Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

He didn’t respond, he just sat there. As best I could I undressed him with one hand, because I had to hold on to the table with the other one. Luckily he didn’t resist. He still stank so bad from Skobel’s manure it stung my nose. It was only when I pulled off his underwear that he suddenly curled up and started shivering, like he was ashamed of being naked.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed in front of me,” I said. “I’m your brother. There’s no one here but you and me. Pająk went home. Come on.” I took him by the hand and led him to the tub. He stood there, hesitating. “Don’t be afraid, it’s only water,” I said.

He squeezed my hand and wouldn’t let go, as if I was leading him into a deep pool, though it barely came up to his ankles. As he stood in the tub he reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t figure out who. Maybe it was the hair falling down his back and the beard that reached down to his waist. He was so skinny his bones almost poked through his skin, and also the skin hung from him the way snow sometimes hangs from a branch when there’s a thaw. His back was covered in blue welts from where I’d beaten him. The hair between his legs was gray as a mouse, though on his head he only had the odd gray hair, same with his beard. Usually your private parts are the last to go gray.

“Sit down,” I said. “First of all I’m going to soap you up.”

I’d brought myself a piece of soap from the hospital. Someone had left it in the washroom and I took it, like I had a feeling it’d come in handy. I moved the chair up to the tub, sat down, and poured water all over him out of a mug so he’d soak a bit. Then I lathered up some soap in my hands. And carefully, so as not to hurt him, I soaped up his back, his chest, his arms, everything. His skin was twitching like a rabbit’s when you stroke it. I could feel the trembling pass into me as well, though I was barely touching him, more with the lather than with my hands.

“Stop shivering,” I said. “I’m not doing anything bad to you. I’m washing you. You always liked to get washed. Remember when mother would give us a bath for Christmas or Easter, you’d never want to get out of the water? While me, father would sometimes have to chase me into the tub with his belt because I’d be pretending to still be asleep. Or the water would be too hot for me, or the soap got in my eyes. Or when we’d go down to the river to wash, remember? First you’d soap my back, then I’d do yours. Then we’d scrub our feet with a rock or with sand. When we didn’t feel like washing we’d scare each other with ghost stories. Mostly I’d scare you. Look, Michał, there’s something standing over there. See, there by that willow tree. It’s white, like it’s dressed in a sheet. It’s a ghost! And we’d take to our heels. Me first, you behind. Mother and father would say, what’s happened? We saw a ghost! You’re just trying to get out of bathing, these boys are a cross to bear! Mother was always like that. And you’re going to get into bed with those dirty feet? If it was down by the river it must have been the Bartosz girl’s ghost, father would say. He was always more likely to believe us. You should have said to it, in the name of the Father and the Son, what is it your soul needs? The Bartosz girl wouldn’t have done anything to hurt you. She used to like going down to the river when she was still alive, seems she still does now. She’d sit on the bank and stare at the water. What on earth do you see out there, Agata, I asked her one time, I’d gone to fetch water from the spring. Oh, it’s always something different, Józef, always something different. Though what could she see there, sand, mud, rocks, and the river flowing.”

I took the chair and moved to the other side of the tub, because it was hard for me to reach all of him from the one place.

“Do you remember that time we went swimming by Błach’s place on Saint John’s Day at the end of June? Because swimming would start on Saint John’s Day always. That’s the day Saint John blesses the rivers. Though I often used to go swimming before Saint John’s Day, even in May sometimes. It was so hot that year the leaves were curling up. There were hordes of boys and girls, more bodies than water. Even the willows along the bank were wet from all the splashing. Fredek Zięba brought their horse down, as many of us as could fit climbed up on it, and it was giddyup! into the water. There were kids hanging from its neck, clinging to its tail. Shouts and screams, you’d think the heavens were coming down. But you were sitting on the bank, by the osier bushes, and you were trying to stop yourself from crying, because you couldn’t swim. I kept trying to persuade you, come on, Michał, you’ll learn, hold on to the horse’s tail and kick your feet as hard as you can. Come on! Everyone was encouraging you. You should just jump in headfirst, Michał! Put your hands together like you’re praying, stretch them out in front of you, and jump! Go for it! Or, let’s throw him in, that’s the fastest way to learn! Let’s get him! You ran away, we chased after you. We caught up with you in Mrs. Machała’s field, you slipped and fell in a furrow. You fought, spat, bit our hands. But there were four of us. We carried you down to the river, swung you by the arms and legs, and boom! The splash was so big we got soaked. Wave your arms, Michał! Wave your arms and legs! But you, as if to spite us you didn’t move either your arms or your legs, and you went straight to the bottom. I had to dive in and fish you out. You’d swallowed so much water you couldn’t catch your breath, and afterwards you had hiccups for the longest time. Later on father gave me the belt for trying to drown you. But that was the quickest way to learn! That’s how everyone was taught, they’d take your arms and legs and wham! Save yourself or you’ll drown! Me, they even threw me from a willow tree so it’d be from even higher. And that was exactly the right thing for me. When I was in the resistance, one time I had to jump from a bridge. I was being chased from behind, ahead of me the road was blocked, there wasn’t any other way out.”

I got up and added more hot water from the pot. I stirred it around his body.

“And remember before the war when you came home one time wearing a hat? You stood on the doorstep, it was like you were embarrassed about having the hat on. And we just stared at you. Is it Michał or isn’t it? You quickly pulled it off, but father says, put it back on, let me take a look. Actually it looks good on you, it’s just you don’t look like yourself. It cost a lot? Mother says, you shouldn’t have spent so much on a hat, son, you could have bought a whole suit for that much money. It was a Sunday. Father wanted us to go take a walk through the village, maybe we’d bump into the priest. He’s always kind of asking after you. But we were young men, the two of us, what did we care about the priest, plus it was so hot, so I dragged you down to the river. The girls had grown into young ladies by then, and the river was filled to bursting. I stripped off my clothes and dove right in. You sat on the bank, in the shade of the bushes. Stefka Magiera swam up to you and tried to get you to come in, won’t you get undressed, Michał? It’s hot as anything, take your clothes off and join us. Her breasts looked like they’d been drinking the water in the river. You look nice in that hat. Will you be staying for long? The Magieras thought you’d marry her. But you wouldn’t have been happy. During the war she hooked up with this one guy that used to come buy flour, and she went off with him. Left her man and her baby. Michał! Michał! Come in and have a swim! Everyone was calling to you. In the end the guys actually got jealous. Leave him be! He must have the consumption. They’re not allowed to go swimming. Look, he went and bought himself a hat so he wouldn’t look like someone from the village! He looks like a tush behind a bush! One of them ran up from behind, snatched the hat off your head, and tossed it into the river. The whole mass of them jumped in after it. Someone scooped water up in it. Another one plopped it on his head and started swimming in it. I jumped in to fetch it back, but he threw it into the crowd. They pulled and tugged at it and grabbed it from each other. Stefka Magiera was so upset she started crying. You’re horrible! You’re horrible! she shouted. None of you’s ever going to have a hat like that! One guy dove down and got a rock from the river bottom. They put it in the hat so it would sink. In the end I managed to get it off them and I tossed it far downstream so I’d be the first to swim there and reach it. And I was. But Bolek Kuska jumped out onto the bank and got there before me. He grabbed the hat and ran even farther to where there was a shallow stretch. He went in and there, in the mud and sand and rocks, he started stomping the hat into the water. I beat him up so bad he couldn’t close his mouth for a month. He looked like he was smiling the whole time. I cut holes in his shirt and pants with my penknife, and I tossed his shoes into the river. Him and his brother Wicek came to our house afterwards with their old man to make a fuss, and I gave the old man a hiding as well. You, you didn’t do anything, you just watched them messing with your hat, then you got up and said, come on, Szymuś, let’s go. Leave them the hat, let them play.”