It was almost there. I even stopped Chmiel of my own accord at the co-op one day:
“Not long now, Chmiel. In two, three weeks I’m driving that pig down to the center and we’re on for the roof.”
“You do that, make sure you’re not too late.”
Then one day I go in the shed and I see there’s hardly anything eaten from the trough, and my pig’s lying there like it’s sleepy. I prodded it with my foot, come on, get up. It did, but it was kind of sluggish. I grabbed it by the tail and it didn’t jerk or squeal. I pulled the trough closer and shoved its head in it, eat now. But it was like it didn’t have the strength to open its mouth. I thought, maybe it’s eaten a rat. Often when a pig eats a rat it can’t eat anything else for a bit. Except that if it had eaten a rat it’d be thirsty, rats burn like fire. But when I brought it some whey it didn’t even look up. I ran to the vet, but when he came all he could do was tell me to slaughter it and bury it.
The next day they came and sprayed my whole shed with something smelly. I had to take my cows and calf and horse and put them in the barn. Because when you went in there it made your eyes water. Even any of the chickens that got close to the cattle shed, their eyes watered too. And the dog, I thought he’d go mad. He sneezed and gagged, he foamed at the mouth and he clung to my feet so much I couldn’t get rid of him. Have a bark and you’ll get over it, I said, go on, bark like you were barking at a thief.
I even had a railroad rail ready to use for the ceiling, all I needed to do was go grease the right palm and drive up in my wagon. Because obviously you don’t buy rails like that in the ordinary way, you need a special opportunity. And opportunities don’t stand there waiting for you, you have to go after them yourself. I needed three lengths of about ten feet each. I went all over the place asking around, with no luck at all. Then one day I’m walking along the tracks and I see they’re switching out the old rails for new. I started talking with the workers, were those old rails so used up they weren’t any good anymore, or were they changing the railroad? No they weren’t, but there was going to be an express train on this route. What’s going to happen to the old rails? They’ll be sent for scrap. Well, I’d buy one of those, I could use it for the roof in the tomb I’m having built. It could be cut into three pieces and there’d still be some left over. They didn’t know about that, I should go talk to the stationmaster. I go to the stationmaster, I know him well, of course, and I say:
“Listen, Władysław, sell me one of those rails they’re changing out, I need it for the tomb I’m having built. I hear the express train’s coming through here. It can be the most worn-down one.”
He can’t do it. Why not, it’s only going for scrap, the workers told me, and I’ll pay however much I have to. He can’t because it’s government property, and government property isn’t for sale. If it was his he’d give me it for free. But everything on the railroad is government owned. Even the red cap he’s wearing isn’t his, it belongs to the government.
“So what can I do? The ceiling won’t hold without rails. What do you suggest, Władysław?”
“Hang on, just wait till this freight train’s gone through. For a tomb, you say?”
“That’s right. I’ve had the walls up a long time now, it’s all partitioned off, there’s only the roof left to do.”
He took off that red cap of his and scratched behind his ear.
“Well everyone has to die sooner or later, that’s a fact. And they have to be buried somewhere. Go talk to one of the switchmen, slip him something and he’ll turn a blind eye, then you can bring your wagon in the night and take it away. Just remember, I wasn’t the one that told you.”
That’s how it was with almost everything. Nothing would come easily. I had to have a pit dug so Chmiel could get in to do the building, ten feet by ten and five deep, and I lost a good few months on that. Time was I wouldn’t have asked anyone, I’d just have dug it myself. But how could I do that with these legs of mine, and the walking sticks, and me just back from the hospital. I needed to hire someone for the job. So I got that swindler the Postman, because it’s not so easy to hire a decent worker. His name’s Kurtyka, but they call him the Postman. He lives with his sister, she’s an old maid, they have three acres. The sister works the land while he gads about the village from morning till night, making some money here, stealing there, or someone’ll buy him a drink. He’s always drunk. And even when he’s not, he pretends to be. He’s so good at it that if you don’t know him you can’t tell he’s not really drunk. But evidently he prefers living like that to being sober. Or maybe he’s forgotten how to not be drunk. We’ve all gotten used to him always being drunk, he wouldn’t be the same person if he tried to be sober. Because what is he, some Jasiek with three acres that he shares with his sister. As it is the other farmers laugh at him, the women feel sorry for him, the children chase after him down the street and shout at him: Postman! Postman! Postman!
I met him early one morning by the shrine. I was heading out to the fields to dig potatoes. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets. He was squinting in the sunlight like he was already drunk, or to fool someone into buying him a drink.
“Whoa.” I stopped the horse. “Listen, Jasiek, maybe you could dig a pit for me for my tomb?”
He looked up and eyed me, smelling a half-bottle.
“What, are you planning to die?”
“One of these days I’ll have to.”
“They’ll dig you a hole when you go, why worry about it ahead of time.”
“I’m planning to build a walled tomb, the kind of thing you need to get done in advance.”
“Do you think you’re not going to rot in a walled tomb? You’ll rot in there just the same.”
“So will you do it?”
“I can dig you a pit, for a tomb, for potatoes, for slaking lime. Makes no difference to me, a pit’s a pit. Just buy me a half-bottle.”
“I’ll buy you a half-bottle and pay you as well.”
“But buy it now. A man’s at his thirstiest in the early morning.”
I gave him money for a bottle and we agreed that the next day we’d go to the cemetery and I’d show him where to dig. But the next day came, then the day after that, and three more days, and there was sight nor sound of him. I went down the village to look for him. I called in to see his sister. Is Jasiek in? He was here this morning but he went out. He might be at the pub. I went to the pub. Yeah, he was here, but he only had the one beer, no one would buy him a drink, so he left. He said he was supposed to go pick apples at Boduła’s place, maybe look for him there. I hobbled over to Boduła’s. Yeah, he was picking apples here, but that was last week, he barely picked any at all, no more than a basketful, and then he hits you up for a half-bottle.
In the end I saw him, he was walking up the road toward me, but the second he spotted me he started reeling like he was half gone.
“You were supposed to come the next day, god damn you! And don’t even try to act drunk in front of me.”
“There’s no need to shout, I’ll be there. There’s always a next day.” And he leers at me with his supposedly drunken eye.