monkeys?”
“
People
, not
peoples
, Comrade Gierwatowski,” Blizniaczek corrected him.
“What?”
“People.”
“That’s what I am saying: peoples.”
“Just a moment,” the district delegate said; his eyebrows had returned to their initial position. “In just what connection are you asking this?”
“Well, how can it be? Peoples from monkeys?”
“What of it?”
Gierwatowski grew red with anger. “My son comes to me and says, ‘Daddy, is it true that peoples come from monkeys?’ ‘Clear out, you little squirt,’ I say to him, ‘or I’ll giveyou a kick in the ass that’ll make you forget your monkeys. Back to your homework.’ ‘But that’s what they’re teaching,’ he says. ‘It’s in the book; it really is.’ ‘Where?’ I say. ‘It’s a long time since you’ve been spanked.’ ‘Here,’ he says. I pick up the book, I read, and I can’t believe my eyes. I read, and I think, Have I gone nuts in my old age? Or has the fellow that printed this gone crazy? That’s what it says in the book—from monkeys, and that’s all there is to it. I hit the brat over the head, and on Sunday I went to the zoo myself.” He paused.
“Well?”
“Is it possible?”
“Is what possible?”
“That we come from monkeys?”
Blizniaczek rose to his feet; his hair bristled like a brush. “What do you want, Gierwatowski? Isn’t it all the same to you who your great-great-grandfather was? It’s not a question of social origins, but of science. That’s how you’ve got to look at it.”
Gierwatowski’s face darkened; his neck was purple, and his mustache jerked up. “Damn you!” he roared. “Shut up, you hoodlum! My grandfather was a blacksmith at Gerlach’s, and don’t you wipe your dirty mouth with him.” He shook an enormous fist.
There were shouts: “Boring from within!” “We must be vigilant!” “A foreign agent!” “No use going easy with him! Report him to the security police!” “An enemy!” “How many dollars did you get for that, Gierwatowski?” “We know your kind: here you talk about monkeys, and the moment our backs are turned you throw sand in the machines!” “Comrades, don’t let him pull the wool over our eyes!” “There was starvation, there was misery, there was …”
“Quiet, comrades!” the district delegate cried. He turnedto Gierwatowski: “Your case will be taken up by the Executive …” He stared at him for a while. “The party didn’t expect this of you,” he said dryly. “You’ll suffer the consequences.”
Gierwatowski sat down, dazed. The First Secretary announced: “The case of Comrade Kowalski.”
VIII
FROM THE DARK STREETS THE WIND BLEW SUDDENLY , picking up tatters of old posters and dragging them across the square. The second shift had begun; he could hear the roar of the engines, and the rattling and grinding of the machines. He passed the gate and walked out into the street; it ran far off into the darkness, and somewhere at the end of it drunks were staggering under the gas lamps, their shadows shrinking and crawling along the ground, or lengthening and sliding over the unlit windows of the houses. The sidewalk was wet and glassy. Franciszek looked down; in the puddles stars swam like fat worms. A pimp emerged from a passageway. “Your honor,” he said, tipping his cap, “I have a nice girl for you tonight.”
Franciszek pushed him away silently, and walked on. He raised his head and breathed in the air with all his strength; there was a lump of steel in his lungs. He walked on, occasionally stumbling; he stared at the sky—it was better, easier this way. An insipid moon was drifting over the roofs; the darkness grew thicker and thicker, a clammy, impenetrable darkness which choked the sickly stars and the crowded city. A military patrol tramped by, their heels clattering. The moon suddenly dropped out of sight behind a dirty cloud; the soldiers walked ahead, staring apprehensively into the damp
“
People
, not
peoples
, Comrade Gierwatowski,” Blizniaczek corrected him.
“What?”
“People.”
“That’s what I am saying: peoples.”
“Just a moment,” the district delegate said; his eyebrows had returned to their initial position. “In just what connection are you asking this?”
“Well, how can it be? Peoples from monkeys?”
“What of it?”
Gierwatowski grew red with anger. “My son comes to me and says, ‘Daddy, is it true that peoples come from monkeys?’ ‘Clear out, you little squirt,’ I say to him, ‘or I’ll giveyou a kick in the ass that’ll make you forget your monkeys. Back to your homework.’ ‘But that’s what they’re teaching,’ he says. ‘It’s in the book; it really is.’ ‘Where?’ I say. ‘It’s a long time since you’ve been spanked.’ ‘Here,’ he says. I pick up the book, I read, and I can’t believe my eyes. I read, and I think, Have I gone nuts in my old age? Or has the fellow that printed this gone crazy? That’s what it says in the book—from monkeys, and that’s all there is to it. I hit the brat over the head, and on Sunday I went to the zoo myself.” He paused.
“Well?”
“Is it possible?”
“Is what possible?”
“That we come from monkeys?”
Blizniaczek rose to his feet; his hair bristled like a brush. “What do you want, Gierwatowski? Isn’t it all the same to you who your great-great-grandfather was? It’s not a question of social origins, but of science. That’s how you’ve got to look at it.”
Gierwatowski’s face darkened; his neck was purple, and his mustache jerked up. “Damn you!” he roared. “Shut up, you hoodlum! My grandfather was a blacksmith at Gerlach’s, and don’t you wipe your dirty mouth with him.” He shook an enormous fist.
There were shouts: “Boring from within!” “We must be vigilant!” “A foreign agent!” “No use going easy with him! Report him to the security police!” “An enemy!” “How many dollars did you get for that, Gierwatowski?” “We know your kind: here you talk about monkeys, and the moment our backs are turned you throw sand in the machines!” “Comrades, don’t let him pull the wool over our eyes!” “There was starvation, there was misery, there was …”
“Quiet, comrades!” the district delegate cried. He turnedto Gierwatowski: “Your case will be taken up by the Executive …” He stared at him for a while. “The party didn’t expect this of you,” he said dryly. “You’ll suffer the consequences.”
Gierwatowski sat down, dazed. The First Secretary announced: “The case of Comrade Kowalski.”
VIII
FROM THE DARK STREETS THE WIND BLEW SUDDENLY , picking up tatters of old posters and dragging them across the square. The second shift had begun; he could hear the roar of the engines, and the rattling and grinding of the machines. He passed the gate and walked out into the street; it ran far off into the darkness, and somewhere at the end of it drunks were staggering under the gas lamps, their shadows shrinking and crawling along the ground, or lengthening and sliding over the unlit windows of the houses. The sidewalk was wet and glassy. Franciszek looked down; in the puddles stars swam like fat worms. A pimp emerged from a passageway. “Your honor,” he said, tipping his cap, “I have a nice girl for you tonight.”
Franciszek pushed him away silently, and walked on. He raised his head and breathed in the air with all his strength; there was a lump of steel in his lungs. He walked on, occasionally stumbling; he stared at the sky—it was better, easier this way. An insipid moon was drifting over the roofs; the darkness grew thicker and thicker, a clammy, impenetrable darkness which choked the sickly stars and the crowded city. A military patrol tramped by, their heels clattering. The moon suddenly dropped out of sight behind a dirty cloud; the soldiers walked ahead, staring apprehensively into the damp
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