Three tenth
It begins in the afternoon to rain. Easy drizzling. Covered then the whole night. In the evening in the cinema of acre, in the Reduta hall. This is the only cinema hall in Poland (or in the whole world?), in which neither may be eaten nor drunk. „Look you the film in peace on” - in such a way the cinema with this recruits a hall. That means: without Popcornkauen, without Bierrülpser, without bottle rattling/clinking. In such peace the meeting under the title ran „my Konwicki: Inspiration and interpretation.” First-class interlocutors. Cast in themselves mutually clear water from a Karaffe. They may. Because they must talk. In the microphone. Wajda. Lubelski. Trzaskalski. And the director. The cinema? Rather the institute for book, the this, as well as other meeting organize. Not there Konwicki is. „For health reasons”, explained the man, whom the Chairman with „Mr. director” addresses. Perhaps that is correct even. Yesterday I spoke with my master. It seemed completely healthy, for its age. But everyone knows that it is superstitious. And on three tenth never in the life into a course rises. „My Konwicki” - that is my invention. That is the title of my book. As „Zwierzoczłekoupiór” (the inventor dog) the invention Konwickis is. And the title of its novel is simultaneous. And so on. Everyone of us possesses something. And it contributes. To the popular-scientific mental property. The discussion runs expressed friendly, as far as mean it masters concerns. Wajda gets straight equal to beginning that Konwicki can be replaced by nothing. Through no deputy. With no anecdote. Not one joke. No still so long enumerating all its earnings/services. Not there it is, and that is unfortunate! Because it is missing to us here. Then it, later, confesses spontaneously, in the course of the discussion, that all would have always been afraid of it. And still are afraid. It adds after short silence. And I feel sudden under my-same. During the the break succeed in it I, Mr. Wajdas hand press. And it to thank for the sensitive words. And me to present as an authoress of the book, which I the whole time in the hand hold. „My Konwicki”. „My Konwicki?” it is surprised. „I do not know this book at all.” Perhaps that is correct even. I know that the edition is out of print. And this is my personal copy, which I cannot even give you. Unfortunately. Then the interlocutors in the darkness disappear. And over the canvas „the last summer day runs “, black-and-white, asketisch, 1958 at the Baltic Sea turned. The Hauptdarstellerin, I met Irena Laskowska, coincidentally in May in Warsaw. Owing to the invitation of Krystyna H. to a exzellenten Brunch in the hotel Polonia. She was ashamed much, when I told it that I know her from the “last summer day “. With both hands it covered its face. The city is completely wet. My last bus drives off at working-days around 22:40 clock of the Matejko place.
