Wieslaw Mysliwski - A Treatise on Shelling Beans

It goes without saying that I’m talking about this side of the world, the day that’s just beginning. Because on the other side, when we’re getting up, washing, dressing, they’re undressing and washing and going to bed, which we’ll only do at the end of the day, when they’ll be doing what we did in the morning. And that’s the clearest indication the world is turning and not going anywhere.

I divide the world into two sides, but only for the morning, because by evening there aren’t any sides anymore. By evening people are all broken into little pieces, the same everywhere. Whereas in the morning people are still whole.

No, first I have to feed the dogs. They have to get their food on time. Especially in the morning. Even if I couldn’t get out of bed they’d still need to be fed. Whether I’m sick or not. They get it once in the morning then a second time in the late afternoon. When it comes time they let me know. They lie down flat and stare at me. When I wake up in the morning they’re already lying there staring.

So how can you not get up, however much you don’t feel like it or you don’t see the point. Their eyes are shining, not because they’re starving but because they’re certain they’re going to get fed. How can you not get up? Let me tell you, these days I couldn’t exist without them. I often have the feeling that without them the day would refuse to begin and refuse to end.

After that we go see what’s up with the cabins. Then it can be this or that. It varies depending on the day, though it’s mostly the same. Sometimes I’ll hop in the car and go get some groceries. That’s right, I have a car. I have to run errands from time to time. Swing by the post office or the bank once in a while. Other than that I don’t go anywhere. I don’t have anyone to visit, any place to go, any reason. Plus, there’s always something needs doing around here. The laundry, the ironing, the dishes; sweep the place out, tidy up. And even when I don’t have any other jobs, there are always the nameplates. They take up a lot of my time. Though I don’t work on them every day. Some days my hands work well, other times they hurt. I don’t have a regular daily schedule.

I start each day like I don’t expect anything of it, that it’ll bring what it brings. Though I don’t expect it to bring anything. Honestly, keeping an eye on the cabins is the only thing that gives any kind of order to the day. It’s only from the cabins that I can see the day isn’t standing still.

It’s fall now and you’d think the days would be getting shorter and shorter, but for me they get longer and longer. Often, when I wake up in the morning and think that I have to live through till evening, I feel it’s like living from birth to death all over again. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt anything like that, but it’s as if it’s harder and harder to live through the day. No, it’s not that it’s long. How shall I put it. Well, like today. It’s a day like any other, but at the same time it’s the whole of life.

In the evenings I read a bit, or listen to music. No, I hardly ever watch television. The dogs don’t like it. When I turn it on their hackles rise and they start growling. So I have to switch it off. Maybe if I played. If you ask me, nothing binds life and death together the way music does. Believe me, I played all my life, I know. That’s right, I even have three saxophones, I brought them with me. Soprano, alto, tenor. I played all three. They’re through there in the living room. You want to see? Maybe we can take a look later. Let’s finish with the beans first. I have a flute as well, and a clarinet. Sometimes I’d play piano too, when someone was needed to step in. But my instrument was the sax. Did I go to school? Depends what you mean by school. By my book I went to several, though I can’t say I have any diplomas. But do you need to sit at a desk for years to know how to do something? It’s enough that you want to know how to do it. And I wanted to ever since I was a kid.

I started on the harmonica. Got it from my Uncle Jan. One time we were sitting at the edge of the woods, under an oak tree, and uncle was playing. He was really good. He could even play tunes from the operettas. All of sudden an acorn fell on his head.

He stopped playing, looked upwards and said:

“Maybe even from this oak.”

“What about the oak?”

“That I’ll hang myself,” he said. “But for now don’t say anything to anyone.”

He put the harmonica back to his lips, but he only passed it across them without a sound, then he lost himself in thought. After which he gave me the harmonica and said:

“Here. I won’t need it anymore. It’d be a pity for it to go to waste. It was a good one.”

I asked him:

“Why don’t you want to live?”

“What can I tell you. You wouldn’t understand. You should play me something instead.”

“I don’t know how yet, uncle.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’ll know if you’re going to be able to learn.”

I started blowing and moving the harmonica back and forth across my lips. I couldn’t get the sounds to match up. But uncle evidently heard something:

“You’ll be able to play. Just make sure you practice.”

And that was how I began. Does that count as the start of school in your eyes? Let’s say that was only preschool. Back then they called it nursery school, not preschool. But since that oak tree I started to play. Actually, I was really determined. I played for days on end. I wanted uncle to hear me play before he hanged himself. On the pasture the cows wandered wherever they wanted, but I kept playing. When they sent me out of the house, I ran off into the woods and played there. When it was raining they’d kick me out because they couldn’t take my music any longer, so I’d just go stand under the eaves and keep playing. I’d climb trees, go as far up as I could, so they wouldn’t be able to reach me and make me come down. I’d get in a boat, drift down the Rutka, and play. I’d even go to the outhouse, latch the door shut, take out my harmonica and play. They couldn’t understand how anyone could take so long in the outhouse. Luckily the outhouse was behind the barn and they couldn’t hear me playing.

No, Uncle Jan was still alive then. It was like he was waiting to be able to hear me play. One time I saw him sitting under the same oak tree at the edge of the woods and I went up to him.

“Will you listen to me play, uncle?”

“Absolutely.” Then, as he listened he said: “I see the harmonica won’t be enough for you much longer. When the time comes you should choose the saxophone. No one here has even seen a saxophone, you’ll get asked to play all the dances and weddings. Maybe even further, higher. Saxophones are in these days. And a saxophone is the whole wide world. I’ve got nothing against fiddles, but the fiddle is a Gypsy instrument. You have to have Gypsy blood, a Gypsy soul. Roam like the Gypsies, steal like the Gypsies. A non-Gypsy will never be able to play that way. There are people in the villages play the fiddle, but they’re not real musicians. Fiddle and accordion and drums, they get together and they play everything all in the same style. One two three, one two three. They’ll never play any differently, that was always how it was here. That was how they lived, how they played, and they’d die that way. One two three, one two three. For it to change, a saxophone has to come along. Maybe when that happens they’ll start to dance differently, live differently. One time I went to a dance in the town, in the band there was a saxophone, and I’m telling you … Then I saw one just like it on display in a shop window. Next to it there was a fiddle. If I’d had the money, which I didn’t, I’d have bought it. I’d have taught myself. You can learn anything if you just set your mind to it. It cost the earth. Much more than the fiddle next to it. I don’t know how much you could get for this land of ours … I’ll leave you my share, maybe that’ll be enough. If not, then save up. Perhaps if I’d been younger … But you need to be your age to start.”