Authors: Bill Johnston Witold Gombrowicz
Bacacay (15 page)
And yet, just as I was about to enter my tomb, it emerged that an error had been committed in the calculations and that despite the thickness of the walls the specific gravity of the sphere was insufficient—it would not sink beneath the water.
In light of this the black man gave the order to fasten a huge hook to the sphere, to attach a chain to the hook, and on the chain to hang ballast that was to pull me after itself—ballast so calculated as not to unduly shorten the time of the descent.
In light of this the black man gave the order to fasten a huge hook to the sphere, to attach a chain to the hook, and on the chain to hang ballast that was to pull me after itself—ballast so calculated as not to unduly shorten the time of the descent.
For the last time the black man showed me the map—it was very important to him that, as I perished, I should have before my eyes the point with which I was to be united for all time.
I was screwed into the sphere.
The final darkness came; I felt a rough jolt—I had been thrown into the sea and had begun to drop down.
But I must say that what I experienced then was quite different from what I had expected.
Namely, I had expected a certain relation to reality at this moment—yet in fact the darkness and the thickness of the sphere’s walls meant that I lost all mental sense of what was happening, and I knew only that I was descending, that I was falling, being submerged, that I was moving downward.
Curled up on the steel floor, I breathed shallowly.
On the other hand, there was only a slight bump at the conclusion of my two-hour journey!
A bump that announced I had already come to rest!
I saw with my penetrating brain how first the ballast touched down on the ocean floor, and then the sphere’s impetus caused it to knock against the ballast and then how in turn it rose upward slightly, stretching the chain.
And so here I was finally—I was at the very bottom, in the most secret place of the Atlantic—I was here—and I was alive!—leg touching leg!
And up above, directly over me, at a distance of seventeen kilometers was the black man, the black man reveling in the thought that he now knew what happens down on that unattainable ocean floor, that he had imposed his will on it, that he had sent down a probe, that he had warmed and possessed that cold and alien floor by means of my torture.
I was screwed into the sphere.
The final darkness came; I felt a rough jolt—I had been thrown into the sea and had begun to drop down.
But I must say that what I experienced then was quite different from what I had expected.
Namely, I had expected a certain relation to reality at this moment—yet in fact the darkness and the thickness of the sphere’s walls meant that I lost all mental sense of what was happening, and I knew only that I was descending, that I was falling, being submerged, that I was moving downward.
Curled up on the steel floor, I breathed shallowly.
On the other hand, there was only a slight bump at the conclusion of my two-hour journey!
A bump that announced I had already come to rest!
I saw with my penetrating brain how first the ballast touched down on the ocean floor, and then the sphere’s impetus caused it to knock against the ballast and then how in turn it rose upward slightly, stretching the chain.
And so here I was finally—I was at the very bottom, in the most secret place of the Atlantic—I was here—and I was alive!—leg touching leg!
And up above, directly over me, at a distance of seventeen kilometers was the black man, the black man reveling in the thought that he now knew what happens down on that unattainable ocean floor, that he had imposed his will on it, that he had sent down a probe, that he had warmed and possessed that cold and alien floor by means of my torture.
But the torture gradually intensified to the point that I began to worry it might render suffering and possession impossible, turning everything, including myself, into nothing but a dance of madmen.
I began to fear that the torture would end up becoming something insufficiently human for the black man to draw any benefit from it.
I will spare you the details.
I will mention only that immediately after the sphere settled for good, the darkness, which, as I already indicated, was from the very beginning at its greatest, increased even more, to the point that I had to hide my face in my hands and, having done so, was quite unable to tear them away again even for a second—they stuck to my face.
Furthermore, my consciousness could not tolerate the terrible pressure, the fearful crushing and pushing, and I began to choke—since the air was still relatively good, I was choking imaginarily—I was choking prematurely, as I was still breathing, which is possibly the most dreadful form of asphyxiation.
And what was worse, my convulsive movements, the movements of an insect, seemed to me here, in seclusion, to be so monstrous in their subjectlessness that I was overcome by fear of myself and could not stand the fact that I was moving.
My individuality peeped out from that awful underwater abyss so differently from what it had been like in the light of day, or even (I may use this term here) by the light of night up there, above —how monstrous it had become!
My pallor, which the perfect darkness seemed to have deprived of hue and expression—my pallor, crammed inside, blinded, mute, gagged—was something that in its essence was different from any pallor, even the most ghostly, but which could be seen—and also my hair standing on end, here, in the steel, under the water, was almost as terrible as a terrible cry would have been in this situation—a cry from which I forcibly restrained myself, since immediately after it I would have had to go mad—and that was something I did not wish.
I began to fear that the torture would end up becoming something insufficiently human for the black man to draw any benefit from it.
I will spare you the details.
I will mention only that immediately after the sphere settled for good, the darkness, which, as I already indicated, was from the very beginning at its greatest, increased even more, to the point that I had to hide my face in my hands and, having done so, was quite unable to tear them away again even for a second—they stuck to my face.
Furthermore, my consciousness could not tolerate the terrible pressure, the fearful crushing and pushing, and I began to choke—since the air was still relatively good, I was choking imaginarily—I was choking prematurely, as I was still breathing, which is possibly the most dreadful form of asphyxiation.
And what was worse, my convulsive movements, the movements of an insect, seemed to me here, in seclusion, to be so monstrous in their subjectlessness that I was overcome by fear of myself and could not stand the fact that I was moving.
My individuality peeped out from that awful underwater abyss so differently from what it had been like in the light of day, or even (I may use this term here) by the light of night up there, above —how monstrous it had become!
My pallor, which the perfect darkness seemed to have deprived of hue and expression—my pallor, crammed inside, blinded, mute, gagged—was something that in its essence was different from any pallor, even the most ghostly, but which could be seen—and also my hair standing on end, here, in the steel, under the water, was almost as terrible as a terrible cry would have been in this situation—a cry from which I forcibly restrained myself, since immediately after it I would have had to go mad—and that was something I did not wish.
Oh, I simply cannot convey how terrifying our Self becomes when it is displaced to a domain in which it is alien—nor how inhuman a person can become when he is used as a probe, nor the extent to which inhumanity surpasses any evil a person may encounter.
Yet this was not what I meant to speak about, in fact—rather I wish to describe the manner in which I managed to escape from my plight.
Well then: All of a sudden, unable to stand it any longer, I began to thrash and toss myself about, to jump up as high as I could and knock against the walls with all my strength (and this certainly figured into the plans of the black man, who was waiting patiently up above)—I began with all my power to push, to smash, to attack the steel, crashing into it, to clench my fists, strain, and thrust until I produced some result.
This futile frenzy evidently produced some movement, some friction outside.
I don’t know if the chain broke, perhaps rusted through, or if the loop of the chain slipped off the hook, or if the ballast had been poorly constructed and had fallen apart at the slightest jolt; suffice it to say that suddenly there came liberation, deliverance, relief ...
The sphere moved upward with increasing speed and a few minutes later, driven by massive pressure, I shot into space like a cork, to a height of one kilometer or more.
Yet this was not what I meant to speak about, in fact—rather I wish to describe the manner in which I managed to escape from my plight.
Well then: All of a sudden, unable to stand it any longer, I began to thrash and toss myself about, to jump up as high as I could and knock against the walls with all my strength (and this certainly figured into the plans of the black man, who was waiting patiently up above)—I began with all my power to push, to smash, to attack the steel, crashing into it, to clench my fists, strain, and thrust until I produced some result.
This futile frenzy evidently produced some movement, some friction outside.
I don’t know if the chain broke, perhaps rusted through, or if the loop of the chain slipped off the hook, or if the ballast had been poorly constructed and had fallen apart at the slightest jolt; suffice it to say that suddenly there came liberation, deliverance, relief ...
The sphere moved upward with increasing speed and a few minutes later, driven by massive pressure, I shot into space like a cork, to a height of one kilometer or more.
I was soon unscrewed by the crew of the merchant ship
Halifax.
I do not know what became of the black man.
Perhaps the sphere smashed his yacht as it fell; or perhaps, entirely satisfied with what had happened, he had sailed away to reminisce.
In any case, for the longest time I lost sight of him.
The
Halifax
put into Pernambuco, from where I returned to Poland to take a rest.
Halifax.
I do not know what became of the black man.
Perhaps the sphere smashed his yacht as it fell; or perhaps, entirely satisfied with what had happened, he had sailed away to reminisce.
In any case, for the longest time I lost sight of him.
The
Halifax
put into Pernambuco, from where I returned to Poland to take a rest.
At this same time a gigantic flaming meteor fell into the
Caspian Sea, which evaporated in its entirety in a single moment.
Bulging, swollen layers of cloud encircled the earth and hovered just above it, threatening a second great flood; and sometimes the sun burst out from between them with a cluster of hot rays.
A great despondency reigned.
No one knew how to drag the huge sluggish bodies safely back to the seabed they had come from.
Finally someone began to tickle one of the clouds—just as it happened to be approaching the empty sea—at the darkest purple place on its drooping, distended torso.
It opened its sluices.
Then, when it was completely emptied, into the blue vacuum created by its disappearance there began to float other clouds and one after another, mechanically and automatically now, they poured out their waters and formed the lake once again.
3Caspian Sea, which evaporated in its entirety in a single moment.
Bulging, swollen layers of cloud encircled the earth and hovered just above it, threatening a second great flood; and sometimes the sun burst out from between them with a cluster of hot rays.
A great despondency reigned.
No one knew how to drag the huge sluggish bodies safely back to the seabed they had come from.
Finally someone began to tickle one of the clouds—just as it happened to be approaching the empty sea—at the darkest purple place on its drooping, distended torso.
It opened its sluices.
Then, when it was completely emptied, into the blue vacuum created by its disappearance there began to float other clouds and one after another, mechanically and automatically now, they poured out their waters and formed the lake once again.
Returning to my home in the country, in Sandomierz province, I rested, hunted a little, played some bridge, rode out to visit the neighbors ...
and on one of these visits there was a young person whom I would gladly have clothed in a veil and wedding gown.
Everything had quieted down.
The black man, as I said, had vanished somewhere, or perhaps he did not exist at all; moreover, fall was coming, leaves were falling, and the air, crisper every day, inclined a person to exhortations, speed, longing, and playfulness.
Just for fun I started thinking about constructing an excursion balloon of the Montgolfier type.
And soon this balloon of mine was ready.
It was covered with a special impermeable canvas that was extremely light yet strong, and its lifting power was heated air.
That is to say, at the bottom the canvas was pulled tight
around an iron band in such a way as to leave a sizable opening—into the opening was put an ordinary kerosene lamp fixed on two iron prongs attached to the band.
One had only to light the lamp and turn the wick up a little for the balloon to inflate and stretch the cords linking it to the basket.
I was easily able to store the rolled-up material of the balloon in a barn—and when I filled it with air (which always took about an hour) its diameter was between thirty and forty meters.
and on one of these visits there was a young person whom I would gladly have clothed in a veil and wedding gown.
Everything had quieted down.
The black man, as I said, had vanished somewhere, or perhaps he did not exist at all; moreover, fall was coming, leaves were falling, and the air, crisper every day, inclined a person to exhortations, speed, longing, and playfulness.
Just for fun I started thinking about constructing an excursion balloon of the Montgolfier type.
And soon this balloon of mine was ready.
It was covered with a special impermeable canvas that was extremely light yet strong, and its lifting power was heated air.
That is to say, at the bottom the canvas was pulled tight
around an iron band in such a way as to leave a sizable opening—into the opening was put an ordinary kerosene lamp fixed on two iron prongs attached to the band.
One had only to light the lamp and turn the wick up a little for the balloon to inflate and stretch the cords linking it to the basket.
I was easily able to store the rolled-up material of the balloon in a barn—and when I filled it with air (which always took about an hour) its diameter was between thirty and forty meters.
Such a simple solution to something of the greatest difficulty—that is, the use of a tiny lamp with a balloon of such dimensions—I attribute less to my own technical abilities than to a certain sluggish unrestrainedness which at that time had swept over nature.
But I do not deny that the first time I sat in the basket, I took fright at the sight of the immensity that was becoming reality above me —but it was an immensity that was light and empty inside, and gentle as a child.
But I do not deny that the first time I sat in the basket, I took fright at the sight of the immensity that was becoming reality above me —but it was an immensity that was light and empty inside, and gentle as a child.
The very process of heating the balloon, of the swelling of that huge sphere, the tautening of the ropes, the growing elasticity, the hissing of the lamp—this alone provided great satisfaction.
I had to wait a considerable time for the air to expand sufficiently.
At last the balloon unexpectedly and quickly began to rise.
I hurriedly turned down the wick; nevertheless, it stopped ascending only above the highest trees in my garden.
A mild breeze carried it over the fields in the direction of that familiar neighbor’s house.
I floated across the woods and the river, then the village, from which the delighted populace sent me shouts and greetings—and I found myself at a height of fifty meters over the familiar courtyard, before the columned entranceway familiar and so dear to
me.
I turned down the wick, and the balloon landed softly on the lawn; next to it the house looked like a child’s toy.
What astonishment there was!
How much laughter and applause, how many compliments for me and for the balloon!
Nothing like it had ever been seen!
Supper was interrupted to come and marvel—then I was invited to have coffee with cheese and preserves, after which I took one single passenger into the basket and turned up the wick.
I had to wait a considerable time for the air to expand sufficiently.
At last the balloon unexpectedly and quickly began to rise.
I hurriedly turned down the wick; nevertheless, it stopped ascending only above the highest trees in my garden.
A mild breeze carried it over the fields in the direction of that familiar neighbor’s house.
I floated across the woods and the river, then the village, from which the delighted populace sent me shouts and greetings—and I found myself at a height of fifty meters over the familiar courtyard, before the columned entranceway familiar and so dear to
me.
I turned down the wick, and the balloon landed softly on the lawn; next to it the house looked like a child’s toy.
What astonishment there was!
How much laughter and applause, how many compliments for me and for the balloon!
Nothing like it had ever been seen!
Supper was interrupted to come and marvel—then I was invited to have coffee with cheese and preserves, after which I took one single passenger into the basket and turned up the wick.
The physical delight of this ride above all came from the fact that the balloon was
huge and inflated,
and also from the following: 1) that one could float right over people’s heads, yet out of reach of their outstretched hands; 2) that on encountering a house or a tree, one could rise up higher and then return to just above the earth; 3) that the balloon, though immense, was extraordinarily sensitive, quiet, and responsive to the slightest caprice of the air, while we in the basket were exactly the same as the balloon, and took on its mild, childlike soul; 4) that a gust of air, which would do no more than graze the cheeks of other people, would in our case lift us up, and it was never possible to predict our movements in space; 5) that there was no machinery at all except for a single kerosene lamp, not even any gas, but only canvas, ropes, a basket, and us in the air, canvas, ropes, a basket, and us in the air; 6) and lastly—the magnificent spherical
shadow
passing over the lawn.
But to me personally the balloon’s passenger brought more joy than the balloon itself.
Over the meadows, fields, and groves I grew acquainted for the first time in my life, I grew acquainted without a break and ever more closely, and she listened to me so willingly that I would have kissed her small, attentive, comprehending ear a thousand times over.
But despite the fact that
women are supposed to love romanticism, I said nothing to her about the black man or about my other adventures—on account of a puzzling yet burning sense of shame that warned me not to say too much.
huge and inflated,
and also from the following: 1) that one could float right over people’s heads, yet out of reach of their outstretched hands; 2) that on encountering a house or a tree, one could rise up higher and then return to just above the earth; 3) that the balloon, though immense, was extraordinarily sensitive, quiet, and responsive to the slightest caprice of the air, while we in the basket were exactly the same as the balloon, and took on its mild, childlike soul; 4) that a gust of air, which would do no more than graze the cheeks of other people, would in our case lift us up, and it was never possible to predict our movements in space; 5) that there was no machinery at all except for a single kerosene lamp, not even any gas, but only canvas, ropes, a basket, and us in the air, canvas, ropes, a basket, and us in the air; 6) and lastly—the magnificent spherical
shadow
passing over the lawn.
But to me personally the balloon’s passenger brought more joy than the balloon itself.
Over the meadows, fields, and groves I grew acquainted for the first time in my life, I grew acquainted without a break and ever more closely, and she listened to me so willingly that I would have kissed her small, attentive, comprehending ear a thousand times over.
But despite the fact that
women are supposed to love romanticism, I said nothing to her about the black man or about my other adventures—on account of a puzzling yet burning sense of shame that warned me not to say too much.
The day came for us to exchange rings—then the wedding day began to approach.
During all this time I had not once had any bad thoughts; I had driven away all my memories, and lived only for her and the balloon; I lived from today, from yesterday—unless I hastened into the future, on a calm, level road of happiness—and even bad dreams forsook me.
Never ...
not one deviation ...
not one glance toward what had after all once truly existed ...
but had vanished ...—and a birch tree was a birch tree, a pine—a pine, a willow—a willow.—And here is what happened.—One day, a week before our wedding ceremony in the local church, when a mysterious, joyful prenuptial shiver was running through me, and everyone was congratulating and sending good wishes, I suddenly got the urge to try a balloon ride on a stormy night.
I just wanted to experience swinging in a violent gale—I swear I had no other intentions, no bad desires.
However, the gale swept me away with furious force (and in fact it was probably not the gale, but the black man himself), and when after many hours the curtain of dawn rose with alarming rapidity, I could not believe my eyes—beneath me lay the Yellow Sea.
During all this time I had not once had any bad thoughts; I had driven away all my memories, and lived only for her and the balloon; I lived from today, from yesterday—unless I hastened into the future, on a calm, level road of happiness—and even bad dreams forsook me.
Never ...
not one deviation ...
not one glance toward what had after all once truly existed ...
but had vanished ...—and a birch tree was a birch tree, a pine—a pine, a willow—a willow.—And here is what happened.—One day, a week before our wedding ceremony in the local church, when a mysterious, joyful prenuptial shiver was running through me, and everyone was congratulating and sending good wishes, I suddenly got the urge to try a balloon ride on a stormy night.
I just wanted to experience swinging in a violent gale—I swear I had no other intentions, no bad desires.
However, the gale swept me away with furious force (and in fact it was probably not the gale, but the black man himself), and when after many hours the curtain of dawn rose with alarming rapidity, I could not believe my eyes—beneath me lay the Yellow Sea.
I realized at once that the other matter was over, and once again ...
it had started ...
and ...
and ...
some fearful Oriental things awaited me—I bid farewell forever to the birches, pines, and willows, and the familiar countenance and eyes, and I opened myself submissively to the crooked pagodas, bonzes, idols, mandarins,
and dragons.
As the last drop of kerosene was burning down in the lamp, the basket dropped into the water off the shore of a small islet.
From a nearby thicket a Chinaman emerged—he shouted when he noticed me and ran up, but I began to wave at him to stop, because (of course) he was a leper.
He stood undecided, looked at me watchfully, gave a nondescript grunt, as if in surprise, touched his hideous, lumpy exterior—and led me to a dozen or so wretched reed shacks that could be seen in the distance.
He went on staring at me attentively, and I could not figure out what that stare meant.
I already sensed something ...
yet despite this, I continued to follow him.
it had started ...
and ...
and ...
some fearful Oriental things awaited me—I bid farewell forever to the birches, pines, and willows, and the familiar countenance and eyes, and I opened myself submissively to the crooked pagodas, bonzes, idols, mandarins,
and dragons.
As the last drop of kerosene was burning down in the lamp, the basket dropped into the water off the shore of a small islet.
From a nearby thicket a Chinaman emerged—he shouted when he noticed me and ran up, but I began to wave at him to stop, because (of course) he was a leper.
He stood undecided, looked at me watchfully, gave a nondescript grunt, as if in surprise, touched his hideous, lumpy exterior—and led me to a dozen or so wretched reed shacks that could be seen in the distance.
He went on staring at me attentively, and I could not figure out what that stare meant.
I already sensed something ...
yet despite this, I continued to follow him.
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