Stone Upon Stone

by Wieslaw Mysliwski

  She took off her apron. She was wearing a green dress with white dots, it looked nice on her. I thought she looked like a green tree covered in snowflakes that were falling from the sky. But she got all riled up again and started shaking the snowflakes off.

  “They can kiss my you-know-what!” she exclaimed. “I’ll put a sign up to say I’m sick. They can come do the inventory next week.” She reached around and started unbuttoning her dress. But suddenly something seemed to stop her, because she frowned and her hands fell to her sides.

  “Your eyes are closing, Szymuś,” she said. “This isn’t gonna be any kind of loving.”

  She stood there for a moment helpless, looking at me as if in reproach, then she said uncertainly:

  “So shall I take all my clothes off?” But she didn’t seem to expect a reply, because she sat down on a sack with a sigh: “Oh, you.”

  She kicked her shoes off.

  “I need to take them to the cobbler, have him put taps on. They’re getting worn down,” she said, and she pushed one of the shoes toward me with her foot as if to show me. She unfastened her stockings. She took the left one off, then got up, pulled the chair closer and hung the stocking over the armrest, and only then took the other one off. But with her dress she hesitated, she unfastened it at the back, but it was like she couldn’t decide whether to take it off or not. In the end she did, and she slipped off her blouse as well. Then she got mad again:

  “God damn them! How long is it since the last inventory? No more than a month. And I’ve not taken so much as a zloty’s worth of anything. But the heater, I’ve been asking and asking and they don’t have anyone to repair it. I could’ve turned it on, you would have dried out a bit. How will you manage all wet like that?” She took off her brassiere, her breasts seemed to jump out toward me. She stood there with the brassiere in her hand, she gave me a kind of tender look and said:

  “Szymuś, you’re so drunk you won’t be able to get it up.”

  “I will, Kaśka, I will. When you touch it it’ll get up. The worst thing is, I don’t even feel like living.”

  “What are you saying, Szymuś!” She stepped back like she’d been burned, and tossed the brassiere on a pile of sacks. “Did you hear that? He doesn’t want to go on living! Spit and cross yourself!” She dropped down onto her knees by me and held my head against her huge breasts. “Maybe you killed someone, Szymuś? What is it, tell me! You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word. Oh, my darling. Even if you’ve killed someone.” She started to cry.

  “What are you blubbering for, you silly thing? I haven’t killed anybody.”

  “Then you must have had a bellyful.” She pushed my head away from her breasts and instantly stopped crying. “Maybe someone slipped something in your glass? Cigarette ash or something worse. You should at least have eaten. Even if you didn’t want to, you should have forced yourself. Next time don’t drink with just anyone. You’re a government worker, respect yourself. God damn them, to your face they’re the Angel Gabriel, but behind your back they’d pull you down to hell and convince you you were in your own home. Getting pie-eyed like that, dear Lord. I knew right away you’d only come to me cause you were drunk. He doesn’t feel like living. Who does? Ask around the village, no one does, but they’re all living away, stuffing themselves with food. And buying anything that comes along, whether they need it or no. And me, do you think I feel like living? What kind of life do I have? It’s just as well you remember me once in a while and come visit. Or when one of those bitches of yours won’t give it up for you. Otherwise it’s nothing but the store. From morning to night I’m wondering and wondering, will he come by or not. I play games, I say, if the next customer’s a woman he’ll come. Then the next customer’s a guy or a kid. Sometimes I even run out onto the road and ask, don’t you need anything, Mrs. Oryszko, or you, Mrs. Stefańska? Just so it’s a woman. What’s gotten into you today, Kaśka? they say. Have you been to confession? Come on by, I just got some new baking powder in. I got this in, that in. I pray, the moment I open up the shop, even before I sweep it out, come by, Szymuś, come by, my sweet one. You might at least come for cigarettes. But evidently the pub’s closer. He must have bought them there. I think to myself, I’ll go over to the pub and talk to Irka, tell her not to sell him cigarettes, she should say only my store has Sports. Don’t be so silly, she’ll say, he’ll just buy some other kind. Holidays or some other brand, they’re just as good. It doesn’t make any difference to them, so long as they can have their smoke. So what am I supposed to do, curse him out? Have a mass said? Or have him make me a baby? What if he says it isn’t his? He’ll end up hating the baby as well. How can you hate a little thing like that? Maybe it’d come to love its mother in time. It’s your own fault, I say to myself. You slept around, it could be anybody’s. Well, I did sleep around, but I know whose baby it is. What was I supposed to do, wait till you showed up whenever, or not at all? Blood is thicker than water. And what am I a girl for? Am I supposed to touch myself? I know you won’t marry me either way. But while I’m young I can’t help it if I want it. Sometimes I even wake up at night because I think someone’s on top of me. But whoever it is, it’s you, Szymuś. I close my eyes and I see you, I smell you. I ruffle that big mane of yours. And I say to myself inside, it’s Szymuś, I’m so glad. I thank the good Lord that you exist. Like if it’s Stach Niezgódka or Franek Koziej, he does his business, fastens his pants, and leaves. At most he’ll say, you’re a good kid, Kaśka. And it’s on the tip of my tongue to say, where’s Szymek? Szymek was here. I thought you were Szymek. You tricked me, you whoring son of a bitch! I’ll scratch your eyes out! Get the hell outta here or I’ll start shouting, I’ll say you were robbing the store! You thought you had me? The hell you did! You were just screwing someone’s hole, you fucker! Kaśka may be a whore, but she’s not just anyone’s. When she wants she’s a whore, and when she wants she’s a virgin. If I wanted, I could even be a princess. Miss Kaśka, you’re like a princess, one guy said to me once. They were mending the railroad. If only I was a prince, he said. I’d dress you in furs, in a hat, in shoes with those big heels, and I’d drive you to church in a carriage! And you all think I’m just a shopgirl and anyone can have their way with me. All you village big shots. No damn way! Only Szymek has had me. You can tell whatever stories you like. Where I’ve got a beauty spot. Who enjoyed me more. I’m his whore. Only his. I’m almost like a wife to him. The Lord God, he knows how it really is. I don’t have to take a vow. He’ll still join us together forever when we’re dead, it’ll be the same as if it was here on earth. He’ll ask, Szymon, do you take Katarzyna to be your lawful wedded wife? She ran the store in your village. You used to buy cigarettes from her. People said different things about her and some of them were true, but her soul was faithful as a dog to you, and her body’s already rotting. And you, Katarzyna? I do, Lord. That’s what I died for. Because I could’ve gone on working in the store for a long time to come. It wasn’t so bad. Once in a while I’d get a delivery of something good. One time I got lemons, Lord. People were in such a rush to get them they almost killed each other. Over lemons. People are so dumb. I’d understand if the things were sweet, but they were sour as hell. Or I’d take a bread crust and keep chewing it till I stopped feeling weepy. Or when I’d get so mad I didn’t have the strength to cry. Or I’d think, maybe he’ll come tomorrow. I dreamed I saw him on his way somewhere, I thought, maybe he’s on his way to me? I’d look out the window the next day. Szymek! Szymek! I dreamed about you! But you didn’t even wave, you just kept on walking. You were probably going to one of those tramps of yours. I hope you break your leg and never make it, and her, I hope she goes bald. Do you think I don’t know? People tell me everything. A shop is like a church. I set aside a loaf or something for somebody and I know everything, what you did, where you went. If you’re drinking in the pub they come tell me right away, he’s drinking in the pub. When you were going with that redhead, before anyone else managed to tell me she was in her
e herself boasting about it, the slut. I wouldn’t sell her a damn thing. I’m going to complain, she said. Complain all you like, go see the district representative for all I care. We’ll see whose side he takes. It was only after that that people told me, he’s with that redhead, Kaśka. The redhead. They were standing together down by the footbridge, laughing up a storm. You should go down there and push her in, the bitch. The water under the bridge is deep, it’s just waiting for folks to drown in it. You’re a damn fool, Kaśka, you’re dumb as a doorknob. You might be the dumbest girl alive, in this village at any rate. But I never ask myself if I want to live, Szymuś. What would be the point? Ask a stupid question and you’ll get a stupid answer. And how much life do we have? No more than a thimbleful. Even if the thimble was full of bitterness, it’s not enough to poison you. I’ve told you time and time again, give up that damn office job. It’s not gonna make you any smarter. All that writing, even the smartest guy would go dumb. So what if you’re a government worker. Did government workers ever come up with anything smart? My shop always used to close at six in the evening, now they’ve decided it’s going to stay open till seven. What do I sell that I need to stay open till seven for? It was probably one of those tramps of yours. You should dump that one too. She should go down on her knees, damn her, beg you not to leave her, instead of breaking up with you. I’d rip her hair out if I knew which one it was. They say it’s some floozy from Łanów. What, is she the only woman in the world? They’re common as flies, all they do is wiggle their asses and flash their teeth, their tits are out on display almost, it’s an embarrassment. Ugh! Every one of them just looking for someone to leech on to. If it’s not Jaś then it’s Staś. Plus, they think they’ve found the key to happiness. Think again. He drinks and he beats her and all he wants to do is make babies. Chasing happiness is a waste of time. Even if you catch it, who knows whether it’s really happiness? There’s a good many of them have had more than their share of that kind of happiness, but they all go on and on about being happy. You know why someone’s happy? Because they’re dumb. Maybe you’re the only one made to be happy, Szymuś? If that’s it, you need to find a woman you can be happy with. I’m not going to stand in your way. If you have to you can say, that Kaśka, she’s real stupid. What kind of shopgirl nonsense has she gotten into her head. Just look at her. There’s nothing worse than a whore that takes to dreaming. Pity, she was a really good lay. God shouldn’t allow just anyone to have dreams. If someone’s running a store they should run their store. You’ll find yourself someone at a dance one of these days. She’ll come fluttering up to you of her own accord. There’s no shortage of dances, they hold them all the time, and the dresses are getting shorter and shorter. Pretty soon a guy won’t need to put his hand up a girl’s dress, there won’t be dresses anymore. What’ll it be like walking around then, what do you think, Szymuś? To have no shame? It’s easier somehow when you’re ashamed. It’s often the way that the more shame you feel, the more enjoyable it is. You can slap his wrist. That’s enough of that, big boy. Keep your hands to yourself. Reach for your fly if you can’t reach for heaven. Tomorrow I’ll run over to Zośka Malec’s, see if she’s got anything new. I could have one of those dresses made. I’m no worse than those other girls. Except I’ve got fat knees. See how fat they are? It’s not so bad when I stay behind the counter. But you wouldn’t want to take me to a dance. You need a girl with knees like little apples. That don’t always make you look at them when she bends them. Maybe you’ll find yourself a woman like that. You’ll dance a polka together, you’ll stamp your foot down and her dress’ll fly up, you’ll see if she’s the one for you. Just don’t let anyone make a fool of you, Szymuś. She maybe meant for you but you’re not meant for her. You think she’s an angel, and those kind are the worst. Afterwards she’ll be sickly, or she’ll never want to do it with you. What can you do with yourself then? You’ll be running to the john all the time. That’s not heaven, Szymuś. You’ll spit on your happiness then. You’ll say, the hell with this kind of happiness. Come to Kaśka then. Even if you’re as drunk as you are today. But come here, I mean it. Even when it’s raining like it is now. Or worse. At midday. In the early morning. Anytime. You just need to say, shut up the store, Kaśka, and I’ll do it. Of course I will. It’s not a drugstore where someone needs medication or they’ll die. You can buy your salt tomorrow. It won’t hurt you to eat an unsalted dinner for once. Can’t you read, damn you, I’m doing inventory. I’ve gone to the office, read what it says. Closed for delivery, it’s written plain as day. Delivery of what? Nothing, I’m just getting it on with Szymek. We were just feeling frisky for some reason. Couldn’t you find a better time, dammit? We have things we need to buy. Well I could, but he came by and told me to close up shop. Did he have to come to you of all people? Aren’t there other girls, even rich ones? But who else can he do whatever he wants with? Come here all wet and drunk and say he doesn’t feel like living. And Kaśka’s just a hole in the fence, she has to comfort him, who else will? If he wants he can come in the morning, afternoon, evening, or in the middle of the night. If he wants, he can come for the rest of my life. I could do it with him in the dew, in the thistles, on the threshing floor, on the stubble field. If he wanted we could do it on a bed of nails and it would be like a king’s bed, so long as it’s with you, Szymuś. I wouldn’t mind. Why should I? It’s only the kind of women that go on about happiness, they think they’re still in the Garden of Eden. Every one of them wants to be tempted by the serpent. They should all damn well stay there! You should just spit on all that, and come to me. You don’t need any temptations with me. Just say, take your clothes off and I will, for you. Or say, just lift your dress up, I’m in a hurry. I’ll do it. It makes no difference to Kaśka one way or the other. I want things to be good for you, Szymuś. I’ll be good enough to make up for all the other girls. I’m not overworked here, what is there to do. All I do is sell stuff. I’ve got plenty of energy. I’ll never tell you I’m exhausted, not today, Szymuś, another time. I’ll always want to do it. Why wouldn’t I. There’ll be all the more to remember in the next world, make the angels blush. And when God calls me and says, why are you making the angels blush, I’ll say, it’s not me, Lord, you created me for Szymek. I’m just the rib that was meant for his comfort, that’s me. And if you get bored with me, Szymuś, don’t come here anymore. But if you get dumped again, come even if it’s only because you’re hurting. Just don’t say you don’t feel like living. Because I won’t feel like living twice over. And then who’ll run the store? Unless it’s the accountant’s bastard boyfriend. But come even if it’s just because you’re hurting. Whether you’re hurting or not, say, get undressed, and I will. Sometimes it’s even nicer when you’re hurting. As long as I’m able to, come, Szymuś. And when I can’t anymore I’ll tell you myself. Don’t come any more, Szymuś. My boobs are sagging. My skin’s starting to come off my body. See how my belly button’s all spread. I’m going gray, Szymuś. Even the old guys that come in the store have stopped their sweet talk, they don’t call me Kaśka anymore but that old hag Kasia. She moves around like a fly in honey but she’s still got a mouth on her. Find yourself a younger woman, Szymuś. You need someone younger. For me it’s time to start praying, begging God to forgive me. Just buy me a rosary in return for everything. When you’re with one of your floozies at a church fair, you can buy it there. It doesn’t need to be an expensive one, so long as it’s strong. So it won’t fall apart in my hands. Because I’ve got a good few rosaries I need to say. Do you not know how many, Szymuś? I never held back with you, you should know that. And I don’t regret it. But now my back’s killing me from working in the store, Szymuś. The veins in my legs look like ropes. Sometimes I think about what it’s going to be like to die. And that I’d like to die with you, Szymuś. Let it be the next life already. Maybe you’ll come there one time and say, close up the store, Kaśka. But till then, you have to live, Szymuś, you have to live. What else is there that’s better?”

/>   When we’d break the earth for the first time with the plow in springtime, we’d lay a slice of bread on the first piece of ground to be plowed. It goes without saying it wasn’t just a regular slice like you cut to eat with a glass of milk or a pickled cucumber, or on its own, without anything. It had to have been cut from a new loaf on Christmas Eve.

  Mother would already have set the table for the Christmas Eve dinner without meat. Father would light the lantern, take the ladder from the hallway, and go fetch a loaf from the barn, because we kept our bread on the roof beams in the barn. There was a fresh draft in there so it didn’t go moldy, and it was high up. It was hard to get to without a ladder. We tried sometimes, me and Michał, we’d attempt to shimmy up the post the middle of the beam rested on, but we never managed it, and the ladder always stood out in the hallway.

  There was żurek soup with buckwheat, noodles and poppy seed, and pierogies stuffed with cabbage, but we waited for mother to cut the bread like that was the most special dish. And dinner would start with the bread. Mother would rest the loaf against her stomach, she’d make the sign of the cross over it with the knife, she’d first cut a big slice that was going to be for the earth in the spring, then just a regular slice for each of us, according to our place in the family, first for grandfather, then grandmother while she was still alive, then father, us boys, and for herself last of all. Father would get the lantern again and put the first slice in the attic, he’d stick it way up high on a rafter beneath the thatch, usually in the darkest place. And there the slice of bread would wait for the spring like a sleeping pigeon.