door.
“Come in,” the woman said.
He crossed a small passageway, and entered a room. Behind a table a giant of a man rose from his seat; he was so huge that the time it took him to lift his powerful bulk seemed infinitely long. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.
Franciszek was silent, looking him straight in the eyes. Then he said softly: “Bear—don’t you recognize me?”
“I’m sorry,” the man stammered. “But … my name is Zakrzewski, Wacław Zakrzewski. I’ll … show you … my identity card.”
“Bear,” Franciszek repeated, “is it possible you don’t recognize me? I am Kowalski, Franciszek—‘Skinny’—haveyou forgotten everything? We fought together in the underground.”
For a long while they regarded each other in silence. The enormous man sat down heavily. “I knew you’d find me someday,” he said in a low voice. “Well, here I am. There’s nothing in life that can be wiped out, nothing can be forgotten …” He raised his head. “May I say goodbye to my wife?”
Franciszek stepped back. “You’re out of your mind,” he said. “What makes you think I’m from the secret police? I just wanted to see you, to find out how you were, to talk to you …” He walked up to him and held out his hand. Bear swerved violently. “Bear,” Franciszek said, looking with horror at his face, which had turned white, “what’s happened to you? Why do I find you like this? Bear …”
“Shh, quiet!” Bear hissed. “Don’t call me by that name. What do you want?”
Franciszek sat down, his hat in his hands. “So this is what you’ve come to,” he said thoughtfully. “Twelve years in Bereza prison before the war for being a Communist; a price put on your head by the Germans; songs written about you in the underground …” He passed his hand over his forehead. “My God,” he whispered, “where am I? Is it a dream? Is it real?” Once again he looked at the other’s huge dead face. He shook his head, and suddenly burst out laughing. “I remember you,” he cried; “I remember that I wanted to be like you; I remember that we were proud of you; I remember the day you were decorated; how we drank home-brew to the health of your medals—Jerzy, myself, everyone else …” He paused, and then asked dully: “What’s happened to you, Bear?”
“Shh, quiet!” Bear hissed. “Just a minute.”
He violently turned the handle of a phonograph and put on a record. A rasping voice came through the horn:
“And Jozio came and brought the doughnuts,
And kissed her hands, and kissed her hands …”
“What did you come for?” Bear asked.
“I’ve made up my mind to look up my comrades in the underground,” Franciszek said. “I remembered the names of the best among them and got their addresses. I must look them up and ask them to help me … You know me; you know what it was like in the underground,” he said imploringly. “You know how I talked, how I thought, how I behaved. I need help, Bear. I slipped, though it’s difficult to call it a slip. In short, what I want is—” He broke off; it was hard for him to collect his thoughts. He looked at Bear, expecting him somehow to come to his aid, but Bear remained silent, staring at the floor. The phonograph scratched on:
“And Jozio came and brought the doughnuts,
And kissed her hands, and kissed her hands …”
“One day I got drunk,” Franciszek said, “and I talked foolishly. At first the whole thing seemed trivial to me, but I know I said that I did not trust our leaders, that I had no faith in the party, and I told them to stick it all up somewhere. What I want is to get my old comrades to—well—to speak for me. If need be I’ll go to the boss himself, but I am interested in finding people who would be willing to say something in my behalf. After all, I don’t think that way, and I said all that when I was drunk. Surely you remember me. Will you help me, Bear?”
“Just a minute,” said
“Come in,” the woman said.
He crossed a small passageway, and entered a room. Behind a table a giant of a man rose from his seat; he was so huge that the time it took him to lift his powerful bulk seemed infinitely long. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.
Franciszek was silent, looking him straight in the eyes. Then he said softly: “Bear—don’t you recognize me?”
“I’m sorry,” the man stammered. “But … my name is Zakrzewski, Wacław Zakrzewski. I’ll … show you … my identity card.”
“Bear,” Franciszek repeated, “is it possible you don’t recognize me? I am Kowalski, Franciszek—‘Skinny’—haveyou forgotten everything? We fought together in the underground.”
For a long while they regarded each other in silence. The enormous man sat down heavily. “I knew you’d find me someday,” he said in a low voice. “Well, here I am. There’s nothing in life that can be wiped out, nothing can be forgotten …” He raised his head. “May I say goodbye to my wife?”
Franciszek stepped back. “You’re out of your mind,” he said. “What makes you think I’m from the secret police? I just wanted to see you, to find out how you were, to talk to you …” He walked up to him and held out his hand. Bear swerved violently. “Bear,” Franciszek said, looking with horror at his face, which had turned white, “what’s happened to you? Why do I find you like this? Bear …”
“Shh, quiet!” Bear hissed. “Don’t call me by that name. What do you want?”
Franciszek sat down, his hat in his hands. “So this is what you’ve come to,” he said thoughtfully. “Twelve years in Bereza prison before the war for being a Communist; a price put on your head by the Germans; songs written about you in the underground …” He passed his hand over his forehead. “My God,” he whispered, “where am I? Is it a dream? Is it real?” Once again he looked at the other’s huge dead face. He shook his head, and suddenly burst out laughing. “I remember you,” he cried; “I remember that I wanted to be like you; I remember that we were proud of you; I remember the day you were decorated; how we drank home-brew to the health of your medals—Jerzy, myself, everyone else …” He paused, and then asked dully: “What’s happened to you, Bear?”
“Shh, quiet!” Bear hissed. “Just a minute.”
He violently turned the handle of a phonograph and put on a record. A rasping voice came through the horn:
“And Jozio came and brought the doughnuts,
And kissed her hands, and kissed her hands …”
“What did you come for?” Bear asked.
“I’ve made up my mind to look up my comrades in the underground,” Franciszek said. “I remembered the names of the best among them and got their addresses. I must look them up and ask them to help me … You know me; you know what it was like in the underground,” he said imploringly. “You know how I talked, how I thought, how I behaved. I need help, Bear. I slipped, though it’s difficult to call it a slip. In short, what I want is—” He broke off; it was hard for him to collect his thoughts. He looked at Bear, expecting him somehow to come to his aid, but Bear remained silent, staring at the floor. The phonograph scratched on:
“And Jozio came and brought the doughnuts,
And kissed her hands, and kissed her hands …”
“One day I got drunk,” Franciszek said, “and I talked foolishly. At first the whole thing seemed trivial to me, but I know I said that I did not trust our leaders, that I had no faith in the party, and I told them to stick it all up somewhere. What I want is to get my old comrades to—well—to speak for me. If need be I’ll go to the boss himself, but I am interested in finding people who would be willing to say something in my behalf. After all, I don’t think that way, and I said all that when I was drunk. Surely you remember me. Will you help me, Bear?”
“Just a minute,” said
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