Chapter two: What will happen

Children of the Street 
By: Janusz Korczak

Translation: courtesy of the Korczak educational institute of Israel

B. What will happen? 

Antek and Mania walked silently, holding the man's strong hand.

Antek struggled with his thoughts.

An hour ago, he was still wandering along the avenue, selling flowers. Then he met this strange man, listened to him. Then he left the man and sold flowers again. Then he bought cigarettes, got into a fight with Witzek, ran away. Then...

"What will happen to us now?" - he asked himself.

Maybe his father took the money and will kidnap him back? Maybe he will run away himself without waiting for help, seize the opportunity and escape? And if he runs away, what will happen to Mania?

He tried to free his hand. It was impossible. The man held him tightly.

No. It's not worth running away. We have to see how it will be. Running away is always possible.

He won't leave Mania alone. Mania - a child, a fool, she won't manage on her own. Maybe it will be better for him over there?

Oh, it certainly won't be better. The stranger will take him from Warsaw, and in Warsaw it is cheerful and well. It used to be different. Antek didn't know yet how to do business, for some reason he was ashamed he earned only a little money and was beaten by his father. But now he always has his own ruble, for cigarettes, and he can invite his friends to drink beer on his account, and Sascha Kempa[1], and a circus... 

Maybe this gentleman has a circus? Antek knew what a circus is. A large hall[2], thousands of people. Lights are on. The arena is covered with yellow sand. An orchestra is playing. Servants wearing frocks, gloves on their hands, with gold stripes near their pockets. So much gold, so much light and hustle and bustle. Everyone applauds. A rider appears on horseback, wearing tight-fitting pants, a velvet belt studded with glittering colored tin plates encircling his body. The rider bows and everyone applauds. The orchestra starts playing again. A clown says something, falls, runs around, calls to servants, slaps them in the face, intentionally to provoke laughter. Everyone laughs. The rider sets the horse on a gallop. The horse is beautiful, fat, with a thin neck and he walks in a strange, but beautiful way. The show begins. The saddle is flat and the acrobat leaps onto it.  Throws balls and catches them in the air. Jumps through a hoop on which thin paper is stretched and wide ribbons flutter from it. The orchestra increases the volume of its playing. The horse increases the pace of its gallop, leans towards the center of the arena. And the rider does not fall. 

Oh, how beautiful it is!

Or the acrobat on the trapeze. He has also seen children younger than them[3]. Oh, it is really wonderful! 

Antek quickened his pace. They are already leaving Powisle[4]. In a moment they will reach the center of the city. 

Where is he taking them? The stranger walks with measured steps without looking at his prisoners.

Antek continues to think.

Will he manage to quickly learn how to jump from trapeze to trapeze? In the circus, they hit you. And after all, the man bought him. Why did his father sell him? Of course, three thousand rubles. Now his father is rich. Maybe he'll buy himself a carriage and a coachman.

Antek was suddenly seized with panic and tried to run away. The children of Powiśle were afraid to be in the city center at such an hour. But the stranger's hand gripped his small hand as if it were an iron ring. His bones creaked at the joints.

The street was flooded with bright lights. There were no pedestrians, but vehicles raced down the middle of the road as young people do. Loud shouts and bursts of laughter echoed around.

- I don't want to walk anymore - says Antek.

- Are you afraid? - asked the stranger

- No.

- So why don’t you want to come?

- Just because.

- You can go back to your father if you don’t want to stay with me.

- Sure.

- You don’t believe me?

- You’ll probably take us somewhere even the devil himself couldn’t find us.

- I’m telling you, you can return.

- You think my dad will give you back the money, sir?

- I suggest we continue this conversation at the hotel.

- Oh well - the boy agreed.

At the street corner stood a hotel.

- Is it far?" Antek asked.

- No, right there, across the street."

They crossed the street and entered through a large gate; wide stairs led to the left, covered with carpets. On the mezzanine floor, a large mirror sparkled. The lighting was as bright as in a circus. Antek looked around curiously. Mania hesitated, stepping on the soft carpets in her shabby shoes.

The hotel porter glanced at them with such a threatening look as they entered.

They reached the room.

At the entrance they were greeted by an old man, probably the master's servant, for he had removed his coat. The presence of the children did not surprise him. The old man was tall, with gray, dull eyes, thick white eyebrows, and a moustache and hair that sparkled as if they were made of silver. He said nothing.

- Go, Matzy, pay the bill and order a carriage."

- At once, sir.

The servant gave a military turn and left.

Please, enter the next room

Antek entered the adjacent room, and Mania followed him. Antek realized the girl saw him as her protector, and this filled him with pride.

I want to know what you're planning to do with us, sir.

You'll find out soon enough. For now, I won’t tell you anything."

Then we won’t go with you."

I'll have you arrested. You were involved in a knife fight—I saw it.

That's not true, I didn’t have a knife," Antek denied boldly.

- I saw it with my own eyes. Now go, discuss it between yourselves, and decide: either you come with me, or you go to prison.

More than one of Antek's friends had already "done time". The boys even boasted about it, sharing all sorts of stories. They were the nobility of the gang. But Antek… he was still afraid of the prison walls and iron bars.

The stranger closed the door behind the children.

You know, Mania, I'm hungry—Antek began, pretending not to be worried.

Me too — said Mania.

 He should give us something to eat.

Are you going to tell him that?

Why not? What's he going to do to me? If he had money to buy us, he can give us food now.

Antek, don’t do it.

I will.

And Antek, without really knowing what he was doing, opened the door and said:

• Sir, we want some food.

• There’s food in my travel bag—the stranger replied calmly—The bag is on the shelf.

• Well, Mania, go ahead, take it. Look, what food! Sausage! Bread! Take it, start. - They began eating. Antek stuffed his mouth first.

• What I think is this: he’s rich. He has money. We can be careful so he doesn’t do anything bad to us. It won’t hurt to try. Maybe it’ll work. Or we’ll run back home, or somewhere else. After all, we can earn money anywhere, right? And it’ll be even better—what we earn will be just for us. And here we have to give it to the old folks. What do you say?

• I don’t know—Mania replied.

• You don’t know anything—Antek said impatiently—Look at these rich folks, I’m telling you, they live like kings. Just look at that bed, huh? We’ll probably have a bed like that too. I’d just lie down all the time... because rich people don’t get up at all, I’m telling you, maybe only in the afternoon or something like that. What’s the harm? But why did he pay Dad if he could’ve picked up some street kids from the Vistula banks for free? What do you say?

• I don’t know.

• You’re stupid. So, I’m going. And you?

• Me too.

• Wait, just don’t run. Do you know how to climb a roof or a tree, or jump from a window? I have no problem with that.

A dark glint suddenly lit up in Mania's eyes.

- I don't want to go home—she said decisively.

- Why?

- Just because.

- Was it bad for you?

- Yes, bad.

 - What were you missing?

Mania didn't answer.

- And what if it gets worse?

- Then I'll hang myself.

- Shur...

- You know how Stashka hung herself.

- Stashka is something else. And they cut her off from the rope, you know.

The servant with the white mustache came in, took the belongings and packed everything into the suitcase without uttering a word. He collected the leftover food and put it in the travel bag.

- We are going—the stranger said

He took the children by the hands. They went down the same steps they had come up earlier. Again, the same mirror, the carpets, the gas flames. Again, the hotel porter with the menacing look.

The carriage was waiting for them at the gate.

They got into the carriage. The door slammed. Antek would not have admitted for anything in the world that a shiver of fear had run through his body. He was only twelve. What would happen now?

They drove along a wide, well-lit street. Then they returned to the dark streets. They crossed an iron bridge[5]. The lanterns along the riverbank were reflected in the water and moved with the waves like golden snakes. The city was outlined in lines against the dark sky. The carriage wheels clattered loudly on the iron plates of the bridge.

Then Praguea, the park on their left. Low houses, empty lots, buildings submerged in darkness, a square, a brick factory, fences.

A large building rose before them; light shone from its windows, the railway station[6].

They went out onto the platform. The silent servant hurried to the ticket office to buy tickets. Now they were walking on the cobblestones. The railway tracks stretched into the distance. And here were the carriages. They were sitting on a cart for transporting goods and passengers. The gentleman with the glasses was holding their arms tightly.

AAntek was dozing off. He saw a large circus, a building with a jail, the room in the tavern where his father took from him the money he had collected during the day. He saw a stern-faced porter of the hotel, beating him. He saw the silent servant. A group of card players on the bank of the Vistula; he himself was playing "belt"[7], here was Sascha Kempe[8];Vysek threatens him with his fist, some lady in a velvet cape buys a large bundle of flowers from him and gives him a whole ruble, Vysek leaps at him, he stabs him with a knife. Vysek falls. A crowd gathers and suddenly a policeman wearing dark glasses, wrapped in a coat with a raised collar, arrives. The policeman grabs him by the waist and throws him into the river. Antek doesn't drown, but he drifts and drifts and drifts...

Manya wasn’t sleeping. Her large, dark eyes wandered across the sky, between the stars. She wasn’t thinking about anything at that moment—just tired and drowsy.

Antek shivered. A loud thunderclap roared above his head, shattering his illusions.

The first bell rang.

The locomotive approached with a whistle, aligning with the row of beams. A clank—the cars jolted together, then recoiled abruptly. The engine whistled again. Steam burst from its chimney.

The conductor approached, eyeing the group curiously: a well-dressed gentleman with two ragged children.

What did he care? He’d received three rubles and was providing them with a private compartment.

"Please, follow me."

They entered the first-class carriage. Again, soft sofas like in the hotel; seats covered in velvet. Linoleum on the floor. Overhead, nets for placing belongings. A steady light glowed from glass lampshades. Cool night air flowed through the window. Stars sparkled in the sky.

It was cold for the children. The elderly servant pulled a blanket from one of the bags and handed it to them.

"Take it, Manya," said Antek. "Cover yourself."

"And you?"

"I'm warm," Antek replied, though his teeth were chattering. He got up and stood by the window.

A second bell rings. The station's activity increases, and their compartment feels like a small room. Shadowy figures move along the platform, and ticket inspectors' lanterns flicker. The station master's red hat stands out against the yellow background of the third-class car window. Through the waiting hall windows, people are seen sleeping on the floor, their heads resting on their belongings—men, children, and women, likely waiting for the morning train. Antek sees it all as if through a fog, with a hum filling his ears.

A third bell rings. A sharp, short whistle commands. The locomotive responds with a prolonged, hoarse whistle, almost indifferent. On top of a round iron barrel, a hammer rises and falls, producing a strange sound. The train reverses, halts, and then begins to move forward.

They are on their way.

The wheels of the carriage clatter against the iron tracks. The carriage sways slightly on its axles, like a boat on the Vistula after a large ship passes by. A small hut appears with a man standing beside it, holding a red lantern. Further ahead stands a pole with a red light at its top. The carriage wheels make a sharp clinking sound there.

They continue traveling.

The crescent moon illuminates the sky. The fields lie in partial darkness, with no houses in sight. The trees seem deep in thought, their bare, stiff branches hanging over the canal along the railway.

The gray-haired servant sits in the corner, dozing with his eyes closed, looking almost lifeless. Meanwhile, the man who bought them sits in the opposite corner, observing them intently. His steely gaze scrutinizes their figures, measuring them from their wild hair to their torn, mud-covered shoes. His stare weighs heavily on the children.

The children are gripped with fear from this strange, powerful gaze.

The fields whisper a silent prayer, but the children neither hear nor understand it. They know only the language of the city—the language of malice, loud, cynical, mocking, and cunning: the language of pleasure-seekers looking for entertainment. Though the city holds other sounds—the sounds of labor and progress, but street children are unfamiliar with them.

A prolonged whistle sounds as the train slows down. Now the gaze lingers longer now on a pine tree and its needles, on a peasant’s hut. In the distance, lights appear—rows of illuminated, square windows from a factory building. The train halts. A bell rings, voices call out, and there’s a final signal. The journey continues. The children see it all as if through a thick fog.  

“Go to sleep,” the man says.

They obey. The elderly servant spreads a blanket over the seat, and both children lie down. Their thoughts tangle and swirl with the fading events as they drift off. A cool breeze blows from the window. The man pulls the fabric shade to dim the lamp. It is dark now. The children fell asleep.

The stranger rises quietly and approaches the window, sticking his head out to observe the changing landscape. His lips move silently—perhaps calculating profits from the children he purchased, confessing to inner turmoil, making a decision, or maybe even praying.

Telegraph poles pass by like a line of giant soldiers standing guard. The web of wires repeatedly weaves before his eyes, like delicate spider webs. A spark flies into the compartment, prompting the man to close the window and sit down. Beyond the glass, thousands of glowing flashes rush by.

The train stops—bell chimes, voices, whistles—and then it races onward again. A yellowish, misty dawn rises at the horizon’s edge. The autumn sun slowly ascends, as clouds shimmer in hues of yellow-pink, shifting to crimson, gold, and silver.

"Children, get up!"

"What?" Antek asks without opening his eyes.

"Get up. We're getting off immediately."

"Mmm..."

Antek rubs his eyes and looks around. So, this isn't his attic? He remembers everything that happened. He touches Mania. She jumps up.

"Coming, coming, just a moment!"

She opens her eyes in wonder.

Two children, dressed in rags, both frightened, sit on the plush cushions of a first-class compartment, illuminated by the light of the autumn sunrise.

Sold...

"We're getting off."

The elderly servant packs their belongings, takes the travel bag down from the luggage rack.

The train comes to a stop.

It is a small station in the middle of a field. Dark forests loom on the horizon, and all around, nothing but endless fields covered in the stubble of harvested crops, like the bristles of a coarse brush. A vast sea of fields, calm, solemn.

The stationmaster removes his hat in honor of Antek and Mania’s patron and examines the newcomers with curiosity.

A carriage waits by the station. They climb in and take their seats.

The coachman takes the reins without uttering a word of greeting. They set off.

The train moves alongside them, overtakes them, and disappears around a bend beyond the edge of the forest in a cloud of smoke.

The carriage sways along the road, the horses gallop swiftly. The linden trees lining the path divide the vast fields into two long rows. The sun casts its light at an angle.

Antek looks around in confusion.

Is this where they are supposed to live? And what about the circus, the lights, the streets, the houses, the carriages, the gas street lamps, the cheerful crowds?

He glances at Mania.

The girl gazes around with curiosity, her sun-kissed face, slightly flushed from the chill, expressing a feeling of admiration—perhaps even a longing. Her eyes linger on every tree, following every stone in the road’s pavement. It seemed as if her gaze was caressing the nature so unfamiliar to her, so unknown.

A vague feeling stirred within the girl’s soul, something resembling the warm embrace of a dreamlike vision, something rising, appearing from the depths of the night’s dreams.

Here is a village. Peasant cottages stretch like links in a chain, nestled between the fields, lining the road. Here is a church. A trembling, silvery bell chime rises to the heavens. The church towers over the village.

The carriage comes to a halt.

The four of them turn toward the church’s entrance. The first red rays of sunlight filter through the white windows, illuminating the modest altar.

The gentleman and Mania kneel.

Antek looks around.

"It's ugly here", he thought to himself. "The church in Warsaw is completely different. The bell can be heard from afar, so much echo, so many people. And here—empty and miserable. And there, the organ plays much more beautifully."

The gentleman buried his face in his hands and knelt motionless on the stone floor. Mania knelt beside him, bowed her head to her chest, sighed heavily, and whispered something. Antek was angry: he felt that something was rising between them, like a high wall, like a gaping abyss. She knelt and prayed, while he was ready to laugh and mock; she walked, awestruck, toward this new life awaiting her here, while he was furious and bored.

At last, they stepped out and climbed into the carriage.

Once again, peasant cottages. In the middle of the road, a line of geese waddled on their clumsy legs. Here and there, a pig lay in the mud, rooting in the dirt with its snout. Elsewhere, a dog barked, startled geese cried out in unison. A child walked behind a cow, urging it forward with a switch.

Antek thought to himself:

"I won’t live here. If I have to go somewhere, it will be to a big city. Even to China or Turkey, or anywhere… That gentleman will regret dragging me here. Either I’ll curse him all the time, or I’ll get up and run away."

They passed through a second village. The same sights once again.

“I want to smoke,” Antek suddenly said, as loudly as possible, waiting for a prohibition.

Let him dare. And then I’ll tell him the whole truth: "Who do you think you are, my father or something? My father lets me smoke, but you won’t? You bought me. What am I, some animal that can be bought? Are you taking me to the slaughterhouse or what? I don’t want to travel any further, and that’s that."

Fine, let him try to force me. I’ll make such a scene that a policeman will come, and that fool is probably afraid of the police. There has to be something rotten in all of this.

“I want to smoke a cigarette,” Antek repeated.

“You smoke?” the gentleman asked.

The old servant, who had seemed asleep, opened his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Antek answered boldly.

“I don’t have any cigarettes,” said the gentleman.

“But I do,” the boy replied.

“Then go ahead and smoke.”

Antek didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt ashamed. He hesitated, awkwardly pulling out a cigarette from somewhere. A few matches went out before he managed to light it. He felt his patron’s calm, thoughtful, and sad gaze fixed on him.

Antek took his first drag. On the second, a fit of coughing seized him.

He flared up in sudden anger.

“Mania, stop pushing. Sit still.”

“Sit here, Mania,” the patron said, taking her hand and seating her between himself and the old servant.

“I don’t know why I’m even going,” Antek began, muttering curses under his breath. “I don’t want to live here anyway. I don’t need charity, and I don’t need a guardian. I supported my father myself in Warsaw. You can keep Mania if she wants to stay here.”

Antek noticed something important—this man wasn’t going to hit him. He had to take advantage of that.

The landscape had become more mountainous. Here and there, peasant cottages stood on hills at the edge of the forest. The sun had risen higher, but thick patches of mist still clung to the fields.

Finally, they spotted a high wall in the distance, covered in climbing vines. Above it, only the roof of a building peeked out. A strange coldness and a mysterious severity seemed to drift from beyond that wall. It separated the building from the village, which stretched much farther beyond a stream flowing behind it.

The carriage stopped. The four of them got down. The driver raised his cap slightly in farewell, cracked his whip through the air with a sharp snap, and drove off.

They walked toward a peculiar house. The path led through an avenue of linden trees. They stopped before a rusty iron gate. The bell rang with a muffled sound.

They all waited a long moment until a heavy clank was heard—the sound of an iron bolt falling—and a narrow door swung open on its own.

The large courtyard was empty. To the right, a narrow passage led into a garden. Aside from that passage, the massive building stretched across the entire width of the courtyard. In its front stood heavy oak doors.

"Something about this doesn’t sit right with me", Antek thought and, without realizing it, glanced back.

At that moment, the iron gate slammed shut with a deep thud.

A knock was heard again, and one of the oak doors at the front of the house opened.

“Follow me,” said a stranger.

Mania clutched Antek’s hand, as if seeking his help.

“Go to hell,” Antek muttered through his teeth.

[3]  Korczak protested against training young children to work in circuses in his article "Children in the Circus and Photographs." He also wrote about children's performances in circus arenas and the harmful influence of the circus on children in his article "Theater for Children."

[4] In the 19th century, this name referred to two areas along the Vistula River. Large factories operated there, and the area was densely populated. The houses were typically made of wood, the streets were unpaved and unlit, and there was no sewage system. The area was frequently flooded. Today, Powiśle is a suburb of Warsaw located on the left bank of the river.

[5]  This was the official name of the Alexander Bridge at that time. The people called it the Kyabdzhi Bridge, named after its designer, Stanislav Kirvets. The bridge was inaugurated on November 24, 1864, with a wide road running across it and a pedestrian walkway on both sides. The bridge was protected by high steel bars on both sides. Today, the Słowońsk-Dąbrowski Bridge stands in its place.

[6]  This refers to the St. Petersburg station, built in 1862 at the corner of Wilenska and Targowska streets. It was a central station at the end of the Petersburg-Warsaw railway. The building burned down in 1915 and is now the building of the regional administration of the state railway.