Kaytek the Wizard

by Janusz Korczak

  And night after night the same thing happens three times over.

  Each time, every seat in the circus has been sold to the very last one. But Kaytek isn’t in a leotard any more – instead he’s wearing a leather jacket trimmed with white fur. The African leads the horse as people shout and take photos.

  “Bravo, long live the Red Mask!”

  The lights keep changing as Kaytek releases balloons of various colors, and fires arrows made of chocolate from a bow, which fall into the hands of the youngest children.

  And so the noble city of Paris celebrated its triumphant favorite.

  “How good the Parisians are, how kind,” says Kaytek to the circus manager. “But I can’t take their money for nothing. I want to thank them, I want to do something for Paris – I want to give them a surprise. Please think of something – I can do anything.”

  The circus manager lights a cigar.

  “Wait a moment – I’ve got it. Let’s give a free show for the school kids. But what sort of show should it be?”

  The manager gets up and paces the carpet. He stops and pours himself a glass of wine. He drinks it. He mutters under his breath, then stops in front of Kaytek.

  “Can you swim?” he asks.

  Of course he can. They wrote about it in the papers, didn’t they? About the time he went whale hunting.

  “Excellent. We have a big swimming pool in Paris, surrounded by a stone amphitheater with fifty thousand seats. We’ll invite the schools to a swimming display.”

  It’s a deal.

  The swimming display is attended by the Minister of Education, the sports clubs, and the students from four hundred and ninety schools.

  They’ve filled the seats on the stone steps. The weather is excellent and the sun is shining. A kayak appears on the pool, with Kaytek in it. He’s doing the paddling. He paddles around the pool, then the boat flips over, and Kaytek changes from a paddler into a swimmer.

  The African gives explanations through a megaphone.

  “Here’s how the Cossacks swim, here’s how the Ashanti swim, and here’s how the Singhalese swim.* Here’s how a dog swims, and here’s a frog, here’s a seal, here’s a fish when it’s escaping, when it’s catching prey, and when it’s caught on a rod. Here’s a shark, here’s a crocodile, and here’s a hippopotamus.”

  Kaytek swims on his side, on his back, and underwater. He pretends to drown and call for rescue, and he shows how to rescue someone who’s drowning. He spins in the water, head down, feet up. He bounces off the water and turns a somersault in the air. Finally he does something incredible – he walks on all fours across the water.

  He dives from the first, the second, and the fourth levels.

  There’s a hurricane of applause.

  The minister signals to say he won’t allow any more.

  “He’s the king of the water!”

  “The wizard of rivers and seas!”

  The schools are given two days’ holiday because there is no way to keep the students at their desks.

  For two days, crowds of them gather outside the hotel, and the cars are forced to use other streets.

  One night, Kaytek leaves Paris in secret, in the saloon car of the train. The manager sees him off at the port.

  It’s the first time Kaytek has ever seen the sea and a really big ship. The ship’s captain shows him around and explains everything.

  “This is your cabin,” he says. “This is the dining room for first-class passengers; this is the reading room and the movie hall; and this is the swimming pool. Would you like to see the engine room?”

  Kaytek looks at everything and can’t believe his eyes. Can it be possible that people made all this, and not wizards?

  “What is this machine for?” he asks. “What does that one do? How does it move?”

  “That’s enough for now,” says the doctor. “It’s hot in here, and the air’s not good for you.”

  “Just a moment.”

  He peeps into the furnace.

  “It’s like a volcano in there,” he says.

  He insists on staying in the engine room until the ship starts moving because he wants to see those big wheels and pistons going into motion.

  “Can they break? What happens to the ship then? Why is this machine working although the ship isn’t moving yet?”

  “That’s the dynamo – it lights and ventilates the ship. Well, let’s go now.”

  No, he wants to wait. He insists that he absolutely must see the engines start up – he loves powerful things. Will there be a big bang? Will the ship move at dizzying speed?

  There’s no helping it – something incredible happens and the ship leaves port an hour ahead of schedule. A smaller boat bringing the passengers and sailors who arrived late only catches up with it on the open ocean. Kaytek’s whim costs the circus manager a fine of five hundred dollars.

  “Never mind. It’s a good advertisement. Kaytek has done well – celebrities are supposed to have whims.”

  The oldest sailor on the ship squeezes Kaytek’s hand.

  “Forty years I’ve been carrying people across the ocean. I’m proud to have a passenger like you.”

  That evening there is a banquet in Kaytek’s honor in the ballroom. The gentlemen are in tail coats and the ladies are in white dresses, observing Kaytek through their opera glasses.

  The ship boys stare at him in admiration and envy. They’ve read about him in the papers.

  “So it’s all true, and not a magic spell or a dream? So as long as they pay the money, ordinary people can have ships and trains like this, all these entertainments and comforts? If you’re rich you can have anything. So why did Grandma and Dad say money doesn’t bring you happiness?”

  Late that night he went back to his cabin with the doctor.

  “From tomorrow, my pal, you belong to me. In the morning you’ll take a bath after some light exercises. Then breakfast: milk, rolls, and fruit.”

  “What sort of fruit?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll consult with the head chef and look in my medical books; it seems the healthiest thing to eat on a ship is grapes.”

  “And what happens after breakfast?”

  “A walk about the deck, then a music lesson. Three games of checkers or a movie. Then ten minutes of gymnastics or swimming. Dinner. Then a rest. All timed by my watch.”

  “So I’m a sort of prisoner?”

  “Yes. We are all the prisoners of our duties. And the more someone is worth, the more he is supervised. You, my dear pal, have great talents. People need you. You don’t belong to yourself. It’s extremely necessary to keep an eye on you.”

  He says this in a weird way. Kaytek looks the doctor in the eye and sighs, as if he’s guessed what’s coming.

  “You’re not allowed that, it’s bad for your health.”

  “You’re not allowed that, it’s dangerous.”

  “You’re not allowed that, it’s too early, it’s too late, it’s raining, and you’re not allowed that because it’s hot.”

  Every day it’s the same.

  “Can’t you get it into your head that I’m bored?!”

  “Too bad. Yesterday you lost three and a half ounces.”

  “I want to go up to the crow’s nest.”

  “It’s windy up there, so you can’t go.”

  “I want to go to the engine room.”

  “No. Remember last time you had a cold afterward. The thermometer showed two degrees above normal.”

  “I want to play soccer with the ship boys.”

  “You know the gymnastics coach has forbidden it.”

  “What about tag?”

  “No. You might catch something off them. They’re ordinary boys – one of them has tonsillitis, and they all sleep in a single cabin.”

  Three times Kaytek tries
to get revenge by playing a trick on the doctor.

  He’ll jump off the deck into the sea. He’ll bathe in the great big ocean like a dolphin, not in the narrow little pool. Imagine bathing in the ocean!

  I want, I demand, I command. I want to jump, I want to dive deep, to the very bottom of the sea, to the depths of the ocean.

  He repeats the command, but nothing happens. His strength and magic power have gone – but why?

  Kaytek has grown during the journey: he’s an inch taller and weighs three ounces more. The doctor is pleased, but Kaytek is furious.

  “You see, you’re not coughing, your back doesn’t hurt and your head doesn’t ache. You have red cheeks. The thermometer says . . .”

  “I couldn’t care less about the thermometer! And I don’t give a hoot about the red cheeks. Even school was better than this because there I had recess and the yard. I could do what I want. I don’t like Hollywood at all.”

  He’s just about to say he’d rather be in Warsaw, but he stops himself in time.

  So what if there’s a beautiful house with a garden here? “The most comfortable, most expensive house of all” – that’s what the circus manager ordered by telegraph, and that’s what he has rented for Kaytek.

  “You’re not allowed this, you can’t do that, there’s no need for that.”

  On the ship, it was the doctor who annoyed him, and now the secretary and the movie director are being even more annoying.

  Rehearsals, rehearsals, rehearsals.

  “Once again. Scene one hundred and ten.”

  “What for, when I already know how to do it?”

  “You know how, but the others are acting badly.”

  “What do I care?”

  Sometimes he acts badly out of spite; if only they’d stop tormenting him, dressing him up like a doll.

  He’s acting the part of an orphan. The picture’s going to be called: “Child of the Garrison” or “Little Jack’s Secret.” He’s a spy, and he creeps through barbed wire fences.

  If only they’d get on with the filming!

  But they don’t – one time the hat’s no good, another time the pants are torn the wrong way, or his bag’s too big and it’s shielding his left leg.

  Once again the tailor measures him, and once again the barber rearranges his ruffled hair yet another way. They argue whether the wound should be on his cheek, or on his brow. And Kaytek just stands there like an idiot, waiting for them to finish.

  “That’s enough,” he says.

  “Just a moment more.”

  In scene thirty, where the orphan is supposed to cry, Kaytek suddenly sticks out his tongue and laughs into the camera.

  “So you see, dear boy. This time you have only yourself to blame,” says the director. “You deliberately spoiled the tape. You’ll have to do the scene again.”

  He prefers acting alone or with other children – worst of all is with the grown-up movie stars.

  “The scene’s okay already,” sulks Kaytek.

  But the grown-up movie star isn’t satisfied, because she raised her hand too high or held her head too low. So they have to go back to the beginning again.

  Once again Kaytek runs up, throws himself into her arms and shouts: “Momma!”

  And under his breath he says: “For Pete’s sake, hold your head the right way, lady!”

  The movie star is offended, and Kaytek has to apologize to her.

  At last they take a break. Oh no! The editor of a British newspaper has come along and wants to talk to Kaytek. The head of the film studio is here too. A sports representative has come to thank him for the swimming show. And there’s a millionaire’s wife who wants to kiss him.

  “Tell her to go kiss a dog on the nose.”

  They’re all staring at him like a monkey at the zoo. But Kaytek refuses to play ball.

  “You signed a contract,” says the secretary.

  Oh yes, so he did – he committed himself to all this.

  “Just do the scene one last time. You’re an artiste, aren’t you? Don’t you want the picture to look good?” says the director.

  “I’m not an artiste and I couldn’t care less about the picture.”

  “This is an important scene, my dear friend.”

  “I am not your friend. I don’t like you, in fact I can’t stand you!”

  “But why not?”

  “Because you’re so nice and sweet to me, but not to anyone else. Why did you push that old lady? Why did you tug those boys by the ears and throw them out without paying them a penny?”

  “Just be patient and I’ll explain it to you. I took on the little girl out of charity, because her mother asked me to. I gave her a mirror and told her to learn it in a week.”

  “Learn what?”

  “First she had to smile, then look a bit surprised, then a bit scared, and then she had to be pleased. The lazy creature failed to learn it. I lost two days because of her. Those boys were meant to be fighting in the street and a car was supposed to run them over.”

  “I know. They fought badly because they were afraid the car really would run them over.”

  “That’s it. So I chose some brave ones instead of them. They spoiled thirty yards of tape for me. I had to pay a fine for that.”

  “You have an explanation for everything.”

  “You just don’t get it, pal.”

  “I refuse to be your pal. I’m going to tell the studio head I want a different director.”

  “He’ll agree, he’s sure to agree. He’ll give you a different director, and he’ll throw me out. And I’ll lose my job, though I have a wife and child to keep. He’s been wanting to get rid of me; he’d rather take on a younger, cheaper director who’s even stricter with the actors. Because he says I’m not energetic enough, I’m too lenient. You just don’t get it, boy. You live in a grand mansion and you have no idea what life is really like here.”

  “I don’t,” thinks Kaytek, “but I’m going to find out. I want to know.”

  The doctor shuts the door of Kaytek’s room.

  “Goodnight.”

  For a while, Kaytek lies in bed quietly. Then he silently gets up, gets dressed, puts on his Cap of Invisibility and leaves through the garden.

  He wants to know what’s really going on and what life is like for the unemployed people in this rich city full of movie stars.

  Here’s what he saw . . . and what he heard . . . .

  He sees a poor room and its inhabitants.

  “There’s no work,” says the father of the family. “In a month they’re going to make a new picture where they need crowds. Maybe I’ll manage to earn something.”

  He looks inside another small room and sees a widow and her children.

  “I have no luck getting work in the movies,” she complains to the woman next door. “Either I’m too fat, or too thin, or my nose is too long, or too short. I heard they needed children. So they went along. But right now they’re looking for an ugly child – mine are too pretty. So we’re empty-handed again.”

  In another apartment a young worker is boasting: “I have a job. I’ve as good as earned three dollars. I just stand in the window, I look at a big crowd outside, and then I throw a brick at them. I must practice in front of the mirror because I have to have an animal look on my face. They’re also looking for a one-armed hunchback – they haven’t got one yet, but they’ll pay him ten dollars when they find him.”

  Until finally Kaytek hears something about himself too.

  “It’s all right for that little puppy. They treat him like a soft-boiled egg. The papers say he’s gonna earn a fortune. The director is giving us all that grief because he doesn’t want to come to rehearsals. The tender little punk says he’s bored. But isn’t it a mercy to spend five hours a day just pretending to choke in front of a mirror?”


  “He won’t last long. In a year the public will tire of him. They’ll find themselves someone else. I can’t wait for ‘Child of the Garrison’ to be over. The worst thing is to act with a star who’s playing up.”

  Later, still wearing his Cap of Invisibility, Kaytek overhears a conversation in his own mansion.

  “He’s a strange boy,” says the music teacher. “Sometimes it’s a pleasure to have a lesson with him and sometimes it’s hard to put up with him. Sometimes he plays exquisitely, and sometimes he has fingers made of wood.”

  “You never know what crazy idea he’ll have next,” complains the secretary. “If it weren’t for me, he’d have broken his contract by now. He won’t let anyone make the slightest comment. He instantly takes offense and says: ‘I won’t do it,’ or ‘What do I care?’ He’s obstinate, ambitious, and capricious. He’ll probably go to waste, which would be a pity.”

  “He’s spoiled and impudent,” says the gymnastics coach. “There’s no place in this world for insubordinate types.”

  “He’s weak willed,” complains the doctor. “He’s impatient, he wants everything at once, straightaway. When he had a toothache, I took him to four different dentists. They all tried so carefully. But at once he shrieks: Ayeeee! He jumps up, gets mad, and runs away. He wants his tooth cured with his mouth shut. Sometimes he really does take too many liberties.”

  “I’ve sent a telegram to the circus manager asking him to come and take care of him. The kid insists on driving the car himself, and then speeds like crazy; he could get killed. He’s also insisting the picture is finished in a week.”

  Yes, Kaytek is bored and he’s rebelling. He’s refusing to obey orders. He didn’t become a wizard just to do as he’s told. He has signed a contract, so let them get on and finish the movie at last – then the circus manager will have his money; after all, he spent a lot on Kaytek’s journey. So he’ll be patient for one more week, and then it’s goodbye.

  He never wants to see the director, or the secretary, or the doctor, or the teachers, or the tailors and photographers, or the editors and movie stars ever again.

  He wants to be alone and free.