A Marek Koterski film Day of The Wacko Starring Marek Kondrat I’m afraid to get up in the morning. I’m afraid of the day. Every day, in the morning, I’m afraid to open my eyes. Out of fear of dawn. I don’t know completely what to do with the incoming day. I can’t stand it. Oh fuck! In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen. It seems I do have some duties, but there is… a void. As if it didn’t matter completely whether I get up or not. Whether I’ll do anything or not. Holy fuck! Hygiene, eating, work, eating, work, smoking, pills, sleep… Holy bloody fuck! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Do you sirs have to so fucking fuck around from the bloody morning!? Only ’cause I don’t attend some bloody factory at 7.00 your prole minds fathom me an idler!? You think you may fuck around over intellectual’s ears from the break of day? Lest he had an hour, bit, longer sleep than yours, since he’d fallen asleep only by the morning! So an intellectual’s done for for a day entire! You’ll return to fuck about as I’ll sit to work! Now I inhale the abdomen for a day entire. ‘ve been doing so for years, I have. I take the alarm clock, the unfinished night coffee, and the infertile newspaper whom I raped yesterday before sleep. I take the clock to the room. I guess I do it only so that it could terrorize me through the rest of the day by measuring complete o’clocks. And I open the balcony door in order to air-off yesterday’s tobacco after-reek. The used-up press I drop in the hallway, at these to be thrown away, this. The mug with yesterday’s tea I take to kitchen, and by the way I fill the pot in the sink with hot water. I put milk into it in order to warm it up. Now, seven gulps of the mineral non-fizzy. ’cause it’s very healthy: it dissolves the gastric juices and prevents ulcers. Three, four, five, six, seven. When I think that I have to shave myself today again… I try to see only as the blade moves along the skin, and not to watch the eyes and my entire face. With disbelief and envy I look as the macho guys in the movies wipe-ou.. wipe-off with a towel the remains of foam off their faces after shave. I would, throughout the entire day, feel on my face, skin, that unwashed-off completely foam, this. Or, they nearly don’t rinse their mouths after teeth-brushing. Do they eat this tooth-paste? Swallow it, for fuck’s sake?? What do they do with it? I even gargle my throat after I brush my teeth. I put a bowl under the tap in the bath tub, not to waste water. And I wash my face, also till seven. Three times with hot, with moistening of ears with the tips of wet fingers. And four times with the cold. And so I sit on the board, reading through English, which it seems I’ll never master. And I try to versify something by myself on the toilet. I wipe my butt long-time, is the paper clean. Sometimes, though very rarely, it’s enough till four. Usually, however, I keep polishing till seven or thirteen or twenty one. Often half a roll is gone till I wipe myself. I wash under till seven. So, three times the butt, while sitting on the brink of the tub. Four, the crotch and the dick. Together it makes seven. Today there’s no turn for bathing, so there’re also feet. Whole, with the head, I bath in the odd days, unless I go to a theatre, doctor’s or a date. Only that there’re no dates. I wash the feet in this water of face and butt — cheaper and more ecologic. ’cause I see in my mind the children suffering from thirst. And I think about the drought in India. About death of dehydration. When I prepare the breakfast I usually listen about traffic jams. As those morons are stuck in those fucking cars. The whole Praga is halted. All the bridges to the city centre are not passable. The road works have caused a huge traffic jam… I pour into a bowl a handful of regular flakes, a handful of honey-flakes, and a handful of fruity ones. A handful of sprouts, and a handful of brans. A handful of walnuts, the shelled ones of course, a handful of Cleopatra, which altogether makes seven handfuls. Today is the day I am short on corn flakes, so I pour the remains and count it half a handful. Holy bloody fuck! I can’t stand wasting food. As a principle. My wife, the ex, used to constantly throw out bread. While millions are starving in the world. Not to eat alone, I eat with TV. Bravo! Bravo! Shame! Our is Poland only! Only us, the Poles! Bravo! Shame! There’s only one reason, and me! We are right! Bravo! Shame! One is the reason… Bravo! Shame! …but it is with us! Scandal! Scandal! Bravo! Only I am Right. Shame! Bravo! And it’s a holy Right. Shame! Bravo! Scandal! Because even if it’s yours, then my is miner than yourer. That only my Right is the minest! Bravo! So many times I swore: “I’m not going to wrench my nerves over all this!” By arguing over the matters of this country on which I don’t have any influence anyway. Because I don’t believe in anything anymore. How can I believe!? When even my greatest effort slips through their… your!… fingers! You may say whatever you want: promise, swear… Give here, give me! To us, give, at once! The most to us, none to you!! We deserve more!! I want to have it all! No, I should have it all!! Give us!! All!! Prozac, for will of living. Geriavit, for not-getting-old. Nootropil, for better functioning of brain metabolism. Encopirine, prophylactically. And with the night tea I sip it seven times. Licking my lips by fourth gulp. I yet take a piss a bit, to make sure, not to be uncertain as to whether I pissed completely when I sit with my coffee. One, two, three, four… Fuck! Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… Not always the little mound forms symmetrically. Sometimes a single grain can spoil the symmetry of the little coffee hill. There! So it would boil. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. So that it stopped boiling. It would always spill a little. If nothing drips, it means there was poured too little. I try to start all of my activities at full o’clocks. In the worst case scenario, at half-past. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I want to fool myself, but I know it’s futile. Entering the dry vastness of the ocean, the carriage is lost in the greenery and like a boat hovers; on the wave of whispering meadows, in the flood of flowers, I avoid the vast coral isles of thistles. Couldn’t you turn it down!? Turn it down, would you? Can you turn it down!? My dear, why this is Chopin! Come on, mister! Hear this? Only you are heard in the whole house, it roars! My dear, this is a competition. How could one not listen to it!? But not through the concrete, ceiling, door, floor! I also can play it as I have a mood, a fancy, for Chopin! Because I love Chopin, and listening! Not from you! ’cause you wish to listen it while having a shower, and I have to listen! My blandest Sir, I also have to listen, to various sounds of yours. When you have guests! When do I have guests? Besides, enough already. All right. What the hell was that all about!? Since I started to live here no one has ever paid me a visit! I can hear very well, what you’re doing there on your couch. I’m doing on the couch? What is being done there. That the entire couch moves about. A cock moves about your ass! He did that on purpose, fucking fag! Or the Vietnamese, look here at these gooks! Look the treachery! They flood our market with the elastic socks, they do it on purpose! And you know why? Yes. So that we got Frieberg’s! So that, tell you, it’d press our legs, veins, block the blood circulation… and in three months, tell you, Frieberg! And consecutive amputations. Feet, hack! Knees, hack! Thighs! But when the feet hack, then no socks then, no socks. All the same. They want to kill us out with socks. But not me! Those yellow dwarfs’re too thin in their yellow eyes! Look here. There! You see? I buy from those fools. These cheap elastic shit. And hack! the rubber with a razor! And the sock’s non-pressure now, healthy. Non-pressure socks, healthy, non-pressure. Entering the dry vastness of the ocean, the carriage is lost in the greenery and like a boat hovers; on the wave of whispering meadows, in the flood of flowers… Now, do you wait for me as I sit to work, to start banging!? I work beneath you! Do all women think that if one’s not off for work at 8.00, he doesn’t work!? Entering the dry vastness of the ocean, the carriage is lost in the greenery and like a boat hovers; As if someone shaved some giant’s wire beard! This sick fuck shaves by hand the lawn by some shaver on a stick! Hey mister! You want to fucking shave all this with that!? Shave what? ’cause you can’t call this mowing! What do you want? You want to keep farting here with this till night!? I won’t finish it by day. Won’t finish it at all today. Normal people are at work at this hour! I’m at work here! I’m also here are work! What are you thinking!? That if I’m not off to some asbestos factory by 7.00 or I’m not fucking time-stamp some letters at a post office, then I’m not working!? You get this!? Or do you have too far to your head!? I am working here! Am I not working? But with that, this, such! The bigger’s been stolen from me. With this you can just shave your ass! And you go shave your brain! Go now! Do your own thing! Entering the dry vastness of the ocean… I’m utterly tired though it’s only morning. Totally scattered. I am dying here, Mother! Why, my life, MY, was about to look totally different. Locked. For certain? Nah, certain. Have I checked it? And it’ll torture me like this. The first, the third and the fifth. Only by the odd ones. Fuck! Jesus, bloody fuck! You’ll have your Chopin! Crimean Sonnets… And I’m somehow blocked. I only helplessly look as they pass a sentence on me, finish writing. [Blackboard: “Adam Mickiewicz’s Crimean Sonnets as an expression of longing for motherland”] A trip into the steppes not far from Odessa, wild, not long ago trampled by flocks of swift Tatar horses, allows him to sigh with a clean air, with a silence after a tumult of the harbour city. They went on, in a coach with four horses, as far as to Akerman. The peaks blackened the evening with an impermeable wall. He didn’t describe this. He created them anew. Their image far greater, more magnificent than there was. Everything he created anew! Enchanting the word. The sailing, the storm and the silence in the sea. The silence is ever quieter. It’d seem, impossible to be heard by a ear. A silence of the heart… I’m searching for these single attentive eyes. Here, there they are, right before me. Wise and girlish. How could I not spot them? Like a castaway to a coast. The entire world dwindles to her faithful eyes. So I’ll say to them. Everything I’ll say only to them. The ship navigator, breathless: mayday, mayday! To this, the only one who’s listening to me on my lesson. “In this silence I’m so straining curiously my ears, that I could hear a voice from Lithuania. Let’s go, no one’s calling!” What happened to you? I hit myself with a box. A box? Yes, the mailbox. No, I can’t believe it! No, it cannot be! Eight years of primary school, four of the secondary, then the whole five at the university. Distinguished diploma. Twenty years of practice, and that’s how they’re paying me! As if somebody hit me a smack in the face! Fucking bloody fuck! Oh, brothers and sisters in studies, there were 130 of us on the first year. We thought we caught God by his legs! That we were admitted to the school of poets! The school of poets!! Jesus, fucking bloody fuck! During the five years thousands of pages! Youth spent in libraries! And then hardship, hardship and disillusionment! Then the hopelessness and senility of a pariah. And the omnipresent contempt of us, starting with the communists, ending on democracy which takes us for less than zero! Why does the authority of all sorts make nothing of me!? Either Red of White, it treats me like dirt! Fuck, under all authorities I feel like a dog! Why am I not a cad with a brick in my hand!? They’d be considerate with me if I threw it! After all, we are the salt of the land! This land! Despite we’re not a primitive power, dictatorships are always shaken by the poets! Then they need us, the desperate masses, which can’t see further than a piece of sausage! Which can’t see further! So they do employ people of my age? What happened!? Eat something. Mom, I’m not hungry (I hit myself in a box) A box? Eat a soup, a plate, hot. Tomato soup. At least it’s good. Mom, I don’t want a soup, mailbox, I want to talk with you. Mailbox? You may both talk and eat. Mom, I don’t want to eat. I haven’t finished the lesson today, mom. You’ll finish some other time, eat. How haven’t finished? ’cause they farted. Don’t say that. They did. Couldn’t you tell them something? Tell what!? To whom? I would have told them. You have solutions to everything one doesn’t know what to do with! After mom’s each advice I feel ever worse. I went out today in the middle of a lesson! Such a good work. Bad! You like it. I hate it! If you hadn’t quit the university you would’ve been a professor by now. No, I’d be a scholar. So I don’t know how to help you. Eat, maybe there’s too little salt? I need to rest, mom. Rest, for good. Rest, of course. Mom doesn’t listen to me at all! Of course I listen: rest. You can now. The point is I can’t! ’cause I’m unable to have rest. Then I don’t know. Or perhaps little of pepper? Pepper — bad for kidneys. I’m so tired. Of course tired, lie down a little. What are you tired with!? Again? With everything: myself, life. With life? You’re still a young man! I’m forty-nine years of age! (seven times seven) Forty-nine years, I’ve got seventy years of age (ten times seven) You have entire life before you. If I had a life before me… Mom did have a life before her, I also won’t have two lives! Your soup will get cold! You have to scratch it like this, because it’s frozen. It’ll butter more easily. Very well, mom, I’m scratching. I always scratch and I always hear I need to scratch it! I can’t stand listening to this! I just wanted to say that you have to scratch it ’cause it’s frozen. Turn yourself an upper light on. Mom, turn it whenever I need it. But I don’t mind. But it’s about me, not you mom! I’ve been repeating you ten thousand times that I hate the upper lights! This is a new one for me! ’cause you never listen to me! I always listen to you. You never do! I believe there was not a single sentence which, through entire life, a single word, whensoever, you ever listened mine. Have you at least disinfected it? Eat, your soup grows cold. Yes, yes, with neomycin. Soup! Soup, soup! I fear I’ll murder my mother. Why do sons murder their mothers like this? Out of fear, I guess, that the mothers will murder them. Now she’s poor again. She’s been left. Now I feel sorry and pity her again. Soon one’ll have to leave a dog by everything. I can see such an alternative for you: either the sedative and sleeping pills, or, and this is what I consider the only way, a long-lasting and very painful for you psychoanalysis. Why painful? Because you would perhaps learn things about yourself… I don’t think anyone could possibly make anything worse of myself than I make on my own. We would finally uncover who you actually are. And what would you really like to do. In a word, you would have to come into existence by, actually, being born for the second time as an individual existence, independent from mother. No, she won’t like this one. First, half of my life I was afraid of her, then, now, half of my life I’ve been worried about her. Every day I’m afraid she’d die. Every day I’m afraid that I’ll die before her, and won’t live a single day on my own. Free from her shadow. I guess I’ve picked up the good ones. Everything I had done I did not to fall short of her expectations. And she throughout my entire adult life couldn’t forgive me that I had left university and didn’t become a professor but a teacher. In accord with my calling. Paranoia! That it’s by the window. That it’s head-on. That it’s by side. That it’s god-knows-what. Why do I experience such paranoia? So there are no pills for this? No. An acquaintance told me that you gave him such antiepileptic ones, and they did him well. No. He slept after it. No. Soundly. I’m afraid not. And could you go to doctor Malejko with this? To doctor Malejko, with affairs, mental affairs? Why, Malejko is a surgeon. You have always had such a trust in him. I’ll go with my trust to Malejko when I’ll have a leg to cut off, not a head. And shortly after I’m sorry for what I said, because suddenly I can see there’s no one to address. And she always quarrelled about everything. About every detail, to the bitter end. She took my entire life from me, and now I can’t even lay any claims. Try now to put Honecker or Pinochet to a trial. I prefer to give you something reliable. He prescribes me Tegretol, sure thing: for lunacy. And Melleril, for suicidal thoughts. If you have such… to this window… rush to jump over… Now I can go to my son to this 15th floor, that. Hold this dog, won’t you? And you why such fumble like this? Why fumble!? I just rearrange the plaster, the dressing. Am I to do nothing just ’cause I’m going with a dog? Don’t rise your voice ’cause it makes him nervous. Hello there sonny boy! Hi! I’m exhausted, I need to rest. (I don’t know why do I tell her this) Rest, of course. I’m going to the League of Freedom gathering. With clothes? Clothes? With the dressing-gown? The waistband trails. Yeah, it trails! Sonny boy, in kitchen you have, I bought you cookies, chockolate ones, for supper. Mommy bought you, with chocolate. Mommy bought you cookies! Cookies! Cookies, for supper!? You’ve got something with your head! With ass!! You’ve always had with your ass, uterus rabies, you’ve got constantly! Buy yourself an aspen stake and sit on it, so it’ll calm you down! Pig! Piece of shit! I’m getting married. For a dog! For a shit! A bitch should marry a dog! And leave the phone alone. What do you need phone for!? Your legs are enough to chase yourself! Shall we rehearse our English? No, come on dad. Now, conjugate ‘to be’. Come on… Just conjugate. Hold it, dad. ’cause you’re not able. Yeah, I’m not able. So do it. Come, I… I… …am. Am. I am. Yeah, I know: I am. You are! You a… I’ll say myself. But you’re not saying. ’cause you… What me, what me!? …I’m stressed ’cause of you. You’re stressed, for fuck’s sake, you learn this fifth year at school and extra classes, and all it’s just a blood in the sand. Yeah, blood now. And what’s being conjugated? What what? Which kind of word? Well, a word, just. Auxiliary! Yeah… Which? Auxiliary… Which auxiliary? To… …am? To be, for fuck’s sake!! Or not to be! You haven’t heard that either!? You must admit, that daddy makes sharp hood no asshole can compete. You said it. Nothing beats it. It kicks ass! And only in the recesses of my mind, as a long-aching tooth, there’s this fear of that crazy relay of generations. My father also struggled like this as he was going out. This madness surely won’t end on me either. Sonny boy, it was recklessness to buy you this vivid-orange Levis’ jacket. Levis’ You might get killed on its account. It kicks ass! There’re some many assaults nowadays. Assaults? You dad are… We’ll see when you’ll get married and have children… I’ll never get married! Sure, and when you’ll have children of your own, we’ll see… I won’t have any children. Bullshit sonny! Dad! How do you address a child!? Because why shouldn’t you marry? Only listen to your heart. Do you know how great such an experience of church wedding is? But you didn’t have the church wedding, dad. We didn’t have, yes, and I guess I won’t be having one at all now. Though I’d like very much to take a church wedding, but I don’t know with whom. I won’t have the one in the church for sure. Why not in the church? ’cause if something goes wrong, brakes up, one can’t divorce. But you mustn’t assume in advance it’ll brake up. Better that it’ll be successful for a lifetime. Only that one must care of a marriage. Look after it, like a garden. What is the best known of Chopin’s? Of Chopin’s? Polonaise As-Dur, the Revolutionary Etude… But the most known, that you know at once. Then the Revolutionary Etude. They say he wrote it for some chick. For a chick? Then it isn’t the Revolutionary, I guess. Wonder if she got her leg over him? Did what? Well, did he shag her, cop off with her. So, I’m off now, I’m in a hurry, I’m off… Where do you hurry, dad, fuck it. ’cause I’m fucking hurry home. But you’re hurry home, for fuck’s sake? Well, you’re kind of fucking right. What happened to you? I hit the box. Yeah, that’s cool! If I met Elizabeth, my first love. I would everything… I’d start with her anew. I meet all others but not her. So many years since parting. So may years from my escape from her, the only love of my life. So many years. A strange woman pulls me out outside like some kid torn off of his dignity. What do you, with this hand, you’re pushing me! I’m pushing you? All the time you’re dragging me on shamelessly! I just held my hand like this… What a jade. Not jade. Unceremonious. And you don’t behave like a gentleman. Brusque! Addresses a woman like this. A woman I address differently, but not a bulldozer, which pushes me like that. I’d touch a man, not you — a vampire. She pushes me, that jade, like an item, a thing of some sort. And she smacks her tongue by my ear! Vampire! Bulldozer! / Vampire! Pantzerfaust! Vampire! / Tank! Vampire! T-75! / Vampire! Smacking tank! A crazy Vampire! Fuck! As if I knew if it’ll fit her ass, damn it. These asses come to make appearances, not shopping. Is this the last “Woman”? And some stupid bitch behind me shouts by my ear. “Woman”, is it the last one? Yes. And so I, though don’t need it neither I care… Perhaps I’ll also take that “Woman”, this. Oh, perhaps you don’t need it maybe? No, why? I’ll gladly browse it. And I make my way jollied. Or, perhaps, half-jollied. Fuck, along with these fucking children, can’t stand it. [The Left-wing str.] [The Right-wing str.] [Yes/No] Look here, what a stupidity. To manifest in just seven! That’s what democracy is for, so that one could go even alone. With such stupid slogans. With the stupidest even, that’s tolerance. Bullshit man, not tolerance. Bullshit yourself! Just not bullshit, ’cause I’ll a blow, blow I can. Can give a blow too, can give. Can’t they just clean it after their pets? Why, that’s a plague. What difference there is between the dog shit and the human shit? And what if I started to shit on the lawns, sandboxes, arcades? Put stools on the concrete, sidewalks, shit on the squares. I have to buy an air gun. I don’t have time to answer the mail. Rossman writes to me, Pizza Hut. Perhaps some change of fate at last, ’cause here it’s just despair. I can choose among the cheapest gold and diamonds in Warsaw. “It’ll be your golden year!” Is there anyone lower than me in this world of God? Seven till half-to-three. I pour the tea in order to prepare it in recommended seven minutes. Then I stir: three to the right, four to the left. Seven. It hurts when I throw away the newspaper supplements seeing in my mind’s eye the falling forests. I throw away “House” — the oak falls. “Tourism” — linden. “Announcements” — spruces like winter flowers. “Auto-Moto” — pines falling like masts. “Supermarket” — there’s larch. Maple — “Estates”. “My Computer” — and the beech’s being covered by its roots. And with the each go-away-supplement, I bleed with their rosin. Oh, my friend has died. I’m afraid that I’ll die suddenly. I’m afraid. That I’ll die leaving nothing to my son. No means for living. The child must be taught to swim, and you want to leave him with a life buoy? I’m worn out by all this, eviscerated, choked with the food. And I nearly barely fade away, barely. Go away, man! Wanna hear? Get out of here! Your playing sucks! Nobody wants to listen to it anymore! What do you think? That you play on Praga before the war, or right after it!? Have you spent the last half-century enfrozed into ice? Who do you play it for!? For people!! Do you know what do I do when I need music!? There, from Kocher to Mozart! Like Chopin, I may listen, I may if I want! Near at hand! And you’ll be going with some forbidden tunes! Get the fuck out of here with that damn concertina! Or I’ll shoot you in the ass! Easy now. What am I now… To drink the coffee? After taking sedatives? Relanium. If I only met Ela — my first love. I could start everything anew with her. Since I the first seeing her… Now, what the!? What? Now, what do you shit here under my window!? Why, it’s a dog, just. So what if it’s dog!? It means it has a less shitty shit than a human!? Go! Easy, Bobik, easy. And what if I shit like this under your window!? Under you!? What the!? Just shitting as your dog. You must be screwed in your head! Dogs must comply with the same discipline and rules of cohabiting as humans! The freedom of one can’t be on expense of other. I’m a poet now, and I’m writing myself a poem. “Amidst the garden, this majestic couple sits” Not to reach and being unable to write, ’cause there’ll be no pencil? Or to reach for pencil and write nothing? Because the upset setting will get on my nerves. So that my invention will be destroyed by irritation. But then again, if I don’t upset anything, I won’t be able to reach for pencil. “Amidst the garden, this majestic couple sits” Instead of inspiration I feel now only irritability. Feels? Ouch, he does. Feels? That’s the worst of it: right today, left yesterday. Feels? Why, these are needles. Feels. Feels? Yes. Feels current? I do, it gets on my nerves today. Acupuncture good current. Feels, it hurts? As hell. It hurts, feels. Lie twanty minutes, no move finger. The yellow puppet won’t give me bullshit. Jesus! Moves finger. Fuck, my leg’s stiff. Moves stiff leg. Many years has? Forty nine (seven times seven) He’ll live sev’nty sevn. Yeah, he sees it coming. He names? Mialczynski Adie, Adam. You grit your teeth much. I clench them badly. As I drink consecutive coffees I clench ever harder. Once you won’t be able to open them. You could use a splint. Put it protectively for night. And what if I swallow it? Pull down the trousers. Doctor! A lady here asks if you’ll receive her today. Stretch out! Where she lives? On Pilsudski’s, former Mickiewicz’s. Now then, has difficulties urinating? Strech out, more! Don’t squat like a dog. Not difficulties, perhaps, but now I don’t pee like… …a fire brigade. I’ll receive. And it always seems to me that I don’t pee-away everything. Let she wait. Since when has it? Since childhood. Before sleep I always had to take a piss no matter what. Juvenile prostate. Don’t bend your head down. Since your very coming in I could tell you’re too humble. Head up. And up with the head. Why, you’re an important person. He’s afraid of a basset, fool! You’re a fool yourself! You piece of shit! You hit a handicapped, an invalid!? Oh God, oh God! He’s killed me! Marian! Joseph! They could kill me, these local tramps. In any case I’ll deny it. Or shave my moustache. And I behave indecisively again, fuck! Am I crazy? If I only met Ela. I’d be saved. If I only found my first love. It could all, everything change. Then I could begin everything anew. Everything would be possible, still. There would be a chance. Still, a chance there would be. Ela! My first and only! Mother of God, deja vuh! Deja vu. Yeah, Deja vu. I want to die. Or I’ll go on a trip. But on the 6th? Ah, I took these fair trousers, I took. Ever those dark gloomy, gloomy ones. Perhaps on the train I’ll run something off of my own. And English, I ever fail to possess it. Have I done it? Yeah, it’s locked. But have shut the gas off? And water? Have I turned it off? All of them. The main gas — yes. By the reservoir, in the bathroom, behind the mirror? Of these I’m certain. But under the sink? Once I have flooded this fag from below already. And so I haven’t turned it off. Fuck, and how do grannies turn it off these taps which won’t budge. But I forgot to sit down. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Fuck, why I haven’t kissed my Jesus’ little feet before going out! The first thing I choose is the compartment, the one for non-smokers, of course, clear thing. You must know there’s nothing more lethal than inhaling for several hours the cigarette smoke. See if they’ll open on halting and starting. And if they’re not too tight, not to struggle with them every time I go pee, to take a piss. Are they on? They don’t buzz. If it’s empty, and I sit with my back in the direction it goes. At least it doesn’t blow on you… …if some moron opens a window. But the drawback is that I’m the first one they’ll join. ’cause only I have a spare place to the front by the window. Lucrative opportunity for someone with some kid. If I sit towards the front I’ll catch a cold. If I sit with back to the front and put my bag on the place to the front, then a sweat fatso will fall about beside me. Of all bad choices let it be backwards. A bit queasy. But the safest during a crash. In any case, I’ll say: “perhaps it’ll vacate at next station”. In order to separate myself in advance. No to go into conversations. Don’t go into anything. “Amidst the garden, this majestic couple sits” And so I know he’ll be sitting beside me. Veil it. What’re you? Nuts! You’re nuts yourself! You won’t mind if it veil it? But why, it’s still day… The very noon, 4.00 in the afternoon. September, it’s not even 6.00 yet. Eh, you’re crazy. It’s a shame in front of people. You’re the one who’s crazy. What do you veil it for, crazy!? A fair day, the very noon! Four in the afternoon! September, summer. Sir here says it’s not even 6.00! I hate you! A quarter-hour’s left, and I’m all wet already, that’s it. I was supposed to write a poem, a poem. Hell with the writing, fuck the reading. I won’t even understand sports in the newspaper. I’m scattered. Totally dismantled. I’m going you crazy nut! And you, sit here, you crazy nut! Maybe I attract crazy people? “Amidst the garden…” Excuse me, are these places free? Please. Sisters! Come, come. Sit. And they made the whole compartment stink. Some dog cutlets, must be mixed along with the doghouse. And I’m waiting for the dog. As for an execution. Have been sentenced already. Back there, on the platform. Is the place free? This particular one? (Moronic idiot!) Doggie surely won’t do you any trouble. It’ll be on my knees. It leaves wet stains on fair trousers. Oh, Christ! Now, what I, how I? With these stains by the zipper. Like if what have I been doing? Am I to hold my hands there through the entire vacation? Quite a fine ass. Pear-shaped. And such a different one. Such a wife-type. There’s nothing worse than a gal with an apple-shaped ass. Or plum-shaped. “Amidst the garden, this majestic couple sits” A last one. A last one. At night I sleep-sleep-sleep. Me-too, me-too. At day I walk-walk. And-me, and-me. At night I sleep-sleep-sleep. Like chickens! Me-too, me-too. At day I walk-walk. And-me, and-me. Wife… stupid cunt! Well, breakfast I eat-eat-eat. Yes? Yes? In the shop I buy-buy. Yes!? Super! Well, breakfast I eat-eat-eat. Yes? Yes? In the shop I buy-buy. Yes!? Super! Where do these nightmares come from? I’ll get these bitches out of here. He made a date-date-date! No way! He kisses-kisses-kisses! Cool! He made a date-date-date! No way! He kisses-kisses-kisses! Cool! I try to catch ten seconds without their cackle. But it’s impossible. Nor even five. And 3 hours 48 minutes like this, each of them. Together it makes 11 hours 24 minutes. Wood-headed cunts. Fucking retards! Have been waiting for this. Would you be so kind and help me take the luggage off? No! Pardon? Simply not. Does anyone help ME? But you’re a man. But I stand for full equality of rights! It has my full support. And you’re a woman with equal right, now. And you’re not fully a man, it seems. You see us fully men only when garbage has to be taken out, repair a wallsocet. Vacate a place in a tram or a bus. I’m not fully a man anymore, ’cause there’s no need. You are fully a man. Ever since I remember, these flaps have always been falling. And why? Because through decades, one mindless morons under the leadership of other mindless morons, put the train toilets so close to a wall that the raised flap is leaning towards the toilet, and must fall when let go. Tens of years, Jesus Holy Christ! And what if Poland is this pissed-on flap? First class. Expensive, but at least there’re no children, dogs, no one’s prattling. Now it’s like in heaven. Deal-deal. I’ll you this! And I’ll you that! I’ll be first on the beach. Second. Since as I look, I fucking see my neighbour standing on the coast and looking into the sea. If I run, hide someplace, then he’ll catch me, take by surprise, in the middle of resting, and he’ll screw everything up. I’ll have to start resting anew by then. Better I go and settle it myself. And then it’s only rest. Good-day, neighbour. I’m sorry? Greetings neighbour! Some sun at last. The sun’s out finally. I’m sorry. The sun’s shining! Sun! What’s up? I didn’t have the best life, I’ve wasted it. I run away from my first and only love! Then I got married without love! The only person I love, my son, was raised in the hellishness of my marriage! As I was raised in the hellishness of my parents’ marriage before! And thinking that my sonny boy will be as unhappy as I, breaks my heart! The job, which had been my calling, turned out to be a dirt-cheap struggle! Loneliness is killing me, and it’s been self-imposed! Nobody and nothing awaits me anymore! I don’t see any future before me! I’m scattered! Dismantled! Airid! Burnt out! Deadly tired, though I haven’t achieved anything in life! I must stop running, though I haven’t run up to anything! And have a rest! Have a rest, by all means! Aha. I can’t hear you at all. I hear well, but I’m hearing just noise! Perhaps there’s the sea, noise, maybe. So… ’cause my wife… So… Have a nice vacation. Thank you. Anyhow it’s a relief. Lulling noise and emptiness. I’m resting, it’s wonderful. Everyone for himself. She’s prattling. SHE. Fucking prattling all the time. And he’s just musing, doesn’t listen. Naturally they’re heading towards me. 7 metres away, 13 at the most, on an otherwise empty beach. Fuck! Fuck, fuck!! It always soothed me, the noise of eternal waves. But I’m still resting. Fuck! A beach for dogs!? I’ll kill the motherfucker! I’ll kill the son of a bitch! I’ll fucking make a cutlet of it! Lie! But I’m still resting. I have to rest here. Get out! Get the fuck out! I used to swim straight, as if between lines. Now I toss myself about in desperation. Silence at last. Some brat, damned! They left him on the beach alone, that whipster! Can’t these shitheads play without screeching!? I have to rest!!! I have to rest here! When a soldier falls at his face, he’s done for. Or was it the other way around? You don’t look well. No, it is the other way around. I’m dying. How’s it then? I won’t be young again? I won’t repair my fooleries? I though I’d be able to stay by my first love. What a grim absurd. To decide of one’s life when young, when one’s a moron? I’m dying, mom. Nah, dying already. You’re a young man. You think it’s easy to die. Have a warm milk, it’ll do you good. Or there’s soup, one you like, tomato soup, good. Bury me next to my sonny! Why, he’s alive, you old idiot! Come on, mom. I’ll lie you next to me, dad. I always thought I’d never die. I’m so ashamed to die. I’m so humiliated by this. So wise he was… …and now he’s dying. So wise he was… …and now he’s dying. So wise he was… …and now he’s dying. But even in the moment of death I dream I’ll still meet the woman of my life. And I’ll make it to live through entire life with her. You hit yourself with a mailbox. Exactly, she knows it, understands it at once. No things like “what happened?” What is your name? Elizabeth Ela… God, so it’s you? And now we’ll always be together. But I mustn’t be bothered before noon. I’ll comply. But I can’t stand when a woman watches TV series. And you must be fond of doing it, you like it. I don’t like it. Fuck! If there was a committee to investigate crimes against the Polish language, TV should be the first and primary culprit! I haven’t thought about it. Why, it’s the TV which’s guilty of spreading this omnipresent moronic “somewhat”! Now there’s nothing univocal and clear, but “somewhat clear”, for fuck’s sake! True. Or accentuating this fucking first syllable, instead of the last but one. That’s also TV’s making, where did it get it from? From the party newspeak, mountaineers’ speech? And now everyone goes: “PROlonged war”, instead of “proLONGed war”. And it’s not “picnic EXcursion”, but “picnic exCURsion”. You’re right. And not “IN the whole of Poland”, but “in the whole of POLAND”! Fucking bloody fuck!! I’ll mute the TV. And as I see these fucking flashes, buzzes, before the commercials, and these actresses delighted and expressive about their laundry and pads. I’ll turn off the vision. But while making love I’m quite quick. It’s stress, you’ll become calmer by me. And you’ll be able for as long as you like. But I actually have neither time nor place for a woman of life in my life. I dream about her, but… I have neither place nor time. I won’t take them from you. I’m your dream, only. In this case it’s fine. Though, I don’t know. I’m not sure, perhaps I’ll wait for another one. It’ll be even better, perhaps, by chance. But how to escape her, this one? Don’t leave me now! Don’t leave me now. Don’t leave me now! I must write something already, create. “Amidst the garden, this majestic couple sits” I’m getting cheerful unexpectedly. Where from are the Lithuanians coming back? Eh, yes, yes. Lithuanians? And then right after entering, I cast myself to turn on the TV, like Robinson, for my last resort. Out of fear of an empty apartment. I must make myself a supper. Fuck, why, I don’t have to do anything! Who says I must? A supper? I don’t have to eat! I don’t have to sleep. And I’m making myself a supper again, for fuck’s sake… Stop that debauchery there! Be careful that your knight didn’t sense your dandruff on his lips. “ScurvyDent Total” cleans totally! “Anti-Worm” Pipeos? No. Dickos. Finding yourself a stench-generator? Time to start using FartTerminator! You smell nice. What is this scent? Dick Extract. The Dick Extract as your smell! Anus-vag-Vaginex! It’s a 40% more effective exercise of the vulvar lips as well as the anal sphincter. One, two three, four… five, six, seven. How long is this nightly smoking and switching through channels be the only thing I await by the end of the day? How many times was it that I attained everything in my mind? And I’ve only managed not being a communist. Osteoporosis pollakiuria and incontinence of urine rectal nodules prostate And the cancer, by the way… carcinoma of the prostate and anus… …of the bladder, lungs and the throat. As well as pancreas and skin. I’m afraid of the cancer terribly. I’m afraid of everything. Parkinson’s. Alzheimer’s. I’m afraid of the night. Or it’s just that I can’t go to sleep. Despite I’m tired and sleepy, some kind of unrest clutching my heart. That, how can that be? The day is over? And nothing will happen? When the evening casts its shadow, Prior I hit the comfy pillow, I am offering my prayer To Almighty and His Son: Screw my neighbour till he’s gone! For myself I request nothing, As long as You both loathe him. Who am I? A little Pole. Petty, mean and envious. My vileness describes me whole, So Hereby I pray pious To God, Mary and Son: Do make this fucker done for! My neighbour, compatriot mine. This enemy, this miscreant man. Make him robbed and his car stolen, Make him betrayed by his woman, Make him loose his precious store, Make him hit by brick in dome, Make his daughter dating nigger, Whatever’s bad you may trigger! Make him have cancer and AIDS, That’s how the Pole prays! I’m thinking: the Lithuanians? What Lithuanians, I’m thinking. ’cause I didn’t get it. I’ve been thinking entire evening. And finally got enlightened! Where from are the Lithuanians coming back? Am I saying it right? At first, I didn’t understand. They’re coming back from a trip! A nightly one even. I thought, I’ll knock, ’cause the neighbour addresses me in verses and I, silly fool… Where from are the Lithuanians coming back? I haven’t woke you up, have I? Well, I’m about to go to sleep. I was thinking: Lithuanians! I won’t stand it till morning. I’ll go, and I’ll knock, and I’ll say that the Lithuanians are coming back from a trip. Ok, then, the Lithuanians, you’ve told me. And I’d like to go to sleep. Ah, I’m very sorry. It wasn’t me who started the Lithuanians thing. You asked from where the Lithuanians, and I’m answering. Guess that’s what it was about? It’s a good one, the Lithuanians! I just said so for no reason, fuck the Lithuanians! Now, what’s with “fuck” now? First you start the whole thing, and then you get mad!? Good night, I wish you! Of course I’m considering taking my life. And if I’m not doing it, it’s maybe because I think about son. Maybe I lack the courage? Because I got used? ’cause mom always told me… One has to live. And so I live. Half-pill of Tussicodin, for after-smoking cough. With a cross for headache, also after smoking. And half of Lerivon, to counteract grim thoughts before sleep and depression. And it makes it eases sleep. And half Imolamine for the first sleep, plus a half of Stillnox to sustain this sleep. And the Aspirine, just in case. I advise to drink a glass of warm milk before sleep. Take a warm shower. Then jump wet to bed. Not to sleep through one night. Answer the letters. Then one will surely fall asleep another night. I’d have to write back to Pizza or Ikea. One, two, three, four, five, six seven. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. And yet another piss. Pro forma, to check. As if some horse started running, fucking bloody fuck! Have you rented your room to a horse of some kind!? No, it’s something like a glass ball falling. What are you with this ball!? Have you babied completely? This falling ball jumps over my brain! A ball? I sleep underneath you! Under me? I think you’re over-doing it, Jesus. C-W, C-W-K, C-W-K-S–Legia! [CWKS Legia — first-league football club in Warsaw] My fellow traveller, you have built your existence scabbing as a termite the openings towards the light and you’ve rolled yourself into a ball in a cocoon of habits. In a choking ritual of daily life. And although it makes you crazy every single day, you have laboriously raised a barricade of this ritual. Against the winds, tides, stars and feelings. It costs you enough effort to forget every day your human condition. Now the clay which had once shaped you has dried and stiffened. No one shall awake in you an astronomer, a musician, an altruist, a poet, a human. Who perhaps have dwelled in you once. Cast of characters: English language version and subtitles mastering by phd. Comments and complaints should be mailed to [email protected] Fragments of The Akerman Steppes in Joanna Schier translation. All, completely all, resemblance of the characters and depicted events to the actual persons and real events are totally and absolutely coincidental. And no dog has been kicked.