Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

What difference did it make to me? I wasn’t going to live forever either way, everyone has to die sooner or later, so eventually things’ll even out. Memorials aren’t built for the present. Now the people that remember are still alive. But they’ll die as well one of these days, and after that the memorials will have to do the remembering on their own. And memorials don’t like it when someone stands out. What did I care? The people that were killed and buried there, it’d be easier for them as well if one more joined them. And that way it’d be everyone. No one escaped. Your health!

“Here, have some sausage. It’s homemade, not shop-bought. The bread as well. You know, what does it mean that one guy got away? Did anyone see it? No one did. The ones that saw it are six feet under. He could have escaped or not escaped. Maybe people just said he did. People say all kinds of things. Did anyone ever escape from a hellish situation like that? But folks like it when at least one person always escapes, and even if he didn’t, they like to say he did. How could he have escaped? They brought them there, surrounded them, every one of them had a machine gun, plus they had dogs.”

“There weren’t any dogs,” I said.

“So what if there weren’t. There could have been. Besides, if death is staring you in the face it’s death you see, fear, even if they’d had dogs you wouldn’t have seen them. One time they came to Bolechów for this one guy, they had dogs and every one of them was trained like the devil, you couldn’t take a single step. Even if he’d run away the dogs wouldn’t have let him get far. They weren’t village mongrels. And with a gunshot wound on top of that? He wouldn’t have gotten more than a few yards. And those devils, once they smell human blood they’ll bite you to death. Being killed by bullets is better than being killed by dogs. So then, are we good?”

They got me so muddled I didn’t know whether I’d died or not. On top of that the vodka came over you in such a sweet way that you could have died and you wouldn’t have known it. And I would have felt foolish drinking and eating with them and then saying no. But then all of a sudden mother called from the kitchen:

“Get away with you now, stop leading him into temptation. He doesn’t need to be on a memorial, he’s at home, thank the Lord. I cried my fill for him back then, why should I have to do more crying?” She turned to father to back her up: “You say something as well, father!”

But father had been drinking with us all the while and eating sausage and eggs, it would have been hard for him to be against it, and you could tell his head was muddled up pretty good as well, because all he said was:

“So how’s the weather over in Borowice?”

“What kind of father are you!” Mother was so mad she clanged her ladle against the pot. “Here they are trying to convince your son that he was killed, and all you can do is ask about the weather!”

At this point, scared of getting in mother’s bad books, he mumbled reluctantly:

“The thing is, if he thinks he was killed he won’t feel like working. And there’s no end of work around here. Harvesttime is coming. This year we planted three acres of rye alone. Then there’ll be the potato digging. That’s a big job as well. You came at the wrong time. You should have come after the harvest and the potato digging. In the winter would have been better.”

Twenty-five of us they shot back then. They’d ordered a meeting on the square in front of the district offices. No one knew what they were capable of yet, they’d only been there a year, so the farmers all came in like it was market day, from our village, from others. Besides, there wasn’t anything to be afraid of, just like always the local policeman had gone around with a drum announcing there was going to be a meeting, so at most we figured they were after meat and milk and cereals, what else could they want from farmers. Father was going to attend, but at the last minute he changed his mind and said, you go, because he might pick some clover for the animals. Or maybe take a nap, the whole previous night he’d had a stomachache, probably from the black pudding the day before.

There was already a crowd on the square in front of the building. An officer was standing on a table they’d carried out from inside, making a speech. Actually he was screaming, jumping up and down on the table and waving his right arm around, his left hand was tucked into his belt and it wasn’t moving, like it didn’t belong with the other one. Right next to him on the table there was a civilian that was supposedly translating, though the officer didn’t give him much of a chance to translate. It looked like he missed about half of what the other guy was shouting about, because the other guy just kept on shouting and shouting. And he was having trouble with the translation, he stammered and stuttered and he was talking so quietly, like he was just telling someone in the next room. Maybe he was afraid, or he wasn’t allowed to talk as loud as the officer. So I didn’t even hear most of it, especially because the farmers were also muttering among themselves:

“Listen to the fucker yell.”

“Keep shouting like that and your balls are gonna drop off.”

“A dog can bark all it wants, it’ll never talk like a human.”

“Because you have to be born human to talk like a human, you can’t learn it, Wincenty.”

In any case, what I got out of it was that we needed to supply even more stuff, because the German soldiers were fighting for us just the same. At the end he screamed something so loud he almost rose off the table and floated into the sky. At that exact moment a whole bunch of soldiers poured out from behind the administration building. Where had so many of them come from all at once? Socha from Malenice pointed to where two trucks were parked in back of the building. They started to push us back against the fence with the butts of their rifles. The translator told us to form lines, because the officer was going to come talk with some of us one-on-one.

So we formed lines and the officer started walking around. But he evidently didn’t have much to say anymore, because he just pointed at one or another of the men, and the soldiers pulled them out and had them stand in the middle of the square. He reached me and he might not have paid any attention to me, but he suddenly looked at my four-cornered Polish army cap and his face bulged. Because I wore a cap like that. I’d brought it back from when I’d been in the regular army, it didn’t have the eagle on it and without the eagle it just looked like an ordinary cap, so what did I have to be afraid of. He asked me through the translator if I’d been in the war? I had. So I’d fought against him? I had. He smashed me right in the face. He was a stocky guy with a bull neck and a face like a cobblestone. My nose started bleeding. He hit me with his other hand, then punched me in the stomach for good measure.

Truth was I’d barely done any fighting at all back then, less than three weeks, and most of it we were just marching endlessly back and forth, then off in another direction till we didn’t know which way was which. Then when we finally started to actually fight, right away the order came through to stop fighting and retreat. I shot my gun all of five times and I probably never killed anyone, unless God hit someone with one of my bullets. But I don’t know about it if he did. On top of that I came down with the dysentery, and whenever we halted for a moment I’d have to run off into the bushes. I lost weight, grew a beard, got infested with lice, and that was my war. But I wasn’t going to tell that bastard the truth when he asked if I’d fought. I had fought.

It wasn’t enough that he knocked me around, he also pulled the cap off my head and stomped on it. And he didn’t just point his finger at me, he used his whole hand. The soldiers grabbed me under the arms and dragged me out into the middle of the square with the other men that had already been picked out. Then a truck drove up and they ordered us to climb in.