Jerzy Pilch - My First Suicide

I took into my hands object after object, opened box after box. In the first were tangles of fossilized yarn and a million buttons. In the second, promissory notes, bills, postcards. In the third, daguerreotypes — fragile as emigration — of old man Trzmielowski and old lady Mary, with Humphrey the cat in her hands; they stand, smiling broadly, before an iron gate leading to a gold mine in Nevada. No wonder they are laughing. They would return to Wisła soon thereafter, and, in addition to the eccentric custom of giving Anglo-Saxon names to the household animals, they would bring with them so many dollars that there would be enough for satin jackets and dresses with décolletage for Zuza. The fourth box was full of burned out prewar light bulbs. A collection that was not sorrowful or comical, but lofty and romantic. Who among you women has loved like this? What woman in the world got the idea of saving the light bulbs that had shined during the lifetime of her beloved? As a memento of that by-gone light over their heads; as a memento of those moments when they were gently extinguished over their bed?

A pair of hunting binoculars, which were older than World War II and had belonged to Grandma’s first husband, were in the fifth box. I knew about their existence, because, from time to time, whenever unique astronomical phenomena occurred — when bizarre air vehicles glided over the mountains, or on a summer night something unusual happened in the sky: the Big Dipper made such a big dip that its handle cracked, or the North Star shined ever more strongly from minute to minute, as if it were flying straight toward our yard — whenever such spectacles occurred in the cosmos over our heads, Grandma Pech went to the back room, meticulously shut the door behind her, and returned after a moment with the binoculars.

Once, we observed a biplane circling over Wisła; once, a comet over Czantoria Mountain. The biplane circled desperately and in vain and couldn’t find a way to straighten out its flight or make the decision to land; it looked tragic to the naked eye, but entirely different with the binoculars. The plates of the fuselage were about to drop off, its flight was about to end, but through the binoculars we saw the plane soaring calmly in the sky, the solid riveting of the wings, the equally shining dials on the control panels. Janek was even able to catch sight of the pilot’s face. Supposedly he wasn’t in a panic at all, supposedly — quite the opposite — he was in sovereign control of the rudders, and this was most likely accurate, for suddenly, after one of the circlings, he stepped hard on the gas and disappeared over Jarzębata Mountain. The motors fell silent; we were sure that he had landed on the peak. We rushed up there as if on wings, in an absolutely full sprint. Usually it takes at least an hour to walk to the peak of the Jarzębata — we were there in a few minutes. I will never forget the sudden silence of our thudding hearts and the yellow meadow, in the middle of which the biplane ought to have stood, its propeller still revolving, and yet there wasn’t a trace — only the great calm of the Beskid peak, the warm breath of the sun, the gentle ocean of the blue sky, and a partridge suddenly shooting upward.

From a distance, the comet over Czantoria Mountain looked like normal fire, except that it was slowly floating through the air; but from up close, it looked like a red-hot bulldozer driving in first gear. The binoculars brought everything close: the pieces that were incessantly falling off the humming machinery, the meteors that were constantly revolving — as in a cauldron — in its very center, the blizzards of snow creating an ideal fan, the spotlights wandering across the peaks of the mixed forest.

V

I carefully erased the traces of a plundering expedition that had been crowned with complete success. I arranged all the boxes and all the objects in their proper places. Then, with the treasure hidden under my shirt, I flitted through the house; then, along the steep path up the railway embankment. I was the happiest person in the world: I was running toward certain victory; Janek didn’t have a chance.

An image that was foggy, but nonetheless brought nearer? I had exaggerated in the first euphoric moment. The binoculars found on the river bottom didn’t bring anything nearer, literally not a thing. They were suitable for placing on an altar. For the very peak of the old bureau, in which Janek kept all his discoveries. That is where he put it, and there — like the crown of miraculous discoveries — he worshipped it. I had a hard time believing it, but a few times I caught him casting glances that seemed uncanny to me, because I didn’t know that they were tender. I swear. I was jealous of his love for the old German binoculars, and I offered him — I know that this will sound terrible — much more attractive goods. All of this took place blindly and in the dark, but I simply agreed that he could love his, while using mine. Blindly and in the dark, I attempted to convince him to commit infidelity. Everything I did, I did instinctively. He — as it would turn out — not only knew everything; he also knew how to give everything a name.

We stood on the embankment, and we turned in all directions, and we saw right in front of our noses the clock on the church tower, a swimmer jumping from the diving platform into the pool, the border patrols walking along the border on the top of Stożek Mountain, women sprinters practicing in the stadium, clouds on Ram Mountain, perhaps even the tower of the Cieszyn Castle. We saw everything! Everything at every moment could be brought near! Every meadow, every courtyard, every car, every swimming suit, every head, all the legs, all the shoulders. The carnival of unbridled close-up peeping had begun! Everything! With details! The unprecedented season of bringing near all that is far had begun!

It had begun, but we didn’t give a damn. The binoculars, which were as rare as the comet over Czantoria Mountain, brought everything probably a thousand times nearer, but we were interested in bringing only one thing nearer. Only one. No couples disappearing into the woods, no girls changing clothes on the river bank, no women’s dressing rooms at the swimming pool, no female athletes standing under the showers after practice, no rooms in which God knows who was doing what! No mythological meadows near Bukowa, on which nymphs from Gliwice danced with Chorzów satyrs! No wide open windows in the tourist hotels! None of them!

None — except for one! You smile, because you know right off the bat — just like us — what window we’re talking about here. You smile, because — just like us — you don’t know what sort of tragedy would immediately follow! That’s right! The unprecedented season of looking at everything from up close basically never even got started. Or rather, strictly speaking, it ended before it could get started! That’s right. It ended before we understood that it had dawned.

It goes without saying: among all those wide open Wisła windows, among all the wide open windows of the Principality of Cieszyn, among all the wide open windows in the world — only one window came into play. You guessed it. Her window. Under the very roof of the Almira, on the left side, a window that was open round the clock — even when summer downpours came — and lit up every evening with a thick, yellow luster, which didn’t go out until late in the night. The window of the bizarrely dressed female vacationer. Who knows what sorts of secrets would finally be revealed! Finally, we would discover what that freak did in the evening! What she was up to! What her life consisted of! How many more dresses — and just how bizarre — did she still have in her wardrobe!

I was overflowing with repeated waves of pride. Not only had I had enough courage and skill to break into a dresser that was, perhaps, inhabited by evil spirits. Not only did the discovery extracted from there slightly trump Janek’s discovery. Not only did it give the gift of bringing everything near. Not only did it bestow the overwhelming power that all the peeping toms of the world savor. It was also the key to a fundamental secret. It allowed us to solve the greatest mystery of that summer! Janek could just go ahead and keep that optical ruin of his on the top of the dresser, he could venerate it, worship it like the golden calf. But just let him attempt to climb up the diving platform at the swimming pool, and just let him attempt to see from there into the depths of the yellow light under the roof of the Almira. Lord God! What preeminence You have finally given me supremacy over my always prevailing friend! Of what pride have You given me to drink! You have even permitted me to see humility — let’s say: a certain humility — in his eyes and in his motions. For it was with humility, with the humility of the subordinate that Janek Nikandy climbed up the diving tower at the swimming pool that evening.