Andrzej Bursa - Killing Auntie

“I’m going,” I mumbled. “I must …”

Now more hands grabbed me and threw me on the bed. Everyone talked at me. A new cup of vodka was put under my nose. I leaped to my feet and turned over the table.

“Fools!” I screamed, “I have a corpse at home! I’m a murderer! A murderer!..”

With outstretched arms I tried to reach the door. Somewhere on the way I tripped over a stool and crashed to the floor. My head was booming just like a bathtub struck with an axe.

“I’m a murderer, ha ha ha …” I cried, picking myself up off the floor.

“What are you doing?!” shouted Jacek. “Be quiet …! Peasant …”

“Leave him alone,” said Hilda soberly. “He’s completely drunk.”

WALKING DOWN THE STREET, I SAW DOUBLE. I DON’T THINK I had ever experienced that before. I amused myself by guessing which of the twin objects was real. And usually I got it right. Yet my trousers were wet from wading through imaginary puddles. I vomited lightly and without any difficulties. I was balancing on the pavement, courteously giving passersby a wide berth. I was trying to sing out loud, but my throat was dry and my voice came out raspy. I came to a little square with two lonely benches. I dragged myself to one of them and keeled over. Immediately everything around me began to sway. The instability of my position instantly released the dynamic volatility of the world. So I changed my position. I stretched out on the bench with my head hanging down and legs thrown over the back. The world viewed from this vantage point, through the prism of alcohol, seemed for the first few seconds quite interesting. But it didn’t last long. I had to change my position again, as this one wasn’t very comfortable. Carefully handling the absurd weight of my head, I arranged my body into ever-different configurations. Now I sat on the armrest with raised arms. Then I changed into an ape, then into a hero. I blessed the alcohol that allowed me to assume all those forms. Eventually, I let go of the bench and moved on. I stopped for a moment and raised my finger:

“No one will learn about the corpse,” I whispered conspiratorially.

The pavement on the street where I stood was glistening and looked slippery. I hesitated before stepping onto it like before stepping into a river. Suddenly I heard the drum of horses’ hooves. In the perspective of the street loomed an ornamented coach pulled by two horses. I recognized a hearse. The horses ran at a trot and the hearse was quickly approaching. Enthralled and elated, I opened out my arms.

“Oh, you drivers of death!” I greeted them, “I envy you. And admire you. Oh how I admire you. How lightly, blithely and gracefully you carry off death! While I … I’m tired of it, I — a miserable murderer. Ah, why do I bother … I rejoice in your triumph. And thou, Cerberus with a peasant face … thou, that’s right — thou!..”

The hearse was almost level with me now and as I spat out the “thou” I pointed my finger at the face of the coachman dressed in funereal garb:

“Ha ha ha!.. Ride on, my hero. I shall farm my little bloody field myself. With the saw! With the axe! I kill … I kill …”

The hearse was vanishing in a whirr of turning wheels and trotting hooves. I followed it with my eyes and said in a hollow voice:

“As old Goethe used to say, as old Goethe used to say …”

I moved on with my open arms. I felt strong and free. The annihilation of the corpse seemed an easy task again. The sense of power exhilarated me.

“I’m free through murder!” I cried out. “Freeeeee!..”

As soon as the words died on my lips I was arrested. I didn’t even try to resist. Two policemen held me fast in a way that precluded any attempt at breaking loose. I let them lead me away in peace and humility. I was trying to carry myself with dignity. Not to tremble, or rattle my teeth. I thought bitterly that my freedom hadn’t lasted long. Not even forty-eight hours from the terrible deed. How long is forty-eight hours? There are twelve hours to the daytime. Twelve and twelve.

I was intrigued by the forthcoming trial and the prospect of being hanged. I didn’t feel bad at all except for the paralyzing fear of being beaten. I resolved to tell everything as soon as we arrived somewhere. I considered my chances of getting away with it. Very slim. Almost the entire corpse lay in my bath. Ah, but it probably lies there no more. They must have taken it away for forensics. But then they may have left it there under guard — hm, I wonder what he looks like, this man sitting in my flat now — and are going to lead me there. God, I hope they don’t beat me. I could hardly control the trembling.

The vodka evaporated now. There was only fear. I saw the neon letters on the police station. The booking room made a ghastly and somber impression on me. The only light was a desk lamp, which had no lamp shade and cast huge shadows of people and objects on the walls. I took in the drab furnishings: the desk behind a barrier, two chairs, a scratched bench. It crossed my mind that in a few minutes I might be laying on that bench, naked, bleeding and trembling. Proudly I raised my head. Standing so, with my face like a mask, I tried to think of the scornful grimace I should adopt for the first question.

They pushed me toward the barrier. I looked straight in the face of the on-duty sergeant behind the desk. It didn’t make any impression on him. They took away my wallet, my belt and my shoelaces. Luckily my trousers hung well without the belt and I could still look a hero. The policemen weren’t showing any interest in my person, which hurt my feelings. They just chatted among themselves, sluggishly. I couldn’t follow their conversation, as the vodka began to swoosh in my head again. One of the policemen, a weakling, shorter than me, to which I took personal offense, escorted me down a dark corridor to a heavy, steel-clad door. The bolt clanged and I was pushed inside a cold, unlit cell.

I stood rooted to my spot. I didn’t dare to make a move. I couldn’t see a thing. From the corners of the cell came animal-like grunts. Slowly my eyes grew used to the darkness. I began to get a sense of the dwarfish proportions of the cell. But I decided not to leave my spot. Suddenly I felt a live force grab me by the feet. Some enormous boa constrictor began winding itself around my legs. Roaring and choking, I grasped at the wall. The pressure eased momentarily, only to squeeze itself tighter. A large, heavy body was performing some terrifying convolutions around my feet. I stood patient as a sea rock. Based on the alternating rhythm of pounding and panting I came to the conclusion that there were in fact two bodies. But I was not sure. The hand which leaned against the wall and with which I was supporting myself was beginning to throb from the effort. At long last the bodies let go of my feet and crawled away into the deeps of the den.

With my back against the wall I slowly shuffled into a corner, where I sat down. The worn-out drunks were now lying in a writhing heap in the opposite corner. I thought that for my crime I was to suffer not only through the interrogation and execution but also a Golgotha of humiliation. Reducing me to the level of these drunks seemed to me particularly cruel. Their primitive noises kindled in me the fire of hatred. Meanwhile, having rested a bit, the pair resumed their orgiastic antics. I could now distinguish the movements of this creepy octopus. It wasn’t howling now but purred in a monotonous, almost plaintive fashion, locked on the clay floor in a weird dance, accompanied by a hollow thumping. Suddenly the corridor echoed with steps. The drunks grew still. Through my body ran a funny shudder, all the way from my toes to the top end of my spine. I felt a touch of chill on my cheeks. I rearranged my legs in readiness to spring to my feet but waited with dignity. When the door opened I was ready. I didn’t want to get up without an order.