I knew almost for certain:he had robbed all my friends,had made my mother miserable,and had ruined my wife’s health,leading her to consumption.And, full of resolve,I set out to find him and take my revenge.“Where are you, my torturer?”I called through the deserted hallin which he lives.In response, four roarsreflected from the walls,hit the ceilingand, lifeless, fell to my feet.“Where are you, my torturer?”I called to him twice.Each time, the four roarsarose from the dead,went up, and hit the ground.“Has he died?”I decided so, happily.But on my way home,I saw two legs, two arms, and a torsohad stopped near my door.(There was no head.)“What are you doing here?”I took him by surprise.Out of fright, the two arms,the two legs, and the torsounited into a headless body.I grabbed him and shoutedinto the empty pipe of his neck,“Tell me where my torturer is!”“Don’t beat me,” said the pipe.“Go to the same buildingwhere you’ve just been.People without a head sit in the first room.In the second one, they also lack legs.In the third, they also don’t have arms.In the fourth, you’ll see isolated torsos.In the fifth room, you won’t see anything—that’s where your torturer is.You won’t find anything in there,but repeat, and repeat, and repeat, ad infinitum,everything you want to tell him.But don’t believe your eyes:he is where he isn’t.”
(Translated from the Ukrainian by Alan Zhukovski)
Vasyl StusVasyl Stus (1938–1985) was a Ukrainian poet, translator, and literary critic. He spent over a decade—1972–1979 and 1980–1985—in prisons (labor camps) and internal exile for “anti-Soviet activities.” His poetry collections include Joyful Cemetery (1970), Time of Creativity/Dichtenszeit (1972), and Palimpsests (1973–1980).