Excerpts From My Life in Communist Poland

“Stay in line until noon.  Then I’ll be back and take over,” my mother said to me.  I looked at my watch.  It was seven in the morning.  It was cold.  My nose was running a little and I made a loud sniffle, both to get rid of the itchy water about to come out and to show my disapproval of the situation.  “Irek,” and here she lightly grabbed me by my shoulder, “Don’t give me any fuss.”  My breath formed a thick little vapor as I said, “Yes, mom.”  She gave me a quick smile and then left.

I looked at the line.  There were at least fifty people ahead of me.  I rubbed my hands together to warm them up and then I stuck them inside the pockets of my jacket.  I tried counting all the people in whispers but lost count due to my short attention span.  For a moment I wished they all died of heart attacks.

The store was open but there was nothing in it.  It was a bread store without bread.  Only the scent of flour remained from the previous day.  The chubby saleswoman walked slowly around the store looking for something to do.  She moved empty baskets from one place to another.  She was so chubby I thought that perhaps she ate all the bread.  The boredom set in and I tried hard to escape it.  I shifted weight from one leg to another as I waited for the delivery of fresh bread.

The people around me engaged in casual talk.  “My car broke down last night.  Me and my wife had to push it all the way back home,” said one man.  “What kind of a car do you have?” asked another.  “Oh, you know, it’s a Trabant.”  “Yes, yes, they brake all the time.”  Instantly, I imagined a Trabant.  And then I heard one passing by.  It had this very distinctive sound of its engine, if the thing under the hood could be called an engine at all.  A white cloud caused by the presence of oil in gasoline followed the plastic automobile.  The car was long gone but the cloud stayed there for a solid thirty seconds.

There I was, standing in line to reserve a daily ration of bread for our family of four.  The year was 1980 and I was ten years old.

On my feet I had brown sport shoes made of rubber and cotton.  All boys had shoes like me, except that the color was sometimes different.  Some were blue, some white.  A shoe store was no different than a bread store.  In fact all stores shared a similarity: there was not much in them.

I observed the people.  They all looked the same.  They all stood like flexible statues, moving a little to keep warm.  Then my eyes zoomed in on the bread lying on one shelf.  Bread!  But very quickly I realized why no one wanted it.  It was from the previous day and already hard like a brick.  Thrown from a window of a tall building it would kill a man on the spot.  Such was a fact.  And I thought to myself that perhaps someone already had been killed by old bread thrown out of the window.  I imagined such a scenario and perfected it by playing it over and over again in my mind.

I laughed to myself.  Then I quickly looked around to see if anyone noticed my chuckle.  No one did.  No, wait!  There was a girl.  She was looking at me.  She was staring at me the whole time.  She knew!  It was written all over her face.  She was wearing a smirk.  She knew!  Instantly, I felt warm all over.  I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.  I felt so silly.  I felt stupid, in fact.  I could have as well been naked, it was so bad.  I dared not to make another eye contact with her.  I knew she was still looking at me.  I felt her eyes on me like an overloaded backpack.

I couldn’t resist and made another eye contact with her.  Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes were fixed on mine.  She still had a smirk, but I noticed that it was a different kind of a smirk.  It was a comforting smirk.  She reached into her pocket and pulled something out.  Then she extended her hand towards me and whispered, “You want a piece of candy?”  I smiled.  “We’re in the same school,” she added.  I stepped up and took the piece.  Of course I took the candy.  Who wouldn’t?  Still, not knowing what to say or what to ask her, I unwrapped the candy and took a look at it.  The coating was fused and somewhat melted, connected to the wrapper.  Must have been old.  I stuck it in my mouth nevertheless.  Seconds went by and still I didn’t say anything to the girl.  Then, finally I forced a sentence out.  “What class are you in?”  “4B.”  “I’m in 4A.”  “I know.”  More silence filled with another prolonged eye contact.  I thought she probably liked me or something. “What’s your name?” “Kasia.”  Then, finally we broke the minor discomfort by starting a conversation about the teachers.  We both had the same ones.  We talked about the pranks, we talked about our favorite subjects, and we talked about what we were going to do during our upcoming winter vacation.  “I’m going to Hungarian Hill.”  “Serious?  That’s where I’m going!”

Few weeks later there we were.  In the Hungarian Hill resort.  Kids from all over Poland were at this winter camp.  The snow outside covered everything with a twelve-inch layer.  It was quiet.  The air was clean.  I quickly realized why such vacation camps existed.  It was to give us, kids a break from the pollution of the cities.  Nearly every kid’s father worked at a coal mine.  And every coal mine produced thick smog that covered the city like a blanket.  Back home the snow was probably black and grey from the soot.  And here, in Hungarian Hill the snow was brilliant white.

All kinds of activities filled every day.  Walking around the surroundings when weather permitted, we played sports in the indoor arena, and we played board games in the library.  I managed to win a bronze medal in checkers.

With the medal around my neck, like some champion, the end of the vacation arrived and we went back to our cities in buses.  I was terrified of buses.  The smell of the tires and the warmth made me nauseous.  Ten minutes into the ride I got up and approached the driver.  He was upset about being disturbed while driving, but I had no choice.  I wanted him to pull over so that I could step off the bus and vomit.  “Could you stop?  I need to…”  I spun around, grabbed a hold of the rails and with a loud bang vomited right on the steps while the bus was still moving.  Ashamed, completely defeated, I walked back to my seat.  The driver said something but I didn’t hear him.  I didn’t care—it was done.  He should have listened to me.  The scent of the vomit remained with me.  No one would sit next to me now.

And as I sat there I could hear other kids giggle and spread the news throughout the bus.  “Irek just threw up.”  “Inside the bus!”  “No!  Really?”  “Can you smell it?”  “I can smell it.”  “Yuck!”  And right then and there someone sat next to me.  I turned my head.  It was Kasia.  She got closer and gave me a hug.  It made it so much better.  I quickly swallowed the remaining chunks still in my mouth.  I wanted to say something to her but I didn’t want her to smell the vomit on my breath.  “Kasia.”  “What?”  “Thank you.”  She smiled and got even closer.  The boys and girls in other seats fell silent.  It was a beautiful gesture.  Kasia was the prettiest girl in the camp and every boy wished he was in my place, vomit or no vomit.

We both fell asleep and didn’t wake up until the bus reached the destination.  Kasia ran to her parents and I ran to mine.  Even though I was separated from my parents for only two weeks I cried.  They were tears of joy.  I was happy to be back with my parents.  I showed them my medal and made them very proud.

(End of excerpts)