Primeval and Other Times (15 page)

Izydor took a close look at him and thought here he was seeing someone truly foreign. Although they were evil, the Germans looked the same as the people from Primeval. If it weren’t for the uniforms, it would be impossible to tell them apart. The same went for the Jews from Jeszkotle – maybe they had slightly browner skin and darker eyes. But Ivan Mukta was different, not like anyone. His face was round and chubby, a strange colour – like looking into the stream of the Black River on a sunny day. Ivan’s hair sometimes seemed dark blue, and his lips were like mulberries. Strangest of all were his eyes – narrow as chinks, hidden under elongated eyelids, black and piercing. And no one could have known what they were expressing. Izydor found it hard to look at them.

Ivan Mukta accommodated his lieutenant in the largest, nicest room on the ground floor, where the clock stood.

Izydor found a way to watch the Russian – he climbed into the lilac tree and peeped into the room from there. The gloomy lieutenant stared at maps spread out on the table, or sat still, leaning over his plate.

Whereas Ivan Mukta was everywhere. Once he had given the lieutenant his breakfast and polished his boots, he set about helping Misia in the kitchen: he chopped wood, took food out for the hens, picked currants for jam, played with Adelka, and drew water from the well.

“It’s very nice of you, Mr Ivan, but I can manage by myself,” said Misia to begin with, but evidently she came to like it.

Over the first few weeks Ivan Mukta learned to speak Polish.

Izydor’s most important task was not to lose sight of Ivan Mukta. He watched him the whole time, and was afraid that if he let him out of sight the Russian would become lethally dangerous. He was also worried about Ivan’s advances to Misia. His sister’s life was in danger, so Izydor sought excuses to be in the kitchen. Sometimes Ivan Mukta tried to accost Izydor, but the boy was so affected by this that he slobbered and stammered with redoubled energy.

“He was born like that,” sighed Misia.

Ivan Mukta would sit at the table and drink vast amounts of tea. He brought sugar with him – either loose, or in soiled lumps that he kept in his mouth as he drank the tea. At these times he would tell the most interesting stories. Izydor’s manner displayed complete indifference, but on the other hand the Russian said such interesting things … Izydor had to keep pretending he had something important to do in the kitchen. It was hard to spend a whole hour drinking water or laying the fire. The infinitely resourceful Misia would shove a bowl of potatoes her brother’s way, and put a knife in his hand. One day Izydor drew air into his lungs and spluttered:

“The Russkies say God doesn’t exist.”

Ivan Mukta put down his glass and looked at Izydor with those impenetrable eyes of his.

“It’s not about whether God exists or not. It’s not like that. To believe, or not to believe, that is the question.”

“I believe God exists,” said Izydor, boldly thrusting out his chin. “If He does, then it matters to me that I believe. If He doesn’t, it doesn’t cost me anything to believe.”

“You think well,” Ivan Mukta praised him. “But it’s not true that believing costs nothing.”

Misia started furiously stirring the soup with a wooden spoon and cleared her throat.

“What about you? What do you think? Does God exist, or not?”

“It’s like this.” Ivan splayed four fingers at face height, and Izydor thought he winked at him. He put out the first finger.

“Either God exists and has always existed, or” – here he added the second finger – “God doesn’t exist and never has. Or else” – the third appeared – “God used to exist, but no longer does. And finally,” – here he poked all four fingers at Izydor – “God doesn’t yet exist and has yet to appear.”

“Izek, go and fetch some wood,” said Misia in the same tone as when the men were telling filthy jokes.

Off went Izydor, thinking about Ivan Mukta the whole time, and that Ivan Mukta must have a lot more to say.

A few days later he finally managed to catch Ivan all on his own. He was sitting on a bench outside, cleaning a rifle.

“What’s it like where you live?” Izydor asked boldly.

“Exactly the same as here. Except there’s no forest. There’s one river, but it’s very big and very far off.”

Izydor did not take this topic further.

“Are you old or young? We can’t guess how old you might be.”

“I’ve clocked up a few years.”

“But could you be … seventy, say?”

Ivan burst out laughing and put down the gun. He didn’t answer.

“Ivan, do you think there’s a chance that God might not exist? Then where would all this have come from?”

Ivan rolled a cigarette, then inhaled and pulled a face.

“Look around you. And what can you see?”

“I can see the road, and fields and plum trees beyond it, and grass in between them …” Izydor gave the Russian an inquiring look. “And further on the forest, and there are sure to be mushrooms there, except you can’t see them from here … And I can also see the sky, blue underneath, and white and swirling on top.”

“And where’s this God?”

“He’s invisible. He’s underneath it. He guides and runs it all, He makes the laws and adapts everything to fit Him …”

“Very good, Izydor. I know you’re clever, though you don’t look it. I know you’ve got an imagination.” Ivan lowered his voice and began to speak very slowly. “So now imagine there isn’t any God, as you say, underneath. That no one takes care of it all, that the whole world is just one big mess, or, even worse, like a sort of machine, a broken chaff-cutter that only works on blind impulse …”

And Izydor looked again, just as Ivan Mukta had told him to. He strained his entire imagination and opened his eyes wide, until they started to water. Then for a brief moment he saw everything completely differently. Open space, empty and endless, stretched away in all directions. Everything within this dead expanse, every living thing was helpless and alone. Things were happening by accident, and when the accident failed, automatic law appeared – the rhythmical machinery of nature, the cogs and pistons of history, conformity with the rules that was rotting from the inside and crumbling to dust. Cold and sorrow reigned everywhere. Every creature was trying to huddle up to something, to cling to something, to things, to each other, but all that resulted was suffering and despair.

The quality of what Izydor saw was temporality. Under a colourful outer coating everything was merging in collapse, decay, and destruction.

THE TIME OF IVAN MUKTA

Ivan Mukta showed Izydor all the important things.

He started by showing him the world without God.

Then he took him to the forest, where the partisans shot by the Germans were buried. Izydor had known many of these men. Afterwards he came down with a fever and lay in the cool bedroom on his sister’s bed. Misia refused to let Ivan Mukta in to see him.

“It amuses you to show him all those dreadful things. But he’s still a child.”

In the end, however, she let Ivan sit by Izydor’s bed. He put his rifle at the foot of it.

“Ivan, tell me about death and about what happens after it. And tell me if I have an immortal soul that will never die,” asked Izydor.

“There’s a tiny spark in you that will never go out. And I’ve got one in me, too.”

“Have we all got one? The Germans, too?”

“Everyone. Now sleep. When you get better, I’ll take you to our place in the forest.”

“Please go now,” said Misia, looking in from the kitchen.

Once Izydor was better, Ivan kept his promise and took Izydor to the Russian units that were stationed in the forest. He also let him look through his binoculars at the Germans in Kotuszów. Izydor was amazed to see that through them the Germans looked no different from the Russians. They had uniforms of a similar colour, similar trenches, and similar helmets. So he found it even harder to understand why they shot at Ivan, as he carried orders from the gloomy lieutenant in his leather shoulder bag. They also shot at Izydor when he accompanied him. Izydor had to swear he wouldn’t tell anyone about this. If his father found out, he would tan his hide.

Ivan Mukta showed Izydor another thing that he couldn’t tell anyone about. Not because he wasn’t allowed, or Ivan had forbidden him, but because the memory of it made him feel anxious and ashamed – too strongly to say anything about it, but not too strongly to stop him thinking about it.

“Everything couples. It has always been like that. The need to couple is the most powerful need of all. You only have to look around.”

He knelt down on the path they were walking along, and pointed at the coupled abdomens of two insects.

“It’s instinct, in other words, something you can’t control.”

Suddenly Ivan Mukta unbuttoned his flies and shook his penis.

“That’s the tool for coupling. It fits in the hole between a woman’s legs, because there’s order in the world. Each thing fits into another.”

Izydor went as red as a beetroot. He didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the path. They went out into the fields beyond the Hill, out of range of the German fire. A goat was grazing by some abandoned buildings.

“When there aren’t many women, like now, the tool fits into your hand, into the backsides of other soldiers, into holes dug in the ground, or into various animals. Stay here and watch,” said Ivan Mukta quickly, and handed Izydor his cap and map case. He ran up to the goat, shifted his gun onto his back, and dropped his trousers.

Izydor saw Ivan press against the goat’s rump and start rhythmically moving his hips. The faster Ivan’s movements became, the more Izydor was rooted to the spot.

When Ivan came back for his cap and map case, Izydor was crying.

“Why are you crying? Feeling sorry for the animal?”

“I want to go home.”

“Of course. Off you go! Everyone wants to go home.”

The boy turned and ran into the forest. Ivan Mukta wiped his sweating brow, put on his cap and, whistling a sad tune, went on his way.

THE TIME OF RUTA

Cornspike was afraid of the people in the forest. She watched them secretly as they disturbed the peace of the forest with their foreign jabber. They had thick clothing that they never took off, even in hot weather. They lugged weapons about with them. They hadn’t yet reached Wydymacz, but she sensed that sooner or later it would happen. She knew they were tracking each other down to kill one another, and she wondered where she and Ruta could go to escape them. They often stayed the night at Florentynka’s house, but Cornspike felt nervous in the village. At night she dreamed the sky was a metal cover that no one was able to lift.

Cornspike hadn’t been to Primeval for a long time, and she didn’t know the Wola Road had become the border between the Russians and the Germans. She didn’t know Kurt had shot Florentynka, and that the wheels of the army vehicles and the soldiers’ rifles had killed her dogs. She dug a shelter under the house, so they would both have somewhere to hide when the men in uniforms came. She was so absorbed in digging the shelter that she was careless, and let Ruta go to the village alone. She packed her a basket of blackberries and potatoes stolen from the field. Only when Ruta had left did Cornspike realise she had made a terrible mistake.

Ruta walked from Wydymacz to the village, to Florentynka’s, taking her usual route through Papiernia, then down the Wola Road that ran along the edge of the forest. In the wicker basket she was carrying food for the old woman. She was to bring home a dog from Florentynka’s to warn them of people coming. Her mother told her that as soon as she saw any person, regardless whether it was someone from Primeval or a stranger, she was to go into the forest and run away.

Ruta was only thinking about the dog, when she saw a man pissing against a tree. She stopped and slowly began to retreat. Then someone very strong grabbed her by the arms from behind and twisted them painfully. The man who’d been pissing ran up to her and hit her in the face so hard that Ruta wilted and fell to the ground. The men put down their rifles and raped her. First one, then the second, and then a third one came along.

Ruta lay on the Wola Road, which was the border between the Germans and Russians. Beside her lay the basket of blackberries and potatoes. That was how the second patrol found her. Now the men had uniforms of a different colour. Each in turn they lay down on her, as each in turn they handed their rifles to the other to hold. Then, standing over her, they smoked cigarettes. They took the basket and the food.

Cornspike found Ruta too late. The girl’s dress was pulled up to her little face and her body was injured. Her belly and thighs were red with blood, which had attracted flies. She was unconscious.

Her mother picked her up and put her in the hole she had dug under the house. She laid her on some burdock leaves – their fragrance reminded her of the day her first child had died. She lay down beside the girl and listened closely to her breathing. Then she got up and, with trembling hands, mixed herbs. There was a scent of masterwort.

THE TIME OF MISIA

One day in August the Russians told Michał to gather all the people from Primeval and take them into the forest. They said Primeval was going to be on the front line any day now.

He did as they wanted. He went round all the cottages and said:

“Any day now Primeval will be on the front line.”

On impulse he dropped in at Florentynka’s house, too, but only when he saw the empty dog bowls did he remember that Florentynka was no longer there.

“What will happen to you?” he asked Ivan Mukta.

“We’re at war. For us this is the front.”

“My wife is sick. She can’t walk. We’re both staying.”

Ivan Mukta shrugged.

Misia and Mrs Papuga were sitting on the cart, hugging the children. Misia’s eyes were swollen with tears.

“Papa, come with us. Please, I beg you.”

“We’re going to take care of the house. Nothing bad will happen. I’ve survived worse things.”