Chapter 10

BEYOND THE PALESKI

Chapter 10

We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas day at Halina and Ryszards along with their relatives from Warsaw. It cheered me up no end and I completely forgot about loosing time, loosing that week when nothing happened. With two glasses of vodka time just seemed to flow slowly away into space, with which, I'd read somewhere, it is inextricably linked anyway.

After four vodkas time actually becomes space and space becomes movement. After six vodkas there's a brief period of say, a second, where time, space and movement divide and are identifiable as separate entities before spinning back into the cake mix. The time is 11 pm - the space is someone’s lounge room floor - the movement is their revolving ceiling. To some observers this space/time/movement continuum lasts only for a matter of nano seconds but it's there, even if Einstein did get it wrong and didn't learn how to measure it.

I didn't get my time back, that's impossible, but the space that it occupied in my head grew smaller as the ceiling revolved. The feeling was that of a light house keeper running up the steps so fast that he screwed his head into the roof until it covered his ears - quiet. I woke up, it was still Christmas but it was breakfast time. I couldn't eat it. -I'm never going to drink again; it's just not worth the suffering.

We went back there on New Years Eve and I only had one vodka. Space, time and movement obeyed Newtons laws of motion and every action had an equal and opposite reaction. Every stress had it's equivalent strain, they all spoke Polish too fast; I didn't understand them; they sang songs and I didn't understand them; they wished me a happy new year and I understood them. We went home. On the way an animal ran across the road in front of us stopping momentarily in the car headlights. It was a doggy, foxy thing about two feet long with a bushy tail and a slightly opossum like face. A composite animal, the likes of which I'd never seen before, with a light ruff coloured around its neck.

-Did you see that?

-See what.

-That animal.

-Your drunk.

-No, there was an animal there.

-I didn't see it - you're drunk.

-I'm not, I only had one.

I asked everyone what it could have been but nobody had any ideas except Bogdan whose idea was that I should ask someone else because he didn't know. Then, as I was halfway down his drive, he shouted after me -Try Stan, he knows all about animals. I'd been looking for an excuse to talk to Stan the poacher for I only knew him as a nodding acquaintance and we were intending to try to attract bird and animal watchers to the guest house. A poacher, I reasoned, would be just the person to use as a guide or, failing that, Stan' should be able to show me where various animals lived and I could do the guiding myself.

Bocwinka is perfectly situated for the eco tourist with an interest in animals and birds, butterflies and wildflowers. The area has been virtually undisturbed for over fifty years and is one of the last places left in Europe with its ecology still reasonably intact. This, together with the fact that it is surrounded by lakes and forests containing all sorts of rare fauna and flora with no industry of any kind, made us think that we'd have something unique to offer intrepid English speaking eco tourists.

But when I called on Stan he professed to know no more about animals than anyone else in the village and was at a loss to understand why Bogdan should have told me that he did. He told me that the animal I'd seen was most probably a "jenot" but said that he didn't know anything about their habits. I came home and told Alicja that I'd most probably seen a jenot on new years eve but she'd never heard the word so we consulted the encyclopedia and found that it was a Raccoon Dog - an animal from Siberia which had first migrated to north east Poland some forty or so years ago.

When I told Vladek that Stan had said that it was a raccoon dog I'd seen on the road that night he cursed himself for not having thought of it at the time.

-A jenot, yes of course. Yes, there's a few of them around here. Did Stan show you one?

-No. He said he doesn't know much about them.

-Doesn't know much about them? He's got jenot skins hanging up in his barn - I saw them yesterday. Was he wearing a fur hat when you were speaking to him?

-Yes.

-Well that's jenot fur. He sells the skins to someone for making hats.

I was going to have to find another way to get in with Stan but, for the moment, I couldn't think how. One morning as we were about to leave the house, the bell rang. I cursed, we didn't want visitors, we were already late for my dentist appointment. I looked around the corner of the house and saw Zenek standing at the gate, the low morning light highlighting the holes in his face giving him the marbled appearance of a Baalbek statue.

-You'd better make it quick Zenek, we're going out.

-You can't go out, it's rabies day.

-It's what?

-Rabies day.

Not being a word I was used to hearing, I didn't know what he was talking about.

-Rabies day? - what's that?

-You know, that disease foxes get. Misha's got to be vaccinated against it, it's compulsory. You've got to take her down to the cross roads.

-What happens if I don't?

You'll have to take her into town and have it done there or they can fine you. They can even put her down if you don't comply.

-OK I'll be there.

I put the lead on our Misha and hurried off down to the cross roads. I needn't have bothered to hurry because when I arrived there was a queue of 15 people and, I suppose 25 dogs. It seems we were the last to find out about rabies day and, although I was in a hurry, the operation hadn't even started and the vet was still putting his equipment together. The one day a year when the vet comes with his bag of needles is something of a social event. Every household has at least one dog and most families have two or three so it's the only occasion when the whole village, like it or not, has to turn out and stand next to each other.

A social occasion, of course, doesn't necessarily mean a sociable occasion and two of the men in the queue weren't on speaking terms. Anton and Marian hadn't spoken for months because of an incident which had occurred at the start of haymaking. Not many of the power poles in Bocwinka are earthed and when a thunderstorm is immanent folks all pull the plugs on their televisions in case they blow up. Back in the 1960's the electricity department promised to rectify the situation but meanwhile the village is still waiting and kids at school are told not to touch the power poles under any circumstances.

During hay-making Anton was on the way home one evening when he stopped to shake some sand out of his boots and for this purpose he leaned against a telegraph pole with both hands while he tried to kick one of his boots off. A tractor came up the lane pulling behind it a cart-load of hay, on top of which were three, partially drunk, farmers including Marian who spotted Anton leaning against the telegraph pole shaking one of his legs. Marian is a young, enthusiastic person and sometimes does tend to be a little impulsive and on this occasion he summed up the situation in a flash.

He assumed that Anton was being electrocuted by the un earthed power pole and, taking his pitchfork in hand, leapt from the top of the travelling haystack bringing down the pitchfork handle across Anton's wrists in an effort to disengage him from the source of the problem. Anton ended up with a broken wrist and had to be taken to Gizycko hospital, a twenty kilometre journey, in a horse and cart because nobody had a tractor registered for the road and the only car in the village was broken down. Now both Anton, Marian and their dogs stood in the queue three places from one another, each trying to pretend that he hadn't seen the other.

Dogs, unlike their owners, never seem to express their displeasure with one another through silence. Some of dogs in the queue hated each other and were anxious to show it. Dogs on Polish farms are nearly always small, snappy, terrier sized creatures which are kept on chains all their lives. They're not badly treated, in fact they're usually the subjects of much affection but still, they seldom get to go anywhere unless they break their chains (or sometimes, strings). Now, when you keep a dog on a chain all the time it usually becomes aggressive and that was the case with practically every dog in the village. Rabies day is the one day when they can all get together and decide who's going to be the boss for another year.

Dogs who never get to meet, who only bark at each other from afar and who know each other only from the scent carried on the wind, all get to bark, growl, slobber & snap at each other just once a year. Villagers don't walk their dogs and therefore don't have dog leads, so most of the dogs were either carried in their owners arms or were on short pieces of old baling twine. Old Polish baling twine is not the strongest of materials with which to secure an eager village mongrel and some of them broke loose. Others simply jumped out of their owners arms and it was on for young & old.

There were fights going on all around and under the vet's car, owners bumping into each other as they hurtled back and forth cursing their respective pooches and people saying; -Well, your dog started it, my little Burek was minding his own business until that ugly wretch of yours went for him.

The vet eventually sorted himself out and sat in the passenger seat of the car, notebook in hand, as his first client stepped forward. It was Big Jan the plumber. Big Jan is the roughest, toughest man in the village and he's held in awe by many because he can turn the nettle crushing machine for hours on end without a break. Nettles are good feed for pigs but first they need to be crushed in the machine and this is Jan's forte. I tried the nettle crushing machine once and could barely keep it going with two hands but big Jan can spin it with one hand and feed the nettles in with the other. The vet licked his pencil and looked up at the giant towering before him. The little mongrel in Jan's arms seemed to fade seamlessly into his long straggly beard. Big Jan is almost completely bald and with the little pair of eyes peering out of his beard it looked for all the world as if his head was stuck on upside down.

-Name?

-Jan Stachlewski.

-Is that the dogs name or your name?

-My name.

-I don't want your name, I want the dogs name.

Big Jan leaned towards the vet's ear & muttered something.

-Speak up, I can't hear you.

-Amorek - (The word is used for cupid in Polish)

-So that's Amorek Stachlewski is it?

-Mmmm

There was sniggering in the ranks which stopped abruptly when Jan, indignant, turned around. The vet did his work, took the money and Big Jan headed for home, his Cupid in his arms. A few more dogs & owners came and went without incident until Stankiewicz the poacher fronted up. He had 4 dogs tied together with string and had to untie each one as its turn came and tie the remaining three to the vet's car door handle. One of his dogs, Rudy, was to say the least, unusual in appearance. It could best be described as a cocker spaniel cross, crossed that is, with an armadillo. It bore all the ancestral hallmarks of the cocker spaniel but in place of fur it had scales everywhere except for its lower legs.

It wasn't a pretty sight and was made all the more unsightly by the addition of a white plastic bucket over its head, placed there, as he told the vet, -to stop Rudy scratching his scabby ears. The vet wasn't at all impressed with Rudy and donned his plastic gloves before touching him. The queue broke apart and all stood around the car in silence to watch. Vladek was first to speak

-Whatever that dog's got is most likely infectious, you should have the bloody thing put down.

-Mind your own business Vladek, Rudy will be right as rain in a couple of weeks. Mother Miankowska's given me some stuff to rub over him.

-Mother Miankowska? What would she know about dogs, she's a bloody witch.

-She's not a witch, she's a herbalist. She cured my feet. The doctors didn't know what was wrong with them but Mother Miankowska fixed them up in no time.

Of course what nobody was saying, was that Mother Miankowska was Stankiewicz's aunt but a timid little voice came out of the crowd. -My husband would still be alive if it wasn't for Mother Miankowska

You could have heard a pin drop and the vet, grinning, stuck the needle into Rudy's wrinkled red neck. Rudy let out a hell of a shriek and turned on the vet but was prevented from biting him by the white plastic bucket. We stood there as Stankiewicz tied and untied his pieces of string and presented the vet with his next offering. It too was a little out of the ordinary. It was two dogs long, half a dog high and covered in long hair like a silky terrier. It was as though Stankiewicz had purchased an Old English Sheepdog self assembly kit and hadn't fully understood the instructions. I could imagine the leg extension pieces being scattered around on the floor of his barn somewhere.

While all this was going through my head, Marek came staggering down the road with a fairly respectable looking mongrel on a leather lead. The poor thing was having to dance like John Travolta to avoid being trodden on as it kept a wary eye on its owner's staggering movements in a vain attempt to anticipate the direction of the next lurch. Marek almost pulled up when he reached the car, that is to say he was only moving backwards & forwards by a step or two. He spent a few seconds trying to get Stankiewicz 's long haired whatever it was into focus and then:

-Is that a dog? Is that a doggg? eh, a dog? haaa. You'd have to give it a piece of sausage before you could kick it up the arse or you'd never know which way round it was. Haaaa. Look, look everybody isssa dog' eh? Haaaa........

Marek was having trouble telling which way round he himself was and, in particular, which way was up and he fell across the bonnet of the vet's car. Two men from the queue laid him down in the back of a cart after assuring him that they'd take care of his dog and he promptly fell asleep. More pooches were punctured during which another argument developed between a farmer and the wife of the shop owner, in which she tried to pin the parenthood of her latest litter of pups on his dog and then came Jakub's turn.

-What's her name?

-Don't know.

-What do you mean you don't know?

-She hasn't got a name.

I saw one man in the queue nudge another and smirk.

-Well, what do you call her when you want her to come?

-I don't have to call her, she's always on the chain.

-Well, I have to have a name. We have to have a record of which dogs we've vaccinated.

-Call her what you like then.

-Alright she's to be known as Kropka. OK?

-It's OK with me.

-How old is she?

-Don't know.

-Oh come on, don't you remember when you got her?

Someone at the back of the queue yelled out that she must have been three because she was from the same litter as his own dog and the vet filled in the appropriate space on the form.

-Alright, give her to me then, said he vet. Something went wrong with the hand over and the dog broke free and ran around the other side of the car with Jakub in pursuit. The dog quite obviously thought that it was all a game and darted back and forth around the car as Jakub ran after it getting redder and redder in the face.

-Whore, he shouted. -Come here whore! The dog immediately stood to attention and trotted up to Jakub wagging its tail as it did so.

The secret was out, the whole village now knew the dog's real name and roars of laughter filled the air. Old ladies started whispering to each other behind cupped hands.

-Well I never, did you see that? Whatever's it coming to, fancy giving the poor animal a name like that.

-Yes, I know. I've never liked him you know, he treats his wife terribly. Mrs. Siepietowska told me that he locked her out of the house one night and she had to sleep at her sister’s house. Just because she gave him salad. Said he'd been working like a dog all day and he wanted real food when he came home.

-Yes, I know, I know. That's what I mean you see - man like that.

Our Misha was last in the queue and when the vet produced the vaccine bottle I asked for a clean needle. Every dog including scabby Hubert had been vaccinated with the same needle and it hadn't been so much as wiped clean. The vet didn't object. He just reached into the back of the car and grabbed a new needle. A group of dog owners were standing within earshot and one of them asked why his dog hadn't been vaccinated with a clean needle.

-You didn't ask.

-Well, you should have changed needles anyway. You can catch diseases from dirty needles.

-Yes but.........

-The department gives you needles and you save them so you can use them yourself in your own practice.

-Now, look here...

We left them arguing and set off hot foot for my dentist’s appointment arriving late with apologies.

-Sorry we're late. It’s rabies day in Bocwinka, I said. He gave me a strange look and said -perhaps I should wear gloves then.

It was shortly after rabies day that my chance to develop a friendship with Stan Stankiewicz the poacher presented itself when Mr Polakowski, the previous owner of our house came to see us. With the money from the sale of the house, he'd bought himself a small Polski Fiat, the first car he'd ever owned, and he liked to visit Bocwinka to show it off to his old neighbours. He could never understand why we were bothering to do all the work we were doing to his old house and every time he came to the village he'd drop in to see what else we'd done and offer all sorts of advice. On this occasion I asked him about raccoon dogs and where to find them but received the same answer Bogdan had given me - go and see Stan.

I told him that my previous visit to Stan had been unproductive but Mr Polakowski said he'd fix it for me right away if I'd care to accompany him to Stan's house. -Stan and I go back a long way, he said. -I was a great friend of his father, Alexander - I taught him how to catch fish. Worst thing I ever did.

-Oh, how come?, asked Alicja.

-Because I had the only commercial fishing license for Soltmany Lake and Stan used to take nearly as many fish out of it as I did. I threatened him with the police several times but in the end I had to take him behind the post office and sort him out.

-But you get along alright with him these days?, I enquired

-Oh that was years ago when he was a kid. We came to an agreement after I'd loosened a couple of his teeth and over the years he's been very good to me and my family. In fact he still is but these days we do a bit of business together. That was one reason for buying the car - Stan's still taking fish and I still have my old customers away from the village. It wasn't the fact that he was taking fish that used to annoy me, God knows there's plenty enough fish in the lake. No, it was that the little sod was selling them right here in Bocwinka. He was selling them cheaper than me and I was the one who was having to pay the license fees and then travel all over the place to get rid of the catch because he'd taken away my local market.

We finished our coffee and drove down to Stan's house where we were shown inside and told to make ourselves comfortable - Stan saying that he'd join us shortly. We sat at the table talking to his wife Ursula while through the window I could see Stan putting a sack of something heavy into Mr Polakowski's boot before coming inside with a bottle and three glasses. He unscrewed the top but I put my hand over the glass indicating that I didn't want anything from the bottle.

-He doesn't drink Stan

-Yes, so I've heard but I didn't believe it

Mr Polakowski didn't beat about the bush but came right out with the business in hand.

-I told Peter that you'd show him jenots Stan.

-Jenots, what would I know about jenots?

-Don't play games with me Stan. I told the man you're our local poacher and you could show him jenots. Alright?

-You told him I'm a poacher? He's had the police up at his house.

-That was because someone stole his hose pipe Stan. Whoever it was should be ashamed of himself, stealing from a foreigner. You'd call the police too if it was your hose pipe wouldn't you?

Stan ran a finger around the top of his glass for a second or two.

-Jenots aren't around in the day, they’re night animals.

-Christ Stan, the man's not a bloody idiot - he knows that. Show the man jenots at night.

Stan still wasn't sure and asked -what if he tells the police I'm a poacher?

Mr Polakowski was becoming irritated and I at last opened my mouth to say that I didn't have to see a jenot, I just wanted to know where I could find a jenot hole and at what time of night would be the best time for a sighting. But Mr Polakowski wasn't in the listening mood and went on.

-He's not going to tell the police, he can't even speak Polish, he just wants to see a jenot so he can show tourists where they live.

-Why would tourists want to see a jenot?

Polakowski raised his voice.

-Jesus and Mary Stan. How should I know? - some people are like that. There's programmes on TV about animals - someone must be interested.

In the face of Mr. Polakowski's bullying Stan at last agreed to show me a jenot and said he'd call for me at around 9 o'clock that evening. I was well prepared with a back pack containing a thermos of coffee, a torch and a groundsheet to lay down on. I was dressed in layers of dark clothes to keep warm in case we had to spend time sitting outside a hole in the ground and I was ready at half past eight. The bell rang, I said goodbye to Alicja adding that I didn't know what time I'd be home - "animals are unpredictable. Maybe we'll see one in the first hour, maybe it will take all night."

Stan' was at the side gate and as I approached he pushed it towards me. I pushed it back towards him. He pushed it back again and I tried to explain that I was ready, he didn't have to come in - I was on my way out. He was impatient. He pushed the gate towards me again and walked into the yard. Ah' OK he wanted to speak to Alicja in Polish. He didn't. He walked straight past the house and Misha, our ferocious guard dog, came running up to him. They knew each other but he'd never met her before - the cunning bastard, I bet he got to know her at night and then had our hose pipe away?

He still hadn't said a word to me as I followed him around the back of the barn. He stopped and beckoned me over to stand under one of our plum trees. I watched as he took something out of a paper bag, placed it on the ground and retired to the plum tree next to me where he motioned me to crouch down with him.

It was probably all of five minutes and I'd seen my first pair of jenots - on my own land living in a hole under my own barn less than fifty metres from my house. Having made me feel like someone who didn't know what was going on in his own back yard, which I was, Stan stood up and said goodnight. The whole thing had taken no more than ten minutes.

At last the ice was broken with Stan and, although we didn't see a lot of him from then on, we did use him a few times as a guide when we had bird watchers staying with us.