“Oh, it’s you,” I said. “Come on, don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. We’re not right for each other, that’s all. Let’s go, I’ll walk you home then head off back on my own.”
“I don’t want you to walk me home. I don’t want you to!” she said through her tears. “I thought that you at least, you were different. I thought you just seemed that way. I was close to trusting you.” She broke away from the tree and ran off again.
But this time I didn’t chase her. Run all you like, bitch, I’ve no intention of chasing you. They all want you to be different. How are you supposed to be different? Can a person be different from himself? He’s the way he is, and that’s how he has to be. I went back to the dance.
Now I really started to have a good time. Whoever showed up I bought them a drink, friends, strangers, enemies. Whether they wanted to drink or no, they had to. You won’t have a drink with Szymek? I wouldn’t even let the band go eat their supper, I brought them vodka and sandwiches and told them to keep playing. They played nothing but polkas and obereks, because that was what I wanted. Some folks were shouting that they were exhausted, they wanted a tango or a waltz. But I said no, polka, oberek, oberek, polka. And the band had to do what I said, here’s another five hundred for you! The emcee came up and said what was I doing taking charge here, was it my party? So I grabbed the ribbon off his chest and pinned it on myself. I’m the emcee now, you scram! If you don’t I’ll make such a ruckus there’ll be nothing to pick up afterwards. Count yourself lucky I’m feeling happy, because God forbid I’d be in a bad mood. Your whole dance would end up in the woods.
None of the girls would dance with me anymore, they all said they were tired and out of breath from all those polkas and obereks. Why was it all fast dances? Couldn’t they play something slow? Polkas and obereks are old hat. But I insisted they keep playing them. I could care less what you all think. Sit on your backsides, be wallflowers for all I care. I’ll give you old hat.
“Come on, Ignaś.” I pulled on Ignaś Magdziarz’s arm. He was drunk and sitting on a tree stump swaying, looking like he was about to fall off any minute. “We’ll show these bastards whether polkas and obereks are old hat. You be the girl and I’ll be the man. Come on. If you get bored we’ll switch, I’ll be the girl and you can lead. Just don’t step on my toes, and make sure you throw me up in the air at the right moment. Actually you can be two girls or two men if you like, makes no difference to me. One of them taller, one of them shorter, one fat the other thin, a red-haired one, a bald one, one of them blind, the other one lame, the hell with it all, Ignaś, I don’t even need to be there, just so long as you’ll party with me. I’ll marry the two of you if you want. You think I can’t? I can marry a guy to a guy, a woman to a woman, a dog with a bitch, an ox with a donkey, anyone I want, I can marry everyone to everyone else. If I want musicians I’ll marry the fiddler to the accordion player, the clarinetist to the trombonist, the drummer to his drums. You don’t believe me? Then drink up, cause you obviously haven’t had enough to drink, and you have to believe it, Ignaś, you have to. Even if you’ve never seen it, you have to believe it. If you’re drinking vodka and you don’t believe you’re drinking, it’s like you’re not actually drinking at all. People are hopping and jumping, but we need to party all the way around. The world turns around, life goes around, you need to drink around.”
Ignaś just sat there rocking and crying and repeating:
“I can’t, Szymuś, I can’t. I can’t be the girl or the man, not anymore. I have to puke. I’ve forgotten how to really party. Those were the days, Szymuś, those were the days. It was so fine back then.”
I gave up on him and started dancing on my own. People were shouting, stop pushing! He’s gone nuts! He’s drunk as a skunk! Me, I had my arms up in the air like the branches of an apple tree, like the wings of an eagle, and hey-ho! hey-ho! I was shoved and yanked one way and the other, they tried to force me off the dance platform. But once I gave a good wave of those wings of mine, I had a space around me that was big as the whole dance, and so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. All I could hear were squeals and shouts off to the side. I kept dancing.
I don’t even know when the clearing emptied and the band stopped playing. What did I care, I had a band inside me, the fiddle was fiddling away under my chin, the accordion swung between my sides, the drum beat in my belly, the trombone blared in my ear, and the clarinet whined from my heart. Dawn was dawning through the trees, dew had fallen from the sky to the earth, the birds had woken up and the air was trembling with birdsong, and I was still dancing, all on my own in the clearing, all on my own in the world, like on a battlefield after the battle. Everyone had gone except Ignaś Magdziarz, who was lying drunk next to his tree stump. Otherwise there was nothing but empty vodka bottles, broken crates, smashed glasses, plates, scraps of paper.
Afterwards, at work I got hauled over the coals by Maślanka for supposedly disgracing the district administration. That was probably why I got transferred from weddings to quotas soon after. But the firemen were even madder at me, they were collecting for a motor pump and the dance was meant to bring in the rest of the money. Because of me they came out at a loss, I frightened people away and they ended up with most of the vodka unsold and half a cartload of sandwiches. Though how could they have lost money if I spent my whole month’s salary there? On top of that, word went around I was getting married. One dance and I was already marrying. People! If that were the case I’d have been married a hundred times already. And this time things hadn’t even started before they were over. But say what you like, say I’m getting married. If I deny it they’ll just talk all the more.
It was another thing that I became a little bit meeker. People made jokes at my expense and I didn’t do a thing. I didn’t go around the other offices so much, I mostly just stayed at my desk. Besides, I didn’t want to see her because she’d probably heard what I got up to at the dance. And I had no intention of trying with her again. It hadn’t worked out, tough, let each of us go our own way. Good morning. Good morning. Nothing more. But more and more people seemed to be saying I was getting married. This person, that person, everyone I met. And that I’d changed, I was avoiding people, I didn’t come by anymore, didn’t visit with them. The girls were the worst of all. They’re like a bunch of vipers.
So then – is a junior high graduate better than a girl who’s only finished elementary school? Does she put out just the same? You always used to prefer them broader in the backside. Your tastes have obviously changed. And call that a bust? Her breasts look like they had the life sucked out of them by babies. Surely you can’t be in love? You, in love! Unless it’s like a dog in love with a bitch. Anyway, who’d believe you. You can’t be believed even when you say good morning, the morning can still end badly. You’re not to be trusted. And her, she’s just a stupid girl and that’s that. She’ll be crying over you yet. You’d think school would have made her smarter, but she let herself get taken in like all the rest. You’re probably just pulling the wool over her eyes with all your fine words, while she thinks you’re going to marry her. You’ll marry her for one night, till you go chasing after someone else. Besides, even if you did get married, what kind of life would she have with you? You’re not a farmer, not an office worker either. Putting it in and taking it out, that’s all you know how to do. That, you’re good at. You talk away and before you know it, there you are inside. Where it’s neither bitter nor sweet. And you can’t be pushed out or pulled out either, it’s like you’ve put down roots in her body. And afterwards, girl, make sure he hasn’t left you with a baby in your belly. So you wait and see if the sickness begins. If you get a sudden yen for sauerkraut or sour apples. You run to the church to ask God for forgiveness. You beg him for your time of the month like you were asking for happiness. Lord, I’m suffering here, give me at least a drop of blood. Never, never again. But the moment it passes you take the bastard back inside yourself. Because fear is easy to forget, and God eve
n easier. You’re probably trying to win her over with those seven wounds of yours, aren’t you, you weasel? Either way it’ll end in bed, or some old place. I ought to scratch your eyes out. But let her do it for me. I’ve done enough crying. I’m such a fool.
Mother and father heard I was getting married, and it looked like I was hiding it from them. I could see them giving me funny looks. But I thought it was because I was coming straight home after work, that I wasn’t drinking, and I’d stopped complaining about working in the fields. And maybe they were just waiting nervously to see how long it would last.
Till one day I’m sitting at the table having some cabbage soup, I was supposed go do some plowing, when suddenly mother pipes up from her bed that people are saying I’m getting married. That she was so pleased, so pleased, even if I was keeping it from them. God must have finally answered her prayers. Who was the young lady? Was she from a farming family? Was she a good person? And when were we planning to have the wedding, because she hoped she’d live long enough, so she wouldn’t have to worry about me in the next life. From now on she’d be praying for both of us like we were both her own children. That the gold medallion she wore would be for my wife. And that now, death seemed just like falling asleep, and she could die without any regrets. After that, how could I tell her none of it was true. I said:
“It won’t be that soon. It’s going to take a while.”
“Then bring her here one time so I can meet her. Maybe I’d be able to get out of bed and I could whitewash the walls.”
As for father, he didn’t ask about her. His only question was, how many acres do they have? It made me so mad, I was about to tell him they didn’t have any land at all, that they worked as hired hands and they rented a room from someone else. But he was so fired up about the acreage that I told him:
“Fifty acres.”
“Fifty?” He actually went pale. “Really! They’re rich folks then.”
“Yes, they are,” I said.
“And they’re fine with you marrying their daughter?”
“Why wouldn’t they be? Don’t you think your own son is worth something?”
“No one’s saying you’re not worth anything. It’s just that rich folks are always drawn to rich folks, they look down on poor people. The Bugajs? Bugaj. Yeah, I’ve heard of them. But I had no idea they have fifty acres. They must have bought extra land. Is there many of them for it?”
“For what?”
“For all those acres.”
“There’s just her.”
“She’s an only child?”
“No, there’s a brother, but he’s sick with the consumption.”
“Well if it’s the consumption, nothing’s going to come of him. Do they at least have a farmhand?”
“What would they need a farmhand for? They’ve got machines.”
“True enough, these days even if you wanted a farmhand, where would you get one from? They’ve all gone off, damn them, they’re all working in the factories, in town, in office jobs. You go there and even if you don’t know two times two they’ll take you on in an office. Back in the day they’d come begging for work. Now, you can’t just hire someone for a day or two to help with the mowing. They don’t even know how much they’re supposed to charge for a day’s work. And every one of them wants to be fed. Not just dumplings or buckwheat, no, they have to have meat, meat. Machines are definitely a lot better. How many cows do they have?”
“Five, maybe six. I’ve not been in the cattle barn. They might think I was only interested in their property.”
“Good point. But it’s always best to know from the get-go. With all that land you could keep ten cows. And not black and white ones, people say they give more milk but it’s all watery. No, red cattle. The cows are smaller so they don’t eat as much, but the milk they give is half cream. And it’d be good to have a bull. You can make a pretty penny off a bull. Maziarski had a bull before the war and he used to charge five zlotys for a covering, or four days’ work for him. Whether the cow got pregnant or not. When there’s a bull on the farm, people know you’re doing well. Poor folks don’t keep bulls. You should have lots of pigs as well. Pigs are the fastest way to make money. Though you need your own sow. Piglets are expensive to buy these days. Besides, why would you go buying them at market. That’s a waste of time. You know where you are with your own pigs. You buy someone else’s and they turn out to be runts, they won’t grow. You never know what you’re buying. They may look like piglets, then it turns out they’re little devils. Instead of growing they get smaller. And you have to be careful no one’s bringing the sickness into your sty. Don’t let any outsiders in. You never know who people are. Even your neighbor, how can you be sure? He might have a nice look in his eye, but how can you be sure he isn’t bringing death in? Death can be brought in with nice eyes, it can come in on your hands or on your boots, or even when you shake out your pockets. Think how bad it is when only one pig dies. But imagine what it would be like if all of them got the pest. Someone’ll say to you, you’ve got some nice-looking pigs there. Then he’ll do something to them out of envy, and afterwards it won’t matter how much you feed them, they’ll stay as small as cats. Because they will envy you, make no mistake. Rich folks are always envied. There’s two sorts of people, the ones that are envied and the ones that envy them. It was envy that made Cain kill Abel, and you remember Wojtek Denderys before the war, that was why he set fire to his brother-in-law’s place. All the evil in the world is from envy. Governments envy each other, one king envies another one, generals envy other generals, and so on down to ordinary people. Then if you look around the world you see mountains envying each other, and rivers, small things envying big ones, even one apple on the apple tree envying another apple. Of course people are going to envy you. Though you shouldn’t hold it against them. They have to envy someone. You should keep bees as well, because with bees you have honey. And when you have honey you have everything. That’s what they say, the land of milk and honey. Plus, the orchard looks more cheerful when there are hives between the trees. You’re more inclined to drop by than when it’s just trees. There’ll be times you don’t feel like visiting people, but you’ll visit your hives. With bees you can talk to them, and listen to them as well. But don’t plant plum trees. When they have a big crop the way plums do, who’s going to pick them for you? They’ll fall on the ground and make a mess of the whole orchard. You won’t be able to pick them all even if you and her do the job together. Especially if she’s an office girl like you say, she won’t want to be getting all dirty with plums. You keep picking and picking and there’s still just as many. You should only plant apple trees. At the most two or three pear trees so you’ll have pears. Or if the priest comes and visits once in a while you can give him a pear. Priests like pears. Or you can just go and look among the leaves and see if any of them have turned yellow yet. It’s nice when you pick the first one and bring it to your kid or your woman. Here, this is for you, it’s ripe already. Don’t plant oats. Unless it’s for the horses. Because you have to have a pair of horses. Machines are one thing, horses another. On fifty acres both’ll come in handy. Plus, what kind of farmer would you be if you didn’t have a pair of horses. To at least go to the stable and look at them. The smell of sweat and manure tickles your nose, it’s like something was growing. If the horse neighs you give it a pat and you feel better right away. You don’t have to run to God with every little thing. And you’ll probably have a chaise, right? So you’ll need horses as well. If you’ve got all those acres you can’t go walking to church on foot of a Sunday. Or if you get invited to a christening or a wedding. You will get invited. One time your woman will be the godmother, then you’ll be the godfather. And with a chaise you can’t get by without a pair of horses. With a wagon you can manage with one, a wagon’s a different matter. But a chaise is a chaise, first of all you need a pair of horses, then you can have the chaise. And they have to match each other. Because a pair isn’t just any two horses.
A pair is two chestnuts or two roans. Or best of all one black and one gray. A black and a gray, that’s a proper pair. They’re like a wedding couple. The gray’s like the bride, and the black is the groom. Or they’re like day and night walking next to each other. But don’t trim their tails, let them grow down to the ground. And leave their manes. A horse without a mane looks like an army recruit. A horse’s whole strength is in the mane. And don’t forget to buy them breast-harnesses, especially the kind that have studs! And a decent springy whip would be good. You’ll probably give up your job at the administration? Why work in an office when you’re going to be a rich man?”
“Let him be!” Mother had run out of patience. “He’s not even married yet. He’ll know what he has to do without being told. Just don’t drink, son. And be good to her.”
Father suddenly felt silly, he hung his head and sat there, half thinking about something, half just staring at the floor.
“Maybe I should go feed the dog?” he said after a bit.
“He just ate!” said mother, still annoyed.
So he took his tobacco from his pocket and started rolling a cigarette, and when he’d wet the paper he said:
“I’m not asking anything of him. I’m just giving him advice. He was never interested in the land, and here he’s got fifty acres coming his way. Fifty acres, do you know how much that is? It’s like if you took Socha’s land, Maszczyk’s, Dereń’s, and Sobieraj’s, and ours, and joined them all together. Five farms, and one farmer to run them. Who else is going to give him advice? Besides, do you think he’ll listen? He’ll do whatever he wants. He knows better than his mother and father. You say one thing, he does the opposite. You want the best, but he doesn’t give a hoot what you have to say. Or he’ll take the whole lot and let it all go to waste, and go off drinking and gallivanting. What does he care about the land. He never did what he was told even when he was small. Besides, let him do whatever he wants. We’re going to be dead either way,” he said angrily, as if we’d been quarreling.
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