STANISLAW BARANCZAK
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justify the pain of daily existence. Since even the simplest of needs
cannot be fulfilled - for reasons inherent in the system - the society
gradually disintegrates, and the people's frustration is discharged
through outbursts of mutual hatred. But not even this hatred is real;
the everyday sense of impotence has destroyed all authentic impulses
and moral systems. Everything dissolves into the Great Nonsense.
And still, note Konwicki's confession: "I write because in my
subconscious there stirs a spark of hope that somewhere there is
something, that something endures somewhere, that, in my last in–
stant, Great Meaning will take notice of me and save me from a uni–
verse without meaning." It's true, the subject of the novel is not only
the Great Nonsense but also human hopes, the struggle to wrestle
out of the grasp of the absurd, the anticipation of a miracle, and the
efforts to use one's own power to fight the Nonsense.
After all, it is Christmas Eve, the eve of the Miracle. The word
"miracle" appears in the novel again and again. "What are you wait–
ing for, a miracle or something?" asks Kojran in the opening scene.
To which the narrator answers, "Yes, you're right. I am waiting for a
miracle." The colloquial expression suddenly gains here a deeper
meaning, and later this phrase becomes a leitmotif. "I'm quietly
waiting for a miracle. I'm constantly waiting for an answer ," the nar–
rator explains, but other characters cannot respond with any such
certainty. And yet almost all of them are on the eve of something
that can, supposedly, change their lives. Each cherishes his or her
little hope: Kojran flies to America to start a new life the very next
day, and Julia, who claims she's already hit the jackpot, hopes to
find a man to share her loneliness.
But let us note that nobody really believes in their dreams. No
character takes his or her hopes seriously, not even the woman whose
only consolation is the thought that people elsewhere are equally bad
off. The possibilities of a miracle, of escape from everyday existence,
are rejected one after another as illusory. Even the narrator's unex–
pected sexual adventure, which at first seemed to be just the miracle
- the Assumption, with all its angelic attributes - dilutes into profane
banality. Such a disappointment is a constant motif in Konwicki's
writing. I would call it the "second try complex." In the midst of a
sexual act, the hero often experiences metaphysical exaltation, but
when he tries to recreate the ecstasy a second time, it's either a com–
plete failure or a disillusionment. The repeated act has only minimal
appeal for the hero, and he, "like an old husband," cannot free him-
