The Second First of May Episode

My second May First episode had played out the year before the assentierung and had something just to do with Sokal. 

For the third season in a row I was the national champion of my sports club and no one was able to take this title from me. The authorities at my club had said for a long time that in the context of the popularization of the sport they wanted to organize in several small towns something like an exhibition fight. I had nothing to object to in this. 

Towards the end of April I was invited to an activist association conference, where I was told that the exhibitions would be in the context of the May First celebrations. For no treasures did I want to agree to these terms. 

The persuasion, discussions and attempts at assurance lasted more than an hour, and I used various excuses. 

At last the club president took me to the side and said that if I went, then in addition to the different bonuses which I presently received for my sports results, he would arrange for me a special, fictional full-time position, with almost a director’s salary. 

Officially I would be an inspector of chimney workers, and unofficially, doing absolutely nothing, once a month I would sign for and collect my money.

So on the first of May at eight in the morning we left in a commander jeep, popularly called here a commando jeep. Our group consisted of nine people: me and three other competitors, the trainer, two sports activists, the president and the driver. 

The weather that day was spectacular. Everything on the way, without regard to cost, was decorated for the holiday. Red dominated. 

Every mile we passed slogans of ever more idiotic nature, placed by the roadside or hung on an overpass. Often we encountered cheerful groups of passengers, heading somewhere, who knows where, dressed for the holiday, completely idiotified, carrying szturmowkas and placards. 

We outpaced and passed decorated carts and roll wagons, pulled by horses decked in red tassels and outfitted for a circus, or by, also decorated for the holiday, speeding in all directions, uncovered trucks on which like monkeys were hanging a diverse, spruced up, completely crazed first of May demonstrators. 

Total, as my mom said, Sovietization. Not especially allowing anything about me to give it away, but honestly I disdained these people. 

We arrived at the first of May involvement of our program. Everything was already ready for our arrival. A curious holiday crowd swelled at the market. The exhibition battles took place on a large stage, and were very liked. Everything went exceedingly capably, and we drove onwards. 

After half an hour the next place. Here however the organization was much worse. One good thing, there was a stage, but most of the organizers, despite the relatively early hour, had already managed to get drunk. We wasted more than an hour before the battles started, and afterwards still constantly something was complicated. 

To the third and last place we finally arrived with an almost three hour delay, because of which our exhibitions could only happen after the main celebration, meaning in some two and a half hours. I had never been there in my life, so having a lot of time, I began to wander around. 

The town looked decidedly bigger than the last two, most strikingly, it was untouched by war actions, which must have passed it somehow to the side. A sizeable rail hub station, before it even two taxis, off maybe a roundhouse, some factory, and several small production shops, some schools, a health center, a pharmacy and even something like a villa district. 

Our jeep stood parked on a small street just by the market, where the main celebrations were taking place and where the grandstand and stage were found. 

Just before the grandstand, standing a facing the cheerful crowd that pushed in a local rail worker brass orchestra played—forty some men, brasses wiped and shining in holiday bluster, with ironed and clean uniforms. From the orchestra I was divided by a throng, which in a dense line marched off somewhere. 

When they finally passed, and the orchestra finished playing the march, I saw suddenly something unbelievable. 

In the first row, lightly swooning on his legs, stood, also in a beautiful railway uniform, playing with the notes pinned to his instrument… Sokal with his clarinet! 

I gawked for a long time, not believing my own eyes, and when they finished playing, I came up to him somewhat from the back and somewhat from the side and stupidly asked: “What are you doing here Sokal?” 

And he to that: “You can see for yourself, old boy, that fuck I can’t live without music.” 

“How long you going to be here?” 

“Not too long. Come to my house for supper! How’s four? Remember, 17 Kosciuszki.” 

He didn’t let me get a word in, and the orchestra again began to play and the tumult became such that I only gave a nod and with haste went away. This time they played the Internationale. I returned to mine. 

In twenty minutes the exhibition began, after which I was already free. I told my colleagues that I wouldn’t be returning with them, because it turned out such that I had a dentist here and would stay behind for a bit, and afterwards I’d return in some train, of which there were plenty here.