Wieslaw Mysliwski - Stone Upon Stone

“Let me have a quart,” I said.

At first he didn’t speak, he just kept putting sticks in the stove, then after a moment he said:

“Where am I supposed to get that from?”

“Come on, I’m not here to spy on you.”

“Go to the pub. It’s still open. I don’t sell vodka anymore. I work on the railroad now.”

“Give him it, Jędruś,” his old lady spoke up. “Don’t you see he’s all wet? He can’t go to the pub looking like that. Don’t you remember that milk can? You have to help people.”

Marcinek gave his woman an angry look.

“Don’t you know how to feed a baby, dammit? All he does is scream and scream, it’s more than a man can bear!” He went on feeding the fire.

“You got a bottle?” he said gruffly.

“No.”

“Then what? You want me to pour it in your cap? You don’t even have a cap.”

But he got up and left the room. The baby started screaming again in its mother’s lap.

“Hush now, hush, you’ll get some dill leaves, just suck a little longer.” She took her other breast out of her blouse. “Maybe there’ll be more in this one.” The baby tried it but started up again. “Little thing like this doesn’t even know he’s alive, but he’s already done more than his fair share of crying. Are you not going to get married, Szymuś? It’s high time, life on your own’s no picnic.”

Marcinek came back with a quart bottle under his shirt. He’d filled it right up to the top.

“Though I don’t have anything to stop it with,” he said. “Unless I make a cork out of paper.”

“There’s no need,” I said.

“Why don’t you wait awhile,” said the wife. “Potato soup’s almost ready. You could have something to eat.”

“Why would he want potato soup,” Marcinek interrupted her. “His folks are probably waiting for him at home, they’ll have sausage.”

I took my first drink right outside the door. Then a second at the gate. On the other side of the road, at the crossroads there’s the shrine, and I collapsed on the steps under the Lord Jesus. The rain not only didn’t let up, it fell harder and harder, or maybe that was just how it appeared in the darkness, because in the darkness all sorts of things seem to happen that you wouldn’t see with your eyes in the daylight. So I sat there in the rain taking swigs from the bottle, and I even started feeling good. I talked a bit to Jesus, who was sitting above me under his little roof, his chin resting on his hands, pondering. And he talked to me. And so we talked to each other, till I’d finished the bottle and there was nothing left to talk about anymore. I said:

“I’ll be off, then, Lord, because otherwise I’ll start pondering like you, when you and I aren’t equal. I’ll just leave you this empty bottle, maybe it’ll come in handy if someone brings you flowers.”

I set off, though I wasn’t entirely sure where to. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe Kaśka was still in the store. I hadn’t been to see her for a long time. I’d just drop in there once in a while for cigarettes, though I preferred to buy them at the pub. When I had to go buy other things, I would just be going to the store, not to see her. One time she even asked me, are you ever gonna come see me again? Swing by sometime. Swing by, you won’t regret it. Maybe you could come today, I could stay late.

I stood in front of the door, it was locked up already. I called out, Kaśka, open up! Open up, you hear? Bitch isn’t there. She was supposed to stay late. I got so mad I started hammering on the door with my fists and kicking it. Open up! But on the other side it was quiet as the grave. I was all set to plop down in front and wait for her till morning, when I heard her voice from the other side of the door, she was all in a huff:

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Szymek. Open up!”

She gave me an angry welcome:

“Could you not find a worse time to come? The bastards are doing an inventory starting tomorrow. And here I’ve got half a sack of sugar too much and I’ve no idea where it came from. My mind’s on other things, I don’t have time for fun and games today.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Never mind what I want. Get yourself inside, since you’re here already.” She turned the key in the lock behind me and slid the bolt shut. “You look for him the whole year and he’s nowhere in sight. Where did you get so drunk?” She took a strong hold of me under the arms and led me through into the storeroom. The light was on there. She sat me on a sack of sugar or salt. She exclaimed:

“Dear Lord in heaven, you look awful! Were you trying to drown yourself or something? You’re soaked to the skin. Were you with some slut? You should have just stayed with her. Why did you have to come bothering me? I’ve thought and thought, the moment I closed up today I counted everything over and over, but I still have half a sack too much. And that bitch in accounting’s just waiting for a chance to kick me out and put her bastard boyfriend in my place. Whenever she visits the store she always finds something to complain about. There’s too many flies. You’ve got flypaper up, right? Sure, but the stuff they put on it is crap. Plus the store’s in the country, not the town, there have to be flies. Or the next time she says the floor’s not been swept. Sweep it yourself, bitch! Doesn’t say anything in the contract about sweeping. Or have people wipe their shoes before they come in, then no one’ll need to sweep the floor. Is it my fault her fella’s got the hots for me? He can have the hots for her as well, did I say he couldn’t? Though with a face like hers the devil himself wouldn’t be interested. He’s all, here Miss Kaśka, there Miss Kaśka. And when he laughs it sounds like someone stepped on a rat, the prick. Go to hell, Mr. Marzec, this is a store, not whatever you think it is. He forgets there are other people there. That old witch Mrs. Skrok pipes up, for goodness’ sake, Kaśka, all those men, you’ll end up in hell. I’ll see you there then. I’ll tell you where you can stick that hell of yours.” All of a sudden she grabbed me under the arms and tugged so hard I lurched toward her. “Come sit over here, that sack’s got sugar in it, it’ll get wet and lumpy. If you weren’t such a bad boy I’d buy you an umbrella. You could carry it around with you. Have you seen the priest’s umbrella? He follows behind a coffin, it’s pouring, everyone’s looking like scarecrows, but him, he’s dry as a bone. He even has the sacristan carry it for him. And you, you’re not just anyone either, you’re a government worker. Even Smotek’s got an umbrella. His son-in-law gave it to him. He wandered in here one time with the umbrella open. I say, it isn’t raining inside. I just need mustard, he says, it’s not worth folding it then having to open it again. Maybe you wanna take a nap?”

“I didn’t come here to sleep.”

“You can barely stay upright you’re so drunk. And sopping wet into the bargain.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“Then let me at least dry your hair, the water’s dripping in your eyes.” She snatched a towel from a hook and started rubbing my hair so hard I thought she was dragging me down the road. But I had no wish to stop her, let her drag me, maybe she’d fall down a hole and then she’d stop of her own accord.

“Your hair’s like a horse’s mane,” she said. She wasn’t angry anymore, she was even being nice. “I’m not sure I’d like you as much if you didn’t have hair. I can’t stand bald men. I’d never sleep with a bald guy, whoever he was. One time Kuśmider wouldn’t leave me alone, he kept going on about how he’d come by. Come by where? To the store, Kaśka, to see you. Then go buy yourself a rug first. You can wear it in the winter instead of a cap. You won’t even have to take it off in church. Your hair’s all wet, but it’s so thick. If you keep chasing after the other girls and ignoring me, one of these days I’ll pull it all out. Though chase whoever you like, I could care less. Men are like cats, they’d die if they only had one place to go poking. They have to run around. But if one of them took you away from me forever, I think I’d kill her. Then you, then myself. With that butcher’s knife up there, see it? Imagine how people would talk in the village. Did you hear what that Kaśka went and did? Who’da thought. There she was selling sugar and soap and salt and candies, and she had it in her to kill? Then that piece of work in accounting could give the job to her son-of-a-bitch boyfriend, let him come work here. I mean, what is there to sell? Sugar, salt, soap, candies, matches. Over and over. Sometimes I’ve had it up to here. One time they delivered a barrel of herring. My hands, my apron, face, hair — I was covered in herring. On top of that people almost broke down the door buying them. Everyone was taking five pounds, ten pounds. Have you all gone nuts? Fighting over fish? I felt like knocking them over the head with those herring. It’d be nice if I got a delivery of chocolate one day, or raisins or almonds. In town people drink coffee, they could start drinking it here as well. Instead of just vodka the whole time. But instead of that the bastards have me doing inventory every other day. Couldn’t you have called by this morning, let me know you were coming? I’d have gotten the job out of the way. Now what am I supposed to do?”