.”

  Kaytek hears her talk about things like: The philosopher’s stone. Perpetual motion. Occult science.**

  He’s been waiting ages for a lesson like this.

  “And what about magicians, please miss? And what’s a hypnotist? What about ghosts? Do Gypsies really steal children and sell them to the circus?”

  “Wait a minute, not all at once.”

  One of the children laughs, as if these are childish questions. But the teacher tells him off sharply and goes on: “So it was, so it is, so it may yet be. There are some things we know, and other things we don’t know. But you shouldn’t laugh.”

  After that, it’s as if she’s only talking to Kaytek. She explains so understandingly.

  Did the strongmen Samson and Hercules really live? And Madey, the robber chief? And Master Twardowski, the legendary Polish nobleman? And Boruta the devil?*** What’s the difference between a wizard and a sorcerer?

  Suddenly . . .

  The wretched bell goes. The puppies are leaping to their feet. The bell makes a shrill insistent noise.

  “We don’t want a recess!” cries Kaytek. “Please go on talking.”

  The teacher smiles.

  “Why are you so interested?”

  “Because he’s Kaytek, miss, and he smokes like a chimney.”

  “Because he wants to be a wizard.”

  Kaytek jumps up.

  He leaps toward the kid. He aims. There’s going to be a fuss.

  No!

  The teacher frowns. She has a strange look in her eyes.

  And she just says: “Antek, please! Stop it! Out of the classroom, all of you.”

  Kaytek goes red and grits his teeth. He stops and waits.

  The two of them are left behind.

  “Thank you, Antek,” says the teacher.

  “Why do they tease me? Why did they keep interrupting?”

  “Think about it. You’re an intelligent person.”

  He was amazed that she said: “person.”

  Then she says: “You wanted to go on listening after the bell, and they didn’t. They had the right not to want to. And don’t you ever interrupt? You don’t have to be so impulsive.”

  The teacher called him: “impulsive,” not rude. Grandpa was impulsive too.

  Then the teacher leaves, and Kaytek is alone in the classroom.

  That’s it! Now he knows. That boy was right!

  Now he knows entirely for sure.

  He wants to be a wizard!

  Not a royal page, not a knight, not a circus performer, and not a cowboy. Not a magician, who does tricks. Or Ali Baba, or a detective.

  But a sorcerer.

  Now he knows definitely. And he sensed it ages ago.

  Even when he was small, in the days when Mom used to read him fairy tales, when Dad went on about ancient history, and Grandma told him about the wild vine, the rats, and the old clock.

  He doesn’t even want to be a strongman like Hercules, or a movie star. Or a boxer, or a pilot.

  He wants to, and has to, know every single spell.

  He wants to be powerful . . .

  That boy was right . . .

  The teacher says there are no spells or charms, but it’s not true. There have to be. There are. The teacher just doesn’t know them. Because school books are one thing, and occult science is quite another.

  The great Polish poet Mickiewicz wrote about Master Twardowski, who knew magic. And the kings believed in him. So it must be true.

  An astrologer must have read the stars the same way Kaytek can read letters in books. There has to be an elixir to cure all diseases, it’s just that the regular doctors don’t know about it.

  Kaytek was wrong when he thought he’d find everything out at school and that he’d discover it all by reading books.

  No. He’ll have to do it all by himself.

  It’s going to be hard. But never mind.

  He just has to make a start. Once he gets started, he’ll finish.

  Yes!

  He wants a Cap of Invisibility and a pair of seven-league boots. And a magic carpet, and a bag, and a lamp, and a hen that lays golden eggs. Not regular ones, golden ones. He’ll be able to cast spells on whomever he wants, anyone who’s disobedient. He’ll be the most powerful ruler of all, so they’ll have to obey him.

  He must practice his magic gaze. Somehow he’ll discover his first spell – just one magic phrase, in Indian or Greek.

  He has made a decision. He has made a vow.

  He has started, so he’ll finish.

  From then on Kaytek has two different lives.

  One is regular: at home, at school, and in the street.

  The other life is different: his private, secret, inner life.

  It’s as if nothing has changed.

  He still plays games, chases about, makes bets, wins and loses them, teases, lives life, and clowns around.

  But in fact he also thinks hard about magic spells and tries to make them work. He tries various ways, and waits to see what will happen.

  He practices his magic gaze and thoughts. He tries issuing commands by thinking and staring.

  He stares with all his might at the boy sitting on the bench in front of him. He looks hard at him, and commands: I order you to turn around. Turn around.

  He says it with his eyes and thoughts, not his voice.

  Or he stares at the teacher.

  I want to go to the blackboard. I demand you to call me up. I want to give the answer!

  Or at his father.

  I want fifty groshys for the movies. I demand it. Please. I want to go to the movies!

  One time it works, lots of times it doesn’t.

  That’s no surprise. Spells are tricky, and he’s only just starting.

  Kaytek waits patiently.

  Until finally . . . he does it.

  His first spell was like this.

  The teacher wants to give a bad mark. Not to Kaytek, or even to his good friend, but to some other boy.

 
; Kaytek thinks very hard: Make his pen go missing.

  And at once the teacher asks: “Where’s my pen? It was here a moment ago.”

  The boys and the teacher look for it.

  “It’s not here. Who took it?”

  “Not I . . . And not I.”

  Meanwhile the bell rings. The teacher leaves, and there’s his pen, lying on the table, as if it had never been lost.

  His second spell was like this.

  The teacher is writing on the blackboard, and Kaytek thinks: Make the chalk turn into soap.

  The teacher tries to go on writing – but he can’t. He examines the chalk. He’s riled, muttering something to himself.

  “What’s up?” the students wonder. “What is it? What do you need, sir?”

  At once the teacher gives the chalk a hard squeeze and goes on writing. But he’s making an awful face.

  And it was the same in geography.

  The teacher was standing in front of the map, explaining something. It was a boring lesson.

  And Kaytek just thought briefly and quickly: Make the map turn upside down.

  The teacher blinked. He frowned. He rubbed his eyes. The boys didn’t even notice, because a moment later the map was the right way up again.

  Afterward, when Kaytek counted how many of his spells had worked, he didn’t even know whether or not to count them as real spells.

  Because what had happened?

  He could have imagined it.

  He could have fallen asleep for a while out of boredom and just dreamed it. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between dreams and reality.

  What about the pen that vanished? That often happens. Something gets lost, you search and search, but it’s definitely not there. Then you look again, and there it is. It’s enough to make you wonder. It’s enough to make you lose your temper.

  Kaytek wanted to be sure it wasn’t just a coincidence, or a dream, or a mistake, and that it really was a spell and not something else.

  So he only counted the things that couldn’t possibly have happened without a magic spell.

  So in the class there was a klutz. He was so clumsy that they teased him and made fun of him.

  He was worst of all in gym. And the thing he did worst was jumping over a rope.

  They say: “What are you afraid of? If you trip on the rope, it won’t kill you.”

  Kaytek feels sorry for him. What do they want from him? He’s a good, quiet kid.