NEW POLISH WRITING
509
TWO STORIES
Marek Nowakowski
THE STATE OF WAR
It
was dark. The frost was hardening. This suburb looked
deserted earlier than usual. One could only hear a persistent clatter
coming from where the bulk of steelworks loomed like a black for–
tress . Tanks and armored carriers approached its barricaded gates.
The army was surrounding the factory. A column of soldiers, bayo–
nets stuck on their guns, moved glistening now and then in the light
of street lamps. The road leading to the steelworks was blocked with
concrete barriers. Beside them stood two guards in winter caps.
They stomped their feet and rubbed their hands. Their machine
guns were slung across their chests. On the other side of the barri–
caded street, coal was glowing in an iron brazier. The third guard
was warming himself at the fire.
Long icicles, sharp like daggers, hung from the eaves of a
house. The guard kept away from the wall and the dangerous icy
spikes. From time to time a few pedestrians would skirt him from a
distance. The soldier followed with his watchful eyes. His hands left
the zone of warmth and rested on his automatic weapon. People
crossed the street quickly. They did not look towards him. The win–
dows of apartment houses were dark. It was the third day of the state
of war and the curfew was near.
A taxicab appeared from a side street.
It
approached the
blocked road.
It
pulled up in front of the roadblock. Their guns
ready, the guards walked towards the car. Identity check. They
opened the trunk and ransacked it for a long time. The cab turned
back.
The clatter of the armored vehicles near the steelworks died
out. For a long time no one appeared. Complete silence. Suddenly
the approaching footsteps sounded unusually loud. Someone slowly
shuffled his feet. A crooked, shapeless figure emerged at the gate.
It
hobbled towards the brazier.
It
was an old woman with a bag slung
Both stories were translated by
J
aroslaw Anders .
