Selections from FM GALICIA

06.12

My great-grandfather was very strict with his children. He didn’t beat them, but he gave them a very stern upbringing. At home, to this day we have a whip—a sixer (with six leather belts), which was called a quirt. No one ever beat me. I didn’t experience it my whole childhood. Perhaps my dad slapped me on the wrist a couple of times, and my grandfather hit me only three times. But those three times were so unusual that I remembered them for my whole life. Actually, those three spankings were as useful as three university degrees.

Grandpa was very gentle and loving towards me, but he possessed a fiery nature. His anger was short-lived but excruciating, although it never jeopardized his relationships with others.

The first time he hit me was with a scythe handle, which caused me to fly into the ditch by the railroad tracks. And this was very timely. Because a train was approaching very fast and I, still a little boy at the time, almost stepped out almost right in front of it as I was crossing the tracks to go to grandpa, who was returning from the harvest.

Another time, some friends as old as my grandpa visited and sat at the table, conversing and sipping some gin. I was there too and when I was asked a question to which the answer was supposed to be either “yes” or “no,” I started babbling on, not noticing that the old men had had enough. Then grandpa grabbed a link of kielbasa and hit me for a second time.

The third time was actually completely unclear to me at first. Grandpa and I sat in the house; it was raining and there was no work to be done. A member of our family stopped by and, talking about various things, asked where my father had been. Grandpa said that he did not know, but I knew that he knew that my dad had gone with his buddies to the mountains and that he was aware of the path that they had taken. I began telling this to the family member. But I didn’t finish telling him because I received a very painful and out-of-nowhere blow in a certain tender place. My grandpa had learned how to do this at a special training camp in Holland. When our guest left, grandpa apologized to me and told me never to say that which is unnecessary.

I was hit infrequently. But three hits accomplished more than daily beatings would have. Now I never cross railroad tracks when a train is coming, I never interrupt those older than me and instead hear them out, I never reply to questions the answers to which no one really wants to know, and I never tell of the paths taken by those whom I love.

Translated by Mark Andryczyk