He’s bored. He’s not happy in this foreign city among all these strangers.
Just one more week: he’s started, so he’ll finish.
* * *
*The Cossacks are a people who live in southern Russia and are famous for their horsemanship, the Ashanti are tribesmen who live in Ghana, and the Singhalese are the main ethnic group who live in Sri Lanka.
Chapter Fifteen
To Grey’s concert in seven-league boots – Kidnap –
The mind – At the millionaire’s mansion
At last the movie “Child of the Garrison” is finished. This evening there’s going to be a ball for the movie stars and newspaper editors. The scene where the little spy is brought out to be executed and the soldiers start to cry has worked brilliantly. The studio head thanks Kaytek.
“All right then. I’m hungry. Let’s go home now,” says Kaytek.
A car drives up, and the director helps Kaytek get in. Quite unnecessarily – he can do it by himself. The secretary sits next to Kaytek, and the chauffeur drives off.
“Have they paid us?” asks Kaytek.
“Yes, they have. Yesterday I sent off the last twenty thousand dollars you owed the circus director. Tomorrow you’ll be signing a contract for a new film, ‘Gulliver Among the Giants’.”
Kaytek yawns. He gazes idly at the houses and gardens, and responds reluctantly to the people who keep bowing to him – they all recognize him here. It’s so boring – he keeps on having to take off his hat and smile, again and again.
He doesn’t want to eat his dinner.
“You said you were hungry.”
“So what if I did? I just felt like saying it.”
He doesn’t like the turtle soup, the venison is too soft, the stewed fruit is too sweet, and there’s too much vanilla in the cream. Finally he eats two portions of ice cream.
“You must lie down after dinner,” says the doctor. “You’re tired, and the ball will end late.”
“I’m not going to lie down,” replies Kaytek. “Please get the smaller car ready for me.”
“You want to drive yourself again?”
“I do know how.”
“But you don’t take enough care. Last time you almost drove into a tree.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“There’s no need. I want to go out on my own.”
He puts the latest newspaper in his pocket.
“But maybe you’ll let one of us accompany you?”
“Stop bugging me, doctor.”
The secretary winks at the doctor to tell him to leave Kaytek alone.
“But you promise you won’t go swimming in the sea?”
“I promise. I won’t go swimming.”
“And you’ll be back by evening?”
Kaytek doesn’t answer.
He got in the car, drove off, and wasn’t back by evening, or by night – he never came back at all.
They have no trouble finding the car on the beach, at the place where Kaytek usually relaxes after tiring rehearsals. The paper he took with him is lying under a tree. The only other thing they find is a cane with a silver handle. In one spot the grass is flattened: he has clearly been sitting there, reading the paper. There are footprints leading toward the road, but not toward the sea.
Police dogs are fetched, but they just stand on the spot, howling pitifully.
If Kaytek has drowned while bathing, why aren’t his clothes here? If he has been kidnapped for a ransom, why aren’t there any signs of a struggle? Why is there no evidence that anyone else was here, or that another car drove up?
It’s a mystery – is Kaytek alive or not?
Yes, Kaytek is alive all right. He has run off to New York in his seven-league boots to attend a concert by a brilliant violinist called Grey. That’s what he felt like doing because his music teacher has often talked about Grey, and is proud of being his student.
“Anyone who ever hears Grey play is different for the rest of his life – a better person,” the teacher said. “If only everyone loved music, if only everyone could hear him, there would be no bad or unhappy people in the world. Grey is not a musician, he’s a wizard. Even greater than a wizard.”
How could Kaytek fail to go and hear him? Especially now, when he wants to start a new and better life?
Before Kaytek became a wizard, when he was just an ordinary boy, troubled and spiteful, he had wanted to change and improve himself so many times.
“I’m never going to be like that anymore,” he used to think. “From now on things will be different. From tomorrow. From Monday. After the holidays. In six months from now. Right now!”
Once he became a wizard, he still felt as if there must be something else, something better than magic spells. After all, hadn’t they continued to complain about him? “He’s capricious – a vagabond – stubborn – unruly.”
He doesn’t want to be a boxer or a movie star. He wants to be like Grey: greater than a wizard.
“What if Zofia really is a fairy godmother?” he wonders.
And then fate took a very strange turn.
As he is sitting by the sea, full of troubled thoughts, he casts an eye across the front page of the newspaper and sees two pieces of news.
The first one says: “The long awaited movie ‘Child of the Garrison’ has been completed.”
The second says in big letters: “TONIGHT GREY WILL PLAY A CONCERT IN NEW YORK FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE UNEMPLOYED.”
Kaytek glances at his watch. It only takes him a moment to decide. He could get there in time, but not by car or plane. Will he make it or not?
I demand and I command . . . he begins.
What’s so extraordinary about it anyway? He just wants to listen to some music, some beautiful violin playing. That’s all.
I want, I demand and I command, he continues. I want a pair of seven-league boots to carry me to New York.
He waits. He takes a deep breath. He stares hard at his feet. And he repeats the spell.
He pulls his Cap of Invisibility down over his forehead and is carried away by a whirlwind that isn’t a whirlwind, a hurricane that isn’t a hurricane, over fields, forests and mountains.
It’s a wonderful crazy journey through the sky!
The first and second hours of the journey go by, and at home they’re starting to grow impatient wondering why Kaytek isn’t back yet. The third hour passes, and the doctor and the secretary refuse to wait any longer. Kaytek’s sure to be at the seaside as usual, isn’t he? The fourth hour passes – now the police and whole city know he’s missing and they’re all out looking for him.
Evening falls. There are bonfires burning on the seashore, and the fishermen have gone out with their nets; maybe Kaytek has sailed off in a boat and gotten lost, or a wave has flooded his vessel. Cars rush back and forth, telephones keep ringing.
Meanwhile Kaytek has reached New York safely – he’s free and he’s happy.
He pulls off his cap and his magic boots. In an instant, an invisible tailor has dressed him in a new suit of clothes.
He gets in the first cab he can find and tells the driver: “Take me to Grey’s concert!”
He pays for a box directly opposite the stage. And there he sits, in the great big concert hall.
Tired by the journey, he leans back in his armchair. Weary from traveling, he lets his eyelids close, and falls asleep.
Is he dreaming? Can he see? Can he hear? Is this earth or sky? He’s floating, surrounded by waves of music that are gently rocking him.
He wakes, looks up, and far below he sees . . . who is it? It’s Grey – just one man standing there. He’s holding . . . what? A small wooden box – for what else is a violin? He’s drawing a stick across four strings – for what else is a bow?
And
at once thousands of hearts are filled with all sorts of gentle whispers – memories and nostalgia, incomprehensible words giving unfamiliar orders. There’s a strange clarity and warmth, silence, beauty, and sweetness all together.
“Yes, this is greater than magic,” thinks Kaytek as he listens.
Suddenly he realizes the music is coming to an end, and that soon Grey will stop playing. What a pity.
Someone disturbs his concentration. There’s a man sitting in the box next to Kaytek’s; he’s still young, but his hair is white. He’s all on his own, dressed in black. He’s rich. He has a tie pin with a big diamond in it.
He’s looking at Kaytek with sad eyes.
Someone used to look at him like that in the past. Who was it?
Grandma! Kaytek shifts nervously in his chair. He stands up.
I want a violin. I want a violin, he thinks.
Kaytek’s fingers are trembling and his heart is thumping. He can feel a strange warmth in his hands and his chest. His heart is beating fast. The violin is burning. His fingers are trembling.
He starts to play – softly – softly. Now they’re both playing: Grey down there on the stage, and Kaytek up here in his box.
“May I please?” Kaytek’s violin asks timidly.
“Yes, please do – be my guest,” replies Grey’s violin.
The engrossed audience hasn’t noticed that they are playing together. No one has noticed the young boy in the box – except for the man with the diamond, the sad eyes, and white hair.
Kaytek plays louder and louder, more and more boldly. He’s smiling. Grandma has appeared to him – dear, unforgettable Grandma! She gazes gently at Kaytek and whispers: “Be good, be good. The greatest treasure a man can have is a clean conscience.”
Kaytek plays louder. Grey plays more quietly, barely moving his bow across the strings.
Kaytek sees a wide river, and beyond the river, a city on a hill. What city is it? Oh, it’s Warsaw. What river is it? The gray River Vistula. Here is a poor street, and a familiar house, and in the house, a very modest room, up on the first floor, down a dark corridor. He sees the table where he sat to do his homework, and his bed, a flowerpot on the windowsill, and a coffee mug – and his dad, and his mom.
As he plucks the strings of his violin, he catches sight of his lookalike.
Kaytek plays music describing his school and the boisterous school yard. He plays music describing the noisy recess. He can see the bench he sits on in class, and as he plays, his violin sings about that fair, decent man, the headmaster. It all seems so far away . . .
He plays music that tells the fairy tales he heard when he was little, before he went to school. He plays Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and Puss in Boots. His music is about dwarves and fairy godmothers, about the fatherless Zofia and her widowed mother.
Kaytek sees the cemetery and his grandma’s grave. His playing tells about Grandma, and how weak she was, how stooping, and how good – he tells it all with his violin.
Two tears have appeared in the corners of his eyes; he flutters his eyelashes to stop the tears from falling.
Kaytek’s violin sings of his grandpa who was impetuous, of the mysterious clock and the wild vine, of the guard dogs, and the hen that stopped laying. It was all long ago . . . long, long ago . . .
“Who are you?” asks Grey’s violin.
“Guess,” replies Kaytek’s violin. “Listen to me, and guess.”
And again it sings of the Vistula, and the fishermen’s wooden cottages on the river banks. More houses appear, then villas and mansions arise. The forest is still sighing, but there are fewer trees now, fewer tall trees by the gray river. It was all long ago, a very long time ago.
Kaytek plays a fanfare, like a military band. He can hear the horses neighing and the flags fluttering.
“Who is that?”
“The king.”
Kaytek plays music describing battles and fights, victories and defeats, invasions and fires, grim captivity, war, and resurrection.
“Where are you from?” asks Grey, with a soft whisper of his strings.
“From Poland,” answers Kaytek.
He wants to stop now because he’s very tired, but he can’t.
The ancient River Vistula keeps flowing, just as it flowed long ago, and very long ago. The forest keeps sighing as cranes fly over it. The river flows from the mountains to the sea, fast and stormily, then slowly and quietly, in a broad sweep toward the sea.
“My city. My river. Me.”
He has finished. There is no applause. Just silence.
Then everything happens in a flash, at dizzying speed, in an instant.
Strong hands seize Kaytek, pick him up and carry him out of the hall.
He wants to scream, but a heavy hand covers his mouth.
He’s too tired to give any commands. He doesn’t even try.
An experienced wizard by now, Kaytek knows when the mind is agile and capable of performing magic spells, and he knows when it is idle and unfit for action.
The mind! Strong, young, and rich all at once! The mind! Pure, clear, and ardent. The mind! Wise, bold, and daring. The mind! Wild, proud, free, and independent.
The mind! Quiet, good, and sad. The mind! Fearful, alarmed, and entangled. The mind! Weak, drowsy, and heavy.
Kaytek is very, very tired. He’s exhausted and his wizard’s mind is idle. Idle and helpless.
Someone is carrying him, but he doesn’t care. They move along a corridor and down some narrow stairs, but it’s all the same to him. There are four of them, strong grown-up men, and Kaytek is just one little boy. They’re armed with revolvers, and Kaytek is unarmed. They’ve even taken his violin and bow from his powerless hands.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He isn’t at all afraid.
“Nothing bad will happen to you.”
He isn’t afraid or surprised.
There are four of them.
They run out into the street. One of them is carrying Kaytek. There are two others on either side as the fourth one opens a car door.
A policeman has noticed, but it’s too late!
Kaytek sits in the back with a man on either side. A third sits in the driver’s seat, and the fourth sits next to the driver.
They zoom past brightly lit houses and stores. Kaytek can see, his eyes are open, but his mind is asleep. He doesn’t care about a thing.
He’s been kidnapped!
The car stops outside a beautiful garden, and at once a gate lights up and opens all by itself. They drive up to a fabulous mansion, and at once the lights come on above a marble terrace and in all the windows.
A footman bows very low, and then escorts Kaytek along a carpet to the millionaire owner’s study.
“Please wait here,” says the footman
He picks up a phone from the desk and leaves the room.
Kaytek is left on his own. That’s fine.
One wall of the room is occupied by a huge bookshelf full of books, large and small. On the table there are some expensively bound volumes. On three walls there are pictures, including portraits above the desk: one is of a young woman, and another is of a boy. On the desk there is an inkwell, a paperweight, an ashtray, and all sorts of expensive souvenirs.
Kaytek sits down at the table in a comfortable armchair and looks through the drawings in a book. Some of them are interesting, others are not. Inattentively, impatiently, he flips through the pages, waits, and stares at the wall.
Who is that boy? Who does he look like? Who does he remind him of? He has seen the boy’s eyes somewhere before.
Kaytek stretches. This is boring. He yawns. His mind is asleep.
The mind! One moment it can remember, but the next it wanders and forgets. The mind! One moment it is asking questions out of curiosity, wanting to know, seeking, c
alling and pursuing, but the next it runs away and hides, it simply can’t and won’t do anything.
The mind! Either it works obediently, or else it stubbornly refuses to obey.
The door opens gently, and there before Kaytek stand the white-haired stranger from the box with his diamond tie-pin, and the violinist, Grey.
Grey comes up to Kaytek, takes his hand, strokes it, and refuses to let it go.
“It’s wonderful that we’ve finally met. I’ve waited a long time for you,” he says.
“You were expecting me?”
“You’re surprised,” says Grey, “but you’ll understand when I explain it to you. Is it true you weren’t playing from a score but from memory? Is it true that if I asked you to play that music again, you wouldn’t be able to? Is it true you don’t know what to call the music you were playing? Well then, I will tell you its name. That song is called Sorrow. That song is called Nostalgia. Sorrow and nostalgia can make a man’s spirit wither or blossom. And the flower of the spirit is inspiration.”
“At school, the teacher told us that only poets have inspiration when they write their poetry.”
“Oh, no. Anyone can have inspiration, not only to write, but also to play and sing, to dance, to recognize, and to sense things. Through inspiration you can find a friend, discover new truths, and say your own prayers. Through inspiration you can talk to the ghosts of those who have already died and those yet to be born, you can talk and vow loyalty to those whom you have never seen, you can fraternize with man and with dog, with star, stone, and flower. Now do you understand why, without knowing who you are or where you might be, I’ve been longing for you, looking for you, and waiting for you?”
“No, I don’t, maybe only a little,” admits Kaytek. “The things you’re saying are very difficult and new to me, Mr. Grey.”
The footman brings in supper on a silver tray. Only now does Kaytek notice that he’s very hungry: all day the only thing he has eaten is ice cream.
“All right then,” says Kaytek, “Here I am, having supper with you. It all tastes very good – the wine and the sardines and the cake and the caviar. I’m sitting in a comfortable armchair in a fine study. I like it here, it’s a mighty fine place. I’ve made a long and difficult journey, and all that inspiration has tired me. I’m happy to take a rest, and I’m not in any danger here. You’re not mad at me, are you, Mr. Grey?”
Kaytek the Wizard Page 18
