‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Cos I want to kick your ass!’
It was a joke, of course, but the whole situation illustrates her attitude toward men rather accurately.
She was much younger than you. Age has its issues.
I was aware of that. You suggested previously that maybe I should have gone for an older woman. I actually do lack that kind of woman in my life, but not necessarily from a love perspective. I’m thinking more of an older sister influence. I have a brother, as you know, but he lives in Spain and our characters differ. A female version of that, maybe? Yes, I feel quite a gap there. I would need a kind of female/educator/acquaintance—somebody who would explain everything to me, comfort me when I needed it, take my hand and walk me through life. Like in The Doors’ song: ‘Girl you gotta love your man, take him by the hand, and make him understand …’
You’re saying that as if you never had a mother.
With parents, the situation is that they take care of you until you reach a certain age, then the roles are reversed: you become independent, you cut off the umbilical cord … and then they start to need you. Parents become naïve like children in this very sweet way. I’m beginning to be that kind of a guide for Irena and Zenek in today’s world. Of course they’re still functional and self-reliant and they still help me, but the relationship is different from how it was a few years ago. Nowadays I take over quite often.
But you couldn’t take over with Dorota?
Normally I’m more than capable of pounding a table with my fist; I was like that in most of my relationships. In this case, however, it was different. As I said, I gave up way too much ground at the very beginning. At one point, I had the impression that I was standing against a wall, banging my head against it. It was unbreakable. I didn’t know what to do. But I was stuck with it because I was deeply in love, and I was honest. I wanted to keep that relationship at all costs.
Maybe it didn’t work out simply because one egocentric met another?
Artists, people of the stage, often have tendencies like that. I am an egocentric; I don’t deny that, and that’s probably why I became a musician. But in this situation I let go. I didn’t press. But Dorota? Maybe we were two magnetic poles pushing away from each other—such an artistic combination.
Here’s a typical evening: she comes back from performing at the theatre, and he says, ‘Hey, I’ll play you a great song!’
‘Maybe later,’ she replies, ‘I’m tired now. I played a great role tonight, though.’
You know how it is: ‘Me, me, me! Mine is more important! I, me, mine!’
When did you realise that this building would soon collapse?
In the hospital. Medicine, chemo, proximity of death—all that made me look at the world differently. I began to ask myself questions: What do I need? What do I care about? What do I expect from life?
I wanted to talk about it with Dorota. When someone close to you is sick—terminally sick, even—maybe one should retreat into the background. It’s not the time or place for power struggles, but Dorota saw it differently. She wouldn’t let go, and I began noticing that more and more vividly. I needed closeness and understanding, not a chessboard and head games.
And other people?
My close friends came to visit. My parents could take everything I threw at them. I could pour all my frustrations out on them and they wouldn’t even blink. Every other day my friend Krzysiek Sadowski was at my bedside; he would bring soup from his mother, Lidia. He would come for half an hour, but what mattered was that I could talk to him; he spent this time with me.
Kikut also visited. He prayed; it pissed me off but I knew that he did it because he really wanted to help. Another friend once brought a whole bag of sushi. I couldn’t eat raw stuff so I called my parents. It was the first time that they had ever eaten stuff like that and they fell in love with it.
My friend Patrycja also visited me; she would cook broth for me. Poles believe it’s a life-giving soup; personally I don’t, but it was nice. I got lots of food—also some types I, theoretically, couldn’t eat—smuggled in by Maciej Gruszka and his wife, Agnieszka.
You guys were also there for me. Everyone supported me as much as they could. I remember once that Rafal Szyjer came to visit; he wanted to play the guitar with me. I couldn’t even sit at the time, far less play guitar. I just laid there in some kind of lethargy, but he grabbed the instrument and started playing anyway. He didn’t say a word for two hours. There was no need to. I was lying down, listening to his music. I even thought it would be a nice soundtrack to my death, because I felt like I was dying. Fortunately, a few months later, we could play together.
Dorota also visited regularly?
She could sit with me for twelve hours. But she was there only physically. I felt quite a shortage of empathy and understanding.
Maybe she was tired of the situation?
I’m sure she was. I told her frequently, ‘Honey, you don’t have to be here for twelve hours. An hour is enough, but only if you actually spend that time with me. Talk to me.’ And she just sat there, looking for new shoes for an upcoming event …
I think that was when I made the decision. I felt it was ready to collapse.
But you didn’t break up in hospital?
In spite of all that I tried to keep it going. Less than a month after leaving hospital I got in the car and drove to Warsaw for Valentine’s Day. I felt enormous stress; I was torn apart. One part of me wanted to spend time with Dorota; the other part screamed ‘No!’
The party itself was great. We made sushi together. On the outside we shined with our smiles, but inside everything was going down. We painted the grass green without noticing that it was rotting under the paint.
That night I didn’t sleep in the bedroom; I slept on the sofa. I woke up before morning and just started to cry. I couldn’t hold back the tears. I stared at the ceiling and had no idea what to do with myself. I knew that Dorota would wake up in the afternoon, and I had nowhere to go.
I called Pablo from Piaty Element. He was kind of my Warsaw soulmate. He came to get me and took me for coffee. We talked for a long time. When I got back, it was much better; I had a grip on my emotions. When I was driving back to Gdańsk, I felt relief. Five more hours and I’d be home. No fighting, struggling … but I cared all the same. Dorota did too. But it was rotten. I started sending signals. I became more and more assertive. Before, I treated her like a baby. I was always the ‘smart’ one, but I couldn’t take it any longer.
After the illness, I started exercising. I was becoming stronger, and not just physically. And she, in turn, was taking care of her new album. Everything was falling apart—until it finally collapsed for good. Another argument on the phone, another misunderstanding … this was the last time. I hung up and immediately felt like my wings were back on.
Did she burn your stuff?
I received a picture of my stuff burning, yes. Her reaction was, as always, very emotional. I wasn’t surprised.
Then what happened?
We met once more in Warsaw. I knew it was over, but … it was agony. There was just no point in talking about it and scratching old wounds—either hers or mine. I came back to my own reality and Dorota returned to her own world.
What do you mean?
There was this paparazzo. He would follow me nonstop; he spied on me for weeks. I lived in her apartment in the Mokotów district at the time. One day, I drove to the Stodola Club in town to take care of some formalities. He was on my tail the whole time. I weaved my way around, tried various tricks, but I just couldn’t lose him. My irritation reached its peak and I stopped in the middle of the street and started honking. I just wanted to force a reaction from him. He didn’t do anything.
A moment passed and I drove further. I was pumped beyond belief. I stopped my car on the parking lot in front of Stodola; he did too. I wanted to punch him in the face. He made a scene: ‘What the fuck are you doing? Why are you trying to make this hard f
or us?’ He pointed at his car and the bumps on it and told me that by taking Dorota, I had taken away his means of earning a living. He yelled at me that he’d been chasing her since the beginning, but now he had no money for food, far less to renovate his car. She was like a tree for them, and they were like tree-huggers.
You broke up, but the paparazzi didn’t let you go.
It got even worse. In Gdańsk they surrounded the Musicollective music school. Rafal Szyjer—the guy who played the guitar so beautifully for me in hospital—was the manager there. I liked going there to jam with other musicians, and those maggots with cameras noticed that. I was inside, I looked out the window, and I saw two of them …
A lot of bullshit had appeared in the popular press about my romances. It all began when I was still in hospital. Supposedly, when I had leukaemia, I cheated on Dorota. I didn’t deny or acknowledge anything. I don’t talk to such media. But it did irritate me a little. My image wasn’t the issue; beautiful women don’t spoil it. To really piss me off, they would probably have to write that I fuck goats. I was more irritated by the fact that they were peeking into my pants. So I said to Rafal, ‘Man, let’s do it this way: we walk out of here holding hands, we approach my car, you give me a tender kiss, and I go away. We’re going to absolutely fuck up the system.’
We burst out laughing, but after a while Rafal spread his arms and said, ‘I can’t, I teach kids here! Parents already look at the school in a strange way because they know you come here. If there’s a gossip that I’m gay, I’ll go broke.’ That’s Poland for you.
Would they have bought that anyway?
It would have at least been funny.
I met Radek Majdan some time ago. We’d been trying to get in touch for some time. I’d met a lot of his friends and I often heard that he was simply a cool guy. ‘You have to meet, you’ll like each other’—our mutual friends told me that often. Well, truth be told, we had similar experiences. We were being compared; in a way, you could say we also shared a bed. I simply wanted to meet him.
It actually happened at a party, among a horde of photographers. We bear-hugged each other and talked for about thirty minutes. We had a few drinks and exchanged phone numbers. It was nice—as if like I’d already known him for five years, not just five minutes.
After the party, a guy from Fakt came up to me. ‘What did you talk about with Radek? Is it a secret? Tell us!’ He fawned like a dog, but he was slimy like a reptile.
I made a surprised face and said, ‘Oh, you don’t know? We’re a couple!’
I looked at him with pity and went the other way. I didn’t even turn around.
But you’ve said that sometimes you exploded when you saw the paparazzi on the horizon?
They’re like cockroaches. Sometimes you ignore them; sometimes you chase them. When I was a student I lived in one of these university buildings, and I sometimes hunted these bugs. I would come back to the apartment a little drunk and on my tiptoes, very quietly, and I’d approach a kitchen cupboard with a can of deodorant and a lighter in my hands and open one of the doors quickly. There would be dozens of them, and I’d kill them with fire. They sizzled beautifully. And, equally, I occasionally chased a few paparazzi.
Did you ever hit any of them?
No.
They wrote that you beat one of them up.
He fell down himself. It was a few months after I left hospital. I planned a morning Nordic walking session. I instantly felt that there was someone lurking nearby. A moment later I recognised the guy. I’d seen him hanging around my house before. He was one of the worst hyenas and a total pussy at the same time. I usually lost him with my car in a matter of seconds.
He didn’t see me this time, so I thought I’d scare him a bit. I ran to my garage and got in my car. I started the car and with tires screeching I stopped in front of him. When I got out, this fucker started to run. I tried to chase him, but I was still rather weak after the sickness, so my legs were like jelly and I hit the concrete with my face.
In the corner of my eye I saw my fitness coach running on the other side of the street. He must have seen everything from afar. ‘Get him!’ I shouted. He tried to catch him, but the paparazzo fell down. He fell on his own camera. We had him. He started wailing: ‘Police! Poliiice!’
I didn’t even touch him; I just looked at his face with disgust and hissed. ‘Get the fuck out of my life, you pussy!’
But the guy went to the police and reported that you beat him up?
And he waited in front of the police station with his buddies. They had their cameras and camcorders ready. It was all beautifully directed. He sued me and then continued to lurk to take more pictures. Fucking opportunist! I didn’t want him to make any profit on them, so my attorney drove me into the station in the trunk of his car. The police officers turned out to be cool. They absolutely understood the shit I was dealing with everyday. I gave my deposition and went back home. I was never called upon again about the issue, so I can only assume that the investigation was discontinued. But it still doesn’t change the fact that this guy deserves to get a solid whooping.
Why?
A few months earlier, I was out of the hospital for a few days between chemo sessions. I went to get my girlfriend from the airport. The very same paparazzo had been lurking around with his buddies since morning. There was a similar situation: they tried my patience and I tried to chase them. I was extremely exhausted, so I literally fell on my face. I scratched my hands and knees and drew blood. I lifted my head up and saw this cunt standing fifteen metres away, cackling.
Do you regret getting involved at moments like that?
I actually live in two worlds. One of them is mine. I was raised in it; everything there goes slowly, according to its own rhythm. That part is my actual life. In the second world, on the other hand, I always play some kind of a role. I don’t know who or why I was made to play it, and I end up in the tabloid newspapers as a consequence. It just happened. I don’t care about this world. I don’t belong there; I’m just a guest.
I actually think a lot of people exist on the vague boundaries of these two worlds. I once talked to the journalist and TV presenter Tomasz Lis about the paparazzi. He was in a similar situation to me. Once he caught one of these people. And because he’s quite big and formidable, he held the guy so that he was literally suspended above the ground. Lis really wanted to punch the guy in the face but he managed to contain himself. He didn’t cross the line. And neither did I.
Doesn’t that piss you off that you can’t meet a girl, because the tabloids will be all over it?
Who said I can’t?
There are occasionally stories about Nergal’s new girlfriends …
In Gdańsk I have no problems meeting anyone. It’s my turf, and it’s more difficult to catch me here. I have a lot of female acquaintances and friends that I sometimes meet for lunch or dinner. I’m not anonymous, but there are places where I can show up with a girl and I can be sure that nobody’s going to take our pictures or call the tabloids. It’s much worse in Warsaw. A simple meeting for a coffee with a friend, and the next day it turns out we have a brewing romance.
Were you in any relationship after Dorota?
No.
So all the media hearsay was bullshit?
I’d been seeing a couple of girls, but it was nothing serious. I was in a moment in my life where I just didn’t want to get involved. I’d got a grip. I’d got on the right track and I was focused on realising all my professional plans.
At the moment there is no place for another person in my life. I’m very clear about that. If I meet someone, I explain the situation immediately: ‘Honey, you can have me, but only until four o’clock, then I’m unavailable; I’m going on tour. I will be back in a month; we can meet again but don’t count on it.’ I think that’s honest, isn’t it?
Aren’t you afraid that some ‘honey’ will try to get recognition because of you?
Maybe it’s naïve but I don’t think so. I don
’t think I’ve ever met a girl like that. Maybe once. She loved disco music but I quickly cut contact with her.
Is Warsaw out of your system completely?
Not entirely. I like Warsaw, I like it very much, but I live in Gdańsk.
Do you have a place in the capital?
No, but I’m thinking about it. Czeslaw Mozil has given me a spare key to his apartment. I complained to him that whenever I show up with some girl in the city, they immediately make her my new girlfriend.
He smiled and said, ‘Where are you taking them? Go to some dingy pub in Praga district, they won’t catch you there. Or, better still, take her to my place!’
And so he gave me the key. When he’s not home, I take advantage of it, sometimes …
Are you close?
He’s a great guy and we have a lot in common.
Some people claim that you even copy him a little.
We’ve been through similar trouble, and we think similarly. He is also a guy from nowhere. He wasn’t born in the spotlight; he got there by accident, and he did it with a bang. I met him when he lived in Denmark. He came to see our concert; we had a lot of fun and it stayed that way. A strong feeling of autonomy and independence connects us. One day we’re on TV, and the next day we drink beer in some joint on Zabkowska Street. He’s authentic and honest in what he does, and I treat him like he’s my little brother in some ways. We call each other, I support this guy in everything he does, and I know I can count on the same in return. He’s a real expert when it comes to women. He often gives me valuable tips and tells me what mistakes I am making.
Was your relationship with Dorota a mistake?
No other relationship taught me so much about life. It’s difficult to call something like that a mistake. It gave me knowledge and made me richer inside. I have never known so much about human beings as I did when I lived in Warsaw. For this experience, and not only for it, I am very grateful to Dorota. Besides, she showed me a lot of amazing things. Sometimes very small things, but our life consists of small details as well. Maybe it sounds stupid, but thanks to her I discovered Indian cuisine, and I’ve become a huge fan of it.
Confessions Of A Heretic: The Sacred And The Profane: Behemoth And Beyond Page 16
