JAN KO pO Li e KAM OV
117
tl e? H e po ints to th e bedside cabin et: a book) hi s rosa ry? I do n' t under–
stand . I look to m y mo th er. Sh e understands illlmedi ately and puts the
chamber po t o n th e bed. 13ut fa th er is spea kin g: Does he wa nt to ge t o ff
the bed? Yes. We lift hinl to hi s feet. I put the chamber po t under him. I never
even think: Is thi s what he wanted to teIlme? My fa ther is standing upright,
he looks taller. 13ut suddenl y- I stepped back. My mother caught him with
her las t strength. Hi s eyes o pen so terribly like th ey want to speak. A sho rt,
surpri sed, uncomprehending look and m y fa ther drops dead o n hi s bed.
For th e next half ho ur m y mo ther, m y aunt and I argue. Aunti e call ed
the pri es t and I sa id I would th row him ou t. I begin to feel that it is upon me
to defend th e beli efs and the hono r o f my father. Aunti e is in a congrega ti o n.
She says it is upo n her
to
protect the reputati o n o f th e family. She is very
angry, probabl y because fa th er had her sent out of the room and because the
last wish of the deceased was a chamber po t, no t th e holy sacrament. I see
cl earl y how she wo uld like to influence o ur famil y,
to
have some rights; at
leas t, to take her share. Th ere is so Illuch lust and interes t in her arguments
that I feel she is ill frin ging o n m y birthri ght. Mother keeps crying and is more
upset that I won't all ow the pries t to come than that father di ed. We left the
dead o ne alo ne. My aunt is sho uting at the top of her voice that she will no t
do a thing, that she will not move before th e pries t arri ves. She even tri ed to
throw me o ut: I had pro faned the deceased, I was drinkin g w hil e he was
dying; I was ashamed o f m y own f.lther wh en I was in the company o f bad
women. Onl y now did I begin to fed a deep love fo r m y father and in argu–
ing w ith m y aunt I came
to
beli eve that I had loved him more than anybody
else.
" H e as ked fo r me"- I say mali cio usly-"and didn' t even m enti o n yo u."
That pl eases m y mo ther too. Sh e approves, she comes to life: the dead man
had brought the son back to the fa mil y. She kisses me passio nately, she cri es
and takes me to m y father's room.
" H e is ours," I feel as if m y mo ther is saying. " He's mine," I seem to reply
triumphantly. " We shall see," m y aunt seems to w hi sper sarcas ti cally. And the
growing sil ence, the mali ce that canno t speak, the interes ts always hard at
work- devel op a sil ent battl e about a corpse, and each o f us fl atters hi s ego–
ti sm; we remember that we have some beli efS and principl es whi ch we want
to, whi ch we must express around a body that has already started
to
smell.
Something new appears inside Ill e. Wi th my father's decay I begin to feel
an ever mo re passionate love for him . Th e self- respect, the imperative to ne,
my aunt's impertin ent showing-o ff waken m y duti es as a son ,
111
y rights and
feeling and m y youthful nature o f dec isiveness, energy and defi ance. I went to
the coron er, to th e undertaker's, I w ired our relatives, and in a quarter of an
hour I took carl' o f everything and returned full of energy, passion and
strength- just
to
show that I was mas ter around here.
