By Andrzej Stasiuk
Stasiuk's masterpiece--in line with the paintings of Danilo Kis and countryman Bruno Schulz--is eventually made on hand in English in a beautiful translation through invoice Johnston.
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Her palms are folded on her abdominal and pressed to her physique as if she have been striving to occupy as little room as attainable. a few younger clergymen scuttle previous with a sleek in their behavior. to maneuver even speedier they hike them up and you'll see their trousers. Their faces are just like the faces of younger pros within the urban. one among them is sporting a Yamaha keyboard, one other a trendy connecté case with a electronic lock. The faces of the firefighters, nonetheless, are from early Forman. whilst i used to be the following years in the past they have been marching in a funeral procession.
From there got here the noise of operating water. At moments it appeared like a dry crackle. I splashed water on my face. The working water stopped and that i heard an individual name: “Kryśka! Hand me the towel! ” Then a moment later: “Kryśka! ” I picked it up. It was once damp. I took it and walked towards the showers. The small rectangle of window on the finish of the hallway was once blindingly vivid, although it didn’t remove darkness from something. The plastic curtain moved within the final stall. I didn’t see it, I simply heard the rustle. I walked with the towel held out in entrance of me.
It used to be characterless and crumbly. Its flavor jogged my memory of all these previous cigarettes that grown males used to smoke. Wawels, Dukats, Giewonts with their low-grade paper, in packs that have been like clumsy goals concerning the remote global. We used to thieve them, or choose up unfinished butts. round the edges they’d be type of brown, and darkish from saliva. Grown-upness had a really literal flavor. Our spit mingled with the spit of fellows. it can have acted like a vaccine, a type of existential homeopathy, keeping us from a too abrupt fall into maturity.
I felt silly, simply because everybody was once crying and that i couldn’t. I knew none of it used to be real. They couldn’t were hearing her conscientiously whilst she was once alive. after all i began crying too, however it was once simply because for the 1st time in my lifestyles I observed tears in my father’s eyes. It used to be basically whilst the black mourning flag was once caught at the residence that I felt precise dread. It flapped within the autumn wind, and this was once the breeze of actually useless demise. i used to be totally not able to attach this image to my grandmother’s residing presence.
Yet we can't steer clear of the horror that comes whilst the senses open themselves to the endless. Time is just an concept, whereas house lamentably resembles a truth. That’s why it agitates the mind's eye, which does actually give some thought to itself to be boundless, yet doesn’t truly exist. fortunately, instantly in a while we come to Sanok. Or excessive, vibrant afternoons. At those occasions the blue appears like painted glass. scorching air rises from the ground of the Ciechań and among Czumak and Czerteż you won’t see a dwelling soul. There are just adders warming themselves at the outdated grey roadway.