Arnold Majorek’s eighth letter to Irena Rybczyńska, written after the return to Warsaw from Chylice. Written in pencil on a folded sheet of paper; four pages, all written over. Full text:
Darling,
Back to the Warsaw pavement which does not sound merry at all under the shoes tapped in Chyl [ice]. Immediately after my arrival, I started to take care of the "current" matters, after which I visited my friends and acquaintances one by one, feeling a bit of a fear before each visit, whether I would still find them... Fortunately, everything is generally fine, except for a tragic accident involving a man very close to me and his wife, something I had already known in Ch.
The case of my work with M. has not been settled definitively yet, even though it has already been talked about so many times. He is a good man, but his goodness is very accidental, both in terms of the choice of people who bestow it and its "implementation". At the same time, he likes to be asked, which, unfortunately, I don’t like.
I was supposed to start yesterday, but the lack of light made it impossible. It is a triviality that needs a little bit of repair, but he does not remember, and I cannot remind him about it. Anyway, I started to practice the work a bit yesterday. It is not philosophy, but requires constant attention and focus, all the more that the machine is very ancient.
Due to the fact that, at the same time, I am having my compasses sharpened and I have nothing to work on at home, I feel the disastrous effects of forced inactivity again. It is in this moment of a certain discouragement that I am writing this letter to you.
It will, of course, pass immediately if I have something to do.
I spoke with the landlady about renting a room for Krystyna [Ostrowska?] and Tadeusz. She did not agree on the spot, and by the way I learned interesting things, about which [I will tell you] personally.
I got a letter from my mother yesterday. A sequence principle, because the mother’s pupil is "a woman who knows what she wants" too. On the day of her arrival, she told my Mother with great openness that she did not like studying, that she did not like playing, and that she had not yet read any book to the end. I sincerely feel sorry for my old lady. Well, what can one do...
That would be enough for now.
I hold your little hands and wait impatiently for your letter. For as many letters as possible. Write to my address: 58/39 [we do not know where the author of the letter lived, he did not provide the street name on purpose].
Bye, darling
a.
PS. If you want to please me, send me the photos we took at the clay pit pond.
