cały dzień stracony

Cały dzień stracony

wersja polska w druku

deutsche Übersetzung  (Irka)

Ein ganzer Tag verloren

wersja niemiecka dostępna w wydawnictwie Lebensreise od lipca 2014 r.

English translation (kenzen)

A  Lost Day

I was supposed to have some lectures at the college in the morning.
Nobody turned up. As per usual. The whole concept and ritual of these
'lectures' are  a waste of time. But what do I care ..... I'm not the
one dealing the cards. Man is Servant to the Master. And when the
Master is a complete idiot he also [through his idiocy] makes a
complete idiot of the Servant. But as long as the Master is paying,
the Servant's not complaining. Besides, personal honesty and honour
are just empty words ....

I'd noticed before that students are motivated by action and reaction.
They won't do anything unless there's something in it for them. Only a
moral elite are capable of self-sacrifice and engaging in charitable
or voluntary work. But that elite is lost in the mass, and assumes the
corrupt morality of the 'common' masses. Rather, to put it bluntly, it
assumes a savage immorality. So they just hang around for scraps of
stuff they can use.

These phantom 'lectures' over, I was just leaving the building when
the secretary informed me that the Rector wanted to see me. The
Rector? That mysterious character that in all my ten years of working
here I've never once seen? I wondered what he could want from me, this
mysterious co-ordinator of confusion ....

I was directed to his study on the top floor. The door was ajar, as if
in invitation to enter. So I went in, apprehensively. Surprise,
surprise  ... the room was empty! No sign of the Rector, secretary,
nor anyone else. The room reminded me of a cross between a smart salon
and a kindergarten play-room. Soft sofas ranged along the sides,
objects from various worlds and epochs - educational aids, toys, and
diplomas on the walls, and something resembling a desk. Soft carpets
covered the floor, and everything in pastels  - pinks mingled with
soft browns, pale blues, ash greys and creams. The only strong accent
was ochre.

I sat down on a pouffe and waited in expectation. Minutes passed, but
nobody appeared. After a long wait I went downstairs to establish
whether I was to wait outside / inside the study, or whether the
Rector was actually expecting me. No, there's no mistake - he's
waiting. (Meaning ... he's not here at the moment but he's waiting
mentally / metaphysically. But he's a bit tied up at the moment. I
must be patient.)

OK

i went back to the study ....

hours passed ... the lack of a clock was a really smart move ... no
point in irritating the customer ... ten to one he won't have a watch
on him and won't know how long he's been waiting ... and the soft
sofas and toys sweeten those bitter moments of boredom and
disappointment and the pain of expectation .....

i took down a book and began to read .....

after several hours, when i had already finished the 'adventures' of
Jozef K, a group of people - completely unknown to me, and likewise
completely ignorant of me - came into the study. Laughing and
babbling, they spouted utter nonsense, totally unconnected with the
situation, the Rector, or even education. They gave the impression of
an uninhibited clique with unlimited reserves of free time. A suburban
barbecue, for example.

My enquiry after the Rector was totally ignored, as if it was
non-existant. Nothing left but to wait ....

After some time, a man - of the same indeterminable age as mine, and
looking like a cross between a chancer and a lecturer - entered the
room. In a sense, he looked like a twisted reflection of my alter ego
...... He sat on the floor by the wall and stretched out his legs, so
that everybody had to step over him, and began reading a book. By the
cover, I could see that it was some kind of educational handbook ....
so, he must be an Educational Coach .... and therefore I'm probably
here to see my competition, and to take the inevitable decision of
recording my lectures .... which would be a complete waste of time for
me anyway, as they pay peanuts for online lectures. But on the other
hand, if I don't record the lectures - and the other man was surely
there to convince me of this -  I wouldn't get any lectures at all.
But the strange guy would, for sure.

My thoughts were interrupted by the Rector's entrance.

To my surprise, he looked very much like the Coach. The only
difference between them was that the Coach wore horn-rimmed spectacles
of a kind rarely seen nowadays, and which give one the air of an
eighties underground intellectual. It was as if the Rector hadn't come
into the study at all .... and that it wasn't even his study.

as he entered, he glanced at me and, nodding towards the Coach, said simply
"he's a Coach" ..... and left.

The Coach then started off on some philosophical-educational nonsense,
the only bit of which I could catch was that students who achieve a
mark of 3 or under would be relegated. To justify his reasoning, he
stretched a rope across the study, two metres above the floor, and
proceeded to walk across it, citing passages from his educational
handbook. The applause from the suburban barbecuers, and the absurdity
of the situation, were both increasing  ....  Then  I became aware
that the room was stretching and twisting out of shape .... The Rector
came in again, and - pretending that he didn't notice what was going
on (or perhaps he simply didn't care) - took me by the arm and led me
to the window ..... as if he was some emperor showing a breath-taking
view of the empire's capital to a royal guest ..... But the only
things visible from the window were a clapped-out garage -
long-abandoned by the last mechanic -  some trees, wild bushes, weeds
and a ruined granary, obscuring the horizon.

Looking into the distance, and with deep reflection, he said simply
"Our Coach is very good".

Then he looked at me, and for a moment our eyes met ... and I saw in
him a mixture of anger, irony and reluctance.

At that moment,  somebody - who looked like the Rector's secretary,
although he was a man - appeared. With feigned interest, the Rector
asked :

"Has this man been waiting long?"

"Seven hours", replied the secretary.

"Oh! Three hours of twenty minutes  - that's not  long!"

I gathered from this that the Rector wanted to emphasise the 'twenty
minutes', and that he just threw in the 'three hours' for good
measure. But he never referred to the fact that I had to wait so long.
Maybe he wanted to say "twenty minutes isn't too long ......"

There was nothing left for me but to leave in silence ....

"Take care!", said the Rector as I left.

No need to turn round to see that imagined poisonous mixture of anger,
irony and reluctance. It will always be with me. It was the essence of
that study ..... and the Rector.