Sailors on the Inward Sea Read Online Free PDF

remembered him, present himself to them and to the land for which he harbored an almost mystical attachment. And yet, proud as he was, he felt a certain trepidation. He was not sure what his feelings would be when he opened a door or turned into a familiar street and encountered a stranger who would come into focus with a name as suddenly as a landscape does when one adjusts binoculars. He had the rather odd notion that he might sense his own life going backward at such a moment, repossessed by the past.
    When Conrad and his family left Harwich for Hamburg in late July 1914, traveling with old Polish friends, he knew that the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife had been assassinated in Sarajevo a month earlier; that, only days before he sailed, Austria-Hungary had delivered an ultimatum to Serbia. But those events were like distant thunder, he said, unnerving, but not enough to worry about, certainly not enough to force a postponement of the visit. Only full-scale war could do that, and no one was predicting such a dire turn of events.
    From Hamburg they traveled by train across Germany. When they reached the border with Poland, Conrad said that he felt as if his spirit was infused with the rolling farmland, a sensation that deepened over the hours, preparing the way for his first glimpse of Cracow, whose spires rose dark against the waning light. Through the window of the cab they took from Central Station he watched the lights of the city coming on, the streetlights running off in the distance, the lights of shops and apartments in the old buildings where he could see people inside, Cracow sparkling like a Christmas tree, a shower of stars, fireworks.
    He rose early the next morning and left while Jessie and Borys were still asleep. As he pushed open the intricate metal doors of the Hotel Pod Roza and stepped outside he felt like Rip van Winkle. Nothing had changed. He walked a mile or so and then returned for Borys, taking him to the old Florian Gate, where they sat a while on a bench watching the pigeons in the Great Square, then on to Poselska Street, where he had followed the funeral cortege of his father, Apollo. They went on to St. Mary’s Church and down the street, the stained stone buildings impregnated with so many memories that he felt as if he were walking past pictures in a museum dedicated to his family’s life. At the university they walked through the great courtyard into the Jagellon Library, where they were metby a man who knew not only Conrad’s work but his father’s as well. Saying there was something on the second floor that Conrad would find interesting, the librarian guided them up the ornate old staircase and into a small room where he removed from a cabinet a collection of manuscripts and letters written by Apollo. Conrad spent half an hour reading them, translating fiery political writings for Borys—grandfather, son, and grandson together awhile in that quiet old building, reunited by language and memory.
    That day and the next were colored by the powerful experience in the Jagellon Library. Apollo’s voice seemed to echo in his head as he herded his family from one site to another. And then, overnight, everything changed. Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. A few days later, on August 1, Germany declared war on Russia and sent troops into France.
    Over the next few days Cracow became a military depot, its once peaceful streets jammed with lorries and soldiers, the incessant noise drowning out the sound of cathedral bells except very early in the morning and late at night, when they sounded as if they were tolling the loss of a way of life that would come no more. In the Hotel Pod Roza a steady stream of guests descended the stairs to the lobby, which was chest-deep in luggage, the guests waiting in long lines to pay their bills while others stood at the curb outside, frantically hailing cabs. Conrad wanted to return to Britain but Jessie could hardly walk and Borys had