B008GRP3XS EBOK

  edited & translated by Wiesiek Powaga

  Now that after a long and weary flight the Polish Fantasy has finally reached the shores of reality I would like to offer my thanks to those who helped it on its way. My thanks are due: to the publisher for his patience and understanding; to Steve Gove for smoothing out the rough edges and David Bird for roughing it with Malczewski; to Adam Czerniawski, Beryl Ranwell, George Hyde and all the people connected with the British Centre for Literary Translation, for their hospitality which made my stay in Norwich such a memorable occasion; to Stefania Kossowska and the Polish Citizens' Committee for Refugees for their help in replacing the computer stolen with the text of the book; to Nick Lane for his encouragement and friendship.

  I would also like to express my gratitude for the permission to include the following stories to: Jacek Dukaj for The Golden Galley, Rita Gombrowicz for Dinner at Countess Kotfubay's, Marek S. Huberath for The Greater Punishment, Maria Iwaszkiewicz for Mother Joanna of the Angels, Slawomir Mroiek, Diogenes Verlag AG Zurich and Tanja Howarth Literary Agency for Co-existence (Koegzystencja Copyright 1992 by Diogenes Verlag AG Zurich), Andrzej Szczypiorski for The Lady with the Medallion (Copyright © 1995 by Diogenes Verlag AG Zurich) and Wiktor Woroszylski for The White Worms.

  I dedicate this book to my son in the hope that scary though it may be, it will strengthen his Polish spirit.

  Wiesiek Powaga

  i. Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . 7

  2. Slawomir Mroiek Co-existence . . . . . . . . . . . . 12

  3. Andrzej Szczypiorski The Lady with the Medallion. . 17

  4. Marek S. Huberath The Greater Punishment . . . . . 35

  5. Tadeusz Micinski Father Faust (extract) . . . . . . . 97

  6. Franciszek Mirandola Strange Street . . . . . . . . . 110

  7. Wladyslaw Reymont The Vampire (extract) i i9 . . . . .

  8. Lucjan Siemieriski The Shadow of Queen Barbara . . 137

  9. Jan Barszczewski The Head Full of Screaming Hair. . 156

  10. Henryk Rzewuski I am Burnin'! . . . . . . . . . . . 174

  ii. Stefan Grabinski The Grey Room. . . . . . .. . . . 184

  12. Stefan Grabinski The Black Hamlet. . . . . . . . . . 192

  13. Kornel Makuszyriski The Gentleman with a Goatee . 207

  14. Witold Gornbrowicz Dinner at Countess Kotfubay's . 235

  15. Bruno Schulz Father's Experiments (extract) . . . . . 257

  16. Jaroslaw Iwaszkiewicz Mother Joanna of the Angels (extract) . . .. . . . . . . . . .... . . . . . . . . .. 268

  17. Bruno Jasienski The Legs of Isolda Morgan . . .. . . 300

  18. Wiktor Woroszylski The White Worms . . . . . . . 318

  i9. Andrzej Bursa Dragon . . .... . . . . . . . . . . . . 331

  20. Jacek Dukaj The Golden Galley ........... 337

  21. About the Authors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363

  Dialogue with the Devil

  Officially, the devil arrived in Poland in 966. For the Polish pagan tribes sandwiched between the two rival spheres of influence - Rome and Byzantium - the conversion to Christianity was a political manoeuvre aimed at consolidating the new fledgling state, and an argument against the eastward expansion of the German Roman Empire. It took place at the time of great ideological turmoil in Christendom, caused by the anxiously awaited first millennium, and with it the arrival of the Antichrist. Amidst the panic and rumours of the impending end of the world, the until then dim and vague figure of Satan was suddenly brought into a much sharper focus. It was then that Satan and his ilk became part of the dogma of the Catholic Faith and an irreducible part of the world. In these circumstances the arrival of the devil together with the rest of the Christian inventory played a crucial role in shaping the character of the new religion. In effect, Polish Catholicism, operating on the edges of Rome's influence, developed a highly conservative and combative spirit, while the dangers to which it was exposed both as a religion and as a national institution easily acquired demonic dimensions.

  This fusion of Catholic and national ideologies was further strengthened over the last two hundred years when the very essence of Polish nationhood has been under almost permanent threat. It first came to the fore during the Romantic age when the partitioned Poland disappeared from the map of Europe, especially in the messianic doctrine of Poland as the Christ of Europe crucified for the freedom of other nations. Now, the parallels with Poland's most recent history are obvious (at least to the Poles), and it is not surprising that yet another generation tapped into this rich vein of national mythology to reflect on their current predicament, the more so in view of the rapidly growing influence of the Church rising from Communist persecution.

  In choosing the stories for this anthology I tried to do justice to the devil and various strands of tradition which account for his presence in Polish fantastic fiction. I wanted to present the English language reader with some of the historical and cultural background of his exploits in a repertoire of roles and guises in which he is familiar to the Poles: from the personification of pure malice in Barszczewski's Head Full of Screaming Hair and the omnipotent Prince of Darkness in Dukaj's Golden Galley, to the patriotic hero in Woroszylski's White Worms; from the seductive temptresses in Micinski's Infernal Rose and Szczypiorski's Lady with the Medallion to the pitiful, though proud, individual entangled in the sticky web of human affairs in Makuszynski's Gentleman with a Goatee.

  Polish tradition abounds in stories about the devil, which were collected when the interest in the native folklore was first awakened during the Romantic era. These stories filtered into the literature from the rich and ethnically diverse traditions - Lithuanian, Ukrainian, Bielorussian - which comprised Polish culture at the time. This folklore was full of pagan devils and demons. They could be dangerous and nasty, like vampires (upiory) of all kinds and shapes, such as strzygi - the bloodsucking demons in the shape of an owl, zmory which literally took their victims' breath away, or child demons wreaking revenge on the living for their shortened lives.

  The proliferation of the devil was duly reflected in his varying social status: from a wicked though feeble-minded rustic creature easily outwitted by the God-fearing and commonsense peasant to the mysterious inn-keeper; from the figure of a shabby nobleman to the powerful magnate. Later, in the 19th century during the first period of industrialisation, he was also the lame owner of mills and plants, whose hellish machinery helped him in making his great fortune. At the same time, everything that was different signified the presence of the Evil One, and just as in Holland the devil paraded in Spanish dress, in Eastern Prussia and Bielorussia as a Polish nobleman, in Poland he was often spotted dressed after German fashion, while the words heretic or luter became in everyday parlance synonymous with the devil.

  No account of the Polish devil could omit the legendary figure of Mr Twardowski, the Polish Faust, whose dealings with the devil are the subject of numerous folk-tales, poems and novels, of which Sieminski's Shadow of Queen Barbara is an example. The legend of Mr Twardowski shows him sometimes as a clever Polish nobleman who outwitted the devil, sometimes as a magician who, like Faust, sold his soul to the devil in return for magic power and knowledge; there are even Twardowski's magic mirror and his magic book. Although neither probably belonged to him, both are genuine artefacts connected with the magic arts flourishing in Poland in the i5-16th centuries, particularly in Krakow where the Yagellonian University had a department of magic teaching astrology, alchemy and other assorted secret arts. There are grounds to assume that Twardowski was a historical figure, a German rather than a Pole, a fellow-magician and the contemporary of the celebrated Dr Faust, who, it is said, won his magic spurs at the Krakow Academy. But only in the late 19th century was the
legend of Mr Twardowski connected with a historical character, and in Sieminski's story, based also on a historical event, another, darker persona of the magician emerged: that of a dangerous, malevolent and scheming evil-doer.

  Of course, apart from the devil whose pervasive presence in Polish literature owes much to the Catholic and Romantic traditions, there are other themes common to the European literary heritage. For instance Grabinski's atmospheric stories, Mirandola's Strange Street or Reymont's Vampire are examples of the fantastic fiction of a more classical turn, springing from the fascination with the paranormal and the occult widespread in Europe at the beginning of the century. Jasienski's Legs of Isolda Morgan, a potent mixture of turbid decadence and revolutionary rhetoric, belongs to yet another tradition of the futurist avant-garde of the 1920s, while the stories of Gombrowicz and Schulz, with their motifs of the outsider and small town life that blur the distinction between reality and fantasy, echo the legacy of surrealism. On the other hand, there are stories which rework the classic themes and set them in the Polish context. Such for instance is Iwaszkiewicz's Mother Joanna of the Angels in which the well known story of the possessed nuns of Loudun is transferred to 17th century Poland and recounted as a subtle psychological study of love and madness. Here, apart from exploring Christian concepts of love, sacrifice and devotion, Iwaszkiewicz confronts them with the Jewish tradition in a powerful clash of two cultures living side by side, sharing so much of their spiritual heritage, yet unable to unite against the common enemy of evil. The portrait of the magnificent figure of Reb Isze from Zablodow brings to mind the famous Jewish mystic and cabalist Lowy (Duda) ben Bezalel, the creator of the Golem, later the chief rabbi of Poland.

  Under the Communist rule, which itself could be taken for a grotesque nightmare if it were not so real, literature, just like everyone else, had to accommodate itself to the watchful presence of Big Brother. The stories of Andrzej Bursa and Slawomir Mroiek in this anthology brilliantly evoke the reality of living in close proximity to evil, where the danger of moral compromise is practically unavoidable.

  All those traditions came to fruition in the postcommunist Poland with an unprecedented popularity of fantastic fiction. The striking feature of the writing in the wake of liberalisation from Communism was that it was not so much interested in developing the visions of a bright new world - here the lack of faith in social order based on the rational scientific progress was particularly manifest - but in a return to the universal theme of Good versus Evil, particularly in their transcendental yet concrete manifestations, such as the Messiah and Satan. The latest generation is represented here by two young writers:Jacek Dukaj and Marek S. Huberath. Dukaj's brilliant Golden Galley unveils a futuristic vision of the world policed by the omnipotent organisation of the Blessed Legions that looks like KGB and the Society of Jesus rolled into one. It is a world of institutionalised cynicism and total spiritual desolation where the Blessed Legionaires, who have all the earthly powers and more at their disposal, are engaged in a futile attempt to avert the end of the world. It contains one of the most striking images of Satanic might in Polish contemporary fiction. Huberath, in his oppressive Greater Punishment, reminiscent of Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman, depicts Hell drawing on the last fifty years of Polish history whose haunting images seem just as inescapable as damnation itself. Both stories belong to the popular category of religious fantastic fiction, but occupy two ends of the spectrum encompassed by the genre. While Dukaj's pessimism seems to be irrevocable, or at least deeply distrustful of the inherited bankrupt values, Huberath, despite his grim view of human nature, remains firmly within the sphere of Catholic tradition.

  In this selection of Polish fantastic fiction I have tried to show it in the light that sets it apart in the history of the genre. For while it belongs to European fantasy, it is also very much a part of the time-honoured tradition in Polish literature which throughout its turbulent history has often served as a vehicle to convey, and come to terms with, the oppressive and officially unmentionable aspects of the nation's fate. Stranded between West and East, forever suspended between damnation and redemption, Satan and the Messiah, Polish fantastic stories possess a unique and distinctive voice.

  On his return, the vicar found the devil at home. The devil, sporting a red jockey-cap, was sitting at the table, looking at the human being - in this case the vicar - with concentrated attention. For in contrast with human beings, the devil is never absent-minded. He is not divided between good and evil, but wholly devoted to evil and free from deliberation, which means he is perfectly focused, always, in every situation.

  It happened at dusk, when the vicar returned from his everyday parish duties. He saw the devil and he sighed like a woodcutter who after a whole day of felling pine trees in the woods finds that in the meantime an oak tree has grown in his room.

  He knew however, both from experience and education, that the devil's existence is constant, that is, it is not subject to fluctuations, to ebbs and flows, to expansion and dissipation, to the rhythm of work and leisure, of dreaming and waking. So, he was not as surprised as the woodcutter would have been, only - and here the simile with the woodcutter is fully appropriate - he felt doubly tired.

  "What do you want?"

  It was a curt, rather unwelcoming question.

  "As a matter of fact, nothing. I simply am," answered the devil. The vicar brought to mind all the interpretations of devilishness, all the speculations on the nature of the devil, and all the exorcisms. As a matter of routine, he went through various procedures for exorcising the devil, trying out this and that, looking for one that would fit the situation. But there were too many of them, and after a day's work he felt so tired that in the end he could not decide on any. He was about to say "All right, be then" but he stopped himself, for such an acceptance of the existence of evil would be rather improper.

  "I understand," said the devil. "But don't worry, I'll leave you in peace too. I won't tempt you, I won't spin any webs of intrigue or deception. I'll just sit here, that's all."

  "Of course he's lying," thought the priest. "Lying is in his nature. I should throw him out. If he wants to sit and do nothing, why in my home? Why not somewhere else? But let me take my shoes off first and put my slippers on. If only I were younger ... I'm not as quick as I used to be."

  He took off his shoes, put his slippers on and made tea. All the while he was observing the devil from the corner of his eye. But the devil kept his word. He was silent, sitting modestly at the table; he didn't even take off his cap, which indicated that he was not going to make himself at home, and didn't display any of the activities or entrepreneurial spirit for which he is famous.

  The vicar had his tea and, not so much out of interest but to gain time, he picked up a book on some inconsequential topic. Alas, precisely because of that, his eyelids, which he was struggling to keep open anyway, had now grown even heavier and he couldn't keep them up. Resurfacing from his nap into half-sleep, he could still see the devil sitting politely at the table, but as if from a distance. "Strange thing, he doesn't bother me. He should want something from me, and even if he doesn't want anything now, the suspicion that it's only a pretence - at least that should bother me. You can't be too careful with the devil. I'll show him what's what, but later. I have to have some rest first."

  "Are you still here?" he asked when he woke up from his nap. The devil only nodded. He was, obviously and too selfevidently for it to require verbal confirmation. He was still sitting quietly, as in a waiting-room, that is as if he had no business in the room he was in, still in that grotesque red jockey-cap of his. "He's not pushy, though," thought the vicar. "And even if he is plotting something there will be enough time to put an end to it. Besides . . ." Here the vicar embarked on a course of reasoning that was to calm his stirring conscience: "If he is here, it means he is not somewhere else. He doesn't bother me, I can keep an eye on him here. And as long as he is here, he cannot do any harm to anyone else, not being where he act
ually is not. In the end it's better to have him here than to send him away, that is somewhere where God knows what trouble he would stir up. So, let him be, for if anyone is the loser here, it's him."

  And so he settled to sleep for good and thus spent his first night with the devil; for when the vicar woke up at dawn, the devil was still sitting at the table, still in his foolish red cap, consistent as ever. The devil doesn't get tired and so he doesn't need rest. The priest was surprised that despite the devil's presence he had slept well, deeply and without nightmares.

  When the vicar was leaving the vicarage, the devil followed him to the door with his eyes but without moving from his place. He greeted the vicar the same way when the latter returned home in the evening. The devil behaved like a faithful well-trained dog, with one difference only, and a favourable one in comparison with a dog, that he required no attention or looking after. The vicar remembered his resolution from the day before, namely to throw the devil out, but at the same time he also remembered the arguments that had stopped him from doing so there and then. "He doesn't bother me, so I won't bother him. While he is with me, he is harmless. If he has to be, let him be idle. It's better that he sits here, where he does me no harm, than that he goes away and harms other people. And if he tries anything with me, I'll show him an exorcism or two."

  But the devil didn't try. He avoided any, even the slightest conflict with his host. All he needed was a place at the table. If he wasn't asked he didn't talk, and the vicar wasn't asking him anything. Peace for peace. It may strike one as strange, but the vicar didn't take advantage of this opportunity to find out something about his adversary by way of direct and civil conversation. Was he trying to keep clear of any discussion, bearing in mind that one should not discuss anything with the devil? Probably, yes. He knew the devil was only waiting for the occasion. That was the reason the vicar had wanted to send him away in the first place, for he was afraid that the devil had come only to ensnare him in conversation. And then he let him stay only because the devil remained silent. So he was careful not to start what the devil did not. But on the other hand, the priest was no longer young and his curiosity was not so keen any more, especially given the effort he would have to make to satisfy it. He would not have made this effort even if the above considerations had not applied. He always returned home tired, always found the devil in his place, and they never talked to each other. The priest went to bed, the devil stayed awake. And so things settled down between them.