Lagramyncki ôbsztalunek / Terms of Commerce (cz. 8)
Publikujymy kolejny kōnsek jednej ze siedmiu ôpowiŏstek Tōmasza Kamuselle ze ksiōnżki “Styknie / Limits“. Ôpowiŏstki te we ôryginale bōły pisane po angielsku, a na ślōnski przełożōł jy Marcin Melon, kery tyż po ślōnsku napisoł dō nich stymp.
Dzisiej ôsmy fragmynt ôpowiŏstki, kerŏ ôpublikujymy we kōnskach całŏ.
Sam siōdmy kōnsek.
Wersyjŏ ślōnskŏ: LAGRAMYNCKI ÔBSZTALUNEKNg spatrzōł Boqinowi kuracyjo we partyjnym zanatorium postrzodku lasōw we śniegach pōłnocy. Potrzebowōł posiedzieć sōm po cichu, kej miōł ôtuchnōńć i zaś nazod prziś ku tymu, fto ôn naprowdy je. Kuryrowōł sie hań pōł roku, zaczym przijechōł nazod do dōm. Nale tyn dōm już bōł terozki za miastym, bez jego baby i cery. Prziszło mu żyć samymu, ôstała mu ino robota i dugsze rajzy do dōm. Na bezrok sytuacyjo we Rwandzie trocha sie uholkała. Boqin ani niy dowōł pozōr na newsy z tamtyj tajle świata. Niy musiōł, bo wiyncyj faxōw z Kabuga ETS niy dostowōł. Nowy dyrechtōr, kery prziszōł z wojska do Ôriyntalnyj Kōmpanije Maszinowyj, trzimōł Boqina fōrt. Miōł terozki ino patrzeć papiōrōw; kej wszysko sztimowało w papiōrach, to niy musiōł sie starać ô swoja robota.
Na poczōntku dwadziestego piyrszego storoczo do robiynio gyszeftōw zaczły stykać nec-zajty i kōmunikacyjo online. Nale nowy dyrechtōr niy bōł rod technologiji. U nich durś pisało sie brify i posyłało faksy. Ôriyntalno Kōmpanijo Maszinowo już niy miała takigo szwōngu jak downij. Terozki to była ańfachowo fyrma bez wiynkszych aspiracyjōw, kej rozchodziyło sie ô miyndzynorodowe gyszefty. Roz i stykło. Kōmpanijo richtowała swoje katalogi terozki ino po chińsku. Cyny i warōnki były kōnkuryncyjne. Hurtowniki sznupali za Ôriyntalnōm Kōmpanijōm Maszinowōm. W 1998 Agyncyjo Nshikabem w Nairobi posłała faks, rozchodziyło sie ô pora tysiyncy kosokōw. Piyniōndze były dobre, beztōż dyrechtōr kozōł Boqinowi szafnōńć tyn ôbsztalōnek. Kōntrakt szrajbnōł Boinett Mutungu, nale Boqin wetnōłby sie, co handszrift miōł blank podany na handszrift Féliciena. Boqin nic żodnymu niy pedziōł, już piyrwyj ôbiecōł sie, co przepōmni ô cōłkij tyj ôstudzie. „Co bōło, to bōło” – pedziōł sie po cichu. Na bezrok prziszło jeszcze pora ôbsztalōnkōw, choby tyn piyrszy, kożdy z Kynije, kożdy z inkszyj kōmpanije i szrajbniynty ôd inkszego byjamtra – mianowali sie pōn Kimani, pōn Mbaya i pōn Ayungu – nale handszrift zowdy bōł jednaki. Na sprawa mieli wejzdrzeć we Ministerstwie Bezpieczyństwa. Jejich szpece wiedzieli lepij. Boqinowi psinco było do tego, kej dyrechtōr dostōł zwola na te ôbsztōlunki ôd wojokōw i partyjniokōw. Ôn ino miōł patrzeć swojij roboty. Robiył, co mu kożōm. Tak bydzie nojlepij. Minyło pora lot. Bo rosła, a Boqin sie starzōł. Co pora lot brōł i jechōł na połednie z byzuchym do Bo we Guangzhou. Kej Bo było sztyrnoście lot, pani Wu dała jij zwola, coby sama pojechała z byzuchym do Boqina we stolicy, beztōż co prawie miała wakacje. To bōł jedyny roz, kej Bo ôstała sama z fatrym. Brōł jōm do muzyjōw, pokozywōł dynkmale gyszichty, alowali sie we parku i frygali ańfachowe jedzyniy, kere lajstli sie u ulicznych przedowaczek. W ajncli ôd Boqina Bo znodła staro kolekcyjo angelskich ksiōnżek, ô kerych downo przepōmniōł i ôstawiył je leżeć zmaraszōne na dole szranku, na nich cōłko hołda inkszych rubych buchōw. Miyndzy ksiōnżkami i pōłkami miōł powrażowane stare zrolowane cajtungi. Bo rada czytała te stare ksiōnżki wydowane ôd Foreign Languages Press, zaczym napoczły sie richtiś reformy. Durk bōł niy roz krziwy, nale zowdy wielgi i wyraźny na ciynżkim, choby-wiksowanym papiōrze. Zajty były zdingsowane w jedyn ruby kyns wrażōny w gryfno ôbkłodka. Terozki te same buchy, importowane z Europy abo Hameryki, wydowane były w papiōrzanych edycjach, z małymi siwymi buchsztabami, ôd macanio kerych szło sie zmarasić; drukowali je na żōłtym papiōrze, kery nadowōł sie ino do haźla. Skuli tego zachodnigo mustra kajś sie traciył tyn gyfil, co to sōm tak naprowdy niyprzepōmniane gyszichty, ino bez cufal wrażōne miyndzy ańfachowe ôbkłodki. Bo wyciōngała te ksiōnżki z jejich szrankowego cuchthauzu i pucowała je, jedna po drugij. Boqin miōł gyfil, choby zaś rajzowōł nazod do sztudynckich czasōw. Bo ôsprowiała ô roztōmajtych fabułach z fatrym, kery piyrwyj bōł zicher, co już downo przepōmniōł ô tym, co czytōł. Nale niy, gibko prziszōł ku tymu, co poradzi znojś we swojij gowie kożdo jedna scyna, nawet cōłke tajle, kere poradziył godać z pamiyńci fest rod, sōm zdziwowany jednako choby Bo. Jego cera była fechtniynto. Boqin spōminōł tamte mōmynty bez pora nostympnych lot. Pani Wu wiyncyj niy dała Bo zwole, coby jechała zoboczyć sie z fatrym. Godała, co mo na nia zły wpływ. Kej Bo przijechała nazod, pedziała, co ôna rada bydzie sztudiyrować anglicko literatura piykno. Francuske słowa napoczły wciskać sie do jejich poukłodanego żywobycio na połedniu. Podle matki ôd Bu to była ino ôstuda. Pani Wu musiała dować pozōr, coby niy było wiyncyj ôstudy. Już roz Boqin bezma zrujnowōł jeji żywobycie. Niy, drugi roz niy do mu tego zrobić, niy jejich cerze! Katać tam! Pani Wu nazdała Bo bez telefōn, pedziała, co ôna myśli ô tyj ôszkliwyj idyji marnowanio czasu we Paryżu abo inkszym Oxfordzie na czytaniy maszketnych ksiōnżek. – Mosz ino jedna cesta, coby do czegoś dōńś we swojim żywobyciu i to je MBA na porzōndnyj hamerykańskij uczelni – zakōmandyrowała Bo. – A ksiōnżki to zowdy sie mogesz czytać we wieczōr, kej żeś je tymu rada. To niy ma żodno sztuka. Kożdy poradzi czytać. Geltagu z tego mieć niy bydziesz. Tymat bōł zawarty. Boqin dōł zwola. Przijynli Bo do hamerykańskij biznesowyj szule, kero pani Wu wysznupała jij kajś we Kaliforniji. Terozki Boqinowi i Bo ôstało ino szrajbowaniy brifōw jedne do drugigo. Bo niy była rada tyj starodownyj modzie, nale skuli rōżnicy czasu musiała sztopnōńć swōj downy zwyk zwōniynio do swojigo fatra, kej siedziōł w biyrze, ugodywali sie wtynczos na jakoś godzina i ôn zwōniył do nij nazod ze telefōnszteli, kero miōł stoć podle swojigo sztokowca Boqinowi nigdy niy rozchodziyło sie ô to, coby mieć telefōn u siebie w ajncli. Kej prziszła moda na mobilnioki, Boqin zmiarkowōł to dziepiyro, kej rajzowōł do roboty. Kożdego tydnia coroz to bardziej znerwowane ludzie szwandrali cosik same do siebie, ciynżko mieli sie słyszeć, a niyftore to nawet ryczeli. Boqin ôsprowiōł ô tym we biyrze i kożdy sie śmiōł. To bōł terozki nowy muster, mobilniokowe Tao. Kej prziszła jeji piyrszo zima w Hameryce, Bo posłała fatrowi „gyszynk pod krisbaum” – tak pisało po angelsku na kōncku papiōru przidingsowanym do czerwōnego paketa, na kerym nakryklany bōł mały krisbaum i świynty Mikołoj. Bo wytuplikowała we brifie, co tyn gyszynk to je iPhone. Naszrajbowała to na cwibelpapiōrze, kery wraziyła do godnyj kartki z ôbrozkym bajtli, kere stowiajōm śniyguloka na placu podle chałpy z forsztōw, takij, kerych mocka poradzicie znojś we Hameryce. Boqin uśmiychnōł sie sōm do sia: Bo na zicher szła do przodku. Poradziyli ze sobōm godać, egal co miyndzy nimi bōł cōłki ôcean. „Richtiś choby fater i cera” – pōmyślōł sie Boqin. (z angielskygo na ślōnski przełożōł Marcin Melon) |
English Version:Terms of Commerce
Ng organized a curative stay for Boqin in a party sanatorium complex located in the midst of a large coniferous forest in the snowy north. He needed some peace and quiet to become himself again. After convalescing for half a year, Boqin was back home, but to a new life without a family and in a distant suburban studio. He kept to himself, busy with his job and long commutes. In the coming years the situation stabilized in Rwanda. Boqin stopped following the news from this part of the world. There was no need; no more faxes arrived from Kabuga EST. The new director appointed by the People’s Army in the Oriental Machinery Company kept Boqin at arm’s length. Boqin’s job was to deal with the paperwork, and as long as he was diligent with that he was assured of his position in the management. In the early twenty-first century websites and online communication became the main way of furthering business. But no novelties of this kind unduly incited the new director. Their company stuck to the reliable postal and fax services. The stellar growth of the Oriental Machinery Company ceased. It remained a medium-size enterprise with no undue aspirations in the sphere of international commerce. Once was more than enough. The company’s catalog was printed exclusively in Chinese. The prices and terms offered were competitive. Wholesalers made sure to seek out the Oriental Machinery Company. In 1998 a fax came from the export-import Nshikabem Agency in Nairobi with a request for a quote for several thousand hoes. It was good money, so the director instructed Boqin to take care of the order. A Boinett Mutunga signed the contract, though to Boqin’s eye the lettering appeared eerily similar to Félicien’s hand. Boqin didn’t mention his suspicion to the director because he had promised himself to forget about what had happened. ‘The past is the past,’ Boqin whispered, almost inaudibly under his breath. In the subsequent years other similar orders followed from Kenya from different companies and signed by different executives – Mr Kimani, Mr Mbaya, or Mr Ayungu – though always in the same wavy elegant hand. The matter was the responsibility of the Ministry of State Security. Their specialists knew best. As long as the director cleared all these orders with his army and party superiors, it was none of Boqin’s business. He just did his work. He followed the instructions. That’s for the best. Years passed by. Bo was growing up, while Boqin aged. Every couple of years he made time to go south to visit Bo in Guangzhou. When Bo turned fourteen Mrs Wu let her visit Boqin in the capital during the spring school recess. It was the only time Bo stayed with her dad. Together they visited museums and historical buildings, relaxed in parks and ate simple meals from street vendors. In his studio Bo discovered Boqin’s old collection of English novels, all forgotten and dusty at the bottom of an overflowing bookcase crammed with volumes of all sizes. In the tiny spaces between the books’ tops and the shelf above, old periodicals and rolled up newspapers were stuck in. Bo liked these solid old tomes published by the Foreign Languages Press before the reforms kicked in for good. The hand-set print was uneven, but at the same time large and clear on heavy, glossy paper. The pages were sewn together into a sturdy spine that was firmly set in the handsome cloth cover. How flimsy and smelly were the paperback editions of the same novels today, imported from Europe or America and blighted with tiny grey letters, smudgy to touch, and printed on grainy yellowish paper only fit for the loo. The Western treatment of these great books didn’t become the unforgettable stories encased between the covers. Bo pulled out the novels from their lowly dungeon in the bookcase and dusted them clean. Boqin felt as if transported back to his student times. Bo talked about plotlines with her dad, who thought he had long forgotten what he had read. But no, Boqin soon discovered he could fish out from his capacious memory each scene, and even entire passages that he declaimed verbatim with much gusto, surprising himself as much as Bo. His daughter was spellbound. Boqin treasured their only time together for years to come. Mrs Wu never let Bo visit Boqin again. He was such a bad influence. After coming back home Bo insisted she wanted to study English belles lettres. French words began creeping again into their prosperous and orderly life in the south. According to Bo’s mum, it could only mean trouble. Mrs Wu would not have that. Boqin nearly ruined Mrs Wu’s life once. She wouldn’t let him do the same to her only daughter. No way. Over the phone Mrs Wu gave Bo an earful on what she thought about her daughter’s plan to waste time in Paris or Oxford reading fancy books. ‘An MBA from a good university in America is the only sure way to advance in life,’ Mrs Wu opined sternly to Bo, and added, ‘You can always read literature in your leisure. It requires no special skill. Everyone can read. It won’t earn you a living.’ The matter was settled. Boqin consented. Bo was accepted to an American business school of Mrs Wu’s choice and left for California. Boqin and Bo could only exchange letters now. Bo wasn’t particularly fond of this old-fashioned way of communication, but time difference precluded continuing with their former custom when she phoned her dad in the office, they’d set an hour and then he would call her back from the payphone booth near his residential block. Boqin never went about getting a landline installed in his studio. When mobiles became all rage, he was made aware of this new breakthrough in technological progress while commuting. From one week to another increasingly more apparently disturbed people were muttering half-audibly to themselves, and even in full voice. At the office they laughed at him when Boqin related this story. It was the new way, the Tao of the cellular phone. During her first winter abroad, Bo sent dad a ‘Xmas present,’ as she wrote in English on the label attached to the box wrapped up in red decorative paper and printed with tiny images of Christmas trees and Santa Claus. It was an iPhone, Bo explained in her letter. She tucked the onionskin pages covered by writing in her neat hand into a festive postcard with an idyllic winter scene depicting children making a snowman in the back garden of a Midwestern clapboard house. Boqin smiled to himself, Bo was progressing in life. In spite of the ocean separating them, they would continue talking. ‘Like daughter and father,’ thought Boqin.
|
cdn
Tomasz Kamusella “Styknie / Limits“, Silesia Progress 2019
Cena: 34 złote, obecnie u wydawcy w promocji za 22 złote.