“What is life?—Ah, only a moment,” Bukatski began to declaim; “I cannot move, and that is the end, or, if thou prefer, the beginning.”
“That would be a terrible thing, but I do not believe it; any one may be benumbed for a time.”
“There are moments in life which are somewhat bitter, as the carp said when the cook was scraping his scales off with a knife. I confess that at first terror took hold of me. Hast thou ever felt the hair rising on thy head? It is not to be reckoned altogether among feelings of delight. But I have recovered my balance, and now, at the end of three hours, it seems to me that I have lived ten years with my paralysis. It is a question of habit! as the mushroom said when in the frying-pan. I am chatting much, for I haven’t much time. Dost thou know, my dear friend, that I shall die in a couple of days?”
“Indeed, thou art chatting! Paralyzed people live thirty years.”
“Even forty,” answered Bukatski. “Paralysis in that case is a luxury which some may permit themselves, but not men like me. For a strong man, who has a good neck, good shoulders, good breast, and proper legs, it may be even a species of rest, a kind of vacation after a frolicsome youth, and an opportunity for meditation; but for me! Dost remember how thou wert laughing at my legs? Well, I tell thee that they were elephantine at that time if compared with what they are to-day. It is not true that every man is a clod; I am only a line,—I am not joking,—and, moreover, a line vanishing in infinity.”
Pan Stanislav began to shrug his shoulders, to contradict, and to quote known examples; but Bukatski resisted.
“Stop! I feel and know that in a couple of days paralysis of the brain will set in. I have been expecting this a whole year, but told no one, and for a year have been reading books on medicine. A second attack will come, and that will be final.”
Here he was silent, but after a time continued,—
“And, believe me, I do not like this. Think of it: I am as much alone as a finger cut off from its hand; I have no one. Here, and even in Warsaw, only people who are paid would take care of me. Life is terribly wretched when a man is without power of movement, and without a living soul who is related. When I lose speech, as I have lost power of motion, any woman in attendance, or any man, may strike me on the face as much as she or he pleases. But thou must know one thing. I feared paralysis at the first moment; but in my weak body there is a brave spirit. Remember what I said to thee,—that I fear not death; and I do not fear it.”
Here there gleamed in Bukatski’s eyes a certain pale reflection of daring and energy, hidden somewhere in the bottom of that disjointed and softened soul.