But father didn’t hold the sword against me, because what use is a sword on a farm.
“They fought the Turks, you say? That would have been for our faith. You should have taken it to a church, it could have hung there instead of on a tree.”
But the chestnut mare and the saddle, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. With the mare at least I had the excuse that they’d killed her. But the saddle hadn’t been killed.
“Do you know how much a saddle like that is worth? All that leather and studs, and you said the stirrups were gold. You could have bought any amount of land. To have a saddle like that. But you’re not interested in land — all you care about is girls and dancing and fighting. You can’t spend your whole life gallivanting around the countryside playing your harmonica. You sure lucked out with that war — anything to get out of working.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say I lucked out, father. We worked ourselves into the ground, we gave our blood as well.”
“Fine, but what am I supposed to do when it comes time to divide up the farm among you all?”
“You don’t need to give me any share. I’m going away,” I’d snap back at him when he really got on my nerves.
The truth was, I’d thought about doing that right after I came back from the resistance. I wasn’t drawn to the land, and after those couple years of freedom I really couldn’t see myself plowing or mowing. I even regretted coming back. I should have done what quite a few of the guys did and gone straight into the army or to the city, anywhere so long as it was far away. But not going back home after the whole thing to see father, mother, my brothers, the village, it would have been like the war hadn’t finished at all, with its filth and lice and sleepless nights and killing. Besides, I was thinking I’d stay a month or two, catch up on my sleep, forget what needs to be forgotten, rest up, and then head out, instead of leaving right off the bat.
But I’d barely crossed the threshold and kissed everyone hello and sat down, when right away father starts in with his, we’ve been watching and watching for you, we didn’t think you’d come back, and here spring’s right around the corner and there’ll be plowing and sowing to get done. I didn’t say a word, I pulled off my tall boots, mother poured water into a basin and she didn’t say anything either, she didn’t even ask, how was it there? She just stood next to me, letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Then she kneeled down by the water, stirred it and started washing my feet.
And father went on and on. The plow would need to be hammered out because the share had gotten damaged on a rock. You’ll need to find another blacksmith to take the horse to, because the Siudaks’ smithy was blown up by a shell and now there’s no one in the village that can shoe horses, but maybe there’ll be someone in another village. One shoe’s completely fallen off and the other ones are worn down to the hoof. When he walks he slips around like he was on a sledge. There was so much fighting around here we didn’t even have time to muck out the pig sheds. But we should at least take some manure out to put down on the potatoes, and it needs to be done while the frosts last, because once the earth gets wet you won’t be able to drive the wagon onto the field. It doesn’t matter if the manure gets frozen, it can just lie there. There’s no need to plow the fields right after you’ve mucked them. And look up there — the ceiling’s leaking. It can’t just be whitewashed, the plaster’ll need to be scraped off. There’s a hole in the thatch from a piece of shrapnel. Whenever it rains your mother has to put a bucket under it. If we can rustle up a ladder from somewhere you could shin up and fix it. And we lost our table. We’d stay down in the cellar, so anyone could do whatever they wanted up here. They took stuff for firewood, not just tables but doors, wagons, barns. They cut down all the orchards. They needed the wood to build potato clamps. Now people are going around looking for what’s theirs. Maybe you could go look as well. You’ve got a decent pair of boots. Course, we can eat in our laps just as well, but not having a table in the house, it’s kind of like the middle is missing. Or maybe you’ll find something else. These days anything’ll come in handy. That was quite a war. And it hung around in these parts for the longest time. It owes us something back, instead of just bringing us bad luck. Our pig sheds burned down. Did you see? A shell hit them, they caught fire and that was the end of them. At least we got the animals out in time. Stasiek and Antek took turns minding them. The wind was blowing in the other direction, thank God, otherwise the barn and the house would have gone up and we’d be sleeping under the stars. The damn dog got loose from his chain and ran off. On a farm not having a dog is like not having an arm. You have to keep your ears pricked the whole time so thieves won’t sneak up on you. When he was still here he’d bark and run them off. Or at least wake you up if he couldn’t see to them himself. You could ask around if someone’s bitch has had puppies. Dogs, they don’t care if it’s wartime or no, the damn things still go around mating. The Lord alone knows what we’ve been through here. We stuck windows together from little pieces, then we had to board them up. What are you sitting there thinking for? You’re only just back and already you’re thinking.”
“I don’t know, maybe I’ll go away?”
“Where to?” Father was stopped in his tracks.
“To the army maybe?”
“Have you not had enough of soldiering?”
“The war’s not over yet, father. And I was made lieutenant.”
“By who?”
“It was in the woods.”
“That doesn’t count, being made an officer in the woods. That’s not a proper promotion. I mean, making a farmer an officer. Farmers are made to work the land and nothing else. This is your place.”
“What am I supposed to do here?” I said, losing my temper, because it all seemed somehow foreign to me. The house. Father. And what he was saying.
“What do you mean?!” Father’s voice trembled like he was about to get mad, or burst out crying. “Are we short of work here? We barely know which way to turn first. We need to start from the beginning. But go! Go! All of you, go! Let the land die!”
And father wouldn’t have kept me back no matter what. Except they’d just opened the school, and Stasiek’s shoes had fallen apart and he didn’t have anything to wear on his feet. Outside, the boys would whistle and call, are you coming, Stasiek? It’s late! And Stasiek would be sitting there in straw slippers, crying. And it was seventh grade, it would have been a pity if he hadn’t gone back and finished. True, he was kind of in seventh grade during the war. But what could he learn at a school in an occupied country? He’d forgotten everything. I asked him who the first king of Poland was, and he didn’t know. He didn’t know who the king of the peasants was, and he thought Kościuszko was a king.