His greatest misfortune was his grandmother Matylda. She came up with a name for Eryk. She insisted it belonged to a certain king, but she forgot which one. As soon as Eryk learned to read, he began searching for it. In vain. Even if such a king had once lived somewhere, what good was it if no one had ever heard of him? He was forever stuck with his royal name, which was frowned upon in a village full of Pietrek, Pawełek, Jaś, and Grześ families. Anyone with that name was doomed to loneliness, rejection, and ultimately, eccentricity. Because of
the same grandmother, Eryk lost his father. His father had a quite ordinary name, Stanisław, and was a peasant laborer. For twelve hours of work on the railway, he was a laborer, then for thirty-six hours a peasant. For twelve hours, stationmaster Tadeusz Duda urged him on, and for another thirty, his mother-in-law, Matylda Nagrabska, urged him on. His father was constantly sleep-deprived, sometimes unsure whether he was a peasant or a worker. He would then say to his mother-in-law, "Yes, yes, stationmaster, I'll do it." He would also sometimes say to Duda's superior, "Okay, Mommy." It got to the point where, as he was leaving the barn, his father was searching for switches. It had to end this way. One evening, his father, a worker, dozed off for a moment. He dreamed he was a peasant and was lying down in a barn on a bed of hay. Unfortunately, the driver of the express train to Suwałki didn't know that his father dreamed of the tracks as a barn full of hay. Eryk was four years old when his father was buried. His grandmother decided to bring her sister, who lived alone in a distant town. Eryk heard her say to her on the phone, "Come, my love, we have so much space now." So she came. Besides Grandma and her sister Alina (who, as it turned out, wasn't completely lonely, as she came with her dachshund, Wala), his mother and three sisters lived in the house with Eryk. From time to time, or rather more often, neighbors would come over. Eryk felt trapped, afraid of all these women, as he spoke of them quietly and increasingly asked his mother for a breast.
Only the two of them knew that Eryk was still nursing. It was their biggest secret. They hid it as if they were doing something wrong, as if they were afraid someone might discover them, catch them. Attempts to wean Eryk were unsuccessful. Without his mother's milk, the boy would come down with some strange illness, many illnesses, in fact. He would have fevers, his whole body would be covered in spots, and he would vomit. All he had to do was lay his head on his mother's breast, all he had to do was take a few sips, and he would instantly regain his health. His pale cheeks would flush, his eyes would look at the world with their former brilliance. No wonder his mother didn't have the strength to deny Eryk her breast. "Suck, my little one, suck, for your health," she would say, stroking his head.
Eryk spoke less and less to her mother. From the day she'd gone to the train tracks, led by the mustachioed policeman to recognize her father, she'd said little at all, becoming increasingly immersed in her tailoring. She'd lock herself in her room, behind the kitchen, sewing. She'd place the watch in front of her eyes, recognizing him. "That's Staśka," she said to the policeman. In all those years that had passed, time had stood still for her. It was always eleven-nine, twenty-five seconds. The express train to Suwałki was supposed to pass Małkinia in ten minutes.
When Eryk learned he had to go to school, he was overjoyed. All August, he'd been telling everyone what school would be like. How he'd have friends, lots of friends, with whom he'd play football, climb trees, and do all sorts of other things little boys usually do. He only wondered if the teacher would be a teacher or a teacher. No one could, or perhaps wouldn't, answer that question. "There are both women and men teachers, it depends on how you get them," lied his mother, who knew that only women taught in the first grades. "Then make sure I get a man," Eryk said, still believing his mother could do anything.
September 1st was the worst day of his life for Eryk. At first, he was so dazed by all the commotion, noise, and shouting that he didn't notice anything. Only after a while, when the mothers had left the classroom, did Eryk look at the desk. A young woman with glasses was sitting there, constantly smiling. Mrs. Justyna was saying something about how happy she was, how happy she was, and how all girls should be happy too. Eryk froze. He began to look around the classroom. At one point, he jumped up and, crying loudly, ran out of the classroom into the crowd of waiting women. "Mom, Mom!" he screamed like a man possessed. He wanted to say something, but tears caught in his throat when his mother hugged him to her breast, pulled back her blouse, and began to suckle. For a moment he was happy again.
The secret he'd kept for years was no longer a secret. It was talked about throughout school, on the street, in the store. Not only had Eryk been placed in a class with only girls and taught by a teacher, but he now had another problem. From the early morning hours, when, with a backpack weighing him down, he set off toward the hated building marked "Maria Konopnicka Primary School," he had to endure a new nickname – Eryk the Boob. He tried, pretending not to hear the kids running past, not to see their lips smacking like carp pulled from the water. One day, unable to bear Eryk's indifference, one of the bullies grabbed him and shouted in his ear with all his might, "You boob!" Eryk hit him only once. He fell and lay there as if dead, blood streaming from his nose. The terrified children ran screaming – "Eryk killed Tomaszek, Eryk killed Tomaszek." But he didn't kill him completely, which he deeply regretted. Tomaszek and the rest of the bullies gave Eryk a wide berth, treating him like stinking air.
Right after school, Eryk found himself in the well-oiled cogs of the female machinery. The sisters, instructed by their grandmother, tormented him individually, each in their own department. Ewa was in charge of the cleaning duties. The oldest and ugliest in the family. She looked like a broom and behaved like one. At the sight of Eryk, she would blurt out words – keys. Vacuum cleaner, hallway, rug, kitchen, floor, carpet. She didn't have to repeat them twice, for a while, until she towered over her brother by two heads. Zuza, the middle sister, supervised Eryk's homework. She didn't call him anything other than "you idiot," "you complete idiot," or "you complete, idiotic idiot." She had the makings of an excellent teacher. The youngest, Natalia, was the prettiest of the three sisters and oversaw her brother's cleanliness. If it weren't for the fact that she'd rush to his grandmother to complain for the slightest reason, Eryk might have liked her a little.
Grandmother Matylda, the Mother Superior, the alpha and omega of the household, never had moments of weakness. She never felt remorse, nor did she show any signs of pity, let alone tenderness. The only tenderness he received from her was "forties." A punishment of punishments. Inflicted for unusual, extraordinary crimes. "Forties" were administered on the kitchen bench. Always on the bare bottom, always with the same right hand, with carefully measured force. In a monotonous voice, the grandmother counted – one, two, three, four, up to forty. It was thanks to this that, even on his first days at school, Eryk had impressed everyone with his excellent knowledge of mathematics. He was certain that forty was the last number. When he learned there were forty-one, forty-two, and many more, he thought the grandmother wasn't entirely bad.
After Aunt Alina's arrival, Eryk unexpectedly gained an ally. His new aunt, quite selflessly, began to intercede for him. "Leave the boy alone, leave him alone," she repeated. Eryk watched her with growing curiosity. At first glance, she resembled his grandmother, yet completely different. All the women living with Eryk (except his mother) spoke to him in the imperative mood. They didn't try to listen, assuming that someone like Eryk couldn't say anything intelligent. Aunt Alina watched him with her large blue eyes, asked him questions, and surprisingly, waited for an answer.
"Tell me, Eryk, why do you have such a strange hairstyle?
" Eryk's hairstyle was indeed strange, perhaps because it wasn't a hairstyle. His hair hadn't been touched by scissors in years.
"I have to."
"Why do you have to?" Boys wear their hair short now. It's cooler and more comfortable in the summer. "
I have to cover my ear.
" "What's in your ear?"
"Nothing."
Aunt Alina pulled back her hair and clutched her head.
"My God, you only have half.
" "It was like this." Eryk wasn't effusive, but he felt he had to tell his aunt this story. "Grandma Matylda was in a terrible hurry. The radio was on, and the news was on TV. She was cutting my hair while watching the war. It was the war in Romania, or maybe Norway, I don't remember. They were talking about it on the radio too, so it must have been a real war. And Grandma cut off my ear, and when I started crying, she said I should be happy she didn't cut my head off, but I don't think she could have done it with those scissors. It would have been different if she'd taken a knife from the kitchen. Then it was like that, but not in one cut. She would have had to work hard. I have a hard head. When I was very little, I fell out of my crib. I should have killed myself, but I didn't. Auntie?
"Yes, Eryk, why is your dog named Valya?
" "And why are you called Eryk? " "Because
there was once a king. That was his name.
" "You see. And my dog is named after a certain woman. Her name was Valentina Tereshkova.
" "Was she a queen?"
"More than that. She flew into space.
" "Into space?" Eryk remained open-mouthed for a long moment.
"I still don't know why you have that hairstyle; you could layer it a bit, cut it at the back.
" "And what did she fly into space with?
" "What do you mean, in what rocket? You absolutely must go to the hairdresser.
" "And she stayed?
" "What stayed?
" "Well, Valentina... " "
Where was she supposed to stay? "
"In space.
" "Why? There's no one there?
" "There isn't. So why did she fly?
" "To check."
"I would have stayed," Eryk said and ran outside. His mind was swirling with thoughts. For the first time in years, hope appeared, a chance to escape. He looked up at the cloud-covered sky and sighed. "If only I had a rocket."
Grandma Matylda didn't like her sister's behavior.
"Are you spoiling the brat, can't you see we're keeping him on a tight leash? There are rules, some principles. You have to remember consistency; there's no room for leniency in raising a child. By showing leniency to a child, you're showing your weakness. Do you want him to grow up to be a thug?"
Aunt Alina said without mincing words.
"I don't give a damn about rules like that. Why do you only treat Eryk like that?
" "Oh, my dear, the girls are so well-behaved now that a word is enough. When Eryk is sensible enough..."
"Well-behaved, ugh, what's dog breeding?" "
Please, don't interfere in my affairs. If you don't like it, you can come back."
"Yes, I'll stay.
" "In that case, let me take care of Eryk.
" "He's more intelligent than you think. You won't train him, remember my words," said Aunt Alina, taking off her glasses, which meant she considered the discussion over.
Eryk, despite the name-calling that plagued him, was increasingly perceived as someone special. When the girls began to stammer out their first words and sentences—"Ala and As," "This is Ala, this is As," he read fluently and without hesitation. Mrs. Justyna approached and patted his head, the highest form of appreciation. "
You probably have many books at home?" she asked.
Eryk nodded.
"Only one.
" "And you learned to read from this one?
" "Yes, ma'am.
" "What book is that?"
"Anna Michalina Wisłocka—"The Art of Loving."
The teacher blushed and returned to her desk. She never asked Eryk about that book again, or anything at all. Eryk thought she was offended, but he didn't know why, that reading books was a bad thing. He decided to find out. He signed up for the school library. The librarian looked at him long and carefully.
"And you, son, can you read yet?
" "I can.
" "And what grade are you in?"
"First.
" "That means you can't. Maybe I'll give you a picture book.
" "I'd prefer one without.
" "So you claim you can read.
" "Yes.
" "Then read."
The librarian handed him the book. Eryk opened it about halfway and began reading. "The art of throwing knives, terrible in hand-to-hand combat, was already neglected in Lithuania at that time. Known only to old men; the Warden had tried it, often in tavern quarrels; Wojski excelled at it."
"That's enough, I believe you. Do you have a favorite author?" the librarian searched the shelves for something suitable. "Maybe Szklarski, or something by Bahdaj?
" "Is there anything by Wisłocka?
" "You mean Wisława Szymborska. We do have our beloved Nobel Prize winner, I'll find something for you in a moment."
Eryk examined the volumes and pushed them away in disgust.
"I wanted something by Wisłocka. Anna Michalina Wisłocka.
" Eryk didn't know why the librarian had slapped him across the face, insulting her so much. He knew one thing: he would never set foot in a library again. If he ever felt like reading a book, he would write it himself. No mercy
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