Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

None of the girls would dance with me anymore, they all said they were tired and out of breath from all those polkas and obereks. Why was it all fast dances? Couldn’t they play something slow? Polkas and obereks are old hat. But I insisted they keep playing them. I could care less what you all think. Sit on your backsides, be wallflowers for all I care. I’ll give you old hat.

“Come on, Ignaś.” I pulled on Ignaś Magdziarz’s arm. He was drunk and sitting on a tree stump swaying, looking like he was about to fall off any minute. “We’ll show these bastards whether polkas and obereks are old hat. You be the girl and I’ll be the man. Come on. If you get bored we’ll switch, I’ll be the girl and you can lead. Just don’t step on my toes, and make sure you throw me up in the air at the right moment. Actually you can be two girls or two men if you like, makes no difference to me. One of them taller, one of them shorter, one fat the other thin, a red-haired one, a bald one, one of them blind, the other one lame, the hell with it all, Ignaś, I don’t even need to be there, just so long as you’ll party with me. I’ll marry the two of you if you want. You think I can’t? I can marry a guy to a guy, a woman to a woman, a dog with a bitch, an ox with a donkey, anyone I want, I can marry everyone to everyone else. If I want musicians I’ll marry the fiddler to the accordion player, the clarinetist to the trombonist, the drummer to his drums. You don’t believe me? Then drink up, cause you obviously haven’t had enough to drink, and you have to believe it, Ignaś, you have to. Even if you’ve never seen it, you have to believe it. If you’re drinking vodka and you don’t believe you’re drinking, it’s like you’re not actually drinking at all. People are hopping and jumping, but we need to party all the way around. The world turns around, life goes around, you need to drink around.”

Ignaś just sat there rocking and crying and repeating:

“I can’t, Szymuś, I can’t. I can’t be the girl or the man, not anymore. I have to puke. I’ve forgotten how to really party. Those were the days, Szymuś, those were the days. It was so fine back then.”

I gave up on him and started dancing on my own. People were shouting, stop pushing! He’s gone nuts! He’s drunk as a skunk! Me, I had my arms up in the air like the branches of an apple tree, like the wings of an eagle, and hey-ho! hey-ho! I was shoved and yanked one way and the other, they tried to force me off the dance platform. But once I gave a good wave of those wings of mine, I had a space around me that was big as the whole dance, and so deep you couldn’t see the bottom. All I could hear were squeals and shouts off to the side. I kept dancing.

I don’t even know when the clearing emptied and the band stopped playing. What did I care, I had a band inside me, the fiddle was fiddling away under my chin, the accordion swung between my sides, the drum beat in my belly, the trombone blared in my ear, and the clarinet whined from my heart. Dawn was dawning through the trees, dew had fallen from the sky to the earth, the birds had woken up and the air was trembling with birdsong, and I was still dancing, all on my own in the clearing, all on my own in the world, like on a battlefield after the battle. Everyone had gone except Ignaś Magdziarz, who was lying drunk next to his tree stump. Otherwise there was nothing but empty vodka bottles, broken crates, smashed glasses, plates, scraps of paper.

Afterwards, at work I got hauled over the coals by Maślanka for supposedly disgracing the district administration. That was probably why I got transferred from weddings to quotas soon after. But the firemen were even madder at me, they were collecting for a motor pump and the dance was meant to bring in the rest of the money. Because of me they came out at a loss, I frightened people away and they ended up with most of the vodka unsold and half a cartload of sandwiches. Though how could they have lost money if I spent my whole month’s salary there? On top of that, word went around I was getting married. One dance and I was already marrying. People! If that were the case I’d have been married a hundred times already. And this time things hadn’t even started before they were over. But say what you like, say I’m getting married. If I deny it they’ll just talk all the more.

It was another thing that I became a little bit meeker. People made jokes at my expense and I didn’t do a thing. I didn’t go around the other offices so much, I mostly just stayed at my desk. Besides, I didn’t want to see her because she’d probably heard what I got up to at the dance. And I had no intention of trying with her again. It hadn’t worked out, tough, let each of us go our own way. Good morning. Good morning. Nothing more. But more and more people seemed to be saying I was getting married. This person, that person, everyone I met. And that I’d changed, I was avoiding people, I didn’t come by anymore, didn’t visit with them. The girls were the worst of all. They’re like a bunch of vipers.

So then — is a junior high graduate better than a girl who’s only finished elementary school? Does she put out just the same? You always used to prefer them broader in the backside. Your tastes have obviously changed. And call that a bust? Her breasts look like they had the life sucked out of them by babies. Surely you can’t be in love? You, in love! Unless it’s like a dog in love with a bitch. Anyway, who’d believe you. You can’t be believed even when you say good morning, the morning can still end badly. You’re not to be trusted. And her, she’s just a stupid girl and that’s that. She’ll be crying over you yet. You’d think school would have made her smarter, but she let herself get taken in like all the rest. You’re probably just pulling the wool over her eyes with all your fine words, while she thinks you’re going to marry her. You’ll marry her for one night, till you go chasing after someone else. Besides, even if you did get married, what kind of life would she have with you? You’re not a farmer, not an office worker either. Putting it in and taking it out, that’s all you know how to do. That, you’re good at. You talk away and before you know it, there you are inside. Where it’s neither bitter nor sweet. And you can’t be pushed out or pulled out either, it’s like you’ve put down roots in her body. And afterwards, girl, make sure he hasn’t left you with a baby in your belly. So you wait and see if the sickness begins. If you get a sudden yen for sauerkraut or sour apples. You run to the church to ask God for forgiveness. You beg him for your time of the month like you were asking for happiness. Lord, I’m suffering here, give me at least a drop of blood. Never, never again. But the moment it passes you take the bastard back inside yourself. Because fear is easy to forget, and God even easier. You’re probably trying to win her over with those seven wounds of yours, aren’t you, you weasel? Either way it’ll end in bed, or some old place. I ought to scratch your eyes out. But let her do it for me. I’ve done enough crying. I’m such a fool.

Mother and father heard I was getting married, and it looked like I was hiding it from them. I could see them giving me funny looks. But I thought it was because I was coming straight home after work, that I wasn’t drinking, and I’d stopped complaining about working in the fields. And maybe they were just waiting nervously to see how long it would last.

Till one day I’m sitting at the table having some cabbage soup, I was supposed go do some plowing, when suddenly mother pipes up from her bed that people are saying I’m getting married. That she was so pleased, so pleased, even if I was keeping it from them. God must have finally answered her prayers. Who was the young lady? Was she from a farming family? Was she a good person? And when were we planning to have the wedding, because she hoped she’d live long enough, so she wouldn’t have to worry about me in the next life. From now on she’d be praying for both of us like we were both her own children. That the gold medallion she wore would be for my wife. And that now, death seemed just like falling asleep, and she could die without any regrets. After that, how could I tell her none of it was true. I said: