and don’t skate on the surface with airplanes. You see? Henwants America.”nAnd America is approaching. Already, we are over thenNorth Sea, the captain announces, then the Atlantic, thennCanada seems to be below us. We are flying — me and rnyntwo Michaels inside me, the Yokel and the Wanderer, thenHomebody and the Traveler. Like a little red apple cut into ancross and rock-and-roll, like Coca-Cola and kvass.nAt last we are asked to fasten our seat belts. The airport!nStamps — the suitcase — WELCOME! — you must benAndrzej and Krystyna — kisses — searching for a taxi —ninstead of setting the sun is blinding — we’re driving —nwhat’s new with Zosia — and Aunt Anka — and the queuesn— and “Solidarity” — and here’s the bay — do you see thenyachts? — and here’s Brooklyn — we get out — elevator,ndoors — three locks — it’s hot Andrzej, turn on the airnconditioner — you sit, Michael, catch your breath — drinknsomething — eat — and tell us everything. . . .nI talk, looking at them with suspicion. Am I really innAmerica? Let me go to the window and look out.n”What are you looking at? You haven’t eaten yet.”n”The cars,” I say.n”What about the cars?”n”Aren’t they too long?”n”No,” they say.n”This is America. Here everything is bigger. The cars arenbigger. The shops are bigger. The trees are bigger. The fishnare bigger. The speeds are faster. The successes are greater.nThe adversities are more intense. The steaks are larger. Donyou understand?”n”I do.”n”O.K., do you want whiskey, gin, vodka, wine, juice, orncola?”n”A pint of beer and to bed.”n”If you’d like to sleep, let’s go to my house.”nI grab my suitcase and we run to the subway. … I get annexplanation as to where, what, how much, the route,ntransfers.n”We get out here.”nThe sign says “Nassau.” We take the stairs to the surface.nIt’s strange: it’s New York, Brooklyn, but the houses are likenthose in Grajewo. Only the colors are more vivid andndaring.n”Greenpoint,” you explained, “is a Polish neighborhood,”nand over there, across the river, you pointed out thentops of the skyscrapers, and I saw one with a sloping roofnThere . . . Manhattan.nManhattan! …n”Tomorrow we’ll get you maps and tourist guides. You’llnsit and make a plan. Roam around for a week. And then tonwork. Here, time is money.”nIn the morning I buried myself in the maps and guides.nFamous streets and famous names; my hands are trembling.nBroadway! Central Park! The Empire State Building!nEast River, the Hudson, Long Island, Fifth Avenue, Forty-nSecond Street. . . .nStatue of Liberty!n”Take this pill, otherwise you won’t be able to sleep. . . .”nI swallowed it. I fell asleep. No dreams. Until there was anhowl, a roar under the windows. I jumped . . . then satn30/CHRONICLESnnndown wondering if it was an alarm?! What’s going on? Is itnWodd War III? To the window. I saw a car with flashingnlights and the sign POLICE like the ones you see in thenAmerican TV series.nTo the bathroom. One, two, oh, to Manhattan. Alreadynshaved and teeth taken care of, and perfumed, and dressed,nequipped with tourist guides, already at Nassau Station. Thentoken was bought. Inserted. Platform.nThe wall tiles full of scrawls. And something stinks . . .nStinks? Or maybe it doesn’t stink? It’s different here, cents,npounds. So maybe the odors are rearranged as well?nClamor—alligator GC is creeping out of the tunnel. Hownfull it is of scribbles! And in the middle, flourishes—black,npink, blue. A black man keeps his legs high up on a pipe,nchews, reads. A pale fellow chews ads, oh, the New YorknTimes. A fatso is standing with earphones, bouncing,nswaying, dancing with himself, with his reflection in thenwindowpane. A woman is reading hieroglyphics from thenend to the beginning, in columns. A red-haired man isntransporting something green in a jar, something alive,nreptile-cicada-insect . . . teasing it with a pen. The atmospherenis African-Italian-Puerto Rican. International. Multilingual.nWell, well … It has begun. Here one can get anshock.n’Manhattan!’ crows the Traveler. ‘OhnManhattan! My Czestochowa! My Romenand Vatican!’nLet it hit. If only to wake me up from the socialist coma.nQueens Plaza. Change trains here, the way they do it innNew York; transfer. Tables, arrows. . . . It’s here!n”Manhattan transfer!”n”Manhattan!” crows the Traveler. “Oh Manhattan! MynCzestochowa! My Rome and Vatican!”nThe F is already arriving. Boarding. People are morendensely packed, more perfumed, more expensive. And thisnconfusion, confusion! Babylon.n”You are riding in the New York subway. Yokel!” thenTraveler trembles with delight.n”Geez. . . . On the New York subway! I — Michael fromnTaplar.”n”We’re riding under water. . . . Above us is the EastnRiver. …”n”East River? I don’t believe it. It’s a dream.”n”Soon, Fifth Avenue . . . America’s Champs Elysees.nThe Champs Elysees of the American Hemisphere. …”n”I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it! Only day beforenyesterday I was lapping beer in a bar on Warsaw Street. . . .”nExit.nBut watch out Michaels; here’s what we’re going to do:ndon’t look yet to the side or up. Only at your shoes. Go outnto this famous avenue with eyes on the sidewalk. And thennsuddenly crane the neck and in one swallow gulp down anshot of this hundred-proof New York!nAm I gonna fall?nAlready. … I am looking at the sidewalk but feeling thenheights. How? With what? Maybe with hair. My hair isnbeing pulled upward — vertically. My thoughts are beingn