Marek Hlasko - The Graveyard

“I was expelled from the party,” Franciszek said. “My case will go to the District Committee, perhaps to the executive of the Regional Committee. Tell me, Bear, was I ever …” He wanted to say “twofaced,” but he suddenly realized how ridiculous he was: what did they know about each other, he and the man facing him? He stared gloomily at Bear. Now one thing was clear to him: he was guilty. He must have done something that estranged him from the party, that estranged him even from Mikołaj; now that something was closing the mouth of this man. The thought of his guilt almost brought him relief. “Yes,” he said in a low voice, “I did something terrible, I know it’s terrible, and I don’t myself understand how it could have happened. But can one moment, in which a man is not accountable for his thoughts and words, wipe out his whole life and everything he has done? Is there really such a crime?”

Again he fell silent. The boy went on reciting in a voice as monotonous as the dripping of water from a spout:

“Beyond the mountains of defeats the dawns glow,

A new sunlit country is awaiting us.

Against starvation, against the sea of pestilence

Our million steps resound.

Though a mercenary gang surrounds us …”

“Will you help me, Bear?” Franciszek asked.

“Have you been to see anyone else?”

“No, I just telephoned Jerzy. I was told that he was on vacation, and that he’d be back in a few days. I looked you up first …” He took his hand. “You won’t refuse me, will you?”

“Now sing, Franek,” Bear said to the boy, who began at once, “On the Vistula, the broad Vistula, rose the builders’ song …” Bear said to Franciszek: “I named him after you, in memory of those days. How can I help you?”

“I beg your pardon,” Franciszek said, annoyed. “This is very nice of you, but must the child sing? Must he be present during our talk? Who the devil is listening in here, and what for?”

“No, that’s not it,” Bear stammered, “but you know, silence is no good either, so let him sing; he likes it, anyway. When it’s too silent, your neighbors think at once, ‘Aha, they’re plotting something; why should anybody live so quietly?’ And they begin to have foolish ideas, about spies, or enemies. Why, sometimes I have fights with my wife, just so as not to seem too quiet. Let him sing. But if it bothers you, he can recite poetry. Franek, recite ‘Vladimir Ilyich.’ ”

Franek began at once to declaim in the same bored tone:

“The party is the backbone of our class,

The party is our immortal cause,

The party, the one thing that won’t betray me;

Today I am a subject, tomorrow I abolish empires.

The brain of the class, the cause of the class …”

“So what do you want?” Bear asked.

“I want you to help me. You, a former partisan, an officer. Don’t you understand? You are Bear, aren’t you?”

“No,” said Bear. “And I refuse even to remember it. Or to talk about it. Or to think about it. Do you understand?”

“So you’ve cut all that out of your past?” Franciszek asked. “You, a legendary partisan, a hero, the pride of your unit … you’ve cut all that out. Is that true?”

They measured each other.

“It’s true,” Bear said.

“Don’t turn around, Franek,” Franciszek said to the boy. And, while the child went on reciting, he walked up to Bear and slapped him in the face.

He walked out. Was that really water dripping — or was it Bear’s little boy still talking and staring with his black eyes at the murky grayness of the wall? He was in the street when Bear caught up with him. They walked side by side in silence, breathing heavily.

“Listen,” Bear stammered. He gripped Franciszek’s arm and looked in his eyes, stumbling all the while. “It isn’t the way you think it is. Listen, you’ve got to understand. I have a son …”

“Franek,” Franciszek said. “In memory of those moments.”

“Those moments, those moments,” Bear stammered. “What are they next to life? Next to the fear you’ve got to live with, constantly, without interruption, from morning till night? Can we bask in the days of glory when we live in a time of pestilence? They’ll finish us off, you, me, Jerzy. Our time is over; and the others, the ones on top, they know it. They commit crimes when they have to, but in spite of everything they’re laying the foundations for faith in man; they believe in you, in me, in Jerzy, and that’s why they’ll finish us off when the time comes. They believe that we’re somehow decent, and that someday we’ll wake up, and let out a wild shout: no! And maybe this shout will be taken up by a few others. It’s neither you nor I that’s at stake, but something beside which we mean nothing at all. Ah, Franciszek, we wanted to take the road to life, and we’ve come to a graveyard; we set out for a promised land, and all we see is a desert; we talked about justice, and all we know is terror and despair. Once I lived on the fourth floor, and all day long I did nothing but count people’s footsteps on the staircase — were they coming for me or not? Someday they would come, I thought. History has no use for witnesses. The next generation will rush headlong into whatever is expected of it. It will regard each of the crimes now being committed as sacred, as necessary. And what about us? You? Me? We’ve done our part, and now we must try to survive, just survive as long as possible. Do you want to be the righteous man of Gomorrah? What do you want? Testimonials? Give it up. Can’t you die like a strong animal, alone and in silence? You’ve nothing left, no teeth to bite with, and nothing to shoot with. Go away, and if you don’t understand, at least leave the rest of us alone. After all, we’re entitled to something in return for our days of glory; at least we have the right to be forgotten.”

“Have you seen Jerzy since those days?” Franciszek asked.

“No, and I don’t want to see him.”

Franciszek slackened his pace. “You certainly don’t think,” he said, “that he would ever be capable of saying the kind of thing you’ve just said. Do you?”

They were silent for a while.

“No,” Bear said. “Jerzy? No, Jerzy will never say such things, I know. I often think of him; he was the purest of all, better than either of us. Maybe that’s what has saved him.”

They stopped.

“Farewell, Bear,” Franciszek said.

“Goodbye, Skinny,” Bear said.

Neither of them saw the other’s face: they were far from any street lamp, standing in darkness and rain. After a moment’s hesitation, each of them extended a hand. Their hands did not meet, but they pretended not to notice.

STILL WEARING HIS OVERCOAT, HE WALKED INTO his living room. “Why don’t you turn on the light, Elzbieta?” he asked. He walked up to her and saw her face was drenched with tears. “Something bad happened to you, my little girl?”

She tried to smile. “No, no.”

He sat down beside her. “Then why are you crying?”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Something unpleasant?”

“Yes,” she said, and began to sob. “At school.”

“What was it?”

She opened her mouth, but he saw that she was making up an answer. “I don’t know why,” she said, staring over his head, “but the instructor picks on me all the time.”

“And why isn’t Roman with you?”

Once again she raised her face. “He’s very busy now,” she said. “You know it will soon be May Day.”

“Yes,” he said. He walked to the window and rested his burning head against the cold glass. “Don’t let my troubles upset you, Elzbieta. I’ll manage somehow. I’ll look up my former companions; they’ll help me.”