Try to think. Maybe you can recall the moment when you confessed your sins for the last time?
No. I remember only the feelings that accompanied me when going to the confessional, not the act itself. You just stand there, wait in the queue, and it’s all sad and cold around you. I hated it and I still do. Churches may be beautiful, but they’re always sad and cold.
Adam Darski fled from confirmation and the heavens didn’t shed so much as a tear …
The only thing special about my birth was the place. Even though my family lived in Gdańsk, I was born in a hospital in Gdynia so, technically, I’m a ‘herring’ (the town’s emblem has a herring in it). Apart from that, it was quite normal. The three kings were not there; there was no bright star. Just another ordinary birth. My childhood was similar. We were just a typical Polish family.
Adam is such a nice biblical name, though.
Yeah, it’s nice.
Were traditions important in your household?
Only as decoration. There was a crucifix on the wall, and we let the priest come to our house, but I felt that it was all just ornamental. There was an obvious discord between things that hung on walls and what we actually practiced. My father was in the PZPR (the Polish United Workers’ Party). I knew he was at the crossroads, and he tried to find a compromise between his own worldview and these traditions. He took part in all the celebrations, but he would never actually kneel—he always stood aside. He kept up appearances and manoeuvred around …
What about your mother?
She attached more weight to religion, but I don’t actually think her faith was very deep. She might be angry with me for saying it, but that’s the way I saw it. But there was a period in her life when she genuinely did seek help from God.
I was eight years old and my brother, Paweł, was sixteen when he brought home an unexploded shell. There were no computers back then, and there were only two channels available on the TV, so kids had to find fun in different ways. My brother was always interested in old military stuff. It wasn’t difficult to find it, after all. All you had to do was go into the forest.
Paweł started tinkering with a piece he found, it exploded, and he lost his eyesight for quite some time. He was in hospital for a few months. The doctors didn’t know if he would ever see again. That was when my mother Irena started praying. She attended the church, sought help from the crucifix. But when my brother got better, she gave it up. Fortunately for her and I, she didn’t become a zealot.
The age difference between you and Paweł is quite a lot—eight years. What was your relationship like?
We had the same mother, but—half-seriously—I am not so sure about our father. We were polar opposites. We differed in every way, starting with our characters and finishing with how we lived our lives generally. I was a good student; I didn’t cause major problems either at home or at school.
My brother was a proper hooligan. He caused a lot of trouble and he barely finished primary school. He just didn’t want to continue his education. He went to a vocational school and after that he found a job. His ambitions veered radically away from education. He was mainly interested in parties, girls, and the gym. He even set up a gym in the attic.
One day I found a set of syringes and some strange vials in the cupboard. Of course I had no idea what they were. Only later—when Paweł gained some impressive musculature in a short period of time—did I connect the dots. Not that it bothered me. We lived in one room, but we spent our time beside each other, not with each other—there is a distinction. But having said all that, it was largely thanks to him that I discovered music, so you could say he changed my life …
Did you go to church at Easter?
Never! Even when I considered myself to be a Catholic—I hated churches. That was the way my instinct worked. I started lying to my parents. As a kid, I had to tell my mother that I had been to the church. Every Sunday my brother would, of course, steal away in the morning; my father would go to take care of his allotment and I would stay with mom. Sunday mass for the youth took place at eleven o’clock, so that was when I left home.
Was your mother standing in the doorway waiting for you to return and to ask you what the mass was about?
No, she never played the Gestapo role. But yes, some of my friends would have to wait for their buddies coming back from the church to ask about the mass. It didn’t concern me. I was not forced to do anything; it was more like a silent kind of pressure.
I don’t even remember how my Sunday trips ended. One day I just didn’t go to the church and that was it. It was uneventful. There was no punishment—nobody took my pocket money away.
How did your parents make their living?
My father used to work in the Lenin Shipyard as a shipbuilding technician. He would spend most days in his office. He took me there a few times, but it was boring for me. My mother, on the other hand, worked her whole life at Bimet, a bearings factory. She also worked in an office. As a young girl she wanted to become a nurse, but once, during classes, when she saw blood, she almost fainted and she changed her mind. I always had something to eat and wear. We weren’t rich, but we didn’t struggle either, and even if we did, my parents did their best for me not to notice it.
Did they pamper you?
To this day I feel stupid because of one particular incident. In the 80s, the shops were practically bereft of stock. But there were markets where you could get all kinds of interesting stuff. There was one such market in the Wrzescz neighbourhood of Gdańsk. I liked going there, both with my parents and later with my friends. Once, I saw a computer—a ZX81, probably the most primitive machine of its type. It looked like a big calculator, but it did let you play games. It was a forerunner of the ZX Spectrum, Atari, or Commodore.
Oh, to have something like this was every young boy’s wet dream. I didn’t care about the price; I just wanted to have one. At first, my parents refused, because it was quite expensive. But they could see a fire in my eyes, so we brought the salesman to our house; he explained to me how the computer worked, and then we did a deal.
I never turned the thing on after that. It just sat there and collected dust. Those were difficult times, and the money could have been used in a better way. This is what my parents were like, and still are. They fulfilled all my demands. They lacked character …
And you lacked discipline?
Every pot has two handles.
Come on—answer the question.
I am really grateful to my parents for how they brought me up. But even as a child I could take life into my own hands. I learned responsibility and self-reliance. I didn’t have to take piano lessons or ballet classes. I studied languages because I felt like it, not because somebody forced me to. I could take up martial arts, play the guitar; nobody was depriving me of that—on the contrary, my parents made things easier for me.
Were you beaten?
No, but my brother was. He often took a beating. Thanks to his excesses, my ass was covered. My parents knew that being rough didn’t pay with me anyway. They had other more educational methods for me.
So you never actually took a beating?
Maybe twice in my entire life.
Did you deserve it?
Once I did, for sure. I was six years old and we were spending the holidays in the countryside. Our house was on a hill, and there was a steep road next to it that led to a footbridge over a river. On the side of the hill there was a tractor. I climbed up to the driver’s seat; I pressed the clutch and the machine started and was soon headed straight toward the water. I tried to drive, but the engine was not running. There was no way a little boy could gain control over such a large vehicle. Luckily, my uncle was not too far away, together with my father, and they stopped the machine a few metres from the river. For that, I got a solid beating. I had to stay in bed for two days, and it hurt so much.
Do you hold a grudge against your father for that?
No, I deserved it. There were always children playing by
that road. It was pure luck that on that day there was nobody there when I started the tractor. Even today, I get chills when I think about it. We do a lot of dumb stuff when we’re young.
You didn’t become a tractor operator, then! What about martial arts?
My father took me to a judo lesson. I was really into it. Martial arts became a part of my life, almost as important as music. I had one more passion: drawing. I would spend hours filling whole notebooks with drawings—I even created my own comic books. Mostly I drew battle-pieces. Every boy loves war.
Did you play with plastic soldiers?
My neighbour from the seventh floor, Piotrek, used to come over. We waged wars by throwing marbles at the enemy’s army. He was fucking good at it! Much better than me—so I usually lost. It made me furious.
Did you stamp your feet and throw the soldiers off the table?
No, but my friend’s winning was extremely frustrating. I never knew how to lose—I couldn’t be second to anybody. Other kids played football. I knew I was no match for the best of them, so I let that pass. I was much better at judo; I was a really scrupulous student, so I would never miss any practice. And there was a prize to fight for, too: the best competitors got tickets to the swimming pool. That was really exclusive entertainment. Today, you just turn up, buy yourself a season ticket, and you go whenever you want. Back then, there were just a couple of swimming pools in the Tricity district, and it was not easy to get in. I was there every Saturday.
Were you interested in girls at that time?
I discovered the gentle sex as early as in kindergarten. I attended three of them … I wasn’t thrown out of any of them, but my first kindergarten experiences were traumatic. I was really close with my parents; I just didn’t understand why my mother would leave me in some strange place. I would just stand by the window with tears streaming from my eyes as I watched my parents leave the building. Then I would go to the toilet, close the door, and keep crying.
The other kids didn’t react like that, but I really hated it. The worst thing about it was the so-called ‘pork chop’. I say ‘so-called’ because it had nothing in common with a real pork chop. Some ligaments, gristle, and tendons connected with tiny bits of meat that stayed intact only because of the hideous coating. That was the kindergarten pork chop. It was just impossible to eat it. The problem was that they wouldn’t let us leave the table if there was food left on our plate.
Did you clench your fists and eat?
I tried. Once I didn’t manage it. I think that was my biggest childhood trauma. While I’m chewing this damn piece of pork, I’m trying from each possible angle, keeping bits of meat in my cheeks like a hamster. At the same time, I felt that my bowels had something important to announce but I couldn’t leave the table to go to the toilet because my plate was still full. For a few moments I fought valiantly with nature.
I kept fidgeting, and I deluded myself that someone finally would let me go to the toilet, but nothing happened. When the critical moment finally arrived, I jumped to my feet and ran to the shitter. I could hear somebody yelling at me, but I completely ignored it.
There’s one more thing you need to know: in the same kindergarten there was this girl from the other class, a little blonde called Bożenka. All the boys were crazy about her—and me, too. It was purely platonic of course; I had no actual contact with her. She was a very kind girl: calm, quiet, and beautiful. Just perfect. I loved staring at her, but that was all I did.
What was her role in the pork chop story?
I ran out of the room. I went into the shitter at high speed, but it was already too late. I didn’t even manage to close the door and take my pants off. It was all there. So there I am, covered in my own shit, trying to wipe it up with toilet paper, when the door opens and Bożenka appears. She stared at me; I stared at her. My shit was just everywhere.
I gave her a sheepish smile, opened my mouth, and asked her not to tell on me. Of course, the first thing she did was call the tutor. It all ended up with a good deal of embarrassment and a bath in the paddling pool. My tutor held my hand like a rag while she cleaned me with a hose. I got a reprimand and some bonus naptime. Well, that and the feeling that my unfulfilled love snitched on me that I shat my pants.
Was that your first girl/boy experience?
No. The first one was much more pleasant. I did something bad—I don’t even remember what it was, but I got punished. That meant more naptime, of course. I had to wear my pyjamas and lie in the ‘penalty bed’ in the middle of the room. I did my time, so my tutor came to me and said that I could get up. But I distinctly felt that something else had also ‘got up’. It was the first erection that I remember.
Did you have a real girlfriend in the kindergarten?
I even got my first blowjob! I remember it in detail. The girl’s name was Magda, and she was definitely not my type. She had a hooked nose and hair that stood on end, like a hen or something. But during the sleeping time she was lying in the bed next to me. We started whispering. Suddenly she made an offer I couldn’t refuse. She wanted to lick me down there if I licked her there, too. I was curious, so I said, ‘I’m in.’ When she got under my blanket, though, I didn’t feel the fire … I just shrugged.
What about your part of the deal?
I got cold feet. I put my head under the blanket, but halfway there I decided I didn’t really want it. I moved back and announced with all seriousness that I couldn’t reach. I turned my back and went to sleep.
You broke the poor girl’s heart. When did you find out what that dangling thing down there is for?
It’s hard to say. Quite early, I suppose. I received my first proper sexual education when I was eight. My guide was Cezar, my brother’s buddy. He liked to party; he was a kind of a local badass but he always treated me OK.
My brother threw a party. Our parents weren’t at home, and I was supposed to keep my mouth shut in my room. So there I was, lying in my bed reading, while the other room was hosting quite a party: cigarettes, alcohol, loud music. Suddenly Cezar, hammered as fuck, came into my room; he sat on my bed and began this drunken monologue. After a while, he gave me a VHS cassette and told me that he was lending it to me; that I didn’t have to give it back any time soon, but I was to watch it when I was alone in the house. I got to it the next day.
It wasn’t a Disney cartoon, then?
There were cartoons on it, too, but they were not exactly suitable for children. It was three hours of hardcore porn. I didn’t give the tape back for a few months—it was that inspiring. Had it not been for Cezar, I would have waited a few more years before I saw movies like that.
Let’s go back to kindergarten. Were you a bad boy?
More of a rebel. I made all kinds of plans and then made them happen. Once, I even managed to run away. The reason was so mundane. I couldn’t understand why I had to be in some strange place when the house was empty. So I came up with a plan. Nothing complicated; I decided that when we went to play outside, I would head toward the gate, avoid all the obstacles, and somehow I’d make it. And that’s what I did, but Mrs Jadzia chased me. She wasn’t too fast, and her running was rather clumsy, so I made it to the gate before her with no problem.
So that was your first truancy.
My brother was the one playing truant. I met him when I was running home. He noticed me and was really surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. I said that I had run away. He took me home and I didn’t go back to school that day. You could say that I had made the plan come true.
And after kindergarten, there was school …
I attended the 93rd Comprehensive School in Gdańsk. It was right beside my house—about 300 metres away. That was convenient, because I never liked to get up early.
Did you feel that you were different from your friends?
Not really. Not back then. I only stood out because I could draw nicely. That had its consequences, too: I had to draw for the school magazine.
Did you finish school wit
h honours?
I was a better student than my brother was, but not that good.
What was your best subject?
PE. I was always fond of physical activities. For me, it was an antidote for all the subjects I didn’t like that much. I was allergic to exact sciences; my biggest enemy was mathematics, and it still is today. I always have my calculator with me.
An artist, a musician, a humanist …
Those talents showed up later, in high school. Before that, I didn’t really have the best association with books. There were books that were mandatory to read, and we all know that if you are forced to do something, you don’t really feel like doing it. A few years passed before I discovered that there are books you can read because you want to and be happy about it.
But you watched movies?
There was a VHS player in the house and I used it. As I mentioned before, I was really drawn in by martial arts, so I absorbed karate movies. Every Saturday, I would go to the market and buy two. They were recorded on one tape. You could buy one tape and then just come back and trade it for another one for a small fee. Of course, these were all rather ‘Z-class’ movies with crude plots, primitive dubbing, and so on. But the action was there, and I didn’t need anything else.
Did you enjoy studying Russian?
I was pretty good, but I don’t remember much today. Shame.
Your father was in the Party, and now you’re sorry you didn’t study Russian more scrupulously. And yet you don’t understand why some people call you a Bolshevik … didn’t you rebel against communism?
My brother did. I cared only for the yard, my friends, and having fun. The only contact with politics I ever had was when I went through Paweł’s drawers. There were brochures and leaflets by Solidarność, the Polish trade union. I flicked through them—don’t confuse that with actually reading them.
There were two rooms in the house: one was my parents’, the other was for my brother and I. Sometimes, when our father watched debates on the TV in his room and there were some Party discussions, my brother would play some songs by Perfect, who were one of the most popular Polish rock bands of the time, and tell me that ‘we want to be ourselves’ really meant ‘we want to beat ZOMO’.
Confessions Of A Heretic: The Sacred And The Profane: Behemoth And Beyond Page 2
