Kaytek the Wizard

by Janusz Korczak

  He stands up straight, takes a deep breath, and, feeling wild and rebellious, he quietly but distinctly says: I command that no spell should work for me for a month.

  He takes out his pocket mirror and scowls at himself.

  And hisses at himself: “You dope!”

  * * *

  *See Translator’s Afterword.

  Chapter Six

  Life is finer without spells – The month is over – Kaytek gets lost in the forest – A storm –

  Fever and delirium – In the hospital

  Kaytek is walking along, whistling merrily.

  He hasn’t felt so relaxed for ages.

  “I’ve rid myself of trouble for a whole month, and meanwhile I’ll do some thinking and make sure I don’t do anything stupid again.”

  Because the magic has to be done differently somehow.

  He runs into the apartment and kisses his mom. Not just once, but over and over.

  “That’s enough, Antek. What’s with all the loving?”

  He skips over to Grandma.

  “Dance with me, Grandma.”

  “What’s gotten into your head this time?”

  “Nothing. I feel like having something to eat.”

  “If you want to eat, then don’t start dancing, but speak up. Here, eat, bon appétit! Did you take the medicine the doctor prescribed?”

  “I don’t want to. Why should I? It’s a waste of time.”

  “Don’t whine, Antek. After all, you can see it helps – you’ve cheered up and your appetite has come back.”

  So he eats up. There isn’t much homework, so he runs out into the yard.

  “We thought you were all proud these days,” say the boys.

  “No way.”

  “So why haven’t you been coming out here?”

  “There were holes in my shoes.”

  And at once he thinks: “From now on I’m going to tell the truth more.”

  Their games are a total success. He doesn’t spoil them once.

  That evening he chats at tea time. Then he plays checkers with his dad.

  Late that night they go to bed.

  Out of habit he reaches under his pillow. The little bag isn’t there, but something pricks his finger.

  “Maybe it’s a spindle?” he thinks, as he sucks the blood from his finger, remembering the fairy tale about the Sleeping Princess.

  But he didn’t fall asleep for a hundred years, just for the usual number of hours. He woke up feeling refreshed. He couldn’t find any marks on his finger.

  On the way to school he decides to check if he has even a little bit of magic power.

  Make that smart guy’s buttons come off and his pants fall down, he thinks.

  At once a button comes off and rolls across the cobblestones.

  Make the policeman’s cap fly off, he thinks.

  The cap bounces on the policeman’s head, but it doesn’t fall off.

  “My power is still there and will be back in a month.”

  That evening he added up on a piece of paper how many of his magic spells had worked – at home, at school, and in the street. He also made separate lists of the major and minor ones. He rejected the dubious spells.

  “It’s not even worth counting those. Maybe I just imagined them?”

  Because he’d forgotten which ones came earlier and which later. He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened.

  “Maybe a wizard has the right to do nine spells a month, or maybe seven, or is it thirteen?”

  “Maybe magic spells only work on Mondays and Fridays.”

  It was a pity he hadn’t noted them down with secret signs, so no one could understand even if they found the piece of paper.

  It says in the fairy tales that wizards have students. Sure it must be easier like that.

  But Kaytek will manage by himself.

  Anyone who wants things to be easy is a dope.

  Things that are hard are interesting!

  “Rome wasn’t built in a day, as the saying goes.”

  Even to be a carpenter or an engineer you have to study for a long time, and the art of magic is harder than anything else.

  He’d had plenty of success, even though he was young and inexperienced, even though he was on his own, with no one to guide him.

  Yes. All on his own!

  Because whom could he ask for advice?

  Could he let a pal in on the secret?

  His pal would be sure to blab. He’d tell Kaytek to do something, and if it didn’t work, he’d laugh at him and say he was lying. Or start to pester him, saying: “Show me. Teach me how . . .”

  Maybe tell the teacher?

  But she wouldn’t believe him; she’d say there’s no such thing as magic spells. She doesn’t know she sniffed a magic rose.

  Tell them at home?

  Not them either. Either they wouldn’t believe him, or they’d forbid him, or start dictating what was allowed. Anyway, how could they help him if they don’t know any magic themselves?

  No.

  He mustn’t betray the secret.

  He has time. A whole month. He’ll check each spell separately and learn a lesson from it for the future.

  Kaytek had a dream.

  He dreamed he was sitting in a deep armchair, covered in oilcloth. He dreamed he was wearing a pointed alchemist’s hat and a red tie with green spots. He dreamed he was sitting at a desk. On the desk there was a black cat, an owl, a skull, and the round thing the statue of Copernicus is holding.*

  And some large books. Big, fat, heavy volumes.

  Because Kaytek once saw a large old book in a store front display – it had a yellow leather cover and a clasp that locked.

  He went into the store to take a look and ask the price. But they refused to remove it from the display and show it to him.

  “It’s very expensive. It’s not for you.”

  His great-grandfather and grandfather must have had books like that.

  Then Kaytek saw some mysterious books in a bookstore: the Egyptian Dream Book, the Kabbalah,** The Power of the Will, and The Divine Sorcerer.

  That’s not interesting. It’s just to swindle money out of people. Just to bamboozle people.

  What sort of an art would sorcery be if anyone could buy a book, read it, and know all about it?

  He has to learn how to do clever spells. Sensible, useful ones – purposeful spells.

  Otherwise what’s the point? All that trouble for so little effect.

  They’d taken away his pocket knife. The watch had vanished and never showed up again.

  Those two zlotys had almost made him into a thief: the teacher had given him such a nasty look, so mistrustful, so suspicious.

  One time he had been to the movies using conjured-up money, but the picture was boring. It was a pity to leave before the end, so there he sat in the dark stinky auditorium, feeling pretty dumb.

  Out of the whole sorry mess, the crayons are the only thing he has left.

  From now on things are going to be different.

  Maybe Kaytek shouldn’t wait a month, but a whole year. Maybe he’s even too young, and that’s why he doesn’t know what rights he has, what will work, or what will happen.

  Last year the teacher told them to sow peas and beans, and then note down the changes that happened to the plants. Kaytek was impatient at having to wait a long time for each change to occur. Because he wanted shoots, buds, leaves, roots, and stems all at once.

  After that he’d sown some just for himself. And it was nice to know ahead of time what would happen tomorrow.

  In the same way he has to investigate and note down his spells. And not just the spells.

  He buys a small diary.

  He writes on it: Journal.

  He ma
kes a note: Tuesday. There was an arithmetic test. It went well. I did it.

  He was one of the first to solve the problem. And without the help of a spell.

  That way is actually nicer.

  He makes another note: Saturday. I earned forty groshys.

  It was like this:

  Kaytek is walking through the market, and there’s a lady behind him with a basket.

  “Please help me,” she asks. “Please carry it home for me, if you can manage.”

  “Phooey,” boasts Kaytek. “I’ve carried bigger baskets than that before.”

  But the basket is heavy.

  He picks it up. And carries it. Soon his arms are going numb.

  “Is it still far to go?”

  “No. It’s just around the corner.”

  Just around the corner or not, without the basket it might be near enough, but with a weight it’s a long way.

  He stops. He shifts the basket from one arm to the other.

  “Here, let me help,” says the lady.

  “No need,” he mutters reluctantly.

  He has often carried Grandma’s basket for her, and he’ll manage this time too.

  At last they get there. He’s just about to leave – he thinks it was a regular favor. But the lady says: “Have some candy for your trouble.”

  “No need,” says Kaytek.

  “Then take this or I’ll be offended. You deserve it. Thank you for helping me.”

  “Ah!” She gives him forty groshys.

  “I won’t spend it. I earned it. I’ll keep it as a souvenir.”

  And he’s pleased it’s his own money, and he knows what he got it for, and who gave it to him.

  He wrote in the journal: R. to my h. T.s.i.d.b.

  No one will understand it, even if they read it. Only he knows what it means . . .

  Because Kaytek wants to have a hideout. He has to find an isolated place where he can do his spells far away from other people.

  He’ll have jars with healing ointment and bottles filled with the elixir of life.

  Instead of a skull, for now, he’ll put a bone in there – a horse’s jawbone with white teeth.

  He found the bone in the sand by the River Vistula and took it home.

  “What do you want those bottles and that bone for?” says Grandma. “You have enough trash already.”

  “It’ll come in handy,” says Kaytek grudgingly.

  Grown-ups think everything they don’t care about is dumb, and everything you can’t buy or sell is trash.

  Two weeks went by. Then Kaytek started to get impatient. Because if we all look forward to a holiday or a birthday, how might a wizard on vacation feel?

  What’s more, things had started to go wrong at home and at school.

  Until Kaytek got mad – not just with himself and his stupid joke with the tram, but most of all with school. It was like this:

  He’s the class monitor. He refuses to let the boys into the classroom. They’re pulling the door handle down, and he’s pushing it up.

  A whole gang of them have gathered outside the door.

  It’s a metal handle. Who could have seen it coming? But meanwhile – crrrrack! It’s broken.

  At once the teacher says to him: “Are you up to your old tricks again? Spoiling and breaking everything? Look – the walls are spattered and the benches are scored. Do you want to study in a pigsty?”

  It’s always true that as soon as a hooligan settles down, the moment one single thing goes wrong for him, absolutely everything collapses around him.

  So his father will have to pay for the handle, in the third recess he has a fight with another boy, and in class he gets an unfair grade.

  On top of everything else, that really riled him up. What has good conduct got to do with his studies? If he knows the lesson, he should get a good grade. A hooligan can be a good student, and a quiet kid can be a lazybones or a dimwit. Why bother to study if they don’t respect you for it?

  That day the lady teacher was sick, and the other teacher sent for his father.

  His father had his own worries then, because Grandma was sick and he was only working three days a week, so his income was low and they were late paying their bills.

  “Just you wait,” thought Kaytek. “The month will soon be over. Just let me get into some magic spells and the whole school will fly off to the cannibals. I’ll change that teacher into a rat and feed him on F grades. I’ll fill his bowl with Fs and he’ll have to eat them – bon appétit!”

  He thought his father would be really mad.

  But he wasn’t; he hugged Kaytek, kissed him on the head, and just said sadly: “Make an effort, Antek. I know it’s hard for you.”

  Straightaway Kaytek wrote in his journal:

  My resolutions:

  1. No joking. No clowning around.

  2. No fighting.

  3. No chasing about with the boys.

  4. Do my homework.

  5. Read a lot.

  Kaytek reads. At home there’s trouble. Now Grandma, now Mom are getting weaker by turns.

  Until along came the last day of the month.

  So unexpectedly.

  Tomorrow his power will be back. What should he start with? Apart from the bottles and jars, he hasn’t made any preparations at all.

  After five classes he went home. He didn’t eat dinner: there’d be more left for his dad.

  So he goes out by the river. He crosses a bridge.

  It’s a muggy day.

  He’ll go out of the city.

  He hangs onto the back of a tram. He goes five stops. Then the conductor chases him off.

  He walks along, then does the same thing again, on a different tram. Then he goes on foot along the highway – then a dirt road and into a birch forest.

  There are birches, more birches, then oak trees, pines and more oaks.

  He never thinks about when he’ll get home. He just goes deeper and deeper into the forest. As if he were being lured.

  Until he feels tired. And hungry. He sits down. Then he lies down on the grass. He stares at the sky through the branches. He has unbuttoned his jacket.

  Silence.

  He’s fallen asleep.

  He’s having a bad dream: they’re chasing him – he runs away, but they release poison gas after him. Until he’s suffocating. His head aches.

  It’s cold!

  He opens his eyes.

  He looks around, amazed. Aha – he’s in the forest. He looks upward: the crowns of the trees are swaying violently. There’s an ominous roaring sound – it’s the wind.

  It’s dark.

  There’s a shot. Not a shot, but thunder. And at once it starts to rain. Big, heavy drops.

  Once again there’s thunder and lightning.

  It’s a storm. A storm in the forest.

  He must get to the highway. To the tram.

  But which way?

  He doesn’t know.

  He’s lost.

  That’s bad.

  He runs. But where should he run to? It makes no difference. There’s more thunder.

  His cap is soaked through, and there’s water streaming off its peak. His clothes feel heavy. There’s water sloshing in his shoes.

  But maybe it’s a trap? That was just how the legendary robber chief Madey lost his way, signed his pact, and sold his soul to the devil.

  He thinks there’s someone lurking behind a tree.

  He stops. No – it’s just a bush. He rushes onward.

  The forest has kind of ended, but there’s no highway, and no ditch by the highway. Just the sad-looking stumps of cut-down trees.

  He slips and falls. He has trouble getting up. He turns left.

  A small light looms in the distance.

  Mayb
e it’s a cottage, or maybe it’s the eyes of a wolf? Or maybe it’s the hideout of the wizard who has lured him into the forest, made him fall asleep, caused the storm, and is now tempting him with that light?

  A spark lights up and goes out – now there’s one, now two – they come closer, then move away.

  At last he’s found the road. There are wheel tracks.

  Now the mud is sticky and his feet are getting bogged down.

  He hears someone calling. It’s Grandma’s voice: “Antek, Antek!”

  He stops. He listens hard. No, he was just imagining it.

  He passes a small wooden bridge. Maybe it’ll break? Kaytek will fall into the water and the ghost of a drowned woman will drag him to the bottom.

  The moon has floated into the sky – and Kaytek sees the drowned woman. He shuts his eyes and runs away.

  But he has no strength left.

  He leans against a post. His knees give way. He lies there and waits.

  He hears the whirr of wheels. Friend or foe? Will he help him or kill him?

  It’s all the same. It was cold, and now it’s hot. He starts coughing. It hurts.

  “Momma!”

  He groans.

  “Hello, who’s there? Where have you come from? Who are you?”

  “Don’t kill me,” begs Kaytek. “I’ll give you a sheep with a golden fleece.”

  Kaytek hears another question, but he doesn’t answer. He feels strong arms picking him up. Now he’s lying on something soft. He doesn’t open his eyes. He’s rocking.

  “Gee up!”

  He wakes and dozes by turns.

  He shouts. He leaps up.

  “Don’t get up or you’ll fall off the cart.”

  Kaytek has woken up in a strange room. He’s lying on a bench.

  “Here you are. Drink this.”

  He eagerly swallows the good, warm liquid.

  There are people saying something, asking questions. Kaytek can hear, but he doesn’t answer. He’s too tired.

  He hears a woman’s voice:

  “What will we do with him, with the boy?”

  “I’ll take him to the hospital. Maybe he’ll say something in the morning.”

  “What if he dies in the night?”

  “Don’t talk nonsense.”

  “What a bother.”