Entanglement by Zygmunt Miloszewski Read Free Book Online Page A

half an hour before breakfast, at 8.30. I remember being sorry there wasn’t a shower in my room. At breakfast we didn’t talk much. Mr Rudzki told us a fairy tale, and asked us not to discuss what had happened the day before. We were worried that Mr Telak wasn’t there. Mr Rudzki went to call him, but came straight back and said Mr Telak had run away, and that this happens. At breakfast I didn’t notice anyone behaving oddly or differently from before. At about 9.30 I went to my room to rest. At about 10 o’clock I
heard Mrs Jarczyk scream. I ran to the classroom and saw Mr Telak’s body. I thought I was going to be sick, so I left the room, and didn’t go back in there again. Mrs Jarczyk and Mr Kaim were there with the body, and as I left I passed Mr Rudzki who was running towards the classroom.
    “I can confirm that both on Saturday evening and during breakfast we talked very little to each other, because that is the recommendation for the therapy. That is why I had no opportunity to get to know Mr Telak socially.
    “That is all I have to say on the matter. I hereby confirm that this is an accurate transcript of my statement.”
     
    Hanna Kwiatkowska signed each page and handed the transcript to Szacki. Kuzniecow had mentioned that she was quite badly shaken, but apart from that, rather a good-looking girl. It was true. Hanna Kwiatkowska had a pretty, intelligent face and her slightly hooked nose gave her a surly appeal and a certain aristocratic charm. In twenty years she’d look like a pre-war countess. Her smooth, mousy hair came down to her shoulders, and its ends curled outwards. And although no fashion house would have offered her a job advertising underwear on the catwalk, plenty of men would have been happy to take a good look at her well-proportioned, attractive body. It was quite another matter how many of them would be scared off by the restless look in her eyes. Szacki for sure.
    “Well, is that all?” she asked. “We talked for such a long time.”
    “I’m a prosecutor, not a writer,” said Szacki. “I can’t convey all the nuances of the conversation in the transcript, and besides, it’s not necessary. Impressions and nuances only matter to me if they allow me to establish new facts.”
    “It’s a bit like with my pupils at school. It’s not the impression they make that counts, but the knowledge they demonstrate.”
    “Always?”

    “I try my best,” she replied. She smiled, but she was so tense the smile changed into a scowl.
    Szacki looked at her and wondered if she was capable of killing someone. If she was, then maybe she’d do it in exactly that way - grab a skewer, lash out and accidentally hit the spot. Lots of hysteria, lots of panic, lots of pure accident. He could see the woman was trying to keep her chin up, but it felt as if her jittery nerves were making the air in the room quiver.
    “You must be having a tough time at school right now,” he said as an opener, so he’d be able to watch her a while longer during a neutral conversation.
    “Well, yes, you know what it’s like, the end of the school year. They all come along, wanting to improve their marks, change a C plus into a B minus, complete an overdue test, and suddenly all their essays turn up. There’s really no question of teaching any classes. We’ve got until next Friday to give all the marks, so we’ve still got two more weeks of this madness.”
    “I live quite near the school where you work.”
    “Oh, really? Where’s that?”
    “On Burdziński Street.”
    “Oh yes, that’s only two blocks away. Do you like it there?”
    “Not particularly.”
    She leaned towards him, as if wanting to betray a shameful secret and said: “Neither do I. And those children, Jesus Christ, sometimes it’s like being in a reformatory or a madhouse. My nerves are in tatters. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good kids, but why do they have to throw bangers in the corridors? I just don’t get it. And all those jokes