The Three Mazceks
In Edinburgh, bisecting one of the parks, there is General Maczek’s Walk. It is easy to tell just by looking at the sign that this Maczek is not a Scotsman, at least originally- the name just doesn’t look the words do in that part of the world. A cshould not neighbour a z. That k, on the other hand, would surely be more comfortable with a c next to it. It is fortunate that we should know that General Maczek was from the East of Europe, where we can only infer that spelling conventions are entirely different. General Maczek lived in a big brick house at the foot of a hill, which was on one end of a village. This village was situated in a bowl of mountains, and on the other end of the village was a well, from which the village got its name: Welton. This was no ordinary well; rather, a well down which a great many people had fallen, and out of which a great number of people had climbed saying things that were very strange indeed: ‘The tyre will soon fall out of the tree,’ and so on. We leave the rest to the reader’s imagination. At this point, still early, we ought to admit that we have not been entirely honest: though the sign reads General Maczek, we were wrong to use this name, as everyone in the village called him Middle Maczek. They called him this because that house at the foot of the hill there lived no less than three Maczeks: as well as Middle Maczek, there was General Maczek, who was Middle Maczek’s father, and the Boy Maczek, who was Middle Maczek’s boy. General Maczek, then, though not the General Maczek of the sign, was a nonetheless a General, and in fact, with the Boy Maczek’s aging, there would come a point where grandfather, father, and son were all Generals. It was curious that General Maczek should choose such a name for himself, because being a general was something that he did only begrudgingly, and without much joy. He preferred to sit in the parlour, smoking and making card-houses, a trick he had picked up in Vienna. From whom, we would never say. Another thing he had picked up somewhere was his love for cooking. He particularly loved to make little parcels of filo pastry and to stuff them with various things: pine-nuts, soured cream, or the yet- unidentified green vegetable that grew in the garden. This dish, he always used to say, was very popular in the South, where he had once gone on holiday. To feel the glossy outer shell of the pastry stick to the roof of his mouth was to sit there by the sea all night, scratching himself and passing wind.
His father’s love for cooking often obliged Middle Maczek (who was still young) to fetch him things from the garden, or to venture into the smoky village. He did not mind the smoke: the house being so clean (as it was) and the village so smoky was a pleasant state of affairs, as one could pop into whichever situation one wished and get one’s fill. All sorts of things were sold in the village: Middle Maczek frequently remarked that the outlandish pumpkins being sold were likely to be made of paper maché or something like that. If not, what point was there in a vegetable being so big? And what animal was going to eat it that didn’t have pinching and grasping tools to cut it down to size? And similar questions which would probably never be answered. In his philosophical state of mind, the young Middle Maczek would return to the house, carrying a sack of turnips or radishes or something like that. He would swing the sack up with a colossal effort and watch it impact the butcher’s block. Then Middle Maczek would watch his father, General Maczek, dice up the vegetables in a way that made Middle Maczek glad he was not a vegetable.
It eventually became clear that Middle Maczek would not be able to spend his life transporting vegetables into his house: his father had plans for him. Those plans were for Middle Maczek to join the army with view of becoming a General. And so it was that one day a cart stopped by the house, pulled by a white horse. Middle Maczek was told that he was to get onto this cart and be whisked off to a military Academy, in which people put themselves on track to being Generals. The ride was long and bumpy, and Middle Maczek spent most of it sulking that he had so witlessly allowed himself to be coerced into the cart: his father had promised him that there was a beautiful young girl there who intended to hold him to her breast all the way to the Academy, and, having reached the age where that sort of thing becomes of particular interest, Middle Maczek bundled in. He busied himself with his appearance for a while before realising that the girl was not going to come at all, and it was at that point that he realised that he had been, as his grandfather (whose name I have sadly forgotten) used to say, ‘lied to as a bird at Christmas.’ The school in which Middle Maczek found himself was one which prided itself on sorting out things about people, and the first thing it set itself about sorting out was Middle Maczek’s appearance, which was, to use the slang of his village, ‘bum-like’. A moustached agent of the school wasted no time in ripping off the buttons of his waistcoat and telling him to go to the shower. In the shower there were only boys and a few young men. Middle Maczek, who was used to showering with his father and grandfather in town, was confused, but assumed that no-one older than eighteen had chanced to come in at that particular time. Middle Maczek was to sleep in a big brass bed on his own- this was quite different from the arrangement at home, whereby he shared his bed with his brothers, who were six, both in age and in number. Middle Maczek did not know how old he was. He had never thought to ask.
And so it was that Middle Maczek spent six years at the Academy learning to become a General. In that time he never once saw anyone whom he had not met after arriving there; that is, his family became a distant memory. His father transformed into something of a mystical figure in Middle Maczek’s eyes, as he was often assailed by comments by those wishing to express that they greatly admired his father and all he had done during the many Wars in which in he had represented his country, and that they hoped Middle Maczek had similar feats in him. Middle Maczek, however, could not entirely forget the way his father spoke of his own life: if General Maczek was to be believed, he had found himself adrift and terribly bored, and in need of a profession so as to become Respected, and had therefore decided to become a General. And so it had gone. General Maczek thus assumed a strange but assuming significance in his son’s mind.
In his time at the Academy, Middle Maczek was obliged to take various lessons, but the only ones in which he found something substantial and exciting were those concerning War. How could it be, he thought, that War happens? It is such an expensive endeavour, both in money and in time; one has move these great big armies to certain places in the hopes that they meet each other, and then they are able to ‘go at it’ for, say, thirty minutes? A day? Well, those longer instances of War are hardly exciting, he thought. Even in such a case it is likely to be several exciting interludes separated by tedious waiting. To spend days or even weeks marching somewhere for something that could well be measured in minutes hardly seemed the sort of thing people would want to do, and yet he could see all around him that it was just such a thing. Why else would there be Academies and Generals and lessons on War? It provided plenty of material for beneficial thought.
Middle Maczek, of course, was keenly aware that a time would come where he would cease to be at the Academy, and would instead be obliged to spend his time in War, wherever that ended up happening. It was lucky, then, that the beginning of the country beside his own to act as a source of some trouble coincided with his leaving the Academy, for it meant he had somewhere to go. At last he would be able to get to the bottom of it all. He rode in a carriage to the Front, which is where the War was happening. He spent the next month participating in War. This meant all kinds of things: riding a horse towards the Enemy and slashing at them with his sword. Sometimes he was able to fire a Gun. He and his compatriots would sometimes be obliged to Retreat, and pitch the War-tent elsewhere. He noticed that War was smoky, like the village of his childhood. Needless to say that Middle Maczek found it all terribly exciting, doing all of these new things. Eventually, though, it came to an end: his country was Beaten, and this meant that certain changes were in order. Middle Maczek was obliged to give his sword and his uniform to a man who wore a different uniform and did not speak the same language that he spoke, and to promise that he would go home and not cause any trouble. This he did, as someone who has never dreamt of causing any trouble, and whose curiosity about War has been satisfied.
When Middle Maczek arrived home his father was old. He had always been old, but now you could see it in his face, which bore wrinkles. You could see it in his hair- or rather, you couldn’t, because there was nothing to see. We mean that his hair had fallen out. When asked what he had been doing all of these years, General Maczek replied that he had been cooking, and smoking, and making card-houses in the parlour. General Maczek said that, although news was scant on account of the village’s remoteness, he had heard that Middle Maczek had been Beaten. This was a shame for General Maczek, who had rather hoped that his son would Beat someone, not be the recipient of a Beating. Then he asked if Middle Maczek would like some filo pastry and asked him to fetch some yet-unidentified vegetables with which to stuff them.
And so the years went by again. Middle Maczek found that he did not need a job, for what was a job except something which got you food and a bed, things which he had already. He could survive by carrying vegetables to his father and dividing his time between the smoky and the clean. He did not mind sharing his bed with his brothers, who were no longer six in age or number. One of them had died during his time away, which he found terribly sad. At a certain point Middle Maczek came to share his bed with someone else, just one. This was his Wife, who he first met not long after his return to the village. She was rather short and had curly hair. Middle Maczek found her appearance agreeable. She claimed to have seen him around the village as a child and enjoyed waiting to watch him walk past her window. She had grown terribly sad when he had one day disappeared, and had assumed that he was dead. She had therefore been delighted to see that he was not dead, and resolved to find out what his voice sounded like. This being pleasing to her, she resolved to have him ask her to marry him. Finding no objection, Middle Maczek obliged her, and asked her to marry him, to which she said Yes. And so it was that they were Married. Being Married brought a few things which were unfamiliar. Firstly, it meant that he was no longer obliged to fetch things for his father, as his Wife did this for him. This left him to sit in the parlour and think about things, which quickly came to take up most of his time. Secondly, it meant being Intimate with someone, which was agreeable but not exactly what he had expected. Thirdly, it meant that Middle Maczek soon came into possession of a Son. It was unfortunate that one day his wife ended up dead, leaving Middle Maczek with one Son and one Son only.
Middle Maczek’s Son did many things which were unfamiliar to him. He cried, which Middle Maczek had no memory of having done himself. As his Son got older, he began to draw things, and then he began to speak. After a few years, he began to paint things, first badly, then well. Eventually the Boy Maczek (this was his name) gained a reputation about town for his painting, and started a Business of selling people paintings. They were allowed to choose what the painting depicted, but the Boy Maczek reminded them that he was the painter, and so they ought not be too authoritarian in their commands. Those being too authoritarian would be refused in their requests, and other clients would be sought- after all, there was no shortage, as everybody wished to have a Boy Maczek to hang in their house. Middle Maczek found the painting fine, but one thing which he did not like which the Boy Maczek did was hang around the well at the other end of the village. He would come home saying very strange things indeed, and Middle Maczek found this disruptive to a productive dinner-time. For example, he might ask the Boy Maczek for the salt, and the Boy Maczek might reply that people oughtn’t live in henhouses all the time. General Maczek was no help, for he just sat there eating his filo pastry and passing wind.
One day Middle Maczek asked his father, General Maczek, what he thought the Boy Maczek ought to do with his life. General Maczek passed wind and said that there were not many things he could think of, other than for the Boy Maczek to become a General. The Boy Maczek was predictably outraged at such a suggestion. He said that he considered his father to be a tyrant, and that he wished he could break up these little conspiracies he saw his father having with General Maczek. He could not imagine that there was anything being discussed in such circles which was not undeniably wicked. Middle Maczek felt that he was obliged to Command his son to go to the Academy, and did so. He was sad to see his son go, and made a point of watching the cart until it disappeared over the horizon.
Years passed, until one day Middle Maczek received a letter. It read as follows:
Knew how to write all along. Was me who kept changing those words in the cookbook. Enjoyed my time at the Academy. Realised I have held you to high account for your tyranny, which pales in comparison to the Academy’s. I apologise. Kept painting. Going to be an army painter. Going to the Front tomorrow. If I see you it will be bad news. It was when you saw your father again.
M
Middle Maczek was touched that his son had thought to write, and warm thoughts of him dominated his thinking-sessions. He had not been able to get out of the habit of thinking after his wife had died, and so was now obliged to split his time between thinking and his errands about town.
It was indeed bad news when the Boy Maczek returned home. He reported that their country had been Beaten again, and so badly that the Enemy felt it necessary to involve themselves in their country and assert this fact. He said that it would be hours before they arrived, and that he wished to have a meal with his father and grandfather. This being agreeable to them, they agreed. General Maczek was to cook, Middle Maczek was to fetch things, and the Boy Maczek was to set the table. General Maczek chopped the vegetables more viciously than ever, once Middle Maczek had bustled about town looking for whatever took his fancy. The Boy Maczek set the table in a way that all found most agreeable, with candles and little pieces of holly which he had saved for just such an occasion. In truth, the Boy Maczek had always expected that such a day would come, and so had developed a plan to ensure that it was agreeable, that being the plan that was just then unfolding. And so it came to pass that the three of them were sat at the table, the food steaming hot, the candles lit, and a mix of old and new aromas floating through the air. They held hands and said thanks for their food, something which was not normally done but somehow suited the mood.
As the three ate happily, exactly as they pleased, preparations were being made to let the sea in and flood the village with water. Permission was asked, and permission was granted just as the sun sank below the horizon. In the new night the sea was let in and it surged with energy over the village, washing away all of the buildings. Before long there was no trace of the village, and one might not know it had ever been there. Its inhabitants, however, had certainly known that it was there. They had invested their entire lives into it, and found that there was nothing whatsoever to regret in that.
Many have found themselves touched by this story, told as it is in dive bars and supermarkets, and a circle of writers in Edinburgh thought it worth commemorating in some way. It seemed appropriate that they should name after him a path that bisects a park which, though small, is an exceptionally pleasant place to be. I myself have some very fond memories of walking through it- with friends, alone; the both are quite lovely. It was decided that the General Maczek on the sign should refer to Middle Maczek, as, though all three were generals, it is understood that signs of this type should refer to a specific person. This specific person is Middle Maczek for no reason other than that he is in the middle of the three Maczeks- as he is neither the oldest nor the youngest, the writers avoid being accused of discriminating on the grounds of age or any other factor. And so it was that Middle Maczek got his sign. I often walk past the sign and, feeling a warm sensation, feel inspired to think. The sign never looks lovelier than on a summer evening where everything sways in rhythm.