something was perversion, and a fascination with perversion. It was clear that in these passages Zeromski was giving vent to some private obsession, some secret, deeply buried longing; the most exalted prose could not conceal this. It was a classic ‘sign of exhibitionist excess’, to use a phrase once coined by a certain philosopher.
Mostly, though, the thing was screamingly funny. Reading all those descriptions of ‘virginal fields like lovers, flowing with milk and honey’, all those stiff, artificial dialogues full of exclamations like, ‘How manly you are, how strong and how terrible!’ and poetic invocations of an ‘eternity long past’, it was a struggle not to laugh out loud.
Then I had an idea. Wouldn’t it be fun to take some of the most ridiculous phrases and put them together in a sort of romantic prose poem, which I would then present in literature class, poker-faced, as the work of some newly discovered poet, unanimously hailed by literary scholars as an unknown genius on a par with our greatest classics? The idea was immensely appealing, and exerted such a pull on my imagination that from then on I read with only this in view, concentrating on the expressions, metaphors and sentences I would use, how I would put them together, which of them would come first and which I would keep for last.
I was so absorbed in my fury of creativity that I didn’t even notice the Viper’s approach. She had crept up from behind and was now standing over me, looking over my shoulder. Like the hero of the novel waking up to find himself fettered and bound, I was unaware of the threat until her bony hand came down, like the claw of some huge crustacean, and whisked the book from my lap.
‘So, what’s this we’re reading in the biology lesson?’ she began, launching into one of her typical disciplinarian acts. ‘I’m sure it’s fascinating, but is it relevant?’ She glanced at the beginning of the book. ‘Title page missing . . . pages uncut . . . just this bit in the middle here . . . look at these pages, they’re filthy from use. Well, let’s take a look – maybe we’ll find it interesting, too?’ And she read out:
Here, on your breast, was a wolf – here, next to your beating heart! But you killed it. Oh, my lord and master! That terrible snout, those white fangs, they were here, next to your throat. Its curved claws slashed at your ribs, its eyes looked into yours. How manly you are, how strong and how terrible! How invincible! You are stronger than winter, stronger than the ice and the wind! Nothing can frighten you, nothing on earth, neither man nor animal. How terrible you are! How beautiful! I tremble at the thought . . . I am your slave . . . Oh, my love . . . There . . .
The class settled down to enjoy itself. It was clear that a lengthy break could be expected, further enlivened by the entertaining spectacle of a student being held up to mockery and ridicule. This kind of thing could always be counted on for amusement.
‘Well, no, I see that it isn’t quite relevant,’ pursued the Viper, ‘the wolf isn’t our subject today.’
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a few people in the act of discreetly slipping their copies of Ashes, volume two, into their satchels. The Viper, in the meantime, effecting a slight change of tone, launched into the main part of her pedagogical act.
‘So this is what our proud Shakespearean, the pride of our school, the winner of last year’s Golden Mask, is reading! Sentimental tripe for schoolgirls, bilge for the masses! Romantic rubbish!’
She was right, of course. But I had to defend myself. ‘This is Zeromski’s Ashes,’ I muttered in an undertone, as if wanting to save her further embarrassment. ‘It’s on the syllabus.’
The Viper was not in the least put off. ‘Zeromski’s Ashes,’ she pointed out, ‘is required reading for pupils in the year below you. I may teach biology, but for your information I am not entirely unacquainted with the literature syllabus. So you’re a little late with your reading. That’s point number one. And two, since you’re so industrious and conscientious that you’re catching up on your reading in the time reserved for biology, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us why the only cut pages are here in the middle and the rest hasn’t been touched. Here you are,’ she said, displaying the book, ‘just here, on these moans and sighs . . .’
The class burst out laughing. I was furious. ‘It’s not my copy,’ I blurted out, searching for a means of escape, but this only made things worse.
‘Not your copy?’ asked the Viper, surprised. ‘Whose is it, then?’
‘I don’t know,’ I snarled, ‘it was just there.’
‘I see. It was just there . . . so I suppose you just picked it up and began reading from the middle?’
‘That’s where it fell open.’
‘Indeed! It fell open.’ She wouldn’t give an inch. ‘Not only do you have the tastes of a besotted schoolgirl, you’re a hypocrite as well – trying to disown them. And I suppose next you’ll be telling me you just wanted to see what it is the others like so much about it?’
But it’s true, I wanted to say, that’s exactly right! But I couldn’t prove it, and no one would believe me. I had to find another line of defence. As if I had reached the end of my tether, I snapped, ‘What would you have preferred? Would you rather I’d cut the pages here in class? Why all these insinuations?’
This was a good move. Naturally, it infuriated the Viper even more. ‘Very well,’ she said drily. ‘Let’s leave it at that. But tell us, in that case, what we’ve covered in today’s lesson.’
‘The rabbit . . . the anatomy of the rabbit,’ I stammered out, noticing on the blackboard a huge poster with a picture of this mammal, its stomach open to reveal a colourful tangle of entrails.
‘Excellent! Very good,’ said the Viper. ‘But what about it? Which organs, which functions, which internal system?’
‘Reproductive,’ someone prompted in a whisper, but I took this to be a joke at my expense, intended for the amusement of the class.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, defeated. ‘I wasn’t paying attention.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ acknowledged the Viper in tones of false regret. ‘So you won’t hold it against me if I give you an F.’ She entered it in the book with a flourish. ‘And now, it’s my pleasure to inform you that today we’ve been learning about the sex life of the rabbit. A subject right up your street – odd you didn’t notice. In any event, you will please learn it thoroughly and present it to us in the next lesson, so that no one can doubt your competence in the matter.’
This stung, and the prospect of the rabbit was a dark one. But the worst thing, of which the Viper was quite unaware when ridiculing me in class, was the implication that I was secretly reading the notorious episode, just like everyone else. And there could only be one reason for that: Madame had broken my heart, too.
TWO
In the Beginning was the Word
The effects of my unmasking were not slow to make themselves felt. I had barely sat down after my mauling at the hands of the Viper when I heard the first whispers and felt the first covert glances. I had no doubt the whispers were about me: my downfall was being rejoiced at, and a mean kind of consolation derived from the discovery that I, too, worshipped the Ice Queen, and shared in the general suffering. It was unendurable.
After school I made my way, as I always did at life’s difficult moments, to the nearby park (called, ironically,
