Page 18FCEBD2B-4FEB-41E0-A69A-B0D02E5410AERectangle 52 Przejdź do treści

Welcome to "Przekrój"!

In case you wonder where you are, and especially since you probably can’t pronounce the name of this website, here’s a little help. “Przekrój” (pron. ‘p-SHEH-crooy’) is the oldest magazine about society and culture in Poland. Now it’s also available in English!

“Przekrój” Magazine brings to the English reader some of the best journalism from across Central and Eastern Europe, in such fields as culture, society, ecology and literature. Stand aside from the haste and fierceness of everyday news and join us now!

Przekrój
Commissioner Maciejewski returns, this time for a criminal mystery involving the matter of an unexpected ...
2020-10-14 09:00:00
Who Made Me Ill?!

People were healthier in pre-war times than they are today. They didn’t use antibiotics, and they could conquer the common cold in only a week rather than seven days. Commissioner Maciejewski, on the other hand, did not suffer from any illnesses at all, maybe with the exception of the occasional hangover. Until that unfortunate autumn came around, that is...

Read in 3 minutes

Our protagonist woke up with muscle pains, a stuffy noise and heavy breathing. Two alarm clocks were ringing on his night table; both were a blur, as if he were gazing at them through a dirty window pane. And it wasn’t until Maciejewski pressed the button that they merged into one, only to drift apart again a moment later. The commissioner sat up on his bed and reached for a cigarette – as he would usually enjoy a smoke for breakfast – but he was repelled by the smell of the tobacco. That was when he realized that he was ill, perhaps even fatally ill. However, as one would expect of a pre-war state official, he pulled himself out from under the covers and was at the Criminal Investigation Department within an hour.

“Who made me ill?!” he growled in greeting. In a curt military-like manner, using language unsuitable for print in “Przekrój”, he proceeded to explain to his subordinates that the loss of a detective is always a heavy blow to the entire department. The loss of a leading investigator means chaos throughout the entire station. But in the case of a commissioner, the damage would be irreparable and would constitute a threat to public safety. “So which one of you infected me?” he demanded.

Deputy commissioner Kraft, who had just been pulling out a checkered handkerchief from his pocket, promptly put it away. In a hoarse voice, he replied that, indeed, in addition to excellent marks, his daughters did bring a nasty cold home from school, but he himself was feeling just splendid. To prove his point, he handed Maciejewski an excerpt of the nightly reports, written up within a quarter-hour in neat and even handwriting, without any ink blotches or papillary line impressions to speak of.

Detective Zielny fixed his brilliantined hair a tad bit nervously. Spots of sweat covered his forehead, but not because of fever, rather from worry. For the past few days, he’d had the suspicious feeling that he may have contracted a venereal disease while he was fulfilling his social surveillance duties.

Daniel Mróz – drawing from the archives (no. 785/1960)
Daniel Mróz – drawing from the archives (no. 785/1960)

“What’s that? You were using the services of prostitutes?!” Maciejewski grunted.

“I only drank tea from a chipped glass,” Zielny stubbornly stated and did not revoke his testimony. But he did remind the commissioner that the cash desk did not reimburse him for the carriage he had hired to go conduct a search at a suspect’s home a month ago.

The second agent, Fałniewicz, burst out laughing. At a bad moment, regretfully, because the sudden stir in his lungs caused him to cough. He had an explanation though, and a logical one at that. Having been assigned to observe a winery where gambling had probably been taking place in the back room, he certainly could not have revealed himself and was forced to smoke expensive Egyptian cigarettes instead of the wild tobacco he was used to. And that’s why he was having problems with his lungs. But he strongly believed that it would pass and soon he would be ready to make further sacrifices for the service.

Silence fell. Maciejewski astutely eyed his subordinates. He would see three clear figures at one moment and six blurry figures the next. He didn’t know what to say. However, as is often the case at the end of a crime mystery, Constable Lenz from the III District station unexpectedly showed up at the office of the Criminal Investigation Department. He was lively and joyous. His ink-stained fingers held a witness interrogation report.

“Commissioner,” he said, “we have a breakthrough in the case of...”

“It’s all your fault, Lenz!” Maciejewski adjudged, and added, “Say goodbye to the holiday leave I promised.”

“But why, Commissioner?” the policeman whimpered.

And indeed, why is that, Dear Readers?

 

Reveal the answer

Answer:

During a raging epidemic, one should pay special attention to personal hygiene, so individuals who do not wash their hands are highly suspicious. Moreover, clean hands on or off duty should be emblematic of any officer of the National Police (see: J. Hejwowski, Jak myć ręce i nogi? Zbiór instrukcyj higjeny dla funkcjonarjuszów niższych [How to wash your hands and feet? A collection of hygiene instructions for lower-rank officers], Zamość 1924).

 

 

Translated from the Polish by Mark Ordon

It’s not easy being funny. Thanks to your support, we can keep on making you laugh. Please consider making a donation to PRZEKRÓJ Foundation.

25 zł ≈ €5.50 / $6.50

* Required fields

Published:

Marcin Wroński

is a writer who was born in 1972. In 2017, he marked the 25th anniversary of his writing career, even though for the first 15 years he was an archetypal example of failure. As a result, he planned to write a saga titled “Historia nieudaczności” [A History of Failure], but he even failed at that. Popularity (and a living from his writing) came to Wroński from his retro mystery series about Lt Maciejewski, beginning in 2007 with “Morderstwem pod cenzurą” [Censored Murder]. In 2014, his “Pogrom w przyszły wtorek” [Pogrom Next Tuesday] won all possible awards for Polish crime writers, including the High Calibre Prize. But he will still go down in the history of this honourable award as its longest and most-frequently nominated. The newest work in this series is “Czas Herkulesów” [Time of the Hercules] (2017), and for next year the writer is planning a collection of crime stories featuring its hero capping off his investigation. Apparently a decade-long string of successes has ruined the author’s nerves.