On the Hill of Roses

by Stefan Grabinski

  My phantom thoughts enveloped me in thicker and thicker layers, so that, lulled by their power, I fell asleep. I slept long. When, weakened by the rattle of a wagon passing by chance near my abode, I opened my eyes, the sun was already inclining toward the west. I dressed and went to town. What I had seen the previous night gave me no rest and disrupted my thoughts. I felt that should I want to continue on in my chosen direction, I would have to unravel this problem, which, drawing close to me a disturbing cloud from the horizon, stubbornly demanded my complete attention.

  One should begin with the inhabitant of that mysterious house. I made inquiries about him and soon found out that he was an old forester named Zrecki. In this vicinity he was considered an eccentric. Hired to care for the forest of Count S. years ago, he fulfilled his duties conscientiously and beyond reproach. The Count could not say enough good things about him, and though Zrecki was already old and worn out by an apparently turbulent youth, the Count did not want to replace him.

  But the gloomy old man kept away from people. He avoided all noisy gatherings; he ran away from the town as if it were the plague, and with great reluctance and only at the persistence of Count S. did he prepare hunts for the manor. One also met him rarely in crowded places, such as village markets. Throughout the day he hid himself away in the woods, which he knew inside and out; when the season freed him from his duties in the forest, he plodded his time away at home. He didn’t receive anyone at his place. Only now and then, on Sunday afternoons, did he look into one of the less frequented taverns when forced by the lack of firearm charges, he would rush off to town for fresh reserves.

  Under such conditions, I didn’t anticipate a quick solution to the puzzle whose dark contours had alighted upon his window curtain. I just had to be on the lookout for an opportunity that would allow me to get close to the eccentric, become familiar with him and examine the interior of that mysterious room with my own eyes. Meanwhile, I arranged several night-time excursions to the forester’s home to find out whether the shadows had disappeared or whether I hadn’t fallen victim to a momentary hallucination.

  But it turned out that what I had seen that first night had not been a figment of my imagination at all: the same strangely terrible picture darkened the white muslin every time I was there. That frozen permanence stimulated my curiosity more and more, and I impatiently waited for the desired occasion of making Zrecki’s acquaintanceship.

  Finally the opportunity arrived. One Sunday he came into the aforementioned inn for some cartridges. The anticipated consignment had not arrived, however, and the old man, discouraged, started back to his place of solitude.

  Having in my house many cartridges, I determined to take advantage of the situation, and immediately approached him with the proposition of accepting from me the ammunition he needed. At first Zrecki looked at me with distrust, but as he needed the cartridges quite badly, he shook my hand in gratitude as a sign of agreement. Then I introduced myself and invited him to my place to hand over the bag of bullets. He agreed, though reluctantly.

  Finding himself in my quiet, secluded home, seemingly soothed by the solitary look of the house, he relaxed: the presence of people apparently made him nervous. His weary grey eyes stopped throwing their half-wild, half-frightened circular glances, his movements acquired the slowness appropriate to his actual ripe old age. Despite this, I saw that he was eager to go to the woods, desiring to be finished with the affair as quickly as possible. He wanted to pay for the powder and shot, but I stubbornly refused. The old man hesitated a while whether he should accept the gift; finally, however, upon my persistent requests, he not only yielded but I even managed to induce him to stay until the evening. We spent a most enjoyable time together. Zrecki was a very pleasant person with an exceptionally gentle manner. Though he had spent most of his years in the forest or on adventurous war campaigns, he was not without a certain subtlety of feeling and delicacy in social intercourse.

  He made a strong impression. He looked like a person constantly in fear of something, constantly listening for the sound of someone approaching. Sad reveries were reflected in the old man’s uneasy, darting eyes.

  He implicitly avoided any personal details, particularly those that could shed light on his past. He spoke of general or current matters, on which he possessed a sound opinion, full of the practical knowledge that is gained in a lifetime. He was, it seemed, deeply religious, as inferred from several statements he made that were stamped with a pious-mystical character.

  I liked him a lot and tried that very first evening to gain his confidence. Somehow, my endeavours achieved the desired result. Zrecki started to look at me with ever increasing calm, and at the same time more kindly and with a greater degree of trust. When we parted company around eight o’clock not far from his lodge, to which I escorted him, he had tears in his eyes and warmly shook my hand. Bidding each other farewell, we arranged to meet in a few* days; the old man promised to take me grouse hunting.

  Soon our new acquaintanceship took on the character of practically a close friendship. Zrecki willingly got engaged into long talks with me, in which he slowly, imperceptibly, raised the cover off his turbulent past. From his narratives I learned that in his youth he had roamed all over the world, served in a few military campaigns here and there, after which married a beautiful woman whom he loved dearly. But, when his wife passed away early on, he resumed his roaming, which finally, after many weary years and a long stay in jail for political crimes, led him to the forest of Count S.

  Here he decided to pass his remaining years.

  Though he reported many details of his boisterous past, I inferred from certain gaps in his story that he had some secrets. He didn’t want to, or couldn’t, reveal everything.

  Our relationship was friendly, yet he never invited me to his place. We met each other in town, in the fields, on forest roads or at my place. This annoyed me, as I was precisely most interested in the interior of his lodge. Since I didn’t want to boldly invite myself, at least from a fear at arousing suspicion, there was nothing left to do but attempt a ruse. I used it unwillingly, however.

  One day after a sweltering afternoon, a terrible evening storm raged, lit up by fiery lightning and ringing with hundred-fold echoes of thunder. The rain fell in streams, swirling clouds fumed, chasing each other wildly in the ruffled sky.

  I decided to take advantage of the downpour, for which I had waited a long time. I put on high knee-boots, a thick rubber overcoat and a similar hat, and slinging a rifle and a shooting bag over my shoulders, I set off to the forester’s lodge.

  My plan was simple. Under the pretext of being caught by the storm while in the woods on a far-ranging and late hunting excursion, I intended to find refuge under Zrecki’s roof and here wait out the time until the storm would abate. The deceit could work because the old hunter’s home stood a considerable distance from town and the road in-between, winding through open fields, was nasty in the terrible downpour. Therefore, as a well-known acquaintance, I had a complete right to a host’s hospitality.

  I purposefully approached the lodge from the forest side to look at the window' and ascertain that the old man was home. The night lamp flickered inside; on the muslin curtain the sad, fixed scene was outlined. Only the shadow of the middle head swung, as usual, in forlorn despair. So Zrecki was sitting in the house, plunged in gloomy thoughts, for now' I had no doubt that the moving silhouette at the lower portion of the screen belonged to him.

  I knocked strongly on the door. After a moment, heavy steps resounded in the hallway, and soon afterwards came the suspicious question:

  ‘Who’s there?*

  ‘It’s I! Don’t you recognize my voice?’

  Silence came back.

  I knocked again.

  ‘For God’s sake, open up! I’m drenched and it’s far to town.’

  Apparently the old man didn’t recognize me, for beyond the door came a question again:

  ‘Who the devil is there?’

&nbs
p; I gave my name. Then the door creaked gently, and I saw Zrecki in the opening.

  He appeared none to pleased at my unexpected visit, but the reasons I gave seemed sound. Concealing his displeasure with a faint smile, he invited me inside with a gesture of his hand, after which he immediately and carefully bolted the door.

  I went into the hallway. Along both sides were doors to the rooms of the house. The old man hesitated as to where to take me. For a moment he placed his hand on the handle of the door to the right, a door leading to a dark room facing the fields and the town and opposite the little room with the lit lamp, that mysterious interior from which, disturbed by the night-time intrusion, he had exited a moment ago. But he quickly changed his mind and, bowing his head, led me to the mysterious room.

  My eyes eagerly took in the small space so jealously protected by its inhabitant. To my astonishment, I did not see anyone inside. Aside from the two of us, there wasn’t a soul in the room. But where were those persons I had seen at the window a moment ago? They couldn’t have slipped through the door I had entered, and there were no other doors in the room. I glanced carefully at the muslin screen, hoping that the shadows had disappeared.

  My supposition, however, was wrong: the distinct outlines were continually sketched in motionless despair. Only the middle profile was missing, since that one, as I had accurately guessed, belonged to the forester. Now standing beyond the source of light, deep inside the room, Zrecki did not throw the shadowy projection of his head onto the screen.

  I glanced with curiosity about the room. It was square, low, reeked with smoke along the ceiling. In the centre stood a rectangular table, the shorter side parallel to the window. On the table a small lamp smouldered with a feverish fire, smoking from an unevenly cut wick; while slightly closer to the window, and positioned along its longer side, was a chair that Zrecki had most probably left a moment ago when he went to open the door for me.

  My keen observation of the room did not pass unnoticed by the old hunter. Apparently wanting to occupy me with something else, he sat with his back to the window' and started to ask questions about my prolonged hunting excursion. I fabricated a story as best I could, saying this and that. The old man took down roasted game from a shelf, I drew out some pork from my bag, opened a box of liqueurs, and we promptly treated each other to an improvised supper.

  Initially very flustered and trying hard to divert me from looking at any details of the house, Zrecki slowly warmed up and seemed to forget about the reasons for this strange caution. Our conversation became friendly and warm; the words fell sincerely, half-way to confidences.

  Having more freedom now, I casually turned toward the window and swept an attentive glance about it. My host noticed the persistent movement of my eyes directed to this side, but he did not disturb me anymore. Only a cloud, as of pain, was drawn over his deeply furrowed forehead from time to time and sadness kept passing over his withered features. Meanwhile, I continued my observations.

  Soon I became convinced that the ominous picture on the screen was created by shadows thrown off from various objects in the room. There were not many, anyway. Near the table, to the left of the window, stood a hefty oak cupboard; this piece was too large in comparison to the room, so that, squeezed into the corner, its upper wing reached a little beyond the window. On its top, ornamented with jumbled patterns, were several old candlesticks and an object of glued-together cardboard that appeared to have been tipped over to its side from some projectile. Close to the cupboard, a bronze spider hung from the ceiling, apparently a relic of better days or a costly memento strangely inharmonious with the surroundings. One of its damage legs had almost fallen off, secured only to the other end of the trunk - like a hand with convulsively extended fingers that is separated from the chest... The shadows of the afore-mentioned objects, when united, formed the likeness of the stricken person on the left edge of the screen.

  The shadows of objects hanging on a coat rack, through their odd arrangement, sketched the bold profile of the shooting man.

  With my eyes fixed on the terrible gambols of these shadows, I was not paying attention to what Zrecki was saying, as if hypnotized by these chance occurrences. Did the old man know of the strange picture? And if so, why did he tolerate it?

  And he, as if answering my silent questions, placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, and in an altered voice, his glance directed at the window, he asked:

  ‘Isn’t that horrible?’

  When, awestruck, I remained silent, he added:

  ‘I have to look at this night after night, on and on, for many years. Every evening, whenever I light this lamp, the same thing happens on that white curtain. And I have to look at this with my poor old eyes, as a father, as their father.’

  ‘What do you mean, you have to?! What does this mean?! Move these objects, change their arrangement and the whole thing will vanish like a dream!’

  And I was already jumping out of my seat to immediately carry out my own advice.

  But Zrecki stopped me with his iron hand and sat me back down on the chair:

  ‘Don’t you dare!!! Nothing can be moved in this room - even an inch! I cannot allow it! Do you understand?! I cannot allow it!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because - ’ Looking around with a terrified glance, he lowered his voice to a secretive whisper: ‘Because what you see there actually occurred years ago

  He broke off, frightened by the significance of his own confession.

  Seized with a feeling of incomprehensible dread, I was silent, mechanically glancing at the shadows, then at him.

  After a long, quiet moment, interrupted only by the faint flickering of the lamp, Zrecki leaned over the table toward me, and said:

  ‘Listen, sir. The secret I’m going to confide to you only God and I know about. I’ll tell it to you, even though it’s terrible, even though it has ruined my life. I’ve taken a liking to you, my young man - you remind me so much of my youngest son. I don’t think you’ll betray me. When I die, you can reveal this; perhaps it’ll serve some purpose...

  ‘As you know, I once had a wife. She was gentle and quiet. I, who had once been a brawler, an incurable rover, changed dramatically under the influence of this woman; I began to lead a settled life. We had children: two sons - Wladek and his older brother, Zbigniew. Unfortunately the beneficial influence of their mother was cut short, for she died when they were just boys. At that time we were living in M.

  ‘I devoted myself completely to the upbringing of these motherless orphans. I loved them passionately. Perhaps I was too weak, perhaps I spoiled them too much.

  ‘They grew up quickly; they were healthy and strong. But ever since their youngest years, fundamental differences were evident in their characters. Zbigniew, of a cool nature, betrayed a wild, evil and perverse instinct early on. From this arose his silent animosity toward his younger brother, Wladek, a boy of impulsive character, sometimes even hot, but honest and good as gold.

  ‘When they grew older, they went out into the world, taking after me a fancy for adventures. I didn’t forbid them under the condition that, from time to time, they’d give me news about themselves or just drop in for a visit. Then, left alone, I moved to these parts and settled in this forest. No one knew that I was the father of two sons. Before long I received bad news from Wladek about his older brother. Zbigniew had gone astray. From a brawler with a certain panache, he turned into a mean person, an evil, harmful individual. Ugly rumours began to circulate about him.

  ‘Those were turbulent, restless times. Our country suffered a lot, much blood was spilled for lofty aims.

  ‘Wladek, a noble-minded youth through and through, be-longed to the cause - apparently he was one of its leaders. Zbigniew took on the role of a Judas: as was rumoured, he became an agent of the Russian government; he was paid very well.

  ‘Then my younger son stayed with me for several days. He had received a gunshot wound in a skirmish with the Moscovites and needed treatment. I gl
adly took him into my home and hid him. No one had an inkling of the presence of a wounded man at my lodge. Thanks to my efforts, his condition improved rapidly...

  ‘One night there was a loud banging at the door, and before I could hide my son, Zbigniew broke into this room in which we are sitting. He was white as a sheet: our people were chasing him, after having caught him in an act of treason. He begged for help, he pleaded for refuge.

  ‘Making reproaches, I weakly refused. Wladek, wrought-up to the highest degree at the sight of the traitor, grabbed a rifle and fired it. When the bullet missed, he shot again. Zbigniew staggered, mumbled something and, clutching at his heart, fell dead to the floor.

  ‘It happened suddenly, unexpectedly, in the twinkling of an eye. I couldn’t prevent the fratricide... But one had to eliminate the evidence; I had to save the murderer. That very night the both of us buried the corpse in the forest and washed the blood off the floor. There was nothing left for Wladek to do but run away as soon as possible. Before dawn, changing his clothes, he made his escape without being noticed. Since then no one has seen him, no one has heard anything about him: he vanished without a trace. Perhaps he’s dead... He was impetuous and righteous...’

  Zrecki’s voice broke. He lowered his head to his chest and sat in gloomy silence. I didn’t venture to disturb him, though a multitude of questions were arising within me. Apparently he just wanted to rest for a few moments and gather his thoughts. After a while, raising his eyes to the curtain, he finished his confidences:

  ‘I remained alone in this empty house, alone with my terrible secret. I dared not go out among people, afraid that I could betray my son with a casual word. Besides, the unfortunate event estranged me from my neighbours; I started to avoid them, alienated by the pace of life, for which I now felt indifference. I was doomed to be alone. In the evening I would sit in this room, by the glowing lamp, recollecting the events of that terrible night.

  ‘A strange apathy seized me. I practically didn’t move from my position; I didn’t eat, I didn’t clean anything. Thick layers of dust covered the furniture; the unswept floor looked like a rubbish heap. I completely neglected myself. I was jolted out of this numbness by the perception I made a week after the incident.