don't know about the facts of life, really? Syphon, it can't be true!"
And they all took a step back. Kneadus spat on the ground.
"It's true, gentlemen! Just look at him! It shows! Ugh! Yuck!"
Then Mizdral exclaimed:
"Syphon, that's impossible, you're bringing shame on us, go ahead, get initiated into the facts of life!"
Syphon "What? Me? I'm supposed to get initiated?"
Hopek "For heaven's sake, Syphon, think, this isn't only your concern, you're bringing shame on us, on all of us—I won't dare to look at a gal again."
Syphon "There are no gals, there are only lasses."
Kneadus "La . . . did you hear that? Maybe only lads then, eh? How about lads?"
Syphon "That's right, you took it right out of my mouth—'lads'! Friends, why should we be ashamed of this word? Is it worse than any other? And why should we, in this reborn country of ours, be ashamed of our 'lasses'? On the contrary, we should cultivate them in our hearts! Why, may I ask, should we be ashamed, merely for the sake of some contrived cynicism, of such pure words as 'lad,' 'eaglet,' 'knight,' 'falcon,' 'lass'—they're surely closer to our hearts than the vulgar lingo with which our friend Kneadalski is polluting his imagination."
"Hear, hear!" seconded a few.
"You toady!" shouted others.
"Colleagues!" Syphon exclaimed, now really carried away, relentless, and intoxicated with his own innocence. "Lift up your hearts! I suggest we take an oath this moment never to renounce the lad nor the eaglet! We'll never forfeit the land of our birth! {3} Because our birth springs forth from the 'lad' and the 'lass'! 'Lad' and 'lass'—that's our land! Whoever is young and noble, follow me! Our slogan—youthful zeal! Our password—youthful faith!"
In response to this call a few of Syphon's followers, carried away by youthful zeal, raised their hands and, with faces suddenly solemn and radiant, took the oath, and, in the air so limpid and clear Kneadus pounced on Syphon, who became furious—but fortunately they were separated before a fight broke out.
"Gentlemen!" reviled Kneadus, "why don't you kick this eaglet, this lad, in the butt? Don't you have any guts? Where's your pride? Kick him, why don't you kick him? Only a kick can save you! Show him your manhood! Show him that we're guys who go with gals, not some lads who go with lasses!"
He ranted and raved. I looked at him, drops of sweat on my brow, my cheeks shrouded in pallor. Yet a glimmer of hope sustained me, I thought that after Pimko's departure I would somehow regain my bearings and manage to explain things—but how was I supposed to regain my bearings when a couple of steps away, in the cool and bracing air, naivete and innocence were on the rise. The pupa had rolled over the lads and the guys. The world seemed to have collapsed and reset itself in the mode of the lad and the guy. I took a step back.
Now the irate Syphon called out into the pale blue expanse, as he stood on the hard ground of the school yard, which was covered with veins of shadow and blotches of light:
"Excuse me, Kneadalski is talking nonsense, he's setting us up! I suggest we ignore him and act as if he doesn't even exist, off with him, my friends, he's a traitor, a traitor to his own youth, he has no ideals!"
"What ideals, you ass? What ideals? Your ideals, no matter how beautiful, can't be any better than you are," fumed Kneadus, his words gathering steam, "don't you all realize, can't you see that his ideals are fat and pink with large noses? You dogs! It will be a disgrace to show ourselves in the street! Don't you see how real guys, the sons of janitors and peasants, apprentices of all sorts, handymen and farmhands our age, are poking fun at us! They think we're nothing! Defend the guy against the lad!" he pleaded in all directions. "Stand up for the guy in us!"
Indignation grew. The students, their cheeks flushed, went at each other, Syphon stood immobile, his hands folded on his breast, while Kneadus clenched his fists.
And they all took a step back. Kneadus spat on the ground.
"It's true, gentlemen! Just look at him! It shows! Ugh! Yuck!"
Then Mizdral exclaimed:
"Syphon, that's impossible, you're bringing shame on us, go ahead, get initiated into the facts of life!"
Syphon "What? Me? I'm supposed to get initiated?"
Hopek "For heaven's sake, Syphon, think, this isn't only your concern, you're bringing shame on us, on all of us—I won't dare to look at a gal again."
Syphon "There are no gals, there are only lasses."
Kneadus "La . . . did you hear that? Maybe only lads then, eh? How about lads?"
Syphon "That's right, you took it right out of my mouth—'lads'! Friends, why should we be ashamed of this word? Is it worse than any other? And why should we, in this reborn country of ours, be ashamed of our 'lasses'? On the contrary, we should cultivate them in our hearts! Why, may I ask, should we be ashamed, merely for the sake of some contrived cynicism, of such pure words as 'lad,' 'eaglet,' 'knight,' 'falcon,' 'lass'—they're surely closer to our hearts than the vulgar lingo with which our friend Kneadalski is polluting his imagination."
"Hear, hear!" seconded a few.
"You toady!" shouted others.
"Colleagues!" Syphon exclaimed, now really carried away, relentless, and intoxicated with his own innocence. "Lift up your hearts! I suggest we take an oath this moment never to renounce the lad nor the eaglet! We'll never forfeit the land of our birth! {3} Because our birth springs forth from the 'lad' and the 'lass'! 'Lad' and 'lass'—that's our land! Whoever is young and noble, follow me! Our slogan—youthful zeal! Our password—youthful faith!"
In response to this call a few of Syphon's followers, carried away by youthful zeal, raised their hands and, with faces suddenly solemn and radiant, took the oath, and, in the air so limpid and clear Kneadus pounced on Syphon, who became furious—but fortunately they were separated before a fight broke out.
"Gentlemen!" reviled Kneadus, "why don't you kick this eaglet, this lad, in the butt? Don't you have any guts? Where's your pride? Kick him, why don't you kick him? Only a kick can save you! Show him your manhood! Show him that we're guys who go with gals, not some lads who go with lasses!"
He ranted and raved. I looked at him, drops of sweat on my brow, my cheeks shrouded in pallor. Yet a glimmer of hope sustained me, I thought that after Pimko's departure I would somehow regain my bearings and manage to explain things—but how was I supposed to regain my bearings when a couple of steps away, in the cool and bracing air, naivete and innocence were on the rise. The pupa had rolled over the lads and the guys. The world seemed to have collapsed and reset itself in the mode of the lad and the guy. I took a step back.
Now the irate Syphon called out into the pale blue expanse, as he stood on the hard ground of the school yard, which was covered with veins of shadow and blotches of light:
"Excuse me, Kneadalski is talking nonsense, he's setting us up! I suggest we ignore him and act as if he doesn't even exist, off with him, my friends, he's a traitor, a traitor to his own youth, he has no ideals!"
"What ideals, you ass? What ideals? Your ideals, no matter how beautiful, can't be any better than you are," fumed Kneadus, his words gathering steam, "don't you all realize, can't you see that his ideals are fat and pink with large noses? You dogs! It will be a disgrace to show ourselves in the street! Don't you see how real guys, the sons of janitors and peasants, apprentices of all sorts, handymen and farmhands our age, are poking fun at us! They think we're nothing! Defend the guy against the lad!" he pleaded in all directions. "Stand up for the guy in us!"
Indignation grew. The students, their cheeks flushed, went at each other, Syphon stood immobile, his hands folded on his breast, while Kneadus clenched his fists.
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