Selected Polish Tales Part 35

'We are going to the police-station to take out a summons against that Jendrek of yours; look what he has done to Hermann; we have a certificate from the surgeon that his injuries are serious.'

'He came ogling the schoolmaster's daughter, now he shall ogle his prison bars,' Hermann added thickly behind his bandages.

Slimak was getting worried.

'You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,' he said, 'to take out a summons for a bit of boy's nonsense; didn't Hermann box his ears too?

But we don't take out summonses for that sort of thing.'

'Oh, rather! I gave it him,' mumbled Hermann, 'but where's the blood?

where's the doctor's certificate?'

'You're a nice one,' said Slimak bitterly, 'there was no policeman to certify that it was we who saved you the hog, but when a boy plays a prank on you, you go to law.'

'Perhaps with you a hog means as much as a man,' sneered Fritz; 'with us it is different.'

Slimak's meditations now turned from bolts and padlocks to prisons. He talked the matter over with Maciek.

'When they put our small Jendrek in Court by the side of that big Hermann, I reckon they won't do much to him.'

'They'll do nothing to him,' agreed the labourer.

'All the same, I should like to know what the punishment is for thras.h.i.+ng a man.'

'They don't trouble their heads much about it. When Potocka beat her neighbour over the head with a saucepan, they just fined her.'

'That's true, but I am afraid they think more of the Germans than of our people.'

'How could they think more of unbelievers?'

'Look at the police-sergeant, he talks to Hamer as he wouldn't even talk to Gryb.'

'That is so, but when he has looked round to see that no one is listening, he tells you that a German is a mangy dog. You see, the Germans have their Kaiser, but he's nothing like as great as our Czar; I have it from a soldier who was in the hospital, and he used to say: "Bah, he's nothing compared to ours!"'

This greatly rea.s.sured Slimak, and he went to church with his wife and son the next Sunday to find out what others, familiar with the ways of the law, thought of the matter. Maciek remained at home to look after the dinner and the baby.

It was past noon when Burek began to bark furiously. Maciek looked out and saw a man dressed like the townspeople standing at the gate; he had pulled his cap well over his face. The farm-labourer went outside.

'What's up?'

'Take pity on us, gospodarz,' said the stranger, 'our sledge has broken down close by, and I can't mend it, because they have stolen the hatchet out of my basket last night.'

Maciek looked doubtful. 'Have you come far?'

'Twenty-five miles; my wife and I are driving twelve miles further. I will give you good vodka and sausages if you will help us.'

Maciek's suspicions lessened when vodka was mentioned. He shook his head and crossed himself, but ultimately decided that one must help one's neighbour, fetched the hatchet and went out with the stranger.

He found a one-horse sledge standing near the farm. A woman, even more smartly dressed than the man, sat huddled up in a corner; she blessed Maciek in a tearful voice, but her husband did more, he poured out a large tumblerful of vodka and offered it to the labourer, drinking to his health first. Maciek apologized, as the ceremony demanded, then took a long pull, till the tears came into his eyes. He set about mending the sledge, and although it was a small job and did not take him more than half an hour, the strangers thanked him extravagantly, the woman gave him half a sausage and some roast pork, and the man exclaimed: 'I have travelled far and wide, but I have never found a more obliging peasant than you are, brother. I should like to leave you a remembrance. Have you got a bottle?'

'I think I could find one,' said Maciek, in a voice trembling with delight. The man unceremoniously pushed his wife on one side and drew a large bottle from underneath the seat.

'We are off now,' he said, 'we will go to the gospodarstwo and you shall give me some nails in case of another breakdown, and I will leave you some of this cordial in return. Mind, if your head or your stomach aches or you are worried and can't sleep, take a gla.s.sful of this: all your worries will at once disappear. Take good care of it and don't on any account give a drop away, it's a speciality; my grandfather got it from the monks at Radecznica, it's as good as holy water.'

Maciek went into the house, the stranger remained in the yard, looking carelessly round the buildings, while Burek barked madly at him. At any other time the dog's anger would have roused Maciek's suspicion, but how could one think anything but well of a guest who had already given vodka and sausages and who was offering more drink? He smilingly offered a big-bellied bottle to the traveller, who poured half a pint of the cordial into it, and when he took leave he repeated the warning that it should be used only in case of need.

Maciek stuffed a piece of rag into the neck of the bottle and hid it in the stable. He felt a strong desire to taste the drink, if only a drop, but he resisted.

'Supposing I were to get ill... better keep it.'

He rocked the baby to sleep and then woke her up again to tell her about the hospital and his broken leg, about the travellers who had left him such a magnificent present, but nothing could take his thoughts away from the monks' cordial. The big-bellied bottle seemed to hover over the pots and pans on the stove, it blossomed out of the wall, it almost tapped at the window, but Maciek blinked his eyes and thought: 'Leave me alone, you will come in useful some day!'

Shortly before sunset he heard cheerful singing in the road, and.

quickly stepping outside, he saw the gospodarz and his family returning from church. They were silhouetted against the red sky in the white landscape. Jendrek, his head in the air and his arms crossed behind his back, was walking on the left side of the road, the gospodyni in her blue Sunday skirt, and her jacket unb.u.t.toned, so that her white chemise and bare chest were showing, on the right. The gospodarz, his cap awry, and holding up nis sukmana as for a dance, lurched from right to left and from left to right, singing. The labourer laughed, not because they were drunk, but because it pleased him to see them enjoying themselves.

'Do you know, Maciek,' cried Slimak from afar, 'do you know the Swabians can't hurt us!'

He ran up full tilt and supported himself on Maciek's neck.

'Do you know,' cried the gospodyni, coming up,'we have seen Jasiek Gryb who knows all about the law; we told him about Jendrek's giving it to Hermann, and he swore by a happy death that the Court would let Jendrek off; Jasiek has been tried for these tricks himself, he knows.'

'Let them try and put me in prison!' shouted Jendrek.

It was in this frame of mind that they sat down, but somehow the dinner was not a success. Slimakowa poured most of the sauerkraut over the table, the gospodarz had no appet.i.te, and Jendrek had forgotten how to hold a spoon, scalded his father's foot with soup and finally fell asleep. His parents followed his example, so Maciek was left to himself again. The big-bellied bottle started pursuing him immediately. It availed nothing that he busied himself with the fire and the wick of the flickering lamp. The snoring around him disposed him to sleep and the smell of vodka that had been introduced into the room filled him with longing. In vain he tried to keep off the thoughts that circled like moths round the light. When he forgot his misery at the hospital, he thought of the forlornness of the abandoned baby, and when he put that aside his own needs overwhelmed him again. 'It's no use,' he muttered, 'I must go to bed.'

He wrapped the child in the sheepskin and went into the stable. He lay down on the straw, the warmth of the horses tempered the cold, and Maciek closed his eyes, but sleep would not come; it was too early yet.

As he turned from side to side, his hand came in contact with the bottle; he pushed it away; but, violating the law of inertia, it thrust itself irresistibly into his hand; the rag remained between his fingers, and when he mechanically lifted it to his eyes in the half- light, the strange vessel leapt to his lips of its own accord. Before he was conscious of what he was doing, Maciek had pulled a long draft of the health-giving speciality. He gulped it down and pulled a wry face. The drink was not only strong, it was nauseous; it simply tasted like ordinary medicine. 'Well, that wasn't worth longing for!' he thought, as he stuffed up the neck of the bottle again. He resolved to be more temperate in future with a liquor which was not distinguished for a good taste.

Maciek said a prayer and felt warm and calm. He remembered the home-coming of the gospodarz's family: they all stood before his eyes as if they were alive. Suddenly Slimak and Jendrek vanished and only Slimakowa remained near him in her unb.u.t.toned jacket which exposed rows of corals and her bare white chest. He closed his eyelids and pressed them with his fingers, so as not to look, but still he saw her, smiling at him in a strange way. He hid his head in the sheepskin--it was in vain; the woman stood there and smiled in a way that sent the fever through his veins. His heart beat violently; he turned his head to the wall and, terror-stricken, heard her voice whispering close to him: 'Move up!'

'Where am I to move to?' groaned Maciek.

A warm hand seemed to embrace his neck.

Then his mattress began to ascend with him, he flew... flew. G.o.d I was he falling or being lifted into the air? he felt as light as a feather, as smoke. He opened his eyes for a moment and saw stars glittering in a dark sky over a snowy landscape. How could he be seeing the sky?

No... he must have made a mistake; darkness was surrounding him again.

He wanted to move, but could not; besides, why should he move, when he felt so extraordinarily comfortable? there was not a thing in the world that it would be worth while moving a finger for, nothing but sleep mattered, sleep without awakening. He sighed heavily and slept and slept.

A sensation of pain woke Maciek from a dreamless sleep which must have lasted about ten hours. He felt himself violently shaken, kicked in the ribs and on the head, tugged by his arms and legs.

'Get up, you thief... get up!' a voice was shouting at him.

He tried to get up, but turned over on the other side instead. The blows and tugs recommenced, and the voice, choked with rage, continued:

'Get up! I wish the holy earth had never carried you!'

At last Maciek roused himself and sat up; the light hurt his eyes, his head felt heavy like a rock; so he closed his eyes again, supported his head and tried to think; immediately he received a blow in the face from a fist. When at last he opened his eyes, he saw that it was Slimak who was standing over him, mad with rage.