but …” He spread his arms in a magnificent gesture.
“Come now,” the secretary said, “what are you trying to say?”
Jarzebowski cracked his knuckles—his nervous hands seemed to have a life of their own. “The fact is,” he said dejectedly, “the fact is, I have nothing good to report. Please try to understand, this is not an easy thing for me to say; it’s terribly unpleasant—please, understand me, dear sir, my situation is very, very delicate—but the duty of a Pole, a Left Winger …”
“Speak up; don’t be afraid.”
“A parcel,” Jarzebowski blurted out.
“What parcel?”
“Malinowska, in the Bookkeeping Department. I mean,my department,” Jarzebowski added modestly, once again accompanying his words with a magnificent toss of his mane.
“Well, go on, what’s next?”
“You’ve been good enough, if I may say so, to hit the nail on the head. That’s just it: what next?”
“I don’t understand.”
Jarzebowski pounded his chest. “It’s my fault, dear sir, my fault. Apparently I haven’t been able to express myself clearly enough. Malinowska, of the Bookkeeping Department, received a parcel.”
“Where from?”
Jarzebowski stood on his toes, raising his hands, as though addressing legions of witnesses. “That’s the whole point,” he said in a metallic voice. “A parcel from the West.”
“From—the—We-e-est?”
“From the West. What’s more, she makes no secret of it. She told me herself. She even treated me to a cigarette, which I have taken the liberty of bringing here …” He reached into the upper pocket of his waistcoat, drew out a cigarette, and set it down in front of the secretary. “Please—here it is.”
They stared at each other for a moment with piercing eyes. The secretary let out a whistle. “So that’s how it is.”
“Yes, indeed.”
They remained silent. The clock on the wall ticked maddeningly. Somewhere in the factory a powerful engine was being tested at full speed; it stopped, only to start up again with an ear-splitting roar.
“A parcel,” the secretary said pensively. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, he picked up the cigarette and examined it from all sides; he turned it this way and that, sniffed it, and at last put it down, shaking his head. “A cigarette,” he said; “the devil knows what that can lead to. That’s how it alwaysbegins: parcels, cigarettes, nylons, a few trinkets, and then it turns out …”
He paused, and his face tensed as if he were about to give birth to some powerful new idea, unique in form and expression. Jarzebowski held his breath; and to Franciszek, who was watching from the side, the secretary seemed to have become petrified. The suspense was palpable; even the clock seemed to be ticking more slowly.
“Thank you, Jarzebowski,” the secretary said hoarsely after a while. “Our organization will take the matter up.” He rose from his seat. “Thanks,” he repeated. He shook the bookkeeper’s hand vigorously, and as the latter turned his noble mane in the direction of the door, the secretary repeated once again, “Thank you, Citizen.”
“Not at all,” Jarzebowski said, and, turning to Franciszek, “How about our club?”
Franciszek clenched his jaw. “We’ll see about that later,” he said.
“Thanks,” the secretary cried. He moved his chair over to Franciszek, patting him on the knee. “What do you think about it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of people get parcels from abroad.”
The secretary smiled jeeringly. “Parcels,” he repeated. He leaned toward Franciszek, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You don’t know them.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Them.”
“But, damn it, the contents of the parcels are checked, aren’t they?”
“You don’t know them, and that’s all there is to it,” he said, keeping his superior smile. “Well, what’s new with you? Youwere saying that you couldn’t manage the campaign, weren’t
“Come now,” the secretary said, “what are you trying to say?”
Jarzebowski cracked his knuckles—his nervous hands seemed to have a life of their own. “The fact is,” he said dejectedly, “the fact is, I have nothing good to report. Please try to understand, this is not an easy thing for me to say; it’s terribly unpleasant—please, understand me, dear sir, my situation is very, very delicate—but the duty of a Pole, a Left Winger …”
“Speak up; don’t be afraid.”
“A parcel,” Jarzebowski blurted out.
“What parcel?”
“Malinowska, in the Bookkeeping Department. I mean,my department,” Jarzebowski added modestly, once again accompanying his words with a magnificent toss of his mane.
“Well, go on, what’s next?”
“You’ve been good enough, if I may say so, to hit the nail on the head. That’s just it: what next?”
“I don’t understand.”
Jarzebowski pounded his chest. “It’s my fault, dear sir, my fault. Apparently I haven’t been able to express myself clearly enough. Malinowska, of the Bookkeeping Department, received a parcel.”
“Where from?”
Jarzebowski stood on his toes, raising his hands, as though addressing legions of witnesses. “That’s the whole point,” he said in a metallic voice. “A parcel from the West.”
“From—the—We-e-est?”
“From the West. What’s more, she makes no secret of it. She told me herself. She even treated me to a cigarette, which I have taken the liberty of bringing here …” He reached into the upper pocket of his waistcoat, drew out a cigarette, and set it down in front of the secretary. “Please—here it is.”
They stared at each other for a moment with piercing eyes. The secretary let out a whistle. “So that’s how it is.”
“Yes, indeed.”
They remained silent. The clock on the wall ticked maddeningly. Somewhere in the factory a powerful engine was being tested at full speed; it stopped, only to start up again with an ear-splitting roar.
“A parcel,” the secretary said pensively. Carefully, with the tips of his fingers, he picked up the cigarette and examined it from all sides; he turned it this way and that, sniffed it, and at last put it down, shaking his head. “A cigarette,” he said; “the devil knows what that can lead to. That’s how it alwaysbegins: parcels, cigarettes, nylons, a few trinkets, and then it turns out …”
He paused, and his face tensed as if he were about to give birth to some powerful new idea, unique in form and expression. Jarzebowski held his breath; and to Franciszek, who was watching from the side, the secretary seemed to have become petrified. The suspense was palpable; even the clock seemed to be ticking more slowly.
“Thank you, Jarzebowski,” the secretary said hoarsely after a while. “Our organization will take the matter up.” He rose from his seat. “Thanks,” he repeated. He shook the bookkeeper’s hand vigorously, and as the latter turned his noble mane in the direction of the door, the secretary repeated once again, “Thank you, Citizen.”
“Not at all,” Jarzebowski said, and, turning to Franciszek, “How about our club?”
Franciszek clenched his jaw. “We’ll see about that later,” he said.
“Thanks,” the secretary cried. He moved his chair over to Franciszek, patting him on the knee. “What do you think about it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Lots of people get parcels from abroad.”
The secretary smiled jeeringly. “Parcels,” he repeated. He leaned toward Franciszek, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “You don’t know them.”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Them.”
“But, damn it, the contents of the parcels are checked, aren’t they?”
“You don’t know them, and that’s all there is to it,” he said, keeping his superior smile. “Well, what’s new with you? Youwere saying that you couldn’t manage the campaign, weren’t
Similar Books
