With the lightness of a youth, he jumped down from the stool and occupied his place at the table. First of all he glanced intently at Father, then, I suppose absolutely by chance, since after all he couldn’t see me — I had hidden among the coats in the entryway, and I was spying through the crack of the open door — and so, absolutely by chance, Mr. Trąba glanced in my direction, was silent for a moment, and then began to speak in an especially stifled but at the same time solemn voice.
“Chief. I will speak off the top of my head, since, obviously, I didn’t make any notes. Notes in our case mean certain deportation. I believe I remember everything, and I’ll be able to say everything. If, however, it should turn out that my memory, impaired by excessive doses of the world, should bring me to some reprehensible lapse, I insist you call it to my attention. Gentlemen!” Mr. Trąba took too copious a gulp of air, like an inexperienced swimmer, which made his theatrically altered voice resound even more strangely. “Gentlemen! Comrade Gomułka lives in Warsaw at 7 Frascati Street, on the second floor of a five-story building that was built in the twenties. Functionaries of the security police occupy one of the apartments on the ground floor. There are six of them. They take shifts, three at a time, to cover twenty-four hours. They are armed, of course, even though they are demoralized by the peace and shameful — that’s right, shameful—renunciation of the tradition of uprising that has reigned in our land for years. Practically the entire time, yes, the entire twenty-four hours of their shift, passes in card play. Mostly they play poker, although one of the shifts prefers gin rummy or a game called ‘tail,’ about which I know nothing more. They play for high stakes, sometimes even for ten złotys per point. This proves conclusively that bribery as a means of attaining our goal no longer comes into consideration. Unless first, in order to acquire the appropriate means, we rob a bank, or even several banks. As you gentlemen know perfectly well, the great terrorists, both Asiatic and European, operated in this manner. I fear, however, that we can’t afford to join this tradition in any strict fashion, to follow faithfully in the footsteps of the classics of terror. Anyway, as the English say. All the guards who watch over Comrade Gomułka’s safety know the taste of alcohol perfectly well, to put it mildly. More often than not they take a few nips while on duty, which might seem to create the impression of carelessness and lack of responsibility. Gomułka, like every disciplinarian in a position of leadership who lacks even a hint of a sense of humor, combats every sociable frivolity connected with work with all severity. He himself reaches for the bottle rarely, and he must always have a reason for it, moreover a reason that is exceptionally solemn, which puts him in the category of alcoholic layman and makes me, personally, utterly disgusted by his person. As you gentlemen know perfectly well,” in Mr. Trąba’s voice there sounded the note, which I knew well, that heralded the genre of the selfless epic, “as you gentlemen know perfectly well, alcoholic laymen who drink exclusively for solemn reasons or on festive occasions belong to a despicable category. The true artist of spirits drinks exclusively without a reason and without an occasion. What is more, he avoids — like an aristocrat — the typical occasions on which common mortals plunge themselves into the swamp of unexpected transports. Gomułka gets drunk exclusively on New Year’s Eve. I really don’t know a manifestation of worse taste. That’s not all. On New Year’s Eve he gets drunk with exceptionally repulsive methodicalness. Namely, around 9:00 in the evening he makes his appearance in the ballroom (usually in the Palace of Culture and Science, if it is the ‘Ball of the Working People,’ or in the assembly hall of the Warsaw Polytechnic, if it is the ‘Ball of the Citizens of the Capital’). He takes his seat at the head table, and he doesn’t budge from the spot until midnight. With relish, bending his neck in that characteristic way of his, he observes the absolutely spontaneous (of course!) merry-making. He sips moderately at a first, then takes a second glass. He doesn’t dance. When, however, the midnight hour strikes, the beast in him is awakened. True, not right away, for first he stands and raises a toast to the New Year: ‘Comrades, Citizens, Working People. The passing year was a year of strenuous labor and further advancement of economic progress. .’ But as soon as he has finished his toast, the first secretary immediately marches off to battle. He begins to drink more. True, he drinks with repulsive methodicalness, but he drinks greedily, and with great strides he surrenders himself to the art of dance. He renders compliments. He takes active part in the choral singing of proletarian songs, and he finishes his merry-making around 6:00 in the the morning in a state of absolute alcoholic dementia. If not for the tiny detail that this is a man constantly divorced from reality, you could say that once a year Comrade Wiesław divorces himself from reality. I once planned. .”
“Mr. Trąba,” in Father’s voice curiosity vied with irritation, “how, by God the Father, do you know all these pieces of information?”
“I drew them from the same source where you, Chief, draw so much knowledge.” Smiling playfully, Mr. Trąba tapped his index finger on the huge sheet of newspaper that was spread out on the table. “I read this between the lines of The People’s Tribune.”
“Mr. Trąba,” Father said with a smile that was full of admiration, “if it weren’t for the fact that we are on duty, I would pronounce the ritual formula: that this is a beautiful phrase, and worthy of reward. This is one of your most splendid ripostes. You have my esteem.”
“A thousand thanks, Chief. That’s right. We’re on duty, and there can be no talk of even a drop of alcohol. On the other hand, however, I have to say that I would feel a particular distress if one of my most subtle lines went without the reward it deserves, even if it were to have a somewhat smaller measure, let’s say half. Second, the hour is so late that we can accept the notion that the proverbial glass takes on the function of the bracing mocha. Third, and most important, it is time, I believe, that the youngest participant in the action,” Mr. Trąba clearly pointed in my direction, “attained knowledge of our secrets and initiation.”
Father remained silent and didn’t budge from the spot.
“Chief,” Mr. Trąba said with his official voice, one well trained in its officialness, “what you heard wasn’t the empty twaddle of your friend, rather the voice of your superior and the commander of this action. Have the goodness to appreciate the fact that, bearing your merits in mind, I do not use the word ‘order,’ but I also ask that such acts of insubordination not be repeated in the future.”
Father obediently stood up from the table, went up to the sideboard, took out a bottle and glasses, and placed them on the table.
“Come, Jerzyk,” Mr. Trąba beckoned in my direction, and I entered into the inky abyss of the kitchen on trembling legs.
I was certain that I would immediately hear the ghastly word “child.” “Please don’t involve the ‘child’ in this,” Father would immediately say, or “The ‘child’—absolutely not,” or “The ‘child’ should be sleeping by now,” or “He’s still a ‘child.’” But Father filled the glasses in silence. I sat down slowly on the white lacquered stool, which now was as if coated with a light blue varnish. And Mr. Trąba spoke further:
“Jerzyk, my man! That you are a man is universally known.” Could it be that he knew what I had been up to with the angel of my first love? The panicky thought flashed through my head, but Mr. Trąba was clearly not interested in concrete details. “We will not, therefore, repeat the obvious and thereby trivialize the beginning of the ritual. Namely, as a man, Jerzyk, together with other men (contrary to appearances both your Father and I still deserve that appellation), you will have the chance to participate in a great patriotic act. But as a child”—there you have it! I thought, there you have it! I have divine gifts and outpace reality by at least half a step—“for, after all, even being a man, you still are — and what is more, you always will be — a child in various ways, if only in the sense of being the child of your parents; and so, as a child, Jerzyk, you will have a completely unique opportunity, which, already at the very beginning of life, will put you in an incredibly privileged position. Namely, as a child, Jerzyk, you will have the chance to crush the serpent’s brow: