Draft version 6.0.2 17 August 2005. Chicago.
Copyright 1995-2005 Marek Lugowski.
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1162 6285 41799 pijany.v602
Pijany Zajac (Drunken Hare) from _Listy Spiewajace_ (Singing Letters)
by Agnieszka Osiecka, late contemporary Polish author,
a play in letter-writing and verse, 1970, translated from the Polish,
1995-2005, by Marek Lugowski, marek@enteract.com, telephone: 1 773 784 3844
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_The matter takes place in a forester's cottage in Masuria
(the lake district in northeastern Poland) and in Krakow and
in Imagination._
Featuring:
Elka: a teenager
Pani Amelia: a lady of some social standing some time ago
as well as
A Little Girl from a Photograph
and
A Little Cousin from a Photograph
_The forester's cottage in Masuria._
Elka:
Village Krzyze, post office Karwica, 22 December year 1966
Dear Fellow Mademoiselle!
I read Mademoiselle's letter of seventeenth December, placed in
"Filipinka" [La Philippine]. Mademoiselle writes that she would like
to correspond with somebody who -- I quote -- "has something to say,
collects postal stamps, photos of movie actresses and actors, as well
as glossy panoramic postcards".
I decided to reply to Mademoiselle's letter, but I warn ahead that I
do not fulfill all the conditions. I do not collect photos or
postcards, and, truth be told, I myself don't know if I do collect
postal stamps. So far I have collected only one stamp, Japanese.
I know the following interesting persons:
I and my brother.
Also rather interesting is grandpa Sitkowski, who's been to Siberia.
I don't know if this will suffice.
...On reflection I see that I do fulfill only one condition of
Mademoiselle: I have something to say.
Should it surprise Mademoiselle that I write about myself so well,
I hasten to disclose why:
Because I have it all mumbojumbo, upside-down in my head.
(in any case that is what everybody says)
In school they called me "Drunken Hare".
That's because I cause trouble like a drunken hare might.
Incidentally, I will give Mademoiselle my main characteristics.
Point one: Negative characteristics:
-- Self-conceitedness.
-- Garrulousness.
-- Lying.
Point two: Positive characteristics:
-- Intelligence.
-- Charm.
And now the characteristics of my brother, who is a forester.
Brother's negative characteristics:
1. Grumbling/mumbling.
2. Distrustfulness.
3. Old age (thirty seven years).
Brother's positive characteristics:
1. Tallness (one meter eighty nine centimeters) [6' 2" -- Marek]
2. Great courage.
P.S. My brother can't stand girls and I can't stand boys.
And in general I am very weird, but it's okay, you know.
On one side of our house there are two apple trees and six beehives
with bees. On the other side there's a lake and an isthmus, and on
it, a fishing hut of Mister Rokosz. All around us lies the so-called
The Great Piska Old Forest. Two kilometers from us is the village.
In it there live some Masurians and others like us -- the colonizing
element.
My hair is brown, a bit on the red side, and my face is round. If I
find a good picture, I'll send it to the Mademoiselle.
I know lots of different things, among other things I went to
high school in Szczytno, but had to interrupt because of pneumonia.
When I was immature, I used to be in love several times, including --
once very seriously.
But now I laugh at it all.
I ask for a prompt reply --
With regards,
Elka
_The apartment of an older lady in Krakow._
Pani Amelia:
My Kind Madam:
At the foot of our staircase there is one box for letters, of color
green. For a while now I have noticed that in this box there lies
something. Yesterday I decided to take it out, but I was hindered by
the lodger. I despise the lodger. Today I passed by the box several
times and I felt pleased. Before evening I took out from there an
envelope. Why did Madam write to me? There must be a reason in this.
Madam's handwriting is so diminutive which is why I do not understand
the content. But still I feel pleased. Does Madam like butterflies?
I think that this one is beautiful. I include it with the letter.
Here, it is cool, at most 6 degrees on the Reaumur scale. In any case
-- I am bundling myself in a quilt.
Dedicated to Madam --
Amelia P.
Elka:
Dear Mademoiselle.
Here it's 12something Celsius. [cool -- Marek]
But, I swear, Mademoiselle is a bit on the strange side.
Weren't You the one who advertised in "Filipinka" for pen pals? In
any case, it's all the same to me. I wrote the address down from
memory.
The butterfly, which Mademoiselle sent, is very neat, but it
got crumpled a bit.
If You really want to know, it is called a double-spotted moth,
a domestic nocturnal butterfly from the family of geometrids.
And now I will describe my day to Mademoiselle.
I woke up at six thirty sharp, but I still feigned being asleep,
until brother chopped up some wood.
I then got up and fed the dog, named Berta, and myself and
brother.
Then we all three went to check out the ducks. All day long we tooled
around in the reeds, but there were no ducks or anything else.
Does Mademoiselle know how to hunt?
I do, but brother does not let me shoot and basically I go with him as
a game driver. This means that I hit the reed with a stick and some
such, so that the ducks get scared and go up. Then my brother shoots.
Then I have to swim for the game. Nota bene the dog could do this
part, that is, Berta, but between you and me, she is awfully lazy
about getting out of the boat.
Because you see we have a boat.
Well so long, cuz I'm burning something.
El.
Pani Amelia:
In secret from the neighbor I took out Madam's letter from
the box. It has a lovely scent. As if a cake of spicy soap.
...Would Madam believe that they found, in amber, a cinnamon bloom,
which is two thousand years old?...
Devoted to Madam --
A.P.
Elka:
My old gal.
Somehow this is not going all too well for us. For instance, I
describe for You my day, and You some nothing in particular. My
letters may smell of forest, old forest, maybe, but not of some cake
of soap!
To the matter of cinnamon I shall return later.
For now I will finish describing my day for Mademoiselle.
So we sit there for example for six hours straight in the boat and we
look out for ducks. If there are no ducks or anything else, then I
take pictures using the camera of brand "Smiena" or I tune out.
My likeliest sight is the bay in the lake, where our green boat is
anchored (because we really have two boats and that is where I first
talked to that boy, you know, the one I was seriously in love with.
Of course, by now I have completely forgotten about that odd whim, but
back then I was completely crazy on him. Oh no, bad luck! Cuz I
wrote a rhyme: whim -- him. Dang!
Are You superstitious? Because I am -- somewhat.
So, anyway, when he looked at me, I would get hot all over and then I
would show off. I jumped into shallow water head first and so on. I
even sang about him, because, I don't know if I wrote to You about
this -- I know how to make up songs, like, first class.
One went like this:
On all the lakes -- it's you,
at picture takes -- it's you,
in carrots and in carrot cakes -- it's you,
from France to our Masurian lakes -- it's you.
For everyday and on holiday -- it's you,
in spooky forest animal-say -- it's you,
in herbs and in rained-on mushrooms,
in hopes, and love and juniper fumes -- it's you...
in divinations and in card games -- it's you,
in seriousness, in pining in vain -- it's you,
in season and beyond seasoning -- it's you,
before the bird's October leaving -- it's you, it's you,
it's you...
And in the corner who is standing -- that's me,
who is fretting who's pretending -- that's me,
in a tiny kitchen dicing fennel -- that's me
in a lousy dicey doggerel -- that's me.
And her mind who is losing -- that's me,
with tears who is effusing -- that's me,
and who's waiting with a pot roast -- that's me
on a Masurian autumnal lake coast -- that's me.
Green are daydreams and blue is far -- that's us,
on the boat-dock and in the bar -- that's us,
fit to be paired, yet not paired -- that's us,
sleepless mariners sailing despair -- that's us,
that's us, that's us...
In any case, he was totally hopeless. ...After dinner I had
a confrontation with brother. It was about spoon-feeding the dog.
But what to do if she won't eat otherwise?
With regards,
E.S.
P.S. I don't know if You'll like this piece, but, You know, I just
dabble at this, besides, it's old times. And I wrote "on the boat dock
and in the bar" because the finale of this melodrama took place in the
bar "Under the Sign of a Swan", in Nida. That's when I permanently
got disillusioned regarding men.
As for feeding the dog with a spoon, it goes like this: Brother says,
this is a hunting dog, and so on. But she sometimes gets depressed,
well, you understand how it goes.
Write something.
E.
Pani Amelia:
It is still chilly here.
It is too bad that Madam's letter somehow got misplaced. I believe I
saw a poem in it. Please let me know if I remember correctly:
In the cards and in divining -- it's you,
in the streams of Mozart playing -- it's you,
in Proust's details and Sartre's equivocating -- it's you,
and in "The Magick and the Devil" reading -- it's you,
in rained-on gray oppression feeling -- it's you,
and in the lugubrious song depressing -- it's you,
whose lady luck is more caressing -- it's you... it's you...
Elka:
Dear Mademoiselle.
I ask You very much that You send me vacuum tubes for a radio receiver
of the brand "Violetta".
The problem comes from my visiting today my ex-friend Kwiatkowska (I
say ex- because she's in my doghouse now). The entire family was
sitting around the kitchen table over a disemboweled radio receiver
"Violetta", complaining bitterly.
"Dangs, what unfortsunity. Thas radsio plays and plays so goodsly but
nows no more."
Has Mademoiselle ever heard Masurian-speak? It is a very beautiful
way of speaking, as if caressing. Everywhere one inserts an "s", for
example: "prettsy doggsie". And so on.
I came home at midnight. My brother was sitting in the kitchen,
feeding the dog with a spoon.
With that I end, earnestly imploring You for the vacuum tubes for the
radio receiver "Violetta". We'll square our accounts later.
Elka
Pani Amelia:
Krakow, day... I don't know, which is the one we are having today. I
also don't know the time. I put the wristwatch in the wardrobe. Just
to be safe. I distrust the lodger. Had I trusted him, well, that
then would be all different. I bought myself a gramophone.
In rain's droplet splattering -- it's you,
In love's joyous suffering -- it's you, it's you, it's you...
Elka:
My Dearest.
Left to Your devices I could wait to half a forever for vacuum tubes
for the radio receiver "Violetta".
You're weird, you know? You lose a letter, before you really read it.
You mess up the words to my song, so that nothing much is left of it.
The worst part is that you write (and I quote):
"In love's joyous suffering".
You don't know me, do you. I could not get anything like that past my
throat. Why don't you write me something about yourself, I'll dig up
the tubes on my own.
Ciao!
Elzbieta [Elizabeth]
Pani Amelia:
As a child I was a blonde. Father used to say that I was so pretty as
an angel.
But I'll tell Madam something (tout entre nous): The boys did not want
to talk with me.
Please do look at the picture. That's me.
_There appears a photograph of the young lady Amelia.
She's in a 1920s get-up. Framing the picture is an
antique frame with a motif of flowers. After a while, the
photograph fades to black and there appears a "live"
little girl in an identical costume, striking the
same pose as in the picture. After a while, she
"comes alive" and begins to sing._
Nobody loves me,
nobody likes me,
mother or father,
fatso and skinny,
nobody loves me,
nobody likes me.
I cry, when going to my French,
entire way, entirely,
because because no one likes me,
because because no one loves me!
Little Jerry -- he's a jerk,
tattletale -- that is Sophie.
Why don't you prefer me?
Oh why don't you love me?
Wheeeeee....
Somehow this poem is not working
somehow it grew too long...
I guess I'll go eat worms 'n' spiders...
....Oh why don't you like me???
-- With heartfelt greetings.
Grateful for the remembrance.
A. P.
Elka:
Gee, You know, you're quite a specimen. You don't write, You don't
write, but then when You finally do write, then it is, like, from the
core. I like You, You know?
I like Your photo, but you're dressed totally weird.
regarding the song you sent, I'll just say this. Save yourself the
trouble. In these matters I am brutally candid.
Here everything is peachy. We go a-ducking and other such.
Ciao!
Pani Amelia:
Cousin Franio would come visit us every Sunday and sometimes in the
week.
Please take a look.
This photograph shows the cousin and me in a certain gazebo, inside of
which it always smelled of apples.
_Again, an ancient photograph in a decorative frame.
In the picture is the Little Girl and the little cousin Franio,
posed and dressed circa 1920s._
Cousin:
O beautiful, O fair stranger,
Whence does my fortune's wheel bring you?
Do tell me, do, what to wager,
for your heart, sans gaffes to undo?
Little Girl:
Do you like spiders?
Cousin:
You throw away both letters and lilies pale,
even a basket of wild sweet strawberries,
perchance i can make of my ballad a sale,
and buy your smile's worth for three shiny pennies.
Please take my ballad, 'stead of a forget-me-not,
because the day is so short and so is the night...
Little Girl:
My little one, the boys are a danger,
my nanny'd warn me of this, and like so,
beware, don't accept things from a stranger,
as that could stain with unsavory low.
Don't want a ballad or for-get-me-nots,
be the days so short or short be the nights.
Cousin:
O beautiful, O fair stranger,
so as not to suffer any longer,
look -- here is a pistol...
To act -- well, how to act?
Ought I resist all, throw it away, or instead --
go bang bang bang?
Your education's painful tableaux
has blocked my path, I'm stymied so --
you desire to throw me into the drink's glassy clink,
push a man into the land's end where precipice slinks.
Take my poems and my forget-me-nots,
For short is the day and so are the nights.
Little Girl:
Does the little cousin like spiders?
Because I simply adore them...
Hee, hee, hee!
Pani Amelia:
Apropos:
Can Madam lend credence to the fact that a spider may go crazy? I
have in mind schizophrenia.
Scientists say that all that is required is an injection of
appropriate germs and that would do it.
Such a spider while continuing to spin a web, well, does spin, but
spins yarn of sheer nonsense: some little knots, pretty little bows...
My dearest, could You, Madam, send me a jar of genuine village honey?
Ever grateful --
A. P.
Elka:
That photo with Your boy is just fab. Neat costumes. Do you guys
play in some small community theater? Own up.
The thing I don't understand is what you had a falling out about. I
mean, You tell me, was it worth it?
Me, that's entirely different. I just don't look at guys from this
angle.
The bit about spiders -- first rate, but the song is simply hopeless,
in this, um, style of Yours.
I do confess to You that the longer I write, the stupider all these
sentimental devices seem: the "forget-me-nots -- nights", and so on.
It's child's play. Anyone can do it.
I'll give You an example. Choose any phrase, best make it short, so
that it fits the melody line: "come by" or "come back" or "let's go,"
and tack on to it something about the weather.
Thus: It's raining, snowing, hailing, which is why "come by, come
back, let's go...".
Or: It has quit raining already, therefore "come by, come back,
let's go...". And so on.
One can also perform declension on a personal pronoun: "For you,
yourself, because of you..."
To this one may fit rhymes: Take "Because of you"...
Because of you
I broke the comb
because of you
I'm heaven-bound...
Or, a longer fourth line:
Because of you
I'm hell-bent and heaven-bound...
Well, like that, and so on, as one pleases. But I prefer to play
the Game of Intelligence over this.
Kisses.
El.
Pani Amelia:
I used to have an aptitude for drawing.
I would draw a bit, cry to myself a bit, sing a bit, and look out the
window a bit, and like so -- life passed by. Cousin Franio -- he
sailed away to the Coral Sea. Please regard the photograph, how sad I
used to be then...
Little Girl from the Photograph:
Once a sailor sailed away --
still not back yet, still not back yet --
but he left a ring with me --
God, have mercy...
God, have mercy...
The boys come by under my windows,
the ring feels dead now like a stone
years pass by -- a year now, two years...
-- What to tell my mother lone?
-- I would throw away this ring,
throw it right into the sea,
everything thus'd end for me,
I wouldn't miss it
I wouldn't miss him...
But what would all the people say,
When I would walk through city's streets,
but what would all the people say,
They'd say "Oh likes of her do not believe!".
Pani Amelia:
The little cousin never showed up at our place again. They say he
died in Japan after ingesting a poisonous little fish by by name of
Fugu.
Greetings,
A.
Elka:
Apropos: I am sending You _The Atlas of Edible and Poisonous
Mushrooms_, published by the State Rural and Forestry Press. Please
pay particular attention to morels.
If You like, You could come visit us in May, as they grow here, and
some will pop out by then already, and the forest smells something
fantastic.
One can also go cranberry-picking. But why?
And now I'll tell You something that will blow You away. Well, at
eight thirty a.m. I took the horse and cart to the rail station to
pick up Miszczuk. My brother has been awaiting him like the
Deliverance, cuz they are hunting buddies, and Miszczuk brings with
him the kill-offs from the dept. of natural resources HQ. These are
permits, permissions for hunting. Paperwork. You should know that
Miszczuk is a supervisor/forester from Dlugi Bor [Long Wood], but
really from Wilno.
Well, what's important is that Miszczuk did not arrive. Instead, who
should get off the train but Aunt Agata. Heh.
After some thought I come to the conclusion that Aunt Agata could be
drafted onto the list of interesting persons:
In many ways she is a person completely unacceptable. Just the sheer
look of her dress, when she got off at the Karwica train station,
where aside from me -- there was only one cow -- tells everything of
her.
She wore a _fitted_ mink fur or something of the sort, and sheer hose
and half-height stiletto-heeled booties.
I kept my cool, cuz I'm used to these moves. Her deal is to always
stand out. At a ball she looks as if going hunting, and at a hunt --
as if going to a ball.
-- We will have to start up fire in four stoves -- I said to Aunt Agata.
-- Nah, we're gonna make it -- she answered and smiled. This one is her
move known as "I am a regular compadre and you'll see that we'll have fun
together".
Because Aunt Agata attempts to charm everything, even small children
and animals. And anyway, she is a woman of letters, a journalist, a
traveler, an artist -- whatever you may fancy.
Anyway.
All the way back the horse dragged insufferably, and I imagined how my
ol' bro will be ticked off to no end, when he sees this pink
apparition.
Dang!
Pani Amelia:
My dear child!
I have had five or even six aunts. Four were beautiful and
forthright, and the fifth or sixth suffered from migraines. Perhaps
this is why she did not join the Circle of Lady Friends Devoted to the
Cause of Degenerated Children, nor did she take care of birds in
winter.
She died in luxury, which was conjured for her, if I remember
correctly, by a degreed engineer, a fine man indeed, though a hothead.
And so it goes -- en passant.
In addition, I have a cricket. It would appear that the thing is
somewhat limping.
A bientot -- your dedicated friend
Amelia P.
Elka:
What needs to be said first is that I really did not know my brother.
He weathered the appearance of Aunt Agata literally stone-faced.
Completely as if he were awaiting her.
But the aunt immediately betrayed herself.
-- You have no idea, Jasiu [Johnny], how happy I am to see you -- she
addressed the brother with "Jasiu".
-- And I am happy -- he replied, not a solitary muscle quivered on
his face. And he should be mad as hell.
Around noon we started to get ready for a small foray in hare-hunting.
We were out the door when Aunt Agata yelled "I'm going with you!" and
put on tall boots. To go with her _horrific_ fur!
We started through the alder groves by the lakeside, just in case the
hares were sitting in the reeds.
The aunt brandished a stick and swung it with full force, singing all
the same at the top of her voice "Weirdly is this world, ho ho!"
That move was one of her old numbers named "Look everybody, what a
determined little girl I am. It matters naught, that I'm singing to
myself a little, for I am after all doing useful things just like you
all are." Meanwhile, it's obvious she's on her last legs.
Well, to be fair, she is pushing thirty. That day Jan did not shoot a
thing. After dinner I asked him aside how he's holding up. He told
me that the aunt is an eccentric person. I also asked him whether our
entire family was this funny upstairs.
-- Agata is rather difficult to consider as family -- he
mumbled/grumbled from over the yesterday's Gazeta Olsztynska.
And that's the truth.
Agata is, strictly speaking, a mere widow of an alcoholic uncle!
Help me, dearest, what a killing joke!
In this house there is literally no one to talk to.
I await a long letter.
Your
El.
Pani Amelia:
I do recall, the moon was up
and the birds slept in the ivy,
against still hush black running deep,
a beetle buzzed so lively.
You fondled in your hands my own,
you whispered my name so sweetly
and all of this was like a song,
a beetle buzzed so lively.
But love does not forever last --
I knew of course -- all things must pass,
I'm left alone with memories passed
a beetle buzzes me alas...
Elka:
Listen, are you playing with a full deck? Anybody home? You know
what we are? We are two ships passing in the night, that's all I'll
say to You.
How old are You, anyway? Fifteen??
I ask, because I just don't understand. Here in my house I have a
frigging circus on wheels; an aunt from hell busts into my life,
steals my brother, dog, and in general -- everything, and You write me
this total twaddle regarding spiders and beetles.
I am not at all surprised that Your Franek blew you off, You know.
Why don't You write something that makes sense, or we're toast,
understand?
Elka
Pani Amelia:
I received the extremely gratifying little letter from Madam. It
smells, as always, of camomile. I have yet to open it. Because, what
for, yes? Let it lie around a bit.
...Life is a vehicle for albumin's existence. Baron Engels.
Actually, I don't know who said that, but when I look at chickens, I
think, it surely must be so. Most certainly. Here, in Krakow, I have
not many opportunities for looking at chickens, but a time ago, at the
chateau, why, that was altogether different.
Little cousin Franio had a weird thing happen to him once. A little
chicken grew attached to him, You see. It would not leave him at all,
not a pace away. The little cousin was very ashamed of this,
especially in the drawing room; and, God have mercy, should anyone
come calling from the neighborhood. The little cousin finished him off
one night. I mean, the little chicken.
Perhaps it was a female?...
Now really... Greetings, salutations for brother and family.
Amelia
Elka:
"...and family!" Oh, no. Not so fast!
Listen, yesterday, when I went into my room, Aunt Agata lay sprawling
on _my_ bed in a lacy number of a nightgown, color: turquoise, and she
was smoking a foreign cigarette "Viceroy".
A fabulous box of these cigarettes lay on _my_ table, a table
fashioned from a spruce stump. The air in the room was thick with the
perfume "Poemat", which I, too, wished to buy for myself in the
newspaper & sundries kiosk "Ruch" in Ruciane, but my brother would
have immediately tossed it.
-- Jasiu -- cooed Aunt Agata, and Jan entered. He said: It smells
beautifully here -- and he added to the fire. Latenight already, can
you fancy that???
Elka
Pani Amelia:
-- Dearest Madam:
Here it's winter in full swing.
I noticed a mouse on the stairs. I took out a piece of cheese for
her. Tonight I shall not sleep. I will await nearby and see if she
comes. I wonder if she will. It's most important that she comes.
Afterwards, it's a given that she will eat. And, after having eaten,
well, perhaps she will come again to me, no?
I have received one jar of rustic honey. I am curious, how did Madam
know that I like honey? They say it is good for the heart. Sometimes
my heart troubles me, Dear Madam.
Elka:
If You like, I'll let You ride on the motorcycle. You'll see, it'll
make You feel better instantly. The heart and everything. It is
a fantastic machine, an English motorcycle Harley, model year 1939.
Actually, it's not mine. It is my brother's, but I tell You -- it's
fab! Today it started after only five swift kicks. I rode it like a
devil to the State Farm Ruta Szlachecka. It was below freezing,
snowing, and I was hopping up on down like on horseback, but I'm
telling you -- just fab!
Later. I have to stow the motorcycle in the barn.
Pani Amelia:
I read in the paper that all white cats with blue eyes are deaf, and
that all three color-furred cats are female. Scientists don't know
why.
Imagine that, please.
Elka:
I'm fed up. Everyday, day in, day out, I ride like a banshee to the
State Farm ruta Szlachecka (it's a fishery) or in general, wherever,
anywhere, so as to avoid confronting the nightmare.
Aunt Agata is king, at home. Yesterday, for example, she washed her
hair. Does he not have the civil courage to tell her to leave
already. Or has an animal awakened in him??
E. Stanek
Pani Amelia
Yesterday I saw my first monthly pass. It was gorgeous. Green.
Alas, I fear that it may have been a counterfeit monthly pass. The
lodger showed it to me. Did I write to Madam about the appearance of
the mouse?
With express deep respect,
A.
Elka:
I am not happy with You, because You have not counseled me on Aunt
Agata. Should I poison her? I am thinking these days a lot about
moral dilemmas, and besides that, since you have neglected me, I am
trying to make contact with Karola, who works at the State Farm
fishery Ruta Szlachecka. Even though they are state, they sell to
private customers. One can get pikes, carps, other kinds...
Karola is not terribly interesting. Primarily she tells me about
love, but on what level! God... I listen to her, and I translate for
her foreign phrases.
Last summer Karola picked up this one literatus, who told her, and I
quote: "We both recognize that this was a beautiful episode"...
Elka
P.s. Do You happen to have a foreign phrases dictionary? You could
send it to me via mail, and I would promptly send it back. I need to
look up the expression "episode".
Pani Amelia:
The mouse has a litter! I could visit them so much more often, if it
were not for the lodger. I despise the lodger.
The mouse has a litter,
the mouse has a litter,
they came to the world half past four on Monday,
the mouse has a litter, the mouse has a litter,
a-dance, a-stomp, a-squeek a-twitter all night aglitter-r-r
Elka:
I despise Aunt Agata.
When I was wheeling the motorcycle out into the yard, I got to glimpse
this scene in one: Jan stood by the picket fence in a white shirt
(despite the deep freeze) and was showing off for Aunt Agata; that is,
he was shooting.
The target -- our barn! That is, a piece of paper affixed to it.
He mumbled something about adjusting the scope.
That's all very nice, except that I saw it with my own eyes how he
excellently adjusted it just last week. By the drawing well sat Aunt
Agata, her gaze affixed on Jan with a facial expression straight out of
a movie set, ready for filming. She would not have had to change it
for an actual take.
I wrote to You before that Aunt Agata is a woman of letters, an
artist, or something like that.
Yesterday on TV they ran a piece of hers.
Namely, a girl loves this wealthy radio guy, and he in the beginning
goes for her, but later develops doubts, and so on. All of this
served with songs and dancing and the whole bit. It was kinda lame.
We watched it in the community center in the village. The kids would
sniffle and cry, get all tear-eyed, You know how it goes.... At
supper, the aunt would laugh herself silly at a drop of a pin, happy
as a clam. But later, can You imagine this, a woman of twenty eight
years, sobbed uncontrollably in bed. She sobbed and she smoked. It
seems that these TV pieces really mean a lot to her. Please write me
soon, I'm going mental with them around.
P.s. She no loner smokes "Viceroys", merely "sporty". What do You
think, when is she gonna be outta here?
Pani Amelia:
December... January... February... March... Four months have gone
and I have not written to Madam. I lost my pen. I had suspected the
lodger. But no. It was found in the cupboard. Well, what is new
with my Dear Madam? Here, one can scent the spring already in the
air.
Elka:
You know what: "Betwixt a man and a man lies darkness" -- that's all
I'll tell You.
You leave me in the direst hour of my life, and then You write: "One
can scent the spring already in the air".
Actually, come to think of it, we too are getting spring.
I put together another piece, on this very subject:
On all the tables delicious vino,
the spring is coming, or so it harks,
the farmers are humming "Portofino"
the sky is strumming itself with larks.
Today the village films-on-wheels came by,
and out on the lake the ice loudly cracked,
the moon dissolved in diminutive pines,
Yet I'm sad and feeling a lack, a lack...
Sure I'm sad. It's all because of Aunt Agata. Thank goodness
she left, right after New Year's, but she blindsided us with
a horrible move of hers -- she slandered us on TV. Allegedly,
it was in a song, but what shame at front of the entire village.
It was sang by a woman artist. Don't recall the name.
Before it ran, they showed the aunt, and they interviewed her about
her creative workshop. Pretty funny, eh?
_The TV screen. Featuring a woman vocalist in a Masurian landscape._
All around the night has fallen,
the moon's lain warm and mauve,
oh to you I've not yet spoken
all the tenses of my love.
I have yet to hurry with you
to the furthest faintest star,
I have yet not thought up for you
prettiest names for you by far.
Now, at this time, here of my arms
I'll fashion us a cradle
to keep you, love, from sharp-blade pelts
of sylvan low-growth sable.
And you please sleep,
and you please sink,
into the black night swiftly,
and you please dream,
and you do dream,
please dream, that you are with me...
Elka:
Well? Isn't it an innuendo directed in our general direction? "sylvan
low-growth!" -- that's by the clearing. Shame.
I have yet to sing of you
whatever there might be to sing
I have yet to offer you
the cornucopia i could bring
I have yet to run with you
around and round all seas and lakes...
Here, please check this out! "yet to run with him round
lakes"... Really!...
I have yet to drink from you
the heady trust which love partakes.
Now, at this time, here of my arms
I'll fashion us a cradle
to keep you, love, from sharp-blade pelts
of sylvan low-growth sable.
And you please sleep,
and you please sink,
into the black night swiftly,
and you please dream,
and you do dream,
please dream, that you are with me...
Well?! Isn't this a cheeky allusion to my brother? See, how she
fixed him?
P.s. You know what he's doing? He misses her! What would You do in
my shoes? It's enough for a girl to go bonkers!
Pani Amelia:
Today I left the house. In yards and gardens everywhere weeds are
being burnt. It smells wonderfully. Has Madam heard on the radio
this song:
and you please dream,
and you do dream,
please dream, that you are with me...
It would appear that Madam's little cousin wrote it?... Madam, a time
ago I used to make wine out of fruit. Or out of bread. I don't
remember. For this I would buy special yeast, so-called wine yeast.
Would Madam be able to convey to me a small packet of yeast? The best
kind are the tokay yeast.
Respectful bows,
A.P.
Elka:
Congrats on Your taste in songs.
Listen, that's not important anymore. You have to rescue me.
Aunt Agata is coming again, for Easter! I won't be able to take it.
In the first place, I won't speak to them.
That's a given. But second. I'm just fed up with this.
What's gonna happen if they marry?
Listen, anything is possible, after all, she is merely a widow of
an alcoholic uncle.
So let's do this. I'll come and live with You.
I could help Your mother on the farm.
I know how to do everything. Of course, strictly for room and board!
I have a winter coat, hose, shoes, everything.
Come fall, I'll go to the evening school.
Well, what do You say? Can we shake on it?
P.s. Please reply instantly.
P.s. II. Yeast of tokay is nowhere to be found, not even in Szczytno.
At best I could write You a waltz named "On the Yeast of Tokay". It
would be in Your taste.
Pani Amelia:
I saw two silver butterflies. They were beautiful. Madam's letter
has been resting in the mail box for a week. I have promised myself
as a treat to take it out and open it on Easter. A little holiday
present. I live with that hope and it pleases me very much.
Elka:
I'm arriving on Monday.
Please come to the rail station, because all my money went into
telegram. Are You daft? Your sinking --
El.
Pani Amelia:
-- Dearest Madam!
He may marry her. But she will never wed him! My home -- is always
Madam's home. Just please do not be too disturbed by anything.
A. P.
Elka:
You are wise after all: It's clear, that she won't wed him....
I'll tell You more: She never came for Easter.
And she won't come!
Jan got the letter today (it came with Yours).
I don't know what he's thinking, but I know one thing:
Things are fab-ul-ous. Dang!
Merry Berry! Happy Happy!
Ta!
Yours, completely in heaven,
Elzbieta
KONIEC [The end]