Black Roman
Black Roman’s mural now found in many places in Warsaw
BLACK ROMAN:
THE URBAN LEGEND
Recently I heard about the death of one of Warsaw’s most mythic figures of recent times, Black Roman, Czarny Roman in Polish while reading a Facebook group about Warsaw. This man — seen for many years walking along Nowy Świat Street, Chmielna Street and the Metro station in the city centre in a black hat, jumper, coat and pants — even black gloves sometimes (in winter, a pink ski combine and matching pink hat with a flower in it) — used to mumble to himself unintelligible things, secrets of his own mind, but sometimes phrases to the angle of: ‘I am aware of the immortality of murder’ and ‘I know your death’. One of the urban legends that surrounded this man during his life was that he was a black-market trader in foreign currencies during Communism in Poland and lost it all when his friends swindled him out of it. I had a great fortune — or misfortune, whichever way you like to look at it — of meeting him once, in the McDonald's restaurant at the junction of Świętokrzyska and Marszałkowska Streets one cold winter evening in January 2012. It was just before the European Championships that would be held in both Poland and Ukraine during that summer. I’d seen him before, many times, walking by me, sometimes mumbling to himself, at other times shouting words that aren’t repeatable.
Most times I’d seen him in the past, I’d politely walk the other way, or go out of my way to avoid him. On the rare occasions, when I found him doing something crazy, like sunbathing in the middle of the pavement or stripping in front of a crowd, I’d stay to observe. Warsaw is a fascinating city for that. Unlike Krakow and Gdansk, which are touristic, on the whole, the country’s capital is a working city, full of blue and white-collar workers from all over the nation. Characters abound. Humanity’s story plays itself out in the streets with an intensity any keen people watcher would love.
I sat down after ordering and taking my latte and fries — I was tired after a hard day teaching a business English class in downtown. I needed a caffeine hit before I headed home to the north of the city on the Metro.
I spotted him straight away. He’s difficult to miss. Tonight, he wasn’t wearing black — he was wearing a thick purple winter coat, red woolly hat and blue jeans, I think. He scanned the place, then starting walking towards me.
THE CONVERSATION
He sat down on the opposite table, facing me, groaning to himself.
He shouted over to me. Embarrassed, I turned the other way, stuffing the fries I had in my hand into my mouth.
He shouted something else before getting up and sitting down next to me.
I knew he was a homeless street bum and was afraid he was going to stink. To my surprise, he didn’t.
“Are you all right?” I asked him in Polish.
“Not hungry. Eaten already,” he replied.
“It’s cold tonight,” I said.
“It is,” He answered. I then asked him if he wanted money for a coffee. “A drink. A hot drink. Yes,” he said.
I gave him ten zlotys to buy himself a drink:
“Do you always come here?” I asked him, not knowing what else to say.
“You will die. You will die,” he replied as he stood up.
He said thank you to me and walked out into the street. It’d started snowing.
The Warsaw Metro, a place where Black Roman used to frequent often. Photo source: Karol Kaczorek, Unsplash
Black Roman died last year, on the 5th December. His body was found at the Center for Contemporary Art Ujazdowski Castle. He was buried in Warsaw a few weeks later.
The man is dead but his legend lives on!
The Warsaw Metro, a place where Black Roman used to frequent often. Photo source: Karol Kaczorek, Unsplash