Day 8
Gdansk, Poland
We learned about amber. That it burns like a candle. That it’s used as incense in Catholic churches. That it floats. That you shouldn’t burn your jewelry just to prove it’s real.
We learned about witches. If you throw her in the river and she floats, she’s a witch and should be burned at the stake. If she drowns, then she’s not a witch. Accused women would try to drown since it was a nicer death, as far as deaths go.
If they wanted to punish you for stealing a horse, they’d cut out your tongue so you couldn’t make the clucking sound necessary to make a horse go. Can’t drive without the keys. Unless you figure out a way to hot-wire a horse.
If they wanted to ban you from the city, they’d take a hot poker with the city’s seal on it, and brand you on the forehead. That way you’d always be recognized as unwanted.
But what if you got kicked out of five cities? And your forehead looked like a passport?
And people couldn’t read, so they put giant animals on top of their houses so they could tell people, “I live in the turtle”, or the eagle or the fish or the raven. Or the pineapple. Olden-day address books.
Then WWII came along, and the men were killed or put in concentration camps. The city bombed beyond recognition. The women were never the same, and children weren’t told the truth of what happened. The destruction and the horror and the violent origins of their own existence.
The Neptune fountain in the square that had been standing naked for over 200 years had metal leaves added by the Communists. Right in front of his jewels. For modesty.
And after the war, it was cheaper to rebuild instead of razing what remained. A City of Facades. The outsides pretending to be old while the insides are glamorously new. The outsides pretending so hard that sometimes their windows started at a person’s feet and went to the waist, Turning Children into Giants when they bend down to look through the window. While other windows start at the shoulders and go to the ceiling, Turning Adults into Little Kids. Standing on their tippy toes to peek over the windowsill to the street below.
Oh, Gdansk. Such a mixed bag. Beautiful and sad and fake. And working on it.
But one rich guy liked his house so much, he put “PRO INVIDIA” on the outside in giant letters.
“For Your Envy.”
I want that on my license plate.
Of my mid-sized SUV.
In honor of Gdansk.