The Last Polish UprisingWe lament the hourwhen it all began,when the first shot was fired.We lament the sixty-three daysand sixty-three nightsof battle. And the hourwhen everything ended.When the place where a million people had livedbecame the emptiness of a million people. A Soldier SaysAlthough your bullet will go through the jacketto my heart,you, enemy, will not kill me.Although your bullet will tear apartmy body,you, enemy, will not kill me.While Building the BarricadeWe were afraid, building the barricadeunder fire.Barman, jeweler's mistress, barber,all of us cowards.The housemaid hit the groundhauling a cobblestone, and we were very afraid,all of us cowards--ground's keeper, stallholder, pensioner.The pharmacist dragging the toilet doorhit the ground,and we got very scared,smuggler girl, dressmaker, tram driver,all of us cowards.The boy from a reform schoolfell dragging a sandbag,and we got scaredfor real.Although no one forced us,we built the barricadeunder fire.To Shoot into the Eyes of a ManHe was fifteen,the best student of Polish.He ran at the enemywith a pistol.Then he saw the eyes of a man,and should've fired into those eyes.He hesitated.He's lying on the pavement.They didn't teach himin Polish classto shoot into the eyes of a man.Talking with CorpsesI slept with corpses under one blanket.I apologized to the corpsesfor being alive.What a gaffe. They forgave me.What carelessness. They were surprised.Lifeafter all was so dangerous back then.A Girl ScoutWhen she was dying in the hospitalshe told her girlfriends she is ashamedthat this is a war that she is a soldierso she is very ashamed but askssince she's never been to a partythat after she dies they put on her that dresswith lace.When she died they put on her that dressand the four of them stood at attentionby her bed and stood for an hour.Conversation through the DoorAt five in the morningI knock on his door.I say through the door:in the hospital on Śliska Street,your son, a soldier, is dying.He opens the door,doesn't unhook the chain.Behind him his wifetrembles.I say: your son asks for his motherto come.He says: his mother won't come.Behind him his wifetrembles.I say: the doctor let himhave wine.He says: please wait.He hands me a bottle through the door,locks the door,locks with the second key.Behind the doorthe wife begins to screamas if she were in labor. Excerpted from Building the Barricade by Anna Swirszcynska All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
