Chasing Ideals

Here is something that I have never posted before. A story written by the able hands of Michener in the brilliantly written "Poland" which I completed this afternoon. The quality of the script struck my heart and mind in so many places and this story below more than all. Don't forget to read my post about Slovenia below and the poem that I added if you are so inclined.


"The two men studied their brandy in a silence which was broken in a curious way: Bishop Barski clapped his hands and broke into a hearty laugh. Shoving his glass aside, he reached across the table and patted Szymon on the hand. 'It's really quite funny, Bukowski, that you should consult me about a Nazi monster whom you can't get out of your soul, because I have a little Jewish rabbi that I can't get out of mine.' He laughed again and poured Bukowski another drink.

'You may not know it, but in Auschwitz, which I prefer to call by it's Nazi name because it certainly had nothing to do with Polish Oswiecim, which was a placid little town before they came...Where was I? Yes, in Auschwitz the Nazis were particularly brutal with priests and rabbis, because they felt the need to ridicule and denigrate all religions except their own.

'This meant that priests and rabbis were often thrown together, and there was one horrible little cell with only one small window rather high up into which they crammed sixty or more men at dusk, expecting to find thirty-eight or thirty-nine of them suffocated by morning. Twice I spent a night in that cell, and if you told me know that I would have to do so again, I assure you, Bukowski, I would go screaming, hair-pulling mad. I think no one could survive that terrifying ordeal three times. I couldn't.

'I survived the first time--one of nineteen who did--because as I was about to be jammed inside, a little Jewish rabbie whose name I never knew whispered just four words: "Stand opposite the window." That was all. When I found myself inside, one of that scrambling mass, I saw what he meant, for all the big and powerful fellows were fighting for a place near the window, which allowed me freedom to take my place against the wall on the opposite side.

'Secure in position and tall enough to have my head slightly above the others, I learned two things. Such air as did come into the room drifted my way, and those struggling to intercept it at the window killed one another. There were fights for air, and stranglings, and bodies crushed when they fainted and fell to the floor. And there I stood, thanks to the little Jew, above it all, saved by the bits of air that came to me know and then.

'Toward morning, when it looked as if I might be one of the survivors, I began to look for my benefactor, but he wasn't in the cell. Of that I was sure, for he certainly wasn't on of those still standing; nor was he among the corpses piled on the floor. When I got out I found taht he along with several others had been at the end of the line and could not be pushed in. They would be held over for the next night.

'I saw the little Jew on the work detail next day, lifting great rocks when he'd had no food, not even breakfast soup, and I'd had no sleep. When he saw that I'd survived, his eyes glowed and he started to come over to speak to me, but guards saw him move and they kicked him to death. Before my eyes, they kicked him to death.

'As he lay there in the prison yard looking up at me, his face torn apart and covered with blood, I wanted with all the force in my body to rush over and comfort him, to take him in my arms, for he had saved my life and he deserved that consolation in the moments when he was leaving his. But I could not. I had no physical or moral power. The cell had been too terrible, and I stood motionless as they kicked my savior to death.

'What was the last thing he did on this earth? He smiled at me. Through the blood that dimmed his eyes he smiled at me, as if to say: "Be not afraid." I seemed to hear this little Jewish rabbi using the words of Jesus Christ.'

Bishop Barski lowered his head to the table, and whether he was weeping or praying, Bukowski could not determine, but it seemed certain that he was in communion with the rabbi who had saved his life. Later, when he had composed himself, he blew his nose and said: 'I am with this nameless little man three or four nights a week when I try to sleep. And if I am indeed sympathetic to the trials others, as some say I am, it's because of the counsel I take with him. He saved my life and and I was powerless to save his.' He studied his hands for a moment, then broke into laughter again. 'Have you noticed how I always refer to him as the little Jew? He was. I was this tall and he came only to here. But in the council of God he was so very big and I so very small.'"

Michener, James A. "Poland" Ballantine Books, New York 1983: 606-608.

I left off last after a mouth watering feed of velika riba in the picturesque countryside of south western Slovenia. The tranquil setting of the place and the frequency of the delightful cuisine made for a wonderfully relaxing time spent therein. The only potential disaster occurred on Sunday when whatever weight I gained about the midsection with the Poles came to haunt. Ana's brother Andraz (pronounced Andrash) wanted to spend some quality time with us playing soccer at the school playground and that being my favorite sport of course I complied. I picked for the outing my marvelous grey britches purchased last year in Poland. My seamstress Gram crackers had only recently repaired these from past tearing but I was confident that her stitches would hold. Well when I volunteered as goalkeeper and received one or two ferocious goal attempts from Ana and Andraz the britches decided they had had enough and split from crotch to mid thigh. I saw a few birds take flight at the sound of the tearing but took solace from my companions telling me that it wasn't very noticable. I soldiered on and with a few adjustments of the legs decided that there was no need for immediate change. It wasn't until a few young girls from the area arrived and the my continued playing revealed my britches desire to mimic a scene from "The Full Monty" by tearing to the ankle that I decided it was the moment for departure. On the walk home I held a basketball nervously over the offending area and apart from a not-brief-enough conversation with Ana's aunt in which I shifted and squirmed like someone with bowel troubles I got safely home with no request from a neighbor that I vacate the village.

Just as I had in January I enjoyed every moment in that village and with Ana's family. Whether sitting outside in the wonderfully fresh air listening to a plethora of song birds; playing "Man don't be angry" (Slovene translation of the game's name) or "Memory" with Andraz and sitting amazed at his ability to speak English without ever a lesson; or my favorite to have uninterrupted hours to chat with Ana, her parents, and on Monday night Ana's friend Miha who Andy and I spent time with in January. I think that those living in such villages do not realize how lucky they are to live in a place of such peace that promotes relationship. I was saddened to see while there that apart from the young who impressed me at their attempts to encourage togetherness there seemed to be very limited connection among the elders. Modern societies encourage each of us to create our own isolated world and one in which we are constantly comparing what we have to that of others. The result unless fought against is that in village or city people can become very disconnected no matter the proximity to one another. I am enlivened by the youth of Cepovan however in seeing the numbers who meet each evening at their youth club Catacombe and who plan to organize theater performances in the village come Winter. This attitude among the young is the rejuvination that must occur where past generations have been neglectful regarding community.

Since Tuesday I have spent my days here in the very manageable capital city of Ljubljana. Its small population and the ease with which one can in short distance escape to beautiful parks and forested hills make for another peaceful environment. For the first time in my life I am a dorm resident as a friend of Ana's offered her room for use during her abscence from the university. Throughout the past week I have been meeting with many of Ana's friends and schoolmates and each time was impressed by their openness and genuine interest in others. Much of this is a testament to who Ana is that she has found friends of similar character. I am enthralled to spend such time learning the hopes, goals, and passions of those that I am meeting and priviledged to share with them about my life and what I have learned since my student life ended.

On Thursday evening I attended salsa night at a bar on the other side of town (40 minutes walking, I love that). Salsa classes are offered here at the university and Thursday nights are a chance for informal practice and to watch the long term learners spin and twirl. Six of us went from here at the college and it was a marvelous chance not only to learn the basics of the dance but for me of course to meet a few new faces. I have never before attempted any pairs dance (to my regret for extreme past shyness) and am happy to report that I inflicted no major injuries in my first attempts. Ana's roommate Karla and Karla's boyfriend Benjamin were patient and encouraging teachers and that made the experience far more enjoyable than it might have been with the wrong bunch. I was concerned that my long steps might cause my partner to throw a hip in the attempt to match the distance or my forgetfulness about which arm was to be spun to cause some migraine causing wallops but none of that. It is something I would really like to learn but think for future that the guidance of a course would be the best option for really acquiring the ability. There were moments that chatting and dancing simultaneously became too complicated and for me the chatting wins out in priority so I think formal courses would have to be the ticket.

Since Friday the dorms here have become somewhat of a ghost town as it seems everyone returned home for the weekend. Ana also had to work yesterday so these last days have been spent alone but have been wonderful nevertheless. I've been wandering about the beautiful city center a stone's throw away, the enchanting public park and nearby hill, and reading the final pages of "Poland" by James Michener which has kept me riveted to learn the incredible history of the place my friends call home. I have added a new gallery of pictures and finally a new poem to the Poems section. There are only a few pictures from Cepovan, a few of Ana's friends, and the rest from my Ljubljana wanderings.