A "FRIENDLY" POLISH FIGHT

One day the inhabitants of our shtetel heard a huge commotion in the town square.  It was near the Roth House, the big center building that held the shtetel’s main stores, the police station, the beer halls, and other administrative offices and stores important to the lives of our people.

Almost the entire population ran down to see what proved to be a very disturbing spectacle.

Two young Poles were in a bloody fight.  I, too, watched with trepidation, and yet fascination.  It was not at all an even match.  One was a tall, broad shouldered, almost mature, man, the other was a younger, slim (almost frail), scared looking youth.

The older one held the younger by his shirt collar, hitting him in the face with his fist.  Blood was running from the younger man’s nose.  The more that the younger one wanted to free himself, the more punishment he received from the older, bigger male.

People watched with curiosity, but no one wanted to interfere.

I saw the tregers (the transportation carriers – the strong Jews who for hire carried barrels and sacks of produce and occasionally even heavy tables and other furniture), and also the horse traders (who were strong unafraid young men), observing, but not interfering.

I remember the saying, "When Poles fight among themselves, the Jews must stay away, because the Poles are likely to stop their disagreement and attack the Jews instead."

I must have been only about six or seven years old, but I clearly remember every aspect of the incident.  The curse that the older man kept on repeating again and again was etched into my memory.

"TWOJA MATKA BYLA PORZADNA KOBIETA, ALE TY JESTES SKURWYSYN, etc"  

Meaning: "Your mother was a pious, fine lady, but you are a bastard, a son of a bitch, a son of a whore, and a grandson of a whore!"

I have forgotten most of my Polish language skills, but these strange swear words stay with me.  Even the whole incident will often steal into my dreams with all the details vividly intact.

Occasionally we saw the younger male managing to hit back by smashing one of his fists into his opponent’s stomach.  The older man became enraged and shouted louder and louder.  He found a whiskey bottle and hit it against a brick wall creating a ragged, serrated edge with which to try to hit his opponent’s face while he screamed: "I am going to kill you, I’ll kill you."

The fighting, and the younger man’s struggles to get away, continued for what seemed to be hours, all over and around the square.

No police intervened.  The two men often fell in the muddy roadway.  Their clothes became dirty and torn.  At one time the younger man found a wooden plank with a large nail sticking out of it.  He tried to hit the older one with this big rusty nail.  When this failed, he tried to escape to the open area at the end of the town.  The large pasture would give him more space to maneuver away from the man who was apparently trying to kill him.

Finally, bloody, tired, exhausted, energy all used up, both men fell down in a deep muddy hole.

For a while it was very quiet.  Had one or both of them died?  Then the voice of the older male was heard: "Tell me why we are fighting?" And a weaker voice replied, "I really don’t know.  I didn’t start it."

Two women (perhaps wives) pulled them out of the mud hole.  Someone suggested that they come and have a beer.

They went into the beer hall.  We heard laughter and singing.

Later, much later, we saw the women dragging their drunken men home.

It again became quiet in the shtetel.  The police finally appeared and sat down on a bench.  Everyone else went home to eat their suppers.

I was too agitated to sleep, and even after a lifetime of many decades, I can still see this bloody fight, and hear the swear words that remain stashed away in my consciousness.

"TWOJA MATKA BYL A PORZADNA KOBIETA, ALE TY JESTES SKURWYSYN, etc."