Ferdydurke by Witold Gombrowicz Read Free Book Online Page B

it became louder, and, while asserting itself, it seemed unduly contrived in its fury. What was happening? Why was the laughter not subsiding? Not until later did I realize the kind of poison that the satanic and Machiavellian Pimko had injected into them. Because, in truth, those puppy dogs, confined to school and distanced from life—were indeed innocent. Yes, they were innocent, and yet they were not innocent! They were innocent in their desire not to be innocent. Innocent when they held a woman in their arms! Innocent when they struggled and fought. Innocent when they recited poetry, and innocent when they played billiards. Innocent when they ate and slept. Innocent when they behaved innocently. Ever threatened by a sacrosanct naivete, even as they spilled blood, tortured, raped, or cursed—they did everything to avoid falling into innocence!
    Therefore their laughter, rather than calming down, grew and grew, some students held back at first from reacting while others could not—and slowly at first, then faster and faster, they lapsed into filthy talk that would have made a drunken cabby proud. And feverishly, rapidly, they muttered among themselves the most brutal profanities and opprobrious invectives, while others chalked graffiti on the walls; and the limpid autumn air swarmed with words a hundredfold worse than those to which they had treated me in the beginning. I thought I was dreaming—because it is in a dream that we fall into a situation more stupid than anything we could imagine. I tried to stop them.
    "Why do you say 'f...'?" I feverishly asked one of them, "why do you say that?"
    "Oh, shut up, you puppy dog!" the rogue replied, jabbing me in the ribs. "It's a terrific word! You say it too, c'mon, say it," he hissed and stepped painfully on my foot. "Say it, now! It's our only defense against the pupa! Can't you see that the inspector behind the tree is treating us to the pupa? You wimp, you French poodle, if you don't talk dirty this minute I'll twist your ear. Hey, Mizdral, come here and keep an eye on this new fellow so he behaves himself. And you, Hopek, tell us a filthy joke. Go for it, gentlemen, or he too will treat us to the pupa!"
    Having given these orders the vulgar scamp, whom they called Kneadus, sneaked up to the oak tree and carved upon it four letters that neither Pimko nor the mothers behind the fence could see. A subdued titter brimming with hidden delight came from all around, and when the mothers behind the fence and Pimko behind the tree heard their youngsters laughing they too joined in with their benevolent laughter—a twofold laughter resulting. Because, having duped their elders, the laughter of the young was full of mischief, while the laughter of the older people, in reaction to their youngsters' carefree gaiety, was good-natured and benevolent—and so in the calm autumn air the two forces struggled with each other amid the leaves falling from the tree, amid the hustle and bustle of school life, the elderly janitor sweeping litter into a dustpan, the grass turning yellow, the pale sky...
    Yet suddenly it all seemed so naive—Pimko behind the tree, the scamps crowing with delight, the toadies with noses in their books— the whole situation became so disgustingly naive that I felt I was drowning, along with all my unspoken protestations. And I did not know whether I should rescue myself, my schoolmates, or Pimko. I moved slightly closer to the tree and whispered:
    "Professor, sir."
    "What?" Pimko asked, also in a whisper.
    "Please come out of there, sir. They've written a dirty word on the other side of the tree. That's why they're laughing. Please, sir, come out."
    And as I whispered these fatuous words into thin air, it occurred to me that I had become some kind of mystical conjurer of stupidity, and my own position frightened me—my hands cupped over my mouth, by an oak tree, in a school yard, whispering something to Pimko standing behind a tree...
    "What?" asked the