JANUSZ KRASIŃSKI about PILECK VITOLD

...

- I'm sorry. It's not Handke, it's Witold! They're leading Witold!

- Oh, Christ!

For an alarm, the captain picked up from the lair and jumped to the lair. Simon is right behind him, feeling like he's stepping on people with his bare feet. They've wiped out the glass, empty. From the window cracks, it was drawn with a thrilling cold. After a while, she squeezed another head between them. He's a priest. In a prison shirt, it tickles cold.

- I'm sorry. Hail Mary, full of grace...

Out the window, starless sky, dark night and drizzle... Small, dense, semi-snowy - distracts the spotlight. Wet. A narrow, cracked sidewalk runs from lamp to lamp between shiny stones. They're coming! To the left of the investigative pavilion along the prison wall there are respective swaying shadows. They're entering a bright ellipse now. Gold green dew on the dress of uniforms. Commander of an executional group in a rigid hornet shading nonchalantly with coat halves. certain of himself, he knows where and who he leads. Just behind him a remarkable trinity - hand in hand hand hand cuffed. 2 on the sides in combat rails, with their hats pressed deep on their eyes, and between them like a carnival costumer - doomed. In English battle-dress and unusual headgear - neither is the grieving widow wrapped in black cloth, nor the medieval executioner. He walks insecurely like a blind horse. A deadly hood, tied under his neck, closes his eyes. He throws his uneasy head. Behind him were 2 with reprimands and a prosecutor. Military - with a pig briefcase in hand, in shackles and short to the knee coat - death aide.

During the trial, the defendant's wife approached him. Her voice was trembling, but highly calm. She tried to remember the merit of her husband in Auschwitz.

‘Sores. The ulcers - he said - should be cut out for the wellness of the body. And your husband is specified a pain in society. And merit... yes, we do, but the enemy has no merit. Don't anticipate anything from us."

So all she has left to do is wait for her conviction to be pronounced. The highest penalty... and also, not to be buried sometimes in the future: the deprivation of honor and civilian rights forever. That's due to the fact that individual who doesn't want to realize the inevitable processes of past is guilty of dying in disgrace!

Then in this pig folder, he brought president Bierut's answer to his cell. It's hard to imagine. It must be awful... This uncertainty, this folder, what's he gonna get out of it? Grace or death, a life barbed or a shovel and a sand? Blood cuts into ice. The hands want to choice on the equipment, the head - ragged the hood on it. But this loser is calm. Just punctuated cheeks and bruised lips. She's just shaking her head. No, no... he didn't compose anything, no plea for mercy. He's an lawyer at the request of the family. Yeah, right, he signed his signature, how could he refuse his daughter and wife? But he's not curious about the answers. He won't read, it's unnecessary. I'm certain the president knew how to keep the nation from threatening to assassinate him. He, Witold, just wants to know if he'll be allowed to see his wife again. No?! How sorry he is. It's his last wish. Nothing is threatening the strategy anymore. He dropped his head, he can't see his face. Hands intertwined, it's hard even to see if they tremble. Only the last question, will his wife be able to take him away? I mean, his body? Oh, yeah. He doesn't know anything about it. I understand... Combing is simply a substance owned by the D.A. 2 murderers entered the cell. He didn't defend himself erstwhile they put a hood on him. Go ahead, sir!

Janusz Krasiński “On Loss”

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