Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

But when I came home from the hospital the drawer had disappeared. Someone must have taken a liking to it. From that time on there was a hole in the table, like it had no soul. Also, the top had long lost its shine, and it was covered with woodworm holes that looked like freckles on a freckly face. What can I say, a person’s time comes and so does a table’s.

I found it the day after I came back from the resistance. Father had told me to go check whether our fields weren’t mined, because spring was coming and we’d have to plow and sow. Though really it was nowhere near springtime, there was still snow on the ground. Not far from our land I was just poking around and I saw something lying on manor property in the unmown rye, under a sprinkling of snow. A body? No, it was a tabletop. So I started to look for the legs. I found one straightaway close by, then two others way over by the woods. Then the fourth one turned up in a ruined potato clamp when I was looking for shoes for Stasiek. The drawer I spotted around Easter at our neighbor’s. He was feeding the pigs out of it.

“Karol,” I say, “I think that drawer might fit my table. You could take my trough. It makes no difference to the pigs what they eat out of, and we could share a bottle together.”

“Sure, why not,” he says. “But if you give me the trough so the pigs’ll have something to eat out of, what’ll you give me for the drawer?”

“What do you mean? I just told you.”

“Sure you did. But what’ll you give me?”

“You’ll take my trough and we’ll have a bottle together.”

“We can have a bottle together. But you’ll have to throw in a half-bushel of rye. Your folks managed to gather it in before the front came through, on my field they dug trenches. And for the handle you can lend me your horse for plowing for a day or two. It’s no ordinary handle. It’s a bit dirty, but if you clean it up with ash it’ll shine. You could make a nice door handle out of it. And never mind that I found it on my land. Or how many mines there were. My kid spent a week getting rid of them. Day after day we were terrified he’d get blown up. Bolek, the Szczerbas’ kid, was clearing mines over there, and that was the end of him. There wasn’t a body left even. An arm here, a leg there. That way you get your drawer practically for free.”

And that was how the table ended up back together.

Mother even killed a chicken and made broth to celebrate. We sit down at the table, me opposite father, Stasiek and Antek opposite mother. We cross ourselves and start to eat. Father says:

“Finally we’re eating like human beings.”

Mother sighs:

“Lord, if only Michał was with us. All these years and no word, no sign. Who knows if he’s even still alive?”

“He’s alive, he’s alive,” father reassures her.

And Stasiek tries to change the subject and says:

“Can you imagine if someone came to visit right now, with the chicken, and the table.”

And it was like he’d said it in an evil hour. The door opens and in comes Mateja from across the river.

“Christ be praised.”

“Forever and ever.” But I can see there’s something about him. He’s smiling, but there’s a fox in his eyes, you can even see its teeth.

“You’re having chicken,” he says. “Lucky for you.”

“We got a new table so I killed a chicken,” mother explains.

“I know you do. That’s what I’m here about.” And without so much as a by-your-leave he starts checking the table from every side, tapping it, rapping it, tugging at the legs to see if it isn’t wobbly, patting it like you pat a horse’s rump, and in the end he says it’s his table.

“Have you got a certificate?” I ask him.

“What certificate?”

“You know, to say it’s yours.”

“I can see it’s mine. It was on my land.”

“What are you talking about, your land, you moron! It was on the manor’s land!”

“It was the manor’s when it was the manor’s. Back then I wouldn’t have taken it. But after the land reform it’s mine, so the table’s mine too.”

“The hell it is! What kind of table did you have before the front came through? You forgotten? A bunch of planks nailed together, the wood wasn’t even planed. You were always getting splinters under your fingernails. Your fingers were bandaged so often, people made fun of you for picking too many blackberries. The table’s from the manor, so get the fuck out of here! How many of you are there at your place? You, your woman, seven kids, the grandfather. As many as you’ve got fingers. And do you know how many people sat at this table? As many as there were apostles at the Lord’s Supper. You couldn’t even have counted them. If a thirteenth came along there would’ve been room for him too. How is this supposed to be your table, you old fool? Look, you can still see the stains from the candle wax. They had candles when they ate. You all couldn’t even afford kerosene. Your eyes would be shining in the dark like wolves. And what, you want to eat żurek and potatoes at a table like this? They ate capons. Do you even know what capons are? Roosters with no balls. When they ate, all you could hear was knives and forks clinking against the plates, like bells during the Elevation. When you lot eat, you can hear the slurping noises all the way out on the road. They had napkins tied around their necks. And what’s left of them? This table. And even that, all the parts got scattered and it had to be put back together after the war.”

As chance would have it, after they built the new road Mateja was the first person to get run over by a car. He was crossing to the other side because he’d remembered his woman told him to buy salt and the store was on the other side. Not only did he not buy the salt, it also turned out it was his fault. Here he was in his own village and he was to blame. He was going to buy salt and he was in the wrong. He didn’t die right away. They carried him to the side of the road. The whole village came running. I went too, though we’d been mad at each other all those years because of the table.

“I’m not angry at you about the table,” he whispered when he saw me. “Yours or mine — either way we’ll end up sitting at the same table.”

I gave the speech at his funeral. I even mentioned about the table. I said to his wife and children, don’t cry, don’t cry, Wincenty’s sitting at the Lord’s table now.

Then some time after Mateja, Mrs. Pociejka was run over. She was going to high mass, and she was trying to cross the road just like Mateja, because the church was on the other side. She was really scared of the cars, so she waited till the road was clear. But it’s never going to be completely clear. She waited and waited, then she hears the bell ringing for the Elevation. So she ups and starts shuffling across. The nearest car’s still way in the distance. And if she hadn’t looked to the side she would have made it, because she didn’t have far to go. But she saw the car coming towards her and she was so frightened she dropped her walking stick. Some folks said she bent down to pick up the stick, others claimed she knelt down to pray that the driver wouldn’t kill her. But he did.

Then Kacperski’s stove cracked from the cars. The thing is, the new road passes right by his wall. They’re sitting eating dinner, and whenever a car drives by, the spoons shake in their hands. Thick soups they can usually lift to their mouths, but if it’s a thin broth they sometimes spill half of it before it gets there. Kacperski says he’s even tried eating standing up, or sticking his mouth right in the bowl, or taking his food out into the orchard. The only time he has a proper meal is when his woman brings him dinner in the fields.