‘Where is everyone?’ asked Josh, pulling his holdall together as the driver pulled over. ‘Jesus, it’s Saturday night. Danuta is going to owe me for getting her out of here.’
The hotel was a surprise, a gabled coaching inn with a cobbled courtyard like the ones in Hammer horror films, empty white stables and a well that was too perfect to be real. The whole place was so freshly painted, planted and preserved that it might have been built a week ago. Johann, the boy running the inn, was younger than either of them. He could not take credit cards, so Nick and Josh gave him half of the cash up-front, for two nights. Johann took them up to their rooms, leading the way to a corridor that cut through the middle of the first floor. He eagerly insisted on carrying the bags by himself, smiling with a hopeful innocence that would not survive his youth.
Danuta was waiting for them in the bar, unaccountably nervous and fidgety.
Nick had forgotten how stunning she was, large black eyes set in a heart-shaped face, framed with glossy bobbed hair as black as obsidian. She wore plenty of makeup—her arms were paler than her cheeks—but the look suited her perfectly. A tiny waist and long legs accentuated by her black dress, silver buckled shoes and the clincher—black-framed glasses that had the odd effect of making her appear demure and dangerous. There was a sense of purpose about her. She constructed her English sentences with a determination that conveyed meaning by emphasis. It gave her an attractive way of stressing certain words. Unlike most of the girls Josh picked up in clubs, she listened and responded in a way that showed she thought carefully about everything he said. She knocked the rest of them out of the field, and Nick couldn’t for the life of him see what she admired in his friend, unless she really was planning to use Josh as a means of escape. Nobody could have called him attractive. He was stout and dark, with thinning corkscrew hair, but could be smart and quick-witted, even charming when he made the effort, and she responded enthusiastically to that.
He had met her in one of those Soho clubs that were doomed to disappear after three months, and was a lucky dog for having done so. She had been standing at the bar in the same black dress and silver heels she was wearing tonight. He had singled her out among the bony suburban stalkers, recognising a timeless appeal in her that eluded the other girls in the room, who were dressed like Victoria Beckham and were out of date in the latest outfits. Danuta was visiting London with her sister, and had managed to slip away for a few precious, thrilling hours. She had come to enjoy the atmosphere of a London bar, and wasn’t interested in meeting anyone. Her lack of desperation separated her from the crowd. The three of them had danced together, and ended up back at Josh’s flat.
Danuta stayed around the next day, although there were urgent whispered arguments with her sister on the phone. Tousled and hungover, she peered out from Josh’s white towelling robe with the sleeves rolled up, the dark flame of a votive candle. There was an indefinable sadness beneath her surface that flickered in moments of lost concentration.
Nick cooked them all breakfast. Danuta read the papers, commenting on stories. Josh sat at the kitchen table, smoking and looking anxious. The situation felt unusual.
Josh’s suggestion—to come to Poland and bring her back to London—caught them all by surprise. Two months had passed since they met, and in that time he had not mentioned her once.
Danuta accepted a bottle of oak-flavoured vodka from the barman, and set it down before them. As they drank, she picked at the silver label with an ebony nail and confided in Josh, outlining her reservations about the elopement. The couple had an intensity that left Nick feeling aware of his status as the single friend dragged along for support.
Looking around the bar, he studied the carved wooden rabbits and chickens on the counters and side tables. They covered virtually every surface, inane but curiously touching. Yellow gingham curtains, pickled fruits in great glass jars, bouquets of dried flowers, plaited loaves of bread suspended on the walls; it was like being in some kind of fairytale woodcutter’s cottage. The place was cosy and comfortable, and the vodka dropped a warming root through his chest. There were only four other people in the place, all old men. It felt like four in the morning.
He heard Josh ask Danuta where everyone was, and she told them that people stayed home most of the time.
‘It’s not a typical Polish town,’ she explained. ‘They don’t like strangers here and barely even talk to each other, except in church or the shops.’
‘Why is that?’ Nick asked.
Danuta shook the fingers of her right hand, a universal gesture of dismissal. ‘Oh, you know, bad things. Old history. They don’t like to forget, even though they should let go of the past.’
‘That’s why you have to leave this place,’ said Josh. ‘Did you tell your parents about your plans?’
‘I wanted to, but I could find no way of explaining.’ Josh had suggested that she should post them a letter before she left, then come to London and get waitress work until something better came along.
‘So you didn’t tell anyone at all?’ Josh asked.
‘Well.’ She thought for a moment, framing her words. ‘I told some of my closest friends—but not my family. It is difficult for them to know how I feel. My father is old. He would not understand.’
And there the matter was left.
—
Grandpapa should have been proud to be selected for such an important position, but a sense of foreboding crept through his bones every time he hauled himself up onto the footplate of the Arkangel. Men had died building the train, and what was this grand machine to be used for? Ferrying the directors and a lucky handful of the town’s best families on pleasure trips to the seaside!
Food had been scarce in the town of late. Even the price of turnips had soared so much that people no longer fed shavings to the pigs. But no expense was to be spared on the train. The priests said it would bring new prosperity to the town, but lately they had been proven wrong every time they opened their mouths.
Sighing, Grandpapa adjusted his cap and signalled to the driver. With an angry blast of steam, the shining behemoth rolled forwards out of the station.
—
Nick had the impression that Danuta thought Josh would get serious with her when they returned to London, and then she could tell her sister and her father. But to anyone who knew him, settling down was clearly the last thing on Josh’s mind.
The distance between their future dreams made Nick uncomfortable, because he saw the situation from both sides. He wanted to encourage Josh to be honest, but did not know how best to broach the subject.
While they ate platefuls of pierogi and drank more vodka, Nick figured out what to do. Knowing that Danuta would have to go home to her parents’ house tonight, he decided to take Josh to a bar in town, where he could sit him down in a quiet corner.
Except that nothing went according to plan. When he suggested going for a late drink Danuta announced that she was coming with them, and they could hardly turn her down. The trio left the inn and headed towards the only open bar in Chelmsk.
The great dark churches dominated the town, forbidding and somehow unwholesome, their decaying walls patched and repaired where wartime bullets had taken their toll. It was so quiet that the click of their shoes echoed against the peeling buildings. A series of tin lamps, suspended across the empty cobbled street, formed sharp cones of yellow light. They passed a peculiar poster for gypsum cement that featured three bald plasterers, a gate topped with a statue of a bear in striped trousers, and a shop with a giant carrot in the window. On every street there was at least one building with a disproportionately tall gothic tower. There was no graffiti anywhere.
‘I’ve never been anywhere as weird as this,’ Josh said. ‘It’s like everyone’s gone away.’
‘They just remain asleep,’ Danuta replied, somewhat mysteriously. ‘The people here are very private. Too many years of trouble. Twice before in the last century nearly everyone in this town suffered badly. First during the wa
r, then under the communists. Many were taken away. Many died. The ones who survived do not like to forget.’
‘Are you sure this bar will be open?’ Josh was shivering. He hadn’t brought a sweater with him, and a chill wind was pushing down the temperature.
‘It is owned by an old friend of mine,’ she assured them. ‘He knows I am going away. He will be open for us tonight.’
A small blue neon sign, Artyk Bar, hung behind railings in the basement of a tall grey building with scabby cement walls, as if ashamed to announce that it was open at all. Danuta held the gate back for them. Inside was another cosy, wintry room filled with the smell of spiced roast pig, but the spit had been cleaned and there was no indication that the place had ever experienced custom. The CD player was spinning something Nick took to be Polish pop, or possibly an album of Eurovision Song Contest winners.
The man behind the counter was wearing a richly patterned sweater of the kind you could only find in rural Europe. There were red and yellow elks dancing around his neck. He shook their hands with an old-world solemnity that belied his youth, introducing himself as Idzi, short for something unpronounceable. He was pleased to see Danuta, less thrilled to meet her new male friends. After a few vodkas he warmed and became talkative, but it was obvious that he used to go out with her and wished they had not broken up. He asked about London, the music, the clubs, the cost of clothes. He had come here from Gdansk when he was fourteen. Gdansk was cool, there was a lot to do at night, this town was too quiet for him. They answered his questions and drank. You could smoke in the bar—Idzi was surprised when they asked permission.
A couple of young guys in grey hoods and leather jackets came in, regular customers. They looked bored and vaguely angry. As they ordered beers at the bar they kept looking across at Danuta, and were clearly talking about her.
‘Do you have a history with these guys?’ asked Josh.
‘No,’ said Danuta vehemently. ‘They go to the same church as my parents.’
The boys kept looking. When Idzi was called over to share their drinks, a rift formed in the company. Small towns were the same the world over; everyone knew each other, outsiders were to be pitied or envied in equal measure.
Idzi asked Danuta to come over and join his pals. He was polite enough, seeking his guests’ permission to take her away, but as she rose Nick felt something bad. ‘She’s Catholic,’ he reminded Josh. ‘She’s clearly torn up about the idea of leaving her home and family behind. Would you do that for her? Just don’t screw around with her when we get back to London.’
‘What do you mean?’
Josh was excited about having such a breathtaking girl hanging around with him, but he wasn’t going to stay faithful for long. He liked Nick, he was someone whose advice you’d listen to. He was earnest and corruptible.
‘She wants to get out of here, Nick.’
‘She seems conflicted.’
‘I’m not dragging her away. She’s old enough to look after herself.’
‘You’re not just going to dump her on the street if you break up with her.’
‘Let’s drop it.’
They drank too much. Another bottle of vodka was opened, and that was soon reduced to empty glasses and a few sticky rings on the table. Idzi and Danuta came back to join them with a fresh bottle, a local brand without a label, possibly homemade. That was when the trouble kicked off.
Idzi and Danuta had been arguing in their own language, and it was obvious that the barman thought his former girlfriend was making a big mistake.
‘Hey, she can make up her own mind,’ Josh interrupted.
‘I know what I am doing,’ Danuta agreed. ‘I am not a child.’
‘You went to London and he seduced you,’ accused Idzi. ‘You broke your vows.’
‘Oh, Idzi, don’t be such a child—’ They lost the rest of her reply as she switched into Polish.
Idzi started to shout. The change in him was sudden and frightening. Danuta was too good for them, they were fucking English pigs who should stay away from good Catholic girls, they should forget they ever met her and go back to their own country, where everyone knew the girls were all whores.
Josh pushed back from the table as Nick and Danuta attempted to keep him down. Idzi’s pals looked as if they’d been waiting for this moment, and came over to join in. When Josh threw his shot-glass on the floor and tried to land a punch on Idzi he found himself pinned down by the others, who slammed him back against the food counter. He kicked out at them, but one of Idzi’s friends picked up the grill’s steel carving fork and swung it over Josh’s face like a pendulum.
The Europop disc jammed on a particularly inane phrase. It took Nick a moment to work out what was happening. He suddenly imagined Josh stuck like a moth on a pin, pierced through the cheek as one of the fork’s tines held him in place on the counter’s oak carving board. The boys were feinting at each other, jabbing and dancing back to a safe distance, but somehow the fork connected and raised a single crimson tear just below Josh’s eye.
As Josh threw himself at the others, Nick pushed Idzi out of the way and snatched the fork back before any more damage could be done. Danuta screamed ‘Stój!’, and Nick was finally able to pull Josh aside.
The trio followed them, tumbling out of the club, with Nick and Danuta pulling at Josh. The wound on his face was mean but not serious. Idzi was throwing out a good line in nationalistic slurs, but the worst seemed to be over. At least the police hadn’t been called.
Idzi must have landed one insult too many, because suddenly Josh slipped from their hands and ran back, kneeing the barman in the groin, kicking at his head as he went down. Nick forced Danuta to stay where she was, but by the time he got there things were serious. Josh kicked hard at Idzi’s face, the alcohol instantly drawing blood to his flesh. Nick tried to haul him back, but could not stop the blows from hammering down. He heard the sound of Idzi’s head repeatedly cracking against the foot of the railings, and it made him feel sick because he knew that the boy was being killed.
When Josh stopped, it was as if he suddenly realised what he was doing. Swaying from side to side, he seemed barely able to stand. He stared down blankly at the writhing body on the pavement. Nick examined Idzi’s face. Under the blue neon his blood was black as spilled oil. He was still conscious, moaning softly. Nick realised there was a good chance that his skull had been damaged.
Danuta pulled at the pair of them, repeating, ‘You have to go,’ over and over again. Idzi’s pals had run off, but she felt sure they would soon return with others.
The hotel was silent and asleep. They had not unpacked their bags, so it was easy to leave. Idzi knew where the visitors were staying—there wasn’t anywhere else in town. His friends would quickly figure it out. As soon as Danuta said she would settle up with the manager, Nick knew that she wasn’t planning to come back with them.
‘It’s the only way,’ she said. ‘They’ll see that I’m still here and will realise they beat you. That’s all they want.’
Danuta kissed Nick and gave Josh the briefest of hugs; she could not bring herself to do more. She watched them go, but Josh did not look back. There was no chance of finding a taxi—they had picked up the incoming one at the airport—but the train station was less than a mile away, so they set off on foot.
Heading along streets that sloped away to open parkland, they passed the biggest cemetery they had ever seen, hundreds of identical bone-white headstones stretching away to the treeline. They tried to keep moving along the shifting edge of the shadows, but the moon was bright enough to reveal them. Nick was convinced that they were going to be jumped and dragged back into the dark reaches of the undergrowth.
They were making a run for it across the clear green space of the park when the others came back, six or seven of them pounding at the ground with planks and iron rods, yelling and wheeling from beneath the trees. Nick could see that the only chance they had of outrunning the gang was to ditch their cumbersome travel bags. It
meant losing his new iPod, but that was a small price to pay for not being kicked to death. He shouted at Josh and they threw their cases onto the grass, hoping their pursuers would stop to gather the spoils. Pelting towards the shuttered cafeteria that stood on the far side of the park, they ran into the alley behind and found that it connected through the backs of houses on the main street. By keeping to the pathway they were able to stay shielded in darkness. Nick could hear Josh gasping raggedly beside him. His chest burned with the effort of drawing breath, but he kept up the pace until he could be sure that they had not been followed.
The squat, featureless whitewashed station stood at the end of a straight lane of pollarded trees, and was entirely in darkness. It was around 3:00 a.m., and according to the noticeboard the first train out was not due for six hours. They could only hope Idzi’s pals would not bother heading for the station once they realised that Danuta had elected to stay behind.
Nick and Josh walked the length of the platform and saw that the waiting room was open. It was dry and clean, and smelled of coal dust. There were wooden benches to sleep on. The authorities were clearly more trusting in Poland—in London, Josh said, the room would have been filled with rough-sleepers and junkies.
They were stone-sharp and sober now. ‘Keep near the door,’ Nick told him. ‘We have to be able to get out fast if they turn up.’
Josh’s face was still weeping blood. His right eye was sore and darkly crusted. Nick had a fierce headache, but he had left the aspirins behind in his overnight bag. He knew they could probably pay to jump an earlier flight, but they still had to reach the airport in one piece. After a few minutes their breathing returned to normal and they settled down on the benches, sinking low beneath the waiting room window, out of sight.
Nick pulled his coat tight. The sky was as glossy as black leather, studded with stars to the tops of the trees. There were no friendly lights to be found in the landscape. Nothing but the barren ice-chill of a country night.
Red Gloves, Volumes I & II Page 35
