I've been haunted by the past recently. The fifties. Faces and things. My unforgettable room in Krupnicza Street. I'm from Kraków. Yesterday I suddenly got drunk. I wish my obsession with calculations and accounting was equal to patience, to the ability to gather some material that could be calculated. Nevertheless, I still feel as if I were at the beginning of the world, at its creation; despite all my experience, which I yesterday understood. The whole tenement house is full of noisy Italians, you hear them variously from all apartments. Towards them I am, in the very first layer, like a cripple who can’t hear and isn't able to speak well. This can be cured if you learn the language, but other handicaps are more difficult to be coped with.
I am now and will remain there – in Karmelicka Street, near “Skala” which bears a different name now, that was its pre-war name – in the idle, enchanted, never-ending afternoon in one of those undetermined seasons in Kraków. I go and watch pictures in the Kaiser-Panorama and lament that I won't see these lands myself other than screened here. I suffer also because of women, but what used to be the same misery, now ceased to be partly related to women since it transposed itself elsewhere; the pain is still the same but women are no longer its embodiment, its form and materialisation. Some Italian child, the future of humankind, is crying. Oh well, this is how the year 1964 ends.
English translation: Hanna Gamza