Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

I’d left the police because I was supposed to become the commanding officer, but instead they chose this snot-faced kid that hadn’t even been in the resistance, he’d just finished school. Plus he thought he could fix the world’s problems in the space of a week. But it’s easier to create a world in a week than fix it. Especially a world that’s been through a war. And instead of carrying on looking for guns, because people were still shooting at each other, or at least guarding the freight trains carrying cement that would stand in the sidings till half their load had been thieved, he went after Franek Gwiżdż for brewing moonshine, and he had his whole farm searched from top to bottom. After that Gwiżdż says to me, you son of a bitch, you came here drinking all the time, did I ever take a red cent from you, I’d even stick a bottle in your pocket for the road because I thought you were one of us. You just wait and see if you ever get vodka from me again, cause I’m still gonna make it, there’s not a fucking thing you can do to stop me. The Germans could kiss my ass, and you can too. Luckily he hid it all underground somewhere so all we found were the traces of a fire pit in the elder bushes behind the barn. But he explained that by saying he sometimes boiled potatoes for the pigs back there when it was too windy in the yard. So there I was, neither here nor there, actually nowhere, with nothing but work in the fields from dawn till dusk.

I even thought about maybe taking up haircutting again. True, there was a barber in the village now, Jaskóła’s brother-in-law. He’d moved here not long ago from the city because things hadn’t gone so well for him there, and he opened a place in Niezgódka’s outbuilding. Though before the war, when he married Kryśka Jaskóła, he was supposed to become a captain of horse in the uhlans. But no one brought that up. All sorts of changes happened to people through those years, what did it matter if a captain of horse became a barber. Though the farmers complained that he had a hand like a butcher, he’d put it on your head and it was like he was resting it on the block, you had to hold your neck firmly so he wouldn’t break it. On top of that he was a tight-lipped son of a gun. He’d often not say a single word the whole time he was cutting your hair. What kind of barber is that? You don’t go to the barber just to get your hair cut or get a shave, you go to sit and have a chat and listen to stories.

There were supposed to be buses that would start serving some of the villages and I thought about perhaps getting a job as a bus conductor. The work’s not too tough, you ride around and sell tickets, and people get on and get off, people you know, people you don’t, but the whole time you’re among people. And among people life’s always more enjoyable, especially if there’s a fair and the bus is packed, you can have a joke, shout at folks, when there are people all sorts of things can happen. What can happen in the fields? A hare runs past, a lark starts singing, clouds come and it’ll begin to rain?

Though on the quiet, most of all I was counting on Michał, that maybe he’d come visit finally, and he could give me some advice or maybe find me a job where he was. Because to tell the truth, I wasn’t that fired up about being either a barber or a conductor. With both of those jobs I’d still have to work on the land every spare moment after work. And instead of making my life easier, I’d be worn out. Besides, at that time Stasiek was still at home and he was meant for the land. But for some reason Michał never came or got in touch, though he’d promised he would the last time he was home. He was even going to come stop for a while. He was going to take some leave. Because the last time, he only just swung by for a moment. How long had he stayed? Less than half a day.

We’d finished lunch and we were just sitting around the table, me and father were smoking while mother washed the dishes. It was Sunday. All of a sudden a black limousine pulls up outside the window. Mother took fright. Who are they coming to see? It was us. Jesus and Mary, it’s Michał! Lord in heaven, Michał! Son! We thought something had happened to you! We didn’t hear a word from you all these years. Then there was the war. So many people died, and now after the war they’re still dying. So you’re here! He was looking very smart, he wore an overcoat and a hat, leather gloves, a cherry-red scarf, the driver of the limousine followed him in with two suitcases. Father’s voice trembled — Michał? Tears were rolling down mother’s face. The cases were so heavy the driver staggered as he crossed the threshold, then he put them down in the middle of the room. But Michał told the man to go wait for him in the car, because they had to be heading back before long.

A whole swarm of kids gathered around the limousine like flies on shit, they touched it, patted it, stared through the windows. The driver just sat there stony-faced. In the end father went out and shooed them away:

“Stand back there. Stop patting it, it’s not a cow. You’ll scratch it if you’re not careful.”

Older people stopped to look as well, wondering who’d come to visit the Pietruszkas. No one would believe it was Michał. It was only when father sent Stasiek out to tell people it was him. No one in the village had ever seen a car like that. Before the war the squire had a limousine, but it was only half the size of this one and it had an open roof, this one was all closed in and it had windows like a house. One time the bishop came for a confirmation in a limousine, but it couldn’t have held a candle to this one, even though it was all decorated and the bishop was in his purple.

The first thing Michał did was put his arms around mother and hold her for a long time, don’t cry, mama, come on now, don’t cry. Us he kissed just twice, once on each cheek. Then right away he started opening the cases. He’d brought all kinds of things for mother and father, though us brothers got our share as well. Me, I had socks, a tie, a scarf, some shaving soap. Mother got some material for a dress, a headscarf, needles and thread, cinnamon and pepper. Father, tobacco and cigarette papers and some winter gloves. Antek got a penknife with two blades and a corkscrew, Stasiek a mouth organ, and both of them got a shirt. Plus there were other things.

He said he was sorry to only come for a short visit, but he promised the next time he’d stay longer, maybe he’d even come for the harvest, because he’d not had a scythe in his hands all these years and he felt like doing some mowing, he wondered if he’d still know how. Today he’d just come by to see how we were all doing, how we’d gotten through the war. Since the end of the war he’d kept meaning to come see us, but something more important always got in the way. He’d not even had any time off till now, but he’d be back, for sure he’d be back.

There were some dumplings and broth left over from dinner, mother wanted to heat it up for him, but he said no, he wasn’t hungry, and besides they’d had something to eat on the way. He only drank some milk, because mother had just done the afternoon milking and it was still warm. He knocked a whole mugful back in one, it must have been more than a pint, and he actually gave a sigh and said it’d been a long time since he’d drunk real milk like that, straight from the cow. He even seemed to be made sad by the milk, because he fell to thinking for a moment. Mother said maybe he’d like some more, or she could pour some off into a bottle and he could drink it on the way back.

He laughed, as if about the bottle, though there wasn’t really anything funny about it. When he was apprenticed to a tailor and he’d come home every Sunday, mother always put milk in a bottle and he took it with him. But right away he hugged mother and kissed her on the forehead as if to say sorry for having laughed like that.