Inhaling The Truth Tadeuz who lives up the street sometimes comes in for the crack and a dram, or a cup of tea. He is a grinning man who gardens and repairs bicycles. His face is the colour of a new strawberry. His hair is grey. (He says his hair has always been grey.) He is Polish but his accent is pure Inverness and his manner is mostly Highland. He also rolls cigarettes like an artist – cleanly,deftly,coolly – without wasted motion. .He pulls his chair closer to mine, puffing small rings into the air, thoroughly enjoying every puff. .‘It is like this,’ he begins, as the smoke rings form tiny quivering halos above his head. .‘Ah, Poland.’ .He inhales deeply and releases the smoke with a sigh. .‘Hitler came in an squeezed the left one... he squeezed our manhood. Then Stalin came in an squeezed the right one until we coughed up our dignity. I had just turned sixteen and had not yet slept with a woman. Imagine, going to war to die before mak-ing love.’ .The smoke rings disintegrate like ripples on a quiet pond. ..‘They took the young men of our town who had no guns and marched us to the local school. The Germans kept us there until the Russians came. The Russians took us in a hay cart to a camp on the border. I knew the place well. I had often picked mush-rooms there as a boy. We came from everywhere: Ukrainians, Poles, Germans, Gypsies, Czechs– -from everywhere. We slept in long bunkhouses. Hell, you know the type. Like in the old war films. We had no real work to do and the Russians just wanted us to keep out their hair. I spent all my time thinking about girls, talking and smoking. Good crack. I also read one helluva lot.’ ..I was puzzled at this: ‘Reading and smoking? Hell, Tadeuz, where did you manage to get cigarettes and books in such a place?’ ..Tadeuz laughs. ‘It was this way. The Russian guards were keen on Pravda of course means "Truth" in Russian. Our guard was a young Tartar whose mother was Polish. He pretended to hate us Poles. At first, he just walked past with a sneer and said: "Put your faith in your bayonet and put your bayonet in the Polack." But we often talked in Polish just to pass the time of day. Gradually, I learned enough Russian to impress the guard and I eagerly asked him for his old copies of Pravda. He was pleased to do it, thinking he had converted me to the Red Cause of Mother Russia.’ ..Tadeuz is now shaking with laughter and the cigarette smoke bounces off his ruddy cheeks. ..‘Aye, aye– Pravda, The Truth. Man I couldn’t lose. I was in good with the guards who considered me a real ‘Tovarisch--Comrade’ but I kept in with my fellow prisoners as well.’ ..I ask him how that could be. Wouldn’t being in good with the guards cause suspicion among his fellow prisoners? ..‘No, man, I was winning on all fronts, unlike the bloody Germans. I was learning Russian, thus getting free copies of Pravda– toilet paper, man, toilet paper. Better than grass, sticks or leaves. And very good insulation for our boots. No man in that camp ever lost toes to gangrene or frostbite. Best of all, it made lovely cigarette papers. Perfect. Our feet were warm, our arses were clean and we never ever ran out of smokes. All this helped me stay alive, you see, to save myself for a good girl after the War.’ .Tadeuz’ meaty hands are rolling another cigarette on my kitchen table. He is a true artist and survivor. His eyes twinkle as he sucks in the smoke with a great laughing gulp. His laugh-ter echoes throughout the kitchen. His smoke rings dance crazi-ly above his head. He rises to go, saying: .‘A man could do far worse, you know, than to inhale the Truth.’ back to the beginning