Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead

by Olga Tokarczuk

Winter mornings are made of steel; they have a metallic taste and sharp edges. On a Wednesday in January, at seven in the morning, it’s plain to see that the world was not made for Man, and definitely not for his comfort or pleasure.

In a natal Horoscope the date of birth determines the date of death as well. That’s obvious—anyone who has been born is going to die.

But the source of my excitement is understanding.

I also went to the expense of buying some Cambozola, to cheer myself up if only with a bit of cheese.

Sometimes an emotional mood of this kind assails me—I think it’s to do with my Ailments—and my resistance weakens.

I noticed a pregnant girl sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper, and suddenly it occurred to me what a blessing it is to be ignorant. How could one possibly know all this and not miscarry?

I was frozen through and hungry.

That’s what I called her. This name suggested itself irresistibly, at first sight. Irresistibly—that’s a beautiful, powerful word; when we use it, we shouldn’t really need to provide any further explanation.

I often wonder why we find some people attractive and not others. And I have a Theory about it, which is that there is such a thing as a perfectly harmonious shape to which our bodies instinctively aspire. We choose in others the features that seem to match this ideal.

So I didn’t say a word. Other people’s life stories are not a topic for debate. One should hear them out, and reciprocate in the same coin.

I always buy everything too big. It gives me freedom,”

It takes the Police a long time to establish things that seem obvious.

After such a long, tiring, barren winter the Sun was having an exceptionally bad effect on me too. I couldn’t sleep in the mornings, I’d get up at dawn and never stop feeling anxious.

I too saw the world in other spheres, upside down. I too preferred the Dusk. I wasn’t suited to living in the Sunlight.

There are places we don’t choose to visit, and yet something draws us to them. Possibly that something is Dread. Maybe that’s why, just like Good News, I like horror stories too.

I am convinced that their owners have small dicks and compensate for this deficiency by having large cars.

At once I understood everything and felt a surge of Anger.

It’s clear that the largest things are contained in the smallest.

“When one can’t speak, one should write,” she said. “It helps a lot,” she added, and fell silent.

They’re links in the same chain.

I blinked. I had never heard one woman referring to another as “my wife” before. But I liked it.

“I could have a wife too,” I said with conviction.

“One has to tell people what to think. There’s no alternative. Otherwise someone else will do it.”

After all, a Person had died. How could they “shelve” it, for goodness’ sake?

It occurred to me that every unjustly inflicted death deserved public exposure.

The larvae may not have been beautiful, but I was moved by their sense of trust—they entrusted their lives to the trees, without imagining that these huge, immobile Creatures are essentially very fragile, and wholly dependent on the will of people too.

“Maybe you don’t know you can, my dear, and in your human pride you persist in believing in your free will.”

For some time I shared my bed with a Catholic, and nothing good came of it.

And we shall never again taste the flavors of the past. Yet another thing that’s irreversible.

And we also found we had quite unconsciously eaten all the strawberries.

I couldn’t help thinking that someone who overuses the phrase “in truth” is sure to be a liar.

This is a land of neurotic egotists, each of whom, as soon as he finds himself among others, starts to instruct, criticize, offend, and show off his undoubted superiority.

“The day of vengeance is nigh. The regiments of hell are closing in,”

“You’re such a good woman. You care about everything in a very personal way. But surely you don’t imagine we’re going to stop harvesting timber because of some beetles in the logs?

Useless and unimportant.

found this thought unbearable, but at once consoled myself with the idea that at least they’d known a little freedom.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. Dead bodies.

I know, I know I’m neurotic and oversensitive, and I should go and get treatment.”

“No, it’s not him. It’s definitely not him. I’m sure of it,” I said.

Animals have a very strong sense of justice.

They taught me quite basic, plain and simple justice.”

“We have a view of the world, but Animals have a sense of the world, do you see?”

“They were more human than people in every possible way.

And people think they can do what they want to Animals, as if they’re just things.

I wondered whether the stars can see us. And if they can, what might they think of us? Do they really know our future? Do they feel sorry for us? For being stuck in the present time, with no chance to move?

And then a curious Hypothesis occurred to me—maybe the stars see us in the same way as we see our Dogs, for example—having greater awareness than they do, at some points in time we know better what’s good for them;

So maybe we too should yield to the influence of the stars,

I’ll kill you, you (obscenity), you’ll be punished for these crimes. You have no shame, you’re not afraid of anything. I’ll beat your brains out.’”

Everything is connected with everything else, and we are all caught in a net of correspondences of every kind.

At this point it occurred to me that I would rather die than spend the rest of my life in a place like this.