Ferdydurke (6 page)

Therefore their laughter, rather than calming down, grew and grew, some students held back at first from reacting while others could not—and slowly at first, then faster and faster, they lapsed into filthy talk that would have made a drunken cabby proud. And feverishly, rapidly, they muttered among themselves the most brutal profanities and opprobrious invectives, while others chalked graffiti on the walls; and the limpid autumn air swarmed with words a hundredfold worse than those to which they had treated me in the beginning. I thought I was dreaming—because it is in a dream that we fall into a situation more stupid than anything we could imagine. I tried to stop them.

"Why do you say 'f...'?" I feverishly asked one of them, "why do you say that?"

"Oh, shut up, you puppy dog!" the rogue replied, jabbing me in the ribs. "It's a terrific word! You say it too, c'mon, say it," he hissed and stepped painfully on my foot. "Say it, now! It's our only defense against the pupa! Can't you see that the inspector behind the tree is treating us to the pupa? You wimp, you French poodle, if you don't talk dirty this minute I'll twist your ear. Hey, Mizdral, come here and keep an eye on this new fellow so he behaves himself. And you, Hopek, tell us a filthy joke. Go for it, gentlemen, or he too will treat us to the pupa!"

Having given these orders the vulgar scamp, whom they called Kneadus, sneaked up to the oak tree and carved upon it four letters that neither Pimko nor the mothers behind the fence could see. A subdued titter brimming with hidden delight came from all around, and when the mothers behind the fence and Pimko behind the tree heard their youngsters laughing they too joined in with their benevolent laughter—a twofold laughter resulting. Because, having duped their elders, the laughter of the young was full of mischief, while the laughter of the older people, in reaction to their youngsters' carefree gaiety, was good-natured and benevolent—and so in the calm autumn air the two forces struggled with each other amid the leaves falling from the tree, amid the hustle and bustle of school life, the elderly janitor sweeping litter into a dustpan, the grass turning yellow, the pale sky...

Yet suddenly it all seemed so naive—Pimko behind the tree, the scamps crowing with delight, the toadies with noses in their books— the whole situation became so disgustingly naive that I felt I was drowning, along with all my unspoken protestations. And I did not know whether I should rescue myself, my schoolmates, or Pimko. I moved slightly closer to the tree and whispered:

"Professor, sir."

"What?" Pimko asked, also in a whisper.

"Please come out of there, sir. They've written a dirty word on the other side of the tree. That's why they're laughing. Please, sir, come out."

And as I whispered these fatuous words into thin air, it occurred to me that I had become some kind of mystical conjurer of stupidity, and my own position frightened me—my hands cupped over my mouth, by an oak tree, in a school yard, whispering something to Pimko standing behind a tree...

"What?" asked the professor, crouching behind the tree, "what have they written?"

A car honked in the distance.

"A dirty word! They've written a dirty word! Please come out, sir!"

"Where did they write it?"

"On this oak tree. On the other side. Please, sir, come out and put an end to this! Don't let them make fun of you! You wanted to make them think they're naive and innocent, but instead they've written a dirty word for you ... Stop this teasing. That's enough. I can't go on like this, talking into thin air. I'll go crazy. Please, sir, come out! Enough's enough!"

Gossamer threads of Indian summer drifted about while I thus carried on in whispers, leaves were falling ...

"What? What's this?" Pimko exclaimed, "am I to doubt the purity of our youth? Never! You can't tell this to an old dog like me, and a pedagogue at that!"

He stepped out from behind the tree, and at the sight of this figure of a potentate the students burst into a wild roar.

"My dear young men!" he said after they calmed down somewhat. "Don't imagine that I don't know that you use foul and obscene language among yourselves. I'm well aware of it. But don't you worry, neither this nor any of your other transgressions will shake my deepest conviction that at bottom you are modest and innocent. Your old friend here will always think of you as pure, modest, and innocent, he will always believe in your modesty, purity, and innocence. As to dirty words, well, I know you're just repeating them after some servant girl, not really understanding them, just to show off. Well, well, well, there's nothing wrong with that, on the contrary-it's more innocent than you think."

He sneezed, wiped his nose with great satisfaction, and proceeded to the administration building to discuss my case with Principal Piorkowski. Mothers and aunts behind the fence were ecstatic, they fell into one another's arms and reiterated: "What a seasoned pedagogue! Oh, what cute little pupas, pupas, pupas our little darlings have!" But among the students his speech evoked nothing but dismay. Dumbfounded, they watched Pimko walk away, but as soon as he was out of sight a hail of invectives followed. "Did you hear that?" roared Kneadus, "we're innocent, shit, screw that! He thinks we're innocent—he takes us for innocents! He insists we're innocent! Innocent!" And in no way could he extricate himself from the word that had entrapped and shackled him, and was now killing him, yet it somehow grounded him ever more in naivete and innocence. Just at that moment a tall, well-built youth whom his classmates called Syphon—it was now his turn to be swept into the naivete that was raging in the air—said to himself, yet so that everyone could hear, in the clear and limpid air which made a voice sound like cowbells in the mountains:

"Innocence? And why not? Innocence is a virtue... One should be innocent... And why not?"

No sooner did he say it than Kneadus pounced on his words.

"What? You believe in innocence?"

And he took a step back, because it sounded so silly. This annoyed Syphon, who in turn pounced on Kneadus' words.

"I believe in it! And why shouldn't I? I'm not childish in this respect."

This in turn annoyed Kneadus, who started hurling mockeries into the echoing air.

"Did you all hear that? Syphon is innocent! Ha, ha, ha, Syphon the innocent!"

Cries of "Syphonus innocentus! Has the arrogant Syphon perchance not been with a woman?" came from everywhere. A shower of lewd epigrams in the style of poets Rey and Kochanowski rained down, and for a brief moment the world became soiled again. But the epigrams annoyed Syphon even more, and he dug in his heels.

"Yes, I am innocent—and what's more, I don't know anything about such things, and I don't see why I should be ashamed. Friends, surely not one of you can seriously maintain that filth is better than purity."

And he took a step back, because it sounded so awkward. Everyone fell silent. Finally there was whispering:

"Syphon, you're not joking? You don't know about the facts of life, really? Syphon, it can't be true!"

And they all took a step back. Kneadus spat on the ground.

"It's true, gentlemen! Just look at him! It shows! Ugh! Yuck!"

Then Mizdral exclaimed:

"Syphon, that's impossible, you're bringing shame on us, go ahead, get initiated into the facts of life!"

Syphon "What? Me? I'm supposed to get initiated?"

Hopek "For heaven's sake, Syphon, think, this isn't only your concern, you're bringing shame on us, on all of us—I won't dare to look at a gal again."

Syphon "There are no gals, there are only lasses."

Kneadus "La . . . did you hear that? Maybe only lads then, eh? How about lads?"

Syphon "That's right, you took it right out of my mouth—'lads'! Friends, why should we be ashamed of this word? Is it worse than any other? And why should we, in this reborn country of ours, be ashamed of our 'lasses'? On the contrary, we should cultivate them in our hearts! Why, may I ask, should we be ashamed, merely for the sake of some contrived cynicism, of such pure words as 'lad,' 'eaglet,' 'knight,' 'falcon,' 'lass'—they're surely closer to our hearts than the vulgar lingo with which our friend Kneadalski is polluting his imagination."

"Hear, hear!" seconded a few.

"You toady!" shouted others.

"Colleagues!" Syphon exclaimed, now really carried away, relentless, and intoxicated with his own innocence. "Lift up your hearts! I suggest we take an oath this moment never to renounce the lad nor the eaglet!
We'll never forfeit the land of our birth!
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Because our birth springs forth from the 'lad' and the 'lass'! 'Lad' and 'lass'—that's our land! Whoever is young and noble, follow me! Our slogan—youthful zeal! Our password—youthful faith!"

In response to this call a few of Syphon's followers, carried away by youthful zeal, raised their hands and, with faces suddenly solemn and radiant, took the oath, and, in the air so limpid and clear Kneadus pounced on Syphon, who became furious—but fortunately they were separated before a fight broke out.

"Gentlemen!" reviled Kneadus, "why don't you kick this eaglet, this lad, in the butt? Don't you have any guts? Where's your pride? Kick him, why don't you kick him? Only a kick can save you! Show him your manhood! Show him that we're guys who go with gals, not some lads who go with lasses!"

He ranted and raved. I looked at him, drops of sweat on my brow, my cheeks shrouded in pallor. Yet a glimmer of hope sustained me, I thought that after Pimko's departure I would somehow regain my bearings and manage to explain things—but how was I supposed to regain my bearings when a couple of steps away, in the cool and bracing air, naivete and innocence were on the rise. The pupa had rolled over the lads and the guys. The world seemed to have collapsed and reset itself in the mode of the lad and the guy. I took a step back.

Now the irate Syphon called out into the pale blue expanse, as he stood on the hard ground of the school yard, which was covered with veins of shadow and blotches of light:

"Excuse me, Kneadalski is talking nonsense, he's setting us up! I suggest we ignore him and act as if he doesn't even exist, off with him, my friends, he's a traitor, a traitor to his own youth, he has no ideals!"

"What ideals, you ass? What ideals? Your ideals, no matter how beautiful, can't be any better than you are," fumed Kneadus, his words gathering steam, "don't you all realize, can't you see that his ideals are fat and pink with large noses? You dogs! It will be a disgrace to show ourselves in the street! Don't you see how real guys, the sons of janitors and peasants, apprentices of all sorts, handymen and farmhands our age, are poking fun at us! They think we're nothing! Defend the guy against the lad!" he pleaded in all directions. "Stand up for the guy in us!"

Indignation grew. The students, their cheeks flushed, went at each other, Syphon stood immobile, his hands folded on his breast, while Kneadus clenched his fists. Behind the fence mothers and aunts, without quite grasping what was going on, were also highly excited. Yet the majority of students were undecided, and, stuffing themselves with bread and butter, simply reiterated:

"Is the presumptuous Kneadus perchance a ribald? Is Syphonus an idealistus? Noses to our books, let's cram, cram, cram or we'll flunk!"

Others, preferring not to be mixed up in all this, led tactful conversations about sports and pretended to be greatly interested in a football match. But now and then one or another, evidently unable to resist the scorching and burning issues of the dispute, would listen, ponder awhile, and, cheeks flushed, join either Syphon's or Kneadus' camp. The teacher dozed off on a bench in the sun and, from afar, smacked his lips at the youthful naivete. "Hey, the pupa, the pupa," he purred. Only one student had not been swept away by the general ideological excitement. He stood to one side, dressed in a knit shirt, soft flannel pants, a delicate gold chain round his left wrist, calmly warming himself in the sun. "Hey, Kopyrda!" each side called to him, "Kopyrda, join us!" He seemed to be the subject of general envy, both hostile camps wanted to win him over, but he did not heed either side. He moved one foot forward and wiggled it to and fro.

"We don't give a hoot for the opinions of janitors' sons, apprentices, and all the street riffraff!" exclaimed Pyzo, a friend of Syphon's, "they're all dumb."

"And what about schoolgirls?" Mizdral anxiously asked, "don't you care about the opinions of schoolgirls? Just imagine, what will schoolgirls think?"

Shouts came from all around:

"Schoolgirls love those who are pure!"

"No, no, they prefer the filthy ones!"

"Schoolgirls?!" Syphon mouthed disdainfully, "we care only about the opinions of noble-minded lasses, and they are on our side!"

Kneadus walked up to him and said, his voice breaking:

"Syphon! You wouldn't do this to us, would you?! Take back what you've just said, and I will too! Let's both drop it, shall we? I'm ready to... to apologize to you, I'm ready to do anything... as long as you retract your words about those lads' and ... let yourself be initiated. Retract 'lads.' And I'll retract 'guys.' This isn't just your own personal matter, you know."

But before answering, Syphon Pylaszczkiewicz gave him a bright and gentle look, yet a look that was full of inner strength. With such a look must come a strong reply. Taking a step back, he therefore said:

"I'm ready to give my life for my ideals!"

But Kneadus had already moved in on him, his fists clenched.

"Onward! Charge! Get him, guys! Beat the lad! Kill him, kill him, beat him up, kill the lad!"

"Here, lads, here!" exclaimed Syphon Pylaszczkiewicz, "stick up for me, I haven't lost my innocence yet, I'm your lad, stick up for me!" he went on with a piercing voice. And hearing his call many of them were moved within by the "lad" against the "guy." They formed a tight circle around Syphon, and they stood their ground against the followers of Kneadus. Blows fell, Syphon jumped up on a rock, rousing his own to resist, but now Kneadus' followers had the upper hand and Syphon's retinue was retreating and breaking up. Suddenly, in the face of defeat, and with what remained of his strength, Syphon intoned the
Falcons' March:
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