Swimming in the Dark

by Tomasz Jedrowski

  When I returned to the dancing room, Karolina was gone. I sat on the couch next to a kissing couple, watched the people on the dance floor, and fell deeper and deeper into a sense of alienation. And just when I was wondering what I was doing there and had resolved to leave, the music stopped mid-song and the lights turned off. The crowd came to a baffled standstill, and from the corridor a halo of light, and a set of deep voices began to sing: “Sto lat, sto lat . . .” I got up to see. You and Maksio appeared in the door with a cake so big you had to hold it between the two of you. A circle of candles burned in its center. Within an instant the whole room had joined in: “Sto lat, sto lat,” they sang. “A hundred years, a hundred years shall you live for us.” Even I joined in, swept up by the momentum. The cake traveled slowly through the crowd toward Hania, who stood in the middle of the room, beaming with delight. You and Maksio reached her just as the song came to an end, a storm of cheers and congratulations raging through the air, boys whistling with fingers in their mouths. Hania bent over the cake. In the darkness of the room the candles were the only source of light. They lit her face from below. She took a large breath and blew out the little flames, her eyes half-closed, her painted face strained with effort. I told myself that she looked like a witch, but I hardly believed it. I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. The applause was deafening. Hania kissed Maksio on the cheek and then threw her arms around your neck. Someone called out a toast, to which the whole room lifted their glasses. And then the low lights came back on and the music started up again. I sat down, finished my drink, and resolved to leave. That is when I saw you making your way toward me through the crowd with a piece of cake in each hand. You were smiling at me, and I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. Sitting down next to me, you passed me a piece of cake.

  “Are you all right? You look a little . . . something.”

  “I’m OK,” I lied. The cake was a layered chocolate-and-cream affair, surprisingly heavy and wet. I could feel it through the flimsy, Bible-page-thin napkin.

  “Have some,” you said, biting into your piece. “It’s good.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked me over.

  “What is it?”

  For a moment I said nothing, determined to punish you through silence. But then the need to speak up became inevitable and the words came to me all at once, rising up and taking shape like a balloon.

  “She’s your contact, isn’t she?” I said.

  To my surprise your face remained relaxed, unconcerned.

  You took another bite from the cake. “Is that your problem?” You said this with your mouth full. It disgusted me, and I realized then that your power over me went so unthinkingly far beyond the physical. You swallowed and looked at me. “Yes, she is. So?”

  “So?” I looked you over, braced myself to continue, trying not to leave the path of confrontation I had chosen. “She’s in love with you, Janusz. Clearly so. And you’re leading her on.”

  “Keep your voice down, will you?” There was urgency in your tone, and you put the half-finished piece of cake back onto the napkin with an irritated look. “Stop being so dramatic. Aren’t we having fun? Just enjoy. Enjoy it, Ludwik.”

  “Enjoy?” I was stunned, confused, searched your face for an explanation that would give all this some meaning. “Do you think this is fun for me, watching you two dancing together like lovers?”

  You surveyed the room with one quick look and leaned into me, your mouth by my ear.

  “I told you I can take care of things for us. Don’t you trust me?”

  I moved away from you, from your words. “You think you’re doing me a favor with this? I can do without that sort of help.” I made to get up, but you held me back.

  “Oh yeah? You’d rather let Pani Kolecka cough herself to death?” You looked at me challengingly then. “Everyone is leading someone on,” you continued, your eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that what you say? That the country is mismanaged, that everything is unfair? So what’s wrong with taking things into your own hands and not letting yourself go under? Huh?”

  My untouched piece of cake had soaked through the napkin, lying sticky and heavy in my hand. I looked at you, your previously familiar features, and it seemed as if your face had transformed before my eyes. There was a tightness around your eyes and lips that I had never seen before. Out on the dance floor, Hania swayed softly in the arms of the blond guy with the sunglasses. She looked serene. The boy’s face was immobile, only his mouth opened to smile from time to time, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

  “There must be other ways,” I said quietly.

  You looked weary. “Oh yeah? Which ones? Tell me.”

  “I don’t know. Going away, for example.”

  “You mean running away?” You looked at me imploringly. “Trust me. I am not promising her anything. I am not hurting her.”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “I can handle it,” you insisted. “There is no harm in this. And it needs to be done.”

  “Why? Tell me. There is nothing we need from them anymore. Pani Kolecka is healthy again. We’re fine now.”

  Your face distorted, hardened again. “You still don’t understand, do you? We will need something again soon enough. Life is full of these times. And how will we cope then?”

  I tried to assemble my thoughts, to resist. But nothing came.

  “You’re the one who didn’t see a future in our country,” you said, your voice soothing. “Here it is.”

  I followed your eyes, taking in that splendid room. Among the people dancing I saw Karolina, with her arms around a boy I’d never seen before, a glowing cigarette drooped from her fingers.

  “You’ll get to know them,” you went on, encouraged by my silence. “You’ll see. I told Hania about your doctorate—she seemed impressed. We’re having dinner on Wednesday night at Mozaika. She said you should come.”

  Again, I said nothing. The night was growing old, and behind the wide windows of the splendid room, darkness was giving way to another morning.

  Chapter 6

  The Wednesday after the party I went to see the professor. I was more nervous than I thought I’d be, my mind circling in hostile loops as I walked the New World Promenade. The air felt thin. I arrived at the office, knocked on the door. A subdued “Come in” resounded from inside. I affected a confident smile. The professor gave me a weary nod.

  “Please sit down,” he said, his voice strangely lifeless. His face seemed grayer than it had a couple of weeks earlier, as if he’d aged since the last time I saw him. The silence between us was heavy and seemed to sit entirely on my chest.

  “The board liked your proposal, Głowacki,” he finally said, in a strangely formal voice. I looked at him, uncertain. “They like it more than they want to admit, actually. Your writing is good, your ideas worth exploring. You know that.”

  I didn’t know whether it was my turn to speak. A pained smile distorted his face.

  “But, as you might imagine, there are other forces at play too.”

  My gut contracted. I looked at the professor, trying to read his face. I felt completely powerless.

  “There are other candidates,” he went on, sounding tired. “Their proposals aren’t as good as yours. But . . .” He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “Some of them have contacts.”

  Another silence, another glance from him to me, as if he wanted me to release him from this chore. My mind in free fall.

  “The final decision hasn’t been made yet, but if things continue as they are now, it doesn’t look good for you. I need you to know this.” He let out a sigh, looked at his desk, his papers, then back to me.

  “Then why have you called me in? What do you want me to do?” My voice was small and angry, more than I wanted it to be.

  The professor looked at me softly, as if he’d expected my anger.

  “I know how disappointing this must be for you.”

&nb
sp; This made me feel more desperate.

  He placed both of his hands on the papers before him and leaned across the desk toward me, so I could see the single gray hairs of his moustache and his kind, round face, closer than I’d ever seen it.

  “I know you are not in the Party,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “and it’s too late to join now anyway. Even if you wanted to.” He lowered his eyes, maybe embarrassed by what he was about to propose. “But maybe you know someone, Ludwik? Someone you forgot to mention and who could help tip the balance in your favor?”

  His gaze on me was suddenly like yours the night of the party, expectant, too much so. I sat still, entrenched in silence.

  Finally, he nodded, visibly awkward. “Think about it. Maybe someone will come to mind. It would a pity for you to miss this opportunity.”

  It almost seemed that if I didn’t acknowledge this moment, it wouldn’t be true. I remained silent.

  The professor stood, attempted a smile. “Let me know as soon as you can, will you?”

  I managed to rise, to nod into space. We shook hands, mine limp, his far too big, and a moment later I was standing in the corridor with oblivious strangers hurrying past me in all directions. The academic year had started, and new students were walking the grounds. New faces so young-looking I could hardly believe they’d finished high school. They strode around as if the place was theirs, as if no other student had ever been there before them. I left the campus, staggered through the streets, felt the wind bite at my fingers and neck, gnawing at my head.

  It was a cold day, maybe the first really cold day of the season, and I was unprepared. I had neither scarf nor gloves nor hat. I had underestimated the weather. The trees were losing their leaves. I erred about the streets, hardly knowing which way I was going. I just walked, put one foot in front of the other, feeling the vague protection of the movement, its rhythm lulling me. But not enough to make me forget that my allowance would run out in a matter of weeks. Suddenly I had no vision of the future, only a dreadful void. I’d been naive, stupid even. I saw it then. As long as I walked, though, I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to face anything for long.

  When I came to my senses, I was on Marszałkowska Street, and there you stood, talking to a guy in a pair of sunglasses, the one Hania had danced with at the party. He introduced himself as Rafał and gave me his hand with a wry smile. It was unnerving not to see his eyes. We looked at each other, you and I, but we couldn’t say anything.

  The sun was already weak and descending; it grew colder, but I didn’t feel it anymore. From where we stood, on the city’s straightest, longest street, you could see all the way to Constitution Square, with its gigantic Stalinist buildings and carvings of muscled workers and strong, healthy mothers, and even farther, past the damaged Church of the Holiest Saviour and toward the tiny square beyond, where Hania and Maksio lived. It was only four o’clock, but night had already started to envelop us. We stood and waited under the neon sign of the restaurant—a large red “Mozaika” in handwritten style—like a beacon of something better and more modern that might brighten our lives. We talked to Rafał, but my mind was absent. I can’t remember a word we exchanged. I can’t remember anything until a black Vespa stopped right in front of us. Hania was wearing a biker jacket and high boots, her hair untied, and Maksio had on a thick Alpine-style sweater the color of cream. All their clothes looked new and foreign. I stared at them in awe, as if they were a pair of actors from a Fellini film. We kissed on the cheek and shook hands. They seemed genuinely glad to see me, and already the tingling warmth of flattery began to soothe my nerves.

  We walked into Mozaika, where it was warm and soft. A low-ceilinged room decked out in red carpet and uniformed black-tie staff, and—again—those giant potted palm trees, each leaf big enough to wrap a baby inside, reaching into the room languidly and lazily and utterly aware of their own magnificence. The people there were the sort one never saw walking in the street, and so one would have been excused for thinking they didn’t exist: women with large wavy hair, heavy bright necklaces and fox collars, and men in well-cut suits and serious, clean faces, smoke dancing up from their American cigarettes more slowly and more preciously than in the outside world.

  We sat in a booth by the tinted windows, on two padded leather benches facing each other, drinking vodka and smoking until we were shrouded in a gentle fog. The waitress brought herring in sour cream and Ukrainian borscht with beef, and later a large red snapper for each of us. I felt like I was another person, in another city, leading a careless elevated life. I was surprised by how easily I’d pushed everything else aside, including the meeting with the professor. The vodka helped. The waitress came around and around and filled our glasses without anyone having to remind her. You next to me and Hania opposite, throwing us smiling looks. Maksio recounted one anecdote after another, mostly about girls he had tried to seduce, and you egged him on, teasing him until he told us more, as if you were just like him. I had never seen you like this and was surprised to find that I liked it. In a way, I told myself, it wasn’t really you. When I saw Hania staring at you, her eyes wide, mouth open in laughter, I couldn’t feel jealousy.

  “So you’re the reason we haven’t seen our Januszek all these weeks,” she said at one point, winking at me. “I was beginning to worry some girl had stolen him from us, when really he was just in your sweet company.”

  You groaned. “Hania, do you have to flirt with all of my friends?”

  Maksio and Rafał laughed out loud. I blushed despite myself. Hania rolled her eyes at you and looked at me with complicity.

  “How come I never saw you on the field during camp?” I asked, trying to change the mood.

  “Excellent question!” Maksio cried. “Sister dear? Why did Your Royal Highness not lift a finger—nor a single beetroot—all summer long?”

  Now it was Hania’s turn to blush. “Stop teasing me, everyone,” she said, affecting irritation, emptying her little glass of vodka and setting it back on the table with a bang that made the neighboring diners look up. “I have delicate hands,” she purred, and we laughed.

  Dessert arrived, ice cream with chocolate sauce, topped with an absurdly big mountain of whipped cream, served in a tall glass that resembled the trumpet of a flower. It was delicious. I felt like a child again, a happy one this time, whose wishes had always been granted. On the other side of the window night had fallen, and dark figures moved past in the street with downcast faces and empty bags, and empty stomachs, I guessed. But we didn’t see them. It was so much better on this side of the glass. So much warmer, so much softer.

  We stayed late, until there were almost no other guests. The bill arrived on a small silver platter, and everyone reached for their wallets—or pretended to, in my case—but Maksio waved us off.

  “It’s on us,” he said with a flick of his hand, walking over to the bar, where the waitress stood in front of a wall of foreign alcohols. She smiled at him with deference as he signed the bill and left her a tip.

  Outside, in the cool air, we stood and smoked Maksio’s Marlboros, smoother than any cigarette I’d ever had. Hania looked around at us, in her catlike observing way, and asked whether we wanted to go to their country house that weekend.

  “We’ll escape the city, make a little party out of it,” she said, her eyes narrowing with satisfaction, her fine mouth curling into a smile.

  We all agreed, and kissed one another good night, and watched them speed off on their Vespa toward their part of town. Rafał waved down a taxi and was gone.

  Then it was just you and me on the large empty avenue. We walked uptown. I reached out for your old self, waiting for our masks to wear off in the cold of the night.

  “I’m so happy you came,” you said, looking at me in a loving, tipsy way, almost childish. “Wasn’t it great? What did I tell you, huh?”

  I nodded. “It was great.”

  We walked on, the pavements deserted. It was late. I listened out for the s
ound of our steps. They were almost in unison, and something serious, something important that I’d pushed down all night long, rose to the surface of my mind. I told you about my meeting with the professor, quietly, ashamed about my hopelessness. Not daring to ask anything of you, only recounting. You listened attentively.

  We were on Poznańska Street, with its cobbled stones and tall prewar kamienicas and lines of prostitutes. Young ones and old ones, most in long coats with miniskirts or tight dresses showing underneath, their bodies violently stretching the fabric, threatening to break it. They called out to us while I talked, accents coarse and loud, and we walked on without looking.

  “I’ll give you a special price, sweetie,” one of them cried with a clipped Silesian twang, “for such a beautiful face. And bring your friend too.”

  The other women cackled like hyenas in the dark. I didn’t dare look at you. I couldn’t see anything funny in that moment. We reached the end of the street with the Palace of Culture towering before us, large, dark, and ominous, and beside it the train station, lit but seemingly empty.

  You stopped and looked at me with a consolatory smile. “Don’t worry, this one is easy. You can ask Hania this weekend. At her house.”

  A flash of opportunity raced through me. After that night, at the restaurant, anything seemed possible.

  “Are you sure?”

  You nodded. “She likes you. And I’m sure she can have some strings pulled for you. She and Maksio always had all the exam questions in advance, you know. That’s why I never needed to go to lectures. And at the camp neither of them lifted a finger.”

  I looked at my shoes, my head racing. “And it won’t be weird with Hania? Coming on to you?”

  You smiled and shook your head lightly. “Did you see her tonight? She’s not desperate. Besides, she falls for guys so easily. She’s probably into you right now.” You laughed again.

  “OK, then,” I said, still anxious. “This weekend.”

  We hugged, our cheeks coming up against each other, me feeling the beginning of your stubble. I always loved that sensation.