{"id":368,"date":"2020-08-17T13:44:40","date_gmt":"2020-08-17T11:44:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pdulski.webase.pl\/?page_id=368"},"modified":"2020-08-24T14:58:30","modified_gmt":"2020-08-24T12:58:30","slug":"fragment-ksiazki","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/","title":{"rendered":"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\u00a0<\/p>\n

CHAPTER ONE<\/strong><\/a>\u0141 I
<\/strong>The Interview
<\/em><\/strong>**<\/em><\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wasn\u2019t simply a human. There was something extraordinary about him, something noble.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cNamely?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cHe could perfectly discern the human soul with his motives, and he saw what\u2019s unseen with his bare eye. He could penetrate your mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cHow did you meet him?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cAs far as I remember, it all started one winter night\u2026 yes, for sure it was winter. I was walking along, looking at the colorfully adorned shopping windows. The street was extremely loud and lively \u2014 typical Christmas fever. People buying last-minute gifts, merry Christmas wishes, and so on. You can picture the scene, can\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, just as it is every other year.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cMerry Christmas wishes felt so empty and meaningless. I was there, but somehow not present. I was devastated, and there was a tremendous sadness within me. In the middle of nowhere, and without any sense, it seemed like I went through all the bad feelings I could ever imagine: pain, misery and disappointment. Stooped as usual, shuffling my sneakers along the pavement with my hood on. I was just wandering around to nowhere, to the senseless world, without faith in humanity. I was mad, angry, and the whole world looked like a nightmare. I\u2019d call myself a rebel that time.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat made you feel so low? I guess you were a young man back then.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cRight, young\u2026 I was just twenty three. It might sound trivial, but I was in need \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cIn need of what?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cIn need of love\u2026 Yeah, I would put it this way now. But let\u2019s get back to that day. So, wandering about I saw an older man. His age and infirmities were consuming him. But there was something in the way he was moving. Proudly, steadily, with grace according to his age, using his long, mahogany cane with horse-carved ending. At that point something came to my mind: how is it possible that this sick, old man is so proud holding his head up high, and I\u2026 though I\u2019m young, I\u2019ve lost meaning in my life.\n\u201cIt was so intrigued by him, so I decided to learn more about what gave that old man such power. I\u2019ve followed him. He lived in an aged tenement-house. As I was staring at that house, and light switched on, I saw white, attic walls with its yellow rays. After that I used to go and observe him. I don\u2019t know why. I guess it was the only purpose in my life back then.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWatching somebody is kinda weird. Why didn\u2019t you just talk to him?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yeah, it was a bit strange. But what was I supposed to say? \u2018I was so interested in your life that I decided to follow you, and stare at your windows every day?\u2019 Noo\u2026 I was too shy. But something unexpected happened. At least in my opinion. One day this man stopped me. You can just imagine how shocked I was. He\u2019d known all along what I was doing.\n\u201c\u2019Why do you follow me?\u2019 he muttered harshly, glaring at me. I totally didn\u2019t know what to say, so I began to stammer. He turned around, walked a few steps and stopped. Standing still he finally asked, \u2018You\u2019re going to stand there all day? Come on, we\u2019ll have a cup of tea. My bones are freezing today.\u2019\n\u201cSo, that\u2019s how it all started. Later I was the most frequent, and I guess, the only guest in his house. I loved listening to his stories. He was different; he never judged me as others used to. After several years I figured it out. He had a goal. He was teaching me what\u2019s right and wrong, but he never imposed on me what I suppose to do. He was the first person I ever opened up to \u2014 he knew everything about me.\n\u201cOnce, I wanted to tell him what happened to me the previous day. I knocked on his door, but he wasn\u2019t there. After a while his neighbor, Ms. Sophie \u2014 gray-haired, older woman, extremely nice \u2014 told me with her mild voice that Mr. Ivanovich is not there anymore. Most likely he moved away.\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t understand anything. How could he?! How could he leave without saying a word. It didn\u2019t make any sense. I stopped dead. My mind couldn\u2019t bear it. Yesterday we were talking as usual, and now\u2026 I felt like someone hit me so hard I couldn\u2019t move. Then finally, I realized that I lost my best and only friend, the one I knew nothing about.\n\u201cA few days later I received a letter\u2026 I guess the first one in my life, or actually, it was a tiny package wrapped in manila. You can imagine how surprised I was when I saw that my friend left his diary for me. Thanks to that gift I could know him better, learn about his life, and understand myself more. It was amazing to have some more time with that great man. Now, I\u2019d like to pass this diary to you. I hope the story of that unique human being, the person I loved so much, will interest you as much as me.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s why we\u2019re here. So, tell us please, what exactly was Peter occupied with?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, let me tell you his story based on his own diary\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

CHAPTER ONE<\/strong><\/a>\u0141 II<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Anna<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Accra<\/em><\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I\n like going to work early, before anyone else comes. My office is quite cozy. I designed it myself, and it turned out just as I wanted it to be. One needs to feel comfortable first, in order to help others, and here I do. There are several things I really dreamed of. Above all, I wanted a big window facing east, and here I have a white, wooden window divided with many thin mullions. I have a view over a large, oak park which now, during the fall, covers with absolutely stunning colors. I often stand here watching passersby and families playing in the park.\nMy antique, renaissance style desk stands right in front of the window. Made of premium oak in 1890, with several handy drawers, and doors adorned with carved, intricate patterns. Ever since I remember, I dreamed of owning such a beautiful piece of furniture, and finally I could afford it.\nI sit on a massive, leather, and comfortable armchair. Slightly to the right side of my desk there\u2019s a comfy, gray, Louis-Philip\u2019s style armchair with floral design. There\u2019s a bookcase on the wall behind. On the left side of the room I put a cozy, dark-brown, leather couch. There\u2019s also a wooden chair that I use when my patient is lying on the couch.\nI\u2019m sitting now behind my desk with my hands forming triangle, leaning my chin on them. Feeling a bit exasperated because my patient is late. I can hear no sound. On the wall in front of me clock is showing ten minutes past nine. She should have been here at nine. In this dead silence I could only hear clock ticking.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Suddenly she rushed in, almost breathless. Her dark hair is greasy and not styled. She has bags under her eyes.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me. I know you hate latecomers, but it\u2019s not my fault today.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome Anna! What happened? Tell me, please. A cup of coffee or tea?\u201d Anna has been attending the therapy for some time now. Unfortunately, there is no detectable progress in her case. I feel like she doesn\u2019t fully trust me, hence, it\u2019s hard for her to confide in me. And the longer she hides the truth, the harder it is to choose the right approach as to therapy. Of course it\u2019s not a yet no-win situation, but it takes much longer to help the patient. I take two paths. One is to build trust gradually, hoping the patient reveals the mysteries of his soul. Another is trying to deduce the problem on the basis of information already collected from the patient. Which way do I choose? Usually both at the same time.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cCoffee please,\u201d she said with her pretty, high-pitched voice, but with a sound of sorrow.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease sit down or lay on the couch, Anna. I see that you didn\u2019t have a good sleep last night,\u201d I tried to sustain conversation while brewing coffee in my espresso machine. I poured it to the cup and put it on the coffee table, close to the chair where she usually sits. The aroma of Peruvian coffee hung in the air.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Without rushing I sat behind my desk. I felt tension. The sun coming through the window enlightened her face, keeping mine in the shade. That\u2019s good because I\u2019m least important during the therapy. I see her clearly right now. Anna is a tall and slim young woman. Her elongated face is adorned with beautiful, but sad, brown eyes. Her cheeks are bony, sharp-ended. Her hair reach below her shoulders. It suits her slouched posture. She held the cup with her slightly trembling hand, and took a slow sip.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cThe bus was late. Nothing can be done easily in this city. Madness! I hate my life! Everything I do is a complete disaster!\u201d she screamed with her emotions running high.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cBut has something serious happened? You\u2019re here, and that\u2019s what matters. Little late, but it doesn\u2019t mean the whole world is bad. There are just some things in life we can\u2019t control. We have to accept it, and that\u2019s all\u2026\u201d She was still annoyed. \u201cYou see, many of our problems are caused by the way we were brought up. I mean not only our home, but also here in Europe. We modern Europeans are ME and I generation. \u2018I am the most important\u2019, \u2018It belongs to ME\u2019, \u2018You must do it as I want\u2019. People want to subdue everything, to put everything under their feet. They want to have everything immediately, here, and now. We desire and consume everything we want. We strive for comfort all the time, and that\u2019s why we lose it \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything is so easy for you, huh?!\u201d she cried out, interrupting me. She caught my bait. I caused her to blow up because people in anger are more likely to say what they really think. And I had to move our conversation to Africa, because I believe this is where her problems are hidden. \u201cYou believe that you know everything. That you\u2019ll give me some of your psychological bullshit lectures about how world works, and it will change anything. I\u2019ll tell you something new! No it won\u2019t! You know nothing about me!\u201d her anger had grown up, which was my intention, but I shortly regretted it.\n\u201cYou play God. You think I\u2019m selfish, rich, drama queen.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat am I supposed to think since that\u2019s how you behave?\u201d I tried to stop her.\n\nShe was puzzled for a second, but then she continued angrily:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know nothing! You don\u2019t know how it feels when you hear that you\u2019re worthless, a complete zero, and then\u2026\u201d with shaking voice she almost broke down, \u201cand then really feel like nothing, and become truly worthless.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Her words hit me in the face, and moved me far into my childhood. Life wasn\u2019t so nice back then. I remember the time when I started school. For most kids this would be an adventure, and it was for me too, but I knew that something was wrong with this school. At the beginning of the school year my father got mad. He slammed into my attic bedroom, pulling my shaggy hair, dragged me out of my bed. He made me stand up, coming close with his unshaven, ugly face to mine. The smell of alcohol made me turn my face away from him, but pulling his face to mine he said:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are a zero, remember that you\u2019re nothing. Don\u2019t you dare say a word about us outside this house, or you\u2019ll regret it. You understand me?!\u201d\nHe kept repeating this through his clenched teeth, all the time shaking me. I didn\u2019t understand why he was so angry (he was always angry anyway). I wasn\u2019t aware how much I could do by revealing everything\u2026 Everything that he had done to me and Olivia. I remained silent.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

At the beginning of the school year I was wearing shabby jeans with torn legs and muddy knees. This was the result of kneeling on the ground, a punishment regularly given by my father. I also put on my dingy shirt with jagged collar. My ragged, greasy hair was too long, way way too long. Actually, I looked like that every day back then. I got used to it, and felt normal with it. It had to be so, but why today? Before, these kids all looked like me now, but today they had on clean, navy trousers; white ironed shirts; and girls had their nice skirts on. I had no clue why they looked so pretty, and why I was so odd. I was wondering, watching kids with their parents. Some even came with both of them, and these parents also looked pretty nice. Their mothers had neatly styled hair and fancy suits. On the other hand my mom was straggly, exhausted, having circles under her puffed up eyes; and old, washed-out flower skirt. A voice was calling kids who were supposed to stand in pairs, and form a new class. Finally, the voice read my name: Peter Ivanovich. I was standing still, and I couldn\u2019t move. I was watching all those nice kids. The voice called me once more, and mum pushed me forward. I headed toward my group with heavy, slow steps; my heart was beating like a bell; my eyes were pulsing; legs shaking. I felt like all eyes were on me as if to say: \u2018Just look at that weirdo!\u2019 Others started to laugh at me, or took a step back and stood away. I felt overly ashamed. I started to hate that place and these people, and hated the attention I was drawing. I stood in line with a boy who had floppy ears and freckles, recalling the words of my father: \u2018You are NOTHING!\u2019 Then I realized he was right. I was zero, and as a seven-year-old I understood that I was nobody.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0I guess I had frowned heavily, because when I came back from my memory trip Anna was way calmer, and stared at me with a little surprise.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cAnna, let\u2019s talk about Africa. I know that you were a humanitarian worker there. Please, tell me more about it. Where did you go? What were you doing exactly?\u201d I saw her awkwardness arising with each question. Definitely this subject wasn\u2019t too comfortable for her.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you been to Africa?\u201d she asked sharply.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I haven\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you don\u2019t know\u2014\u201d she said reluctantly.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what?\u201d I asked with curiosity.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t know how Africa smells.\u201d She was watching me intently, her eyelids were half-closed, focused.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cSo how does Africa smell like?\u201d The intensity of my voice revealed my interest.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen the door of the plane opens, you stand at top of the stairs, and you get hit by a heatwave, like the air from Sahara. The wind blows at you with pervasive dust, and you start to crush it between your teeth. Parched, red ground gives out the smell of burnt vanilla, and it sounds nice, but it\u2019s not. This mixes with the smell of the spices, hot pepper, and roasted ground nuts. All of these blend together, and create one specific,\u201d she held her voice, \u201csmell of Africa.\n\u201cI was in various parts of Africa, and saw things I\u2019ve never wanted to see. Ghana was one of those places. Accra is the capital city. There\u2019s one peculiar site. Maybe you\u2019ve heard of it on Youtube or somewhere.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\"Not really,\" I said frankly.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I call this place cancer factory. It\u2019s very obvious to us, but not as much to them. They disassemble electronics over there. The rubbish from US and Europe. They search for anything that can be of any use from things we\u2019ve thrown away. The rest of it, all that plastic, they burn. Not aware that they\u2019re breathing the toxins into their lungs. Or they\u2019re aware, but can\u2019t help it; they have to do that for living. At least till the next day.\u201d Here she paused, leaned her back steadily in the chair, tightly gripping the chair\u2019s arms.\n\u201cYou see, the problem is that nobody cares! We don\u2019t give a shit because we have our big-big problems!\u201d she exclaimed with a tone of sarcasm. \u201cWe understand the sorrow of others only vaguely, and only if something similar happened to us. We worry about the color of the newly released Play Station: \u2018Why is it white?! It won\u2019t suit my furniture\u2019. We go out on the streets to protest against racism, because one black person was killed by the police. That\u2019s funny to me. You get that? It\u2019s ridiculous.\u201d I understood her sensitivity. \u201cWe are all racists. We believe that we are better than others. And people who live five or eight thousand miles from us we treat as rubbish, stupid punks. Oh God! What I\u2019m saying\u2026 We don\u2019t even think about\u2019em. Just one thing would move us to reflection. We have to see them. With our very own eyes!\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI think often about them,\u201d I wanted to take part in her monologue, \u201cbut I haven\u2019t seen them. Since you have, please, tell me about it,\u201d I said with a mild voice.\n\nShe took a deep breath and began her story:\n\u201cWhen I met her she was eighteen. Long lashes, eyes glassy as onyx, dainty figure. On her head she wore a black-red covering decorated with giraffes and elephants. It caught my eye. She smiled, revealing her pearly-white teeth out of delicate, mobile mouth. One would say she was like every other girl in Africa, but\u2026 There was something about her that intrigued my soul.\n\u201cAs a humanitarian worker for UN, I was taking care of the education sector. We were applying different programs, organizing training for teachers, visiting various schools, and other educational establishments to check how things are going over there. We met her for the first time in one of those schools, but it wasn\u2019t the last.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I was looking at Anna, listening attentively. I was surprised, because she\u2019d never told me so much at once. Apparently she calmed down, speaking with a lowered tone. I could feel this story was really close to her heart.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cSo when was the next time?\u201d I asked to help her continue.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cOur stay in Accra was not limited to the mission only. After work we\u2019d go to the beach, roam around the city. The city was strange. There\u2019s a huge electronics dump site. In Ghana using children to work is not legal, but sadly it\u2019s not applied there. Damned place!\u201d she shouted suddenly. \u201cEveryone works there! Old people, adults, teenagers and children.\n\u201cI was in quite a good mood that day. We wanted to see the electronics dump that we\u2019d heard so much about. So we arrived there, and began to walk through it. We were watching these people separating what was still useful: a pile for sell, a pile for reuse, or whatever else. The burning plastic created smoke, and I was not able to breathe; I held a cloth over my mouth and nose. They were breathing this in their lungs just like that\u2026 They were black not only because of color of their skin, but also because of the dirt and smoke from that plastic. That place looked horrible, like the pictures you see after a tsunami. That was when I saw her again. Now she didn\u2019t have that beautiful cloth on her head, and I could see her short, almost shaven hair. Previously white tank top was now black with dirt. Scrawny body, rather puny. When she bent down, I could see the bones of her spine. I asked her name. She replied: \u2018Akos\u2019. I asked what she was doing there. That sounded stupid, but she told me that she\u2019s working. I asked her why she was working there, and she explained she\u2019s working there to finish her schooling. I don\u2019t know how she was able to do that, I could hardly stand up. The heat mixed with that smell was unbearable.\n\u201cYou get that? She worked to sustain her family, and at the same time she went to that dump to gain some money for school. She told me that she has a dream to finish school, find a job, and take her parents, two sisters, and younger brother from the slums. She wanted,\u201d her voice shaking, \u201cto have normal life. This is nothing special to us, and to her that was a dream. I don\u2019t know how she was able to reconcile all of these, but somehow she could. I looked at her with pity. I felt so sorry for her. But what could I do, there are plenty like her there. I wished her good luck and left.\n\u201cTime went by, but I couldn\u2019t forget about her. Her look at school, that smile. Later when we were crossing Accra with our Land Rover I seemed to see her everywhere. I would wake up in the night after seeing her in my dreams: dirty, working, searching for copper in that dump. I lost my peace.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I see she was like printed in your memory.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cI told you that she was just like millions of Africans, but she wasn\u2019t. Most of them just drift through life. They earn money just to survive another day. Fill their stomachs. Give their family something to eat. They don\u2019t think what to do to improve their existence. They copy the lifestyles of others around them. You could say that poverty and misery is in fashion there. They wait for someone to give them the answer, to offer them a solution like: \u2018I will pay for your school\u2019; \u2018Oh, great, so maybe I\u2019ll go\u2019. She was doing something more, something beyond\u2026 She had dreams, but she didn\u2019t only have dreams, she was also trying to reach them. That\u2019s why she wasn\u2019t ordinary. Her horizons were way above others\u2019 way of thinking.\u201d Anna\u2019s thoughts surprised me.\n\u201cNightmares were tormenting me each night. I thought I had to find her. I didn\u2019t know exactly why. I didn\u2019t know if I could, or\u2026 if I really wanted to help her. But something was telling me that I should find her. We left to look for her. It was logical to start from school where I saw her for the first time. I went to the classroom where I met her. As always it was hot, and warm wind brought sand into the classroom. I stood there watching briefly something so odd, so weird to me, so different from what we know. We live in times when teachers have interactive boards, students have books, exercises on their tablets. Here, education was in another century. The youths were seated at old desks, perhaps used already by three or four other schools. There was no chalk, and the pupils were using old and battered textbooks, it looked like half of the pages were missing.\n\u201cA teacher asked if he could help me. He was tall, black, with thick, plastic glasses on, and had a long stick in his hand, like a pointer. I told him I was looking for Akos, which I met there the last time. The children laughed at me because it\u2019s a very popular name, and there are several Akos in the class. Quickly I found out what\u2019s the problem, and described her giraffes and elephants head covering. I thought somebody would know her from that description. One of the girls told me that she doesn\u2019t come to that school anymore. I asked if she knew where she was, and she said: \u2018At the hospital, I guess.\u2019 She wasn\u2019t sure which hospital it was, maybe Tema Polyclinic. I wanted to know more information, and she told me her full name is Akos Appiah.\"<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\"What was next?\" I was quite excited by her story. \"Did you find her?\"<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI thanked her, and ran off to the car. The hospital was quite far from the school. I remember that we were riding for some time until we reached the hospital. The place was shabby, but it\u2019s normal over there. Old beds, yellowish bedsheets, and cockroaches crossing the hall. I noticed a small window behind the grids, and I thought this should be a check-in desk. The lady sitting inside seemed to be bored, cleaning her teeth with a wooden stick. I asked her if Akos Appiah was there. She continued cleaning her teeth while checking the books. \u2018There\u2019s someone in the left wing room 276,\u2019 she said indistinctly with the stick in her mouth.\n\u201cI remember walking to that room very confused. I was asking myself: \u2018What happened to her? Why is she here? Maybe malnutrition? Maybe she collapsed? Why didn\u2019t I look for her earlier? She worked too hard.\u2019 I had a million thoughts in my mind. I tried to reassure myself that it was nothing serious, and she\u2019ll get better. As I approached the proper room, I met a nurse in the hall, she was short, and she seemed to be nice, so I asked her: \u2018Do you know maybe which room is Akos Appiah?\u2019 She replied: \u2018Oh, yes. Second room on your left. But I doubt if she\u2019d be able to talk.\u2019\n\u201cI hurried there without waiting for further explanations. When I saw her\u2026 It was so frightening.\u201d As Anna recalled this story her chin was shaking. She was talking through tears. \u201cShe had closed eyes, sunken cheeks, and cheekbones were sticking out. She was terribly skinny. She had completely lost her hair. Her head was tilted to the right. Her face was pale, completely lost her previous glow.\n\u201cI approached the bed with tears like rain flowing from my eyes. I couldn\u2019t stop. She was so young. On the cabinet next to her bed there was a slip of paper. It was a note.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Dear Buba! I couldn\u2019t make it! I tried so hard for you to have better life, but it beat me. My last advice: NEVER EVER COME CLOSE TO THE DUMP! Love You, Your sister Akos.<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI put the note back on the cabinet. I took her hand. I sat on the chair, leaning my head on her arm. And I asked myself: \u2018God, why? Why she? Why do you always take good people? I hate you and your whole world!\u2019 I felt increasing wrath. \u2018You were so brave and strong,\u2019 I whispered, weeping.\n\u201cI felt a touch on my arm. It was the nurse. \u2018She has brain cancer. Detected too late\u2026 but even if it had been detected earlier, we don\u2019t have the means to do anything about it. She fell asleep in the afternoon. She got morphine. It will soothe her pain.\u2019 Then I said: \u2018But.. She is so young, how\u2019s that possible?\u2019\n\u2018It\u2019s more common now. We don\u2019t know about many of them just because they don\u2019t have enough money to come here. The whites\u2019 dump takes a toll.\u2019\n\n\u201cI kissed Akos\u2019 hand and left,\u201d Anna ended. There came a small break. I listened to all she said, and made some notes. \u201cYou see Peter, this world is not for me. It\u2019s not a place where I can find myself. People say: \u2018It\u2019s normal, it happens\u2019. But it\u2019s not normal, they are not normal. This world has no attraction for me, it has nothing to offer. It represents nothing of human love and sensitivity.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cAnna, You are sensitive and tender. And this story really touched my heart. You\u2019re right, death isn\u2019t something normal. It\u2019s the opposite to what we\u2019re created for.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what, it moved you? You\u2019ll forget it right away. This is who we are, rotten to the bone and insensitive. Nobody cares what happens to other people. We think only \u2018bout ourselves!\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cBut remember, she\u2019s not the only one. We make choices in our life. We decide who we are, what, and how we think. So stop saying what others do. Look what you can do for her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

**<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cDo for her? She was dead already. What could she do something for her?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cMmm\u2026 I see you didn\u2019t get that. We can do something in behalf of their memory. We can help to realize their dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, I know what you mean. However, the sensitive struggle a lot in our world. They worry about the things they can\u2019t help. Actually, we can\u2019t help people living thousands miles away.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is exactly how we explain ourselves, because it\u2019s easier. We feel excused \u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you mean?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cJust look how we led ourselves into consumerism.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see the link between these two.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWe became selfish. We believe that the whole world belongs to us, and we can do whatever we like. We don\u2019t care about consequences, and how our behavior would affect others. Do you realize that most of the things you buy were made by slavery, the work of children and women?\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I know. But I can\u2019t help it. It wasn\u2019t me who organized this in such awful way.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, you can help by changing your lifestyle: what and why you buy. Do you change your phone simply because a newer one came up, or you really need it? Do you buy a new dress because you\u2019re in the mood for shopping, or you really need a new one? You got that? That\u2019s how it works. We should buy things when we really need\u2019em, when something got broken. Huge companies earn billions of dollars each year using commercials to stir greedy desires in us. And we give in to that propaganda. We gather things we don\u2019t really use. So, you\u2019re right. We can\u2019t help those people directly, but we can show by our lifestyle that we don\u2019t accept their propaganda; that we don\u2019t agree to treating people as slaves, and treating our environment as a dump site. Your deeds will show who you really are. Peter knew that because life taught him to appreciate the smallest things in life.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cSurely in his time people had a different attitude. Well, it seems like we really lost ourselves. From what he said, we understand that his family was difficult, filled with domestic violence, right?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yeah, definitely. Extreme domestic violence.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWas Peter the only child?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really, he had an older sister, Olivia. His mum miscarried a few times. His father used to beat her terribly if he found out she was pregnant. Such a tyrant. He worked her over. He never had any respect for her. She had to work on the farm regardless of being sick. When she even had no strength to get up, he used to pull her out of bed, and told her to prepare supper. She had to serve him even when she had a high fever; that was awful. She really had a hard life.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cIn your opinion, what had made his father so bad?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cPeter wasn\u2019t keen on talking about him. But he did mention that his father had lost his parents during the war. Then one guy, managing a massive farm, took him under his roof. Used him for work. Allegedly he was a despot, and was beating him without mercy. I don\u2019t know how else he hurt him. It could affect his later life, taking out his anger on his family.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat of Peter\u2019s mother?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was born into a poor family. Her parents died when she was still a girl. She got married early. She was delicate and inexperienced; lacking any support. Probably, that\u2019s why she didn\u2019t leave him.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright, getting back to Peter. What sort of man was he personally? How would you describe him?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cAbove all he was a connoisseur, and he had class. He placed a high importance on details, and hated kitsch. He was the type of man who never gave in, and always reached his goals. If he started something, he had to finish it. Sometimes he was a bit crazy, and innocent as a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cCrazy? I can\u2019t imagine him being crazy.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, once I remember how we went to the electronics shop. Peter saw a music player. You know, the one you choose a track, put the headphones on, and listen. Insane scene: a man in his fifties sat on the floor, forgot about the whole world, and sang aloud. He was totally in a world of his own. Just as if he thought that wearing headphones made everybody deaf. After a while he noticed that something was wrong. People were staring at him, but he just got up, took the headphones off, adjusted his jacket, walked away with his head high as though nothing had happened. That was awesome, he was mature and childish at the same time. I felt free in his company.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cThat must have been a funny moment. But how would you describe Peter\u2019s treating his patients?\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201cI guess the next patient will answer your question. Let me introduce Tommy.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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\n\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tContinue<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/span>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/a>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Fragment E-booka Walcz\u0105c o siebie \u00a0 ROZDZIA\u0141 IWywiad** \u2014 By\u0142 cz\u0142owiekiem niezwyk\u0142ym… Mia\u0142 w sobie co\u015b nadzwyczajnego, co\u015b szlachetnego. \u2014 Co to by\u0142o? \u2014 Potrafi\u0142 rozezna\u0107 ludzk\u0105 dusz\u0119, ludzkie intencje. Widzia\u0142 to, czego nie wida\u0107 go\u0142ym okiem. Przenika\u0142 ci\u0119 i rozk\u0142ada\u0142 na elementarne cz\u0105stki\u2026 \u2014 Jak go pozna\u0142e\u015b? \u2014 By\u0142o to\u2026 Jak dobrze pami\u0119tam, pewnego […]<\/p>","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"yoast_head":"\nFragment ksi\u0105\u017cki - Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki - Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Fragment E-booka Walcz\u0105c o siebie \u00a0 ROZDZIA\u0141 IWywiad** \u2014 By\u0142 cz\u0142owiekiem niezwyk\u0142ym… Mia\u0142 w sobie co\u015b nadzwyczajnego, co\u015b szlachetnego. \u2014 Co to by\u0142o? \u2014 Potrafi\u0142 rozezna\u0107 ludzk\u0105 dusz\u0119, ludzkie intencje. Widzia\u0142 to, czego nie wida\u0107 go\u0142ym okiem. Przenika\u0142 ci\u0119 i rozk\u0142ada\u0142 na elementarne cz\u0105stki\u2026 \u2014 Jak go pozna\u0142e\u015b? \u2014 By\u0142o to\u2026 Jak dobrze pami\u0119tam, pewnego […]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2020-08-24T12:58:30+00:00\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"30 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/\",\"name\":\"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki - Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#website\"},\"datePublished\":\"2020-08-17T11:44:40+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2020-08-24T12:58:30+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Strona g\u0142\u00f3wna\",\"item\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/\",\"name\":\"Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego\",\"description\":\"Pokonaj strach!\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#\/schema\/person\/95f7a084dc09559e90a6fe806df02883\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":[\"Person\",\"Organization\"],\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#\/schema\/person\/95f7a084dc09559e90a6fe806df02883\",\"name\":\"Paul Dulski\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/logo_white_full.svg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/logo_white_full.svg\",\"width\":1,\"height\":1,\"caption\":\"Paul Dulski\"},\"logo\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\"}}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki - Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/pdulski.com\/en\/fragment-ksiazki\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Fragment ksi\u0105\u017cki - Teoria L\u0119ku Pierwotnego","og_description":"Fragment E-booka Walcz\u0105c o siebie \u00a0 ROZDZIA\u0141 IWywiad** \u2014 By\u0142 cz\u0142owiekiem niezwyk\u0142ym… Mia\u0142 w sobie co\u015b nadzwyczajnego, co\u015b szlachetnego. \u2014 Co to by\u0142o? \u2014 Potrafi\u0142 rozezna\u0107 ludzk\u0105 dusz\u0119, ludzkie intencje. 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