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PARTISAN REVIEW
the secret police, and even though I threw myself body and soul into the
opposition, I spent only an hour total at the police station. I lived, weeks
and months went by, I made various compromises. Now that the era has
ended, and those times are over-for good, I hope-suddenly things
that seemed completely obvious, though unexpressed, have become dif–
ficult to comprehend. What was that lovely city beneath Communism's
gray casing? How did it survive? What was transient and what was per–
manent? What still endures and what has gone forever? There are no
graveyards for cities, but there is forgetfulness. What was beautiful and
what repugnant? Some poems and pictures will live on, but who will
revive the moments and hours?
Two
WISE MEN
once met in a forest clearing. They spoke of the world's
poverty, of soulless civilization, of the catastrophic fate that had con–
sumed the inner life, of the downfall of religious feelings. They were in
perfect accord: when one spoke it might just as well have been the other.
The silence of the one was the other's silence too. They condemned what
needed condemning, and for all the situation's gravity, they secretly
rejoiced that neither was alone in this fearful, empty world: the first had
the second and the second had the first.
The initial discord arose only that evening, after sunset, as they
parted fondly and confided their plans for the next day. I'm going back
to the desert, said the first wise man, I'll fast, meditate, spurn the world
and read the classics.
I'll set off for Antioch, the second wise man said, I'll meet people, try
to persuade them to my-our-vision, I'll think, write, publish articles
and books, and perhaps someone will read them, maybe even be con–
vinced and change his ways. The first wise man looked at him with
unconcealed scorn and cold contempt, and vanished into the darkness.
IT
SEEMS THAT PROFESSOR LESZCZYNSKI
had never been in Auschwitz, as
the students had whispered. But he didn't lack causes for grief; apparently,
he'd lost his beloved wife early on. He'd lost his great friend, Stanislaw
Ignacy Witkiewicz. He'd lost his fortune, he'd lost an entire world of
friendship and thought; he'd found himself after the war in a country as
dreary as a barracks. He'd lost his youth.
