“Good night,” you said, turning toward the other side of the river.
“Good night, my dear.”
I don’t know why I didn’t confide in Karolina. Part of me wanted to, longed for someone I could talk to completely. I suppose I wasn’t ready. I was afraid she’d smile at me and say, “Hear, hear!” or something cynical about the seductive taste of whisky. I was afraid she’d warn me against asking for favors one couldn’t return. The last thing I wanted right then was to be warned. So when I called her that week from a telephone box on the corner of my street and she asked how I was doing, I put on the most cheerful voice I could manage and told her everything was all right. And I let her tell me how she’d fallen for that short boy she’d danced with at Hania’s party. His name was Karol. He was an engineer. I made a joke about their names, Karol and Karolina, how it was clearly meant to be, and she laughed, like in the old days. Then she asked me about the PhD. I said I hadn’t seen the professor yet, that I was seeing him the week after. That I felt sure I’d get it. She said she’d cross her fingers for me, that she’d be happy for me. Hanging up, I missed her more than I had before the call.
I walked back to the flat to prepare for the weekend away. I packed, unpacked, packed again. Ironed my clothes. It didn’t feel like I was going on holiday, but on a mission from which I’d return changed. That evening, just to reassure myself, I walked back down into the cool street and to the telephone box.
“Ludzio, I knew it would be you. Only you would call me so late at night.”
She sounded happy.
“Granny.”
“How are you getting on, darling?”
I swallowed. “Very well, Granny. Very well.”
“Are you sure? Do you need money? You know I have almost nothing, but I set aside a little. I could send you that . . .”
“No, Granny,” I said, smiling into the receiver. “I don’t need money. It looks like I’m going to do a doctorate. I won’t need your help anymore.”
“Oh, Ludzio.” Her voice sounded teary.
“Are you proud of me, Granny?”
“Of course I am.” She sniffed. I leaned my forehead against the cool metal body of the telephone. “And when will you come home, darling? You know that’s what I care about most—seeing you.”
“Soon,” I said, not sure whether or not it was true. “Soon. When they confirm my doctorate. When I’m settled. I promise.”
I hung up, stayed there in the telephone box, in the little halo of the light bulb attached to the ceiling, protected by an iron grid, watching the night outside. My life was a tiny narrow corridor with no doors leading off it, a tunnel so narrow it bruised my elbows, with only one way to go. That or the void, I told myself. That or leave.
The next day we met at the Square of Three Crosses, on the steps of the domed church that stood in the middle like a pagan temple. It was cold and overcast and overwhelmingly, despairingly gray, one of those particularly Varsovian days that makes you think the sun has ceased to exist and fear that your mind might suffocate underneath an impenetrable fortress of clouds.
You were already there when I arrived, your bag lying by your feet. We kissed each other on the cheek. There was a strange air between us, as if we’d become accomplices in a game. Your eyes sparkled with mischief and play. “Ready?” you said, piercing me with them.
I nodded, feeling a wave of nausea, pushing it away.
Their car arrived on the square. I knew it was theirs before it had even stopped. Foreign cars were so rare even I could tell them apart from the two other kinds that one could dream of owning in our country: it was neither a Maluch, the tin can Fiat made for the socialist bloc, nor the Trabant, the larger, clumsier model from East Germany. Here was a thing as smooth and elegant as a panther—a black Mercedes.
It came to a halt by the steps of the church. The passenger window slid down, and Hania, in a pair of gold-colored sunglasses, waved at us excitedly. “C’mon, boys!”
We grabbed our bags and hurried down. We climbed in, onto the brown leather bench in the back, where Maksio’s blonde from the party was already sitting, like a very expensive doll. She wore a short leather miniskirt and a red bandana around her head. Hania introduced her as Agata, and she nodded at us slowly, as if sedated.
“Hey, guys,” said Maksio, turning around from the steering wheel with a smile in his eyes. “Let’s do this!”
“Is anyone else coming?” I asked.
Hania spun around, her mirrored sunglasses still on, their lenses reflecting and distorting my face, which struck me as silly and pale.
“Just us,” she said, and smiled.
We whizzed off, speeding seamlessly and effortlessly along Ujazdowski Avenue. We passed the run-down palaces of the long-forgotten aristocracy, the Łazienki Gardens with my hidden deer, and the gigantic gates and lines of soldiers that protected the castle that was the Soviet embassy. After that the city turned sparse. We passed endless stretches of identical blocks, blokowisko upon blokowisko with mud fields in between, where riotous hordes of children played. We passed factories, smoking behemoths, big and solemn like sooty churches. The radio was on, playing something by the Velvet Underground. Nico sang in her low, litanic voice about a poor girl and the costumes she’ll wear, bells ringing and a guitar jittering, like a flickering mirage.
Throngs of white birch trees came into view, naked in this late autumn and all the more solemn. And fields. Soaked brown fields with women and men and horse-drawn plows. The sky was still covered, white-gray like rice pudding, but in the countryside, among this nature, there was beauty in that, like the comforting duvet in a bed one takes refuge in.
We chatted for some stretches and were silent for others. We rode on and on, rock music playing on the radio, Agata humming along. Light started to drain from the sky, and the earth began to undulate. Low hills surrounded us, and now it was all forest, a sea of pines. And then, at an unmarked dirt road, Maksio turned the car and we drove all the way down through the dense forest until we came to a gate. Hania got out and unlocked it, and we drove through, just as night was falling, along an avenue with tall, stately poplars.
At the end of the lane there was a house. It was white, clear against the dusk like a ghost, with thick, proud columns supporting the triangular roof of the veranda. Leaves and little twigs crunched under our shoes as we climbed out of the car. The house stood there majestically, oblivious to our presence. It was a dwór, an old country estate, that must have been there for centuries already and would outlive us all, I thought, and I admired it for that, for all it had already seen and all it would still see that we would never know.
Maksio unlocked the front door, switched on the light inside. The smell of dry cedar invaded my mind. There were old faience stoves, fireplaces, and hunting trophies, the heads of boars and deer, oriental carpets covering the floors. A place of pleasure and peace, indifferent to governments, faithful to whoever happens to be in power. You said something about how impressive it was, this house, and I remained silent, thinking how undeserving you all were of it.
We followed Hania upstairs, where she gave us our room: you and I would be sharing. She had the room next to ours. Maksio and Agata had taken another bedroom downstairs.
“My parents are coming on Sunday,” said Hania, pointing to a large door at the end of the corridor. “That’s their room.”
“Isn’t this house something?” you said as we put down our things and unpacked. “It’s practically a castle.”
I nodded. I wanted to be alone, to have the place all to myself, to take everything in. There was a view over the garden—a park, really—oblong and wide like several sports fields and bordering the forest. I stood and watched the last specks of light dissolve above it, forgetting myself, until the darkness outside was complete and I could see my face in the window. I turned back to the room. It was large, probably as big as Pani Kolecka’s little flat. There were two single beds, heavy and gleaming, separated by a nightstand with a porce
lain lamp. A door led to a large bathroom with a bathtub. I turned on the tap, enjoyed the savage rumble of the water filling the tub. Steam rose from it. I undressed and got in, leaving the door open to see what I could of the park. The water was too hot, scalding almost, but it embraced me. I lay there for a long time, feeling my skin prickle from the heat, feeling droplets of sweat form on my forehead, letting my mind wander. After a while my eyes closed all by themselves.
When I woke, my body felt cold and suffocated by water. I got out of the bath, my head spinning with hunger, and dried myself with a towel as thick as a kotlet. Then I saw that you were gone. I dressed quickly and went downstairs but found no one. I walked around, taking it all in—the dignified wooden furniture, the smell of past fires, the large veranda leading out into the infinite darkness of the garden, the forest a mere silhouette in the distance. And then there were voices, low and hushed. I couldn’t tell whose they were. I walked to where I thought they were coming from and found you and Hania in the kitchen. You were standing close together, as if dancing, I thought, but with your arms loose, your faces concentrated and intimate. Hania spoke to you with a smile; you frowned, and then broke into laughter.
“Tell me,” I heard her say, teasingly, but you held your sphinxlike smile and shrugged.
As soon as I approached, your heads turned to me in one single movement. And you edged slightly away from her. Her face changed, from intimate to casual.
“There you are!” she cried. “Are you hungry, Ludzio?” I looked at you for an explanation, but it was as if you were in character.
“Starving,” I said.
That night, after dinner—roast beef with beetroot mash and apples that Hania had brought from home and warmed up in the oven—we made a fire in the living room, played cards, and drank Bulgarian wine. But the scene I had witnessed between the two of you had pierced my role, made it harder to play. I was distracted, nervous. At the end of the evening, egged on by the rest of us, Agata got up and sang. She sang with real sorrow, a song by Maryla Rodowicz, that quiet, sad song about the old fairgrounds and the tin toys and the balloons. We were all still. Her voice commanded our minds in an unexpectedly sorrowful way.
Not long after, Agata and Maksio went to bed, and then it was only the three of us. Two couches opposite each other, with armchairs on the sides, a low table in the middle. You sat on the couch opposite her, me on one of the armchairs in between. We talked about what we would do the next day. I wanted to go to sleep, and yet I didn’t want to leave you two alone. Then you announced you were going to bed and looked at me meaningfully, as if to say this was my chance. I didn’t move. We bid you good night, Hania and I. She smiled and looked out into the dark garden, or maybe at her reflection in the glass. Then she glanced at me. There was tension around her lips.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said. She seemed nervous, and this surprised me.
“Thank you for having me,” I said. “It’s wonderful here.”
“Of course.” She nodded and looked toward the garden again, as if deciding something.
“I hope I’m not being indiscreet, but—” She stopped, looked at her lap, then at me again. “Allow me to ask you something personal.”
I said nothing, trying to stave off internal vertigo.
“I don’t mean to pry.” She shifted, visibly uncomfortable, vulnerable even, but not nearly as much as me. “Tell me honestly—does Janusz have another girl?”
A part of me wanted to laugh out loud, hysterically, until my throat, vocal cords, and stomach muscles hurt. The other part didn’t, was just plain exhausted. I kept my face neutral, shook my head truthfully.
“No. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Really?” Her face changed, lightened. “It’s just . . . he’s so distant sometimes. And I don’t understand why he’s not really responding to me. You see what I mean . . . ?” Her eyes asked for reassurance.
I looked at my fingers and nodded.
“Does he ever mention me?” she probed.
“Yes,” I said, ungenerously, wishing I could help her. “Yes, he does.”
She seemed hopeful but unconvinced, her widened eyes revealing her need for more.
“Does he like me? Has he said anything to you?”
I swallowed. Vertigo, this time lucid, took hold of me.
“I don’t know,” I said, aware that it was the truth. “He hasn’t told me. You’ll have to ask him.”
The next morning I awoke with a headache, bothered by the sunlight that came into the room. Your bed was made, and you were gone. I took a shower and went downstairs, where all of you were sitting at the long table in the dining room. Hania and Agata both had wet hair, combed back, and the air smelled of coffee. You were eating a roll with two slices of ham. “There he is!” said Maksio when I entered, and everyone looked up and greeted me sleepily. Hania was sitting beside you.
After breakfast we all went for a walk through the forest. It was damp—it had rained during the night—and smelled of freshness and decomposition. We walked on layers and layers of fallen leaves and the last of the autumn’s mushrooms. I tried to talk to Hania then, but we were never alone. And somehow I was glad about that. The day was too bright, and I knew I’d need alcohol to do it.
That afternoon Hania said she was preparing a surprise for us; after lunch she and Agata went out with two empty baskets. The three of us stayed behind in the house. You and Maksio played billiards downstairs, and I went up to our room. Upstairs it was completely quiet. Before I reached our room, my eyes fell on the double door at the end of the corridor, and a dark curiosity overcame me. I listened for a sound—there was nothing. I moved toward the door and pushed down the handle. It wasn’t locked. My heart beating hard, I slipped in. It was a large room with a fantastic view over the park. There was a four-poster bed, perfectly made, the air around it strangely solemn and untouchable, like the bed of someone recently deceased. I walked to the window, took in its view over the forest. Right by the window stood a shiny round table covered in framed photos: Hania and Maksio as children, chubby and small, but the same faces, eating ice cream; their parents—the father like an older, fatter version of Maksio, though with a different mouth, almost lipless, and the mother, tall and elegant, with Hania’s dark eyes. A more recent one of the four of them standing and smiling with the Eiffel Tower behind them. And then my eyes fell on the photograph beside that one, and for a moment I saw without comprehending. My mind jarred. In it, their father was dressed in a military uniform, covered in honors and medals. My own hands were shaking as I took the photo from the table and looked at it up close. I felt nauseous, dirty even. Hania’s father and Gierek, shaking hands, smiling at each other.
The Party Secretary’s face was broad, self-satisfied, taking in Hania’s father with apparent fondness. The same man who’d looked down on me from countless banners and posters during the parades, the country’s so-called savior. The one who’d ordered the price increases. I thought of the empty shops across the country, of Pani Kolecka, of the lives spent queuing for little or nothing—and then these smiles, fat and self-indulgent. I was dumbstruck. I wanted to throw the photo to the ground, to stomp on it, to feel the glass and wood shatter beneath my heel. To hear the paper rip, to see their smiles tear apart. It was only with great effort that I made myself put down the photo and walk back to our room. I lay on my bed, my eyes open. The whole scheme—to ask Hania for help with my doctorate—now seemed more obscene than ever, and yet I told myself that I had to do it. Just this one time, ask for this one thing, and then never deal with them again. I closed my eyes, and the world spun around me, my weight shifting and spinning with it.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dark. I felt pleasantly dulled. Night had fallen outside. Laughter came from downstairs, and I heard footsteps in the corridor. You opened the door with an expression of barely suppressed excitement.
“It’s dinnertime,” you said, looking at me. “Are you coming?”
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p; I nodded. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
I washed my face and put on a clean white shirt. When I came downstairs something was already in full swing. A record was playing, and you were all in the kitchen, wineglasses on the counter, you talking to Maksio, and Agata and Hania hunched over a pot on the stove. There was a strong earthy smell in the air.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked.
Maksio looked up and smiled mischievously. “Hania’s witch specialty,” he said. “Not especially filling, but you won’t feel any hunger—trust me.”
Agata chuckled; Hania threw him an indulgent look and turned to me with a long wooden spoon in her hand. She was wearing a purple wrap dress, and a huge amber pendant hung from her neck.
“It’s a special soup I make from time to time,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. “I think you’ll like it.”
“Either way, we need to make the most of tonight,” said Maksio, looking irritated. “Tomorrow the ’rentals are coming.”
“Our parents are coming tomorrow,” said Hania without turning around. “But just for one night. They won’t be bothering us.” She took a large porcelain bowl and poured the soup in. It was the color of mud, dark and rich. “However, we won’t be able to do this. So let’s eat.”
We sat down at the table with the large bowl in the middle. Its earthy smell wafted up with the steam. Everyone looked expectant and excited, even Agata.
“What is this?” I asked.
Hania looked around the group, everyone smiling at my question. “Zupa,” she said, meaningfully. “Poppy-stem soup. It will send you flying.”
Her black eyes gleamed. You were sitting next to her and nodded at me encouragingly. She served me the first cup and handed it across the table. All eyes were on me. I held the cup to my lips and downed it in its entirety, pouring it into myself like medicine. I wanted to dissolve with it. There was a dark-brown taste to it, bitter, unforgiving. They smiled at me and followed my lead, all drinking too. We sat around looking at one another, Hania rubbing my hand across the table, giggling. You held her hand and Maksio’s hand. We all took one another’s hands and formed a chain. And moments later—or was it more than that?—we were all sitting on the couches, spread out, joyous. My body was weightless. There was nothing on my mind, nothing at all; it was so light it floated. I saw you sitting near me, and all I felt was love. I closed my eyes and saw fields, and flowers, and the lake, the lake from that summer, and everything was there for me, only for me, and I loved myself—all of it, every atom—like I never had before. The music that was playing was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. Every word of it—it was Serge Gainsbourg singing in French—I understood. It carried messages I had never expected there were. And we danced. You and me, Hania and you, me and her. Agata and Maksio. All of us together.
Swimming in the Dark Page 14
