THE SCOUNDREL - Ediotin Mosaic - Vienne - 1999, ISBN 3-901953-99-X

I am giving my memories free rein! For example I arrive in Sniatzn by train and immediately find myself in paradise. Diense, fragrant forests, swift waters of roaring mountain streams, where trout can be caught with one's bare hands, for in these waters they multiply as on the very first day of creation. Hawks circle in the sky, the sharp eye of the onlooker discovers the haughty falcons, wood grouses, mountain owls, a Transylvanian vulture, and with a bit of luck one can even spot the white eagle which does not all differ from the eagle on the Polish coat of arms. And there those patient small horses which even a child could lead to the stable without any difficulty at all for they were trained for centuries to obey blindly the human voice. There are people who insist that I should not delude myself, "I have to!" accept that my Galicia is now definitely a thing of the past. Am I therefore no longer a Galician by any chance? Could anybody at all erase my whole youth from my brain? The The first games with a football made of rags? Ther first touch by Hanka in my early school days? The walks in the month of may along the river Stryj, which had more stones and foam than milky, swift water? Memories of the taste fresh sour milk offered to me at Polonina, which might mean an endless alpine pasture in Englisch, full of mysterious scents, butterflies, mild sunshine, intoxicating flowers, mountain aster, sage little bluebells, gentian, mountain carnations... and whatever alse could be found on such pastures:gambolling rabbits, buzzing flies, ciws with eyes full of reproach for every stranger: " Why exactly are you disturbing our peace and quiet" Amidst this splendour they sang songs in praise of love and of freedom, recited poems of which they knew so many by heart that a whole night would scarcely be long enough to present all of them to an amazed world. Such memories cannot die, they save the Galician past from being wiped out.