Not more than a year earlier, on the same train I’d found myself on with Zula, I made my way to a conspiratorial jazz affair in ?odz with two of my friends, Bacz and Siedlik, who loved jazz too.

  We were going to see the Hot Club Melomani.

  Secret jazz concerts were held in utterly arbitrary places, in large houses, in some day room, and even once apparently in a boiler room.

  They were totally illegal, jazz at the time being the smybol of the American enemy’s way of life and America’s rotten culture. Nevertheless, listening to good jazz life was worth everything, including the violent raids.

  First, just as the train was getting ready to move, two militiamen ran in.

  We didn’t think it could get worse but then the priest came in.

  After a few hours, Siedlik got bored and broke the silence.

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  -May we go to the toilet, Mr. Platoon Leader?

  Bored too, the militiamen played along for us.

  The higher-ranked one stood up and corrected his belt, moving the holster of his pistol to the front and beckoned to Siedlik.

  -Go, but no numbers.

  Given the way we looked, it confirmed the poor priest’s suspicions.

  We kept it up.

  -How much longer is the trip?

  -Will we be fed later?

  -God, I need a cigarette.

  The poor chump looked at us with sympathy and compassion.

  However not once did he say anything, and it was apparent that he was very nervous.

  Some station was approaching; the priest put on his car coat, took his binder from the shelf, said good-bye and quickly directed himself to the exit.

  This had to be some bigger station because the train stayed there at least ten minutes.

  As it was getting ready to depart someone suddenly began to bang on the window.

  We looked out and under the window stood our priest.

  He gestured at us to open it.

  When we did this and the train was already slowly leaving, at the last moment he pressed into our hands a rather large gray paper bag.

  We jovially deposited its contents immediately on the seat he just vacated.

  The bag was full of cigarettes.

  We divided these equally with the militiamen and each of us was left with three packs.