"Enter, please," she invited. "I will put on our Elvis right away."
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Station Red Poppies
Sometimes, you wake up and the story you remember from your dream is so realistic that you are not quite sure if it was a dream or reality. It happens from time to time to everyone and that shocks nobody. But if inversely, some occurrences in your life become so dim and obscure that they could be a dream, then you hope you will wake up happy that it was only a nightmare.
So, better take life as it is. After all, what is the difference between a dream and real life if you cannot change either even just a bit?
***
When I finally found my compartment, it turned out that my window seat was already occupied. A pretty girl in a black dress decorated with red poppies sat on it, fanning her face with a newspaper folded in half.
"Oh, is this your place?" asked she, suddenly sensing my presence and perhaps, a bit of my hesitation. "Could I sit here for a while by the window? Somehow, I do not feel comfortable."
I agreed, of course, though I wondered for a moment, if she was not so pretty, would I also have agreed? I was not so sure about it. Here, in this train that went from Warsaw to Vienna, everyone was so nice and friendly. There were plenty of smiling faces while a few were a little mysterious, occasionally throwing furtive glances at their valises placed on the shelves. Their minds were absent. Probably, they were thinking that after crossing the Czech - Austrian border, they will be finally free and they were impatient to make the most of that freedom as soon as possible. In their minds, they were probably jumping and waving their arms, yelling: "Faster, faster. Hurry up. C’mon..."
How differently the same people would look like crowded to the limits in the coach of a passenger train from Koluszki to Warsaw for instance, exchanging hostile glances with one another. Strange, being close to someone should foster a sense of friendship. Inside the trains, however, the effect seems opposite.
I picked up my suitcase. It was not especially heavy. The heaviest burden were four bottles of export-quality Vodka Wyborowa wrapped in my personal garment for security reasons. I sat down at her place, luckily next to the door, and as befitted an elegant bachelor, immediately asked about her health, proposing even to open one of my four bottles in order to strengthen her fragile condition.
Iwona (as later turned out to be her name) politely refused while thanking me for the offer, but the man who sat opposite me said that why not? Even willingly, but only when the train started moving. We absolutely could not touch it before, because that would easily jinx our trip. That's when we found out that his name was Karolczak and that he was working on the railroad, and if anyone knew about trains, he did. He surely knew best about jinxes on a trip. The lady who was sitting beside him said that she was going to see her daughter, who was studying at the University of Vienna, and next to her sat a fat man. He looked like a butcher, but as it turned out, he was a professor. Opposite him sat a slimmer guy with a beard and glasses, which made him look like a professor while, in fact, he was only a butcher.
The lady who was going to see her daughter began to tell about how her girl dressed and what kind of car she drove. We all figured out from that what kind of university, she was studying at. And then, I said that I was going to visit Vienna because I had never been there and will be back in two weeks. Karolczak told me that as soon as the train started moving, he would explain where there was a camp for refugees, even though I did not ask about it, and the girl in the black dress with the red poppies on it said nothing, though she already looked much better. I started to wonder if she would let me go back to my place, but then I did not care too much for it because the very fact that she was sitting on my spot produced between us a connection, a thread of intimacy which was nice.
Then the train started and Karolczak looked at me meaningfully.
I took out only one bottle of Wyborowa and handed it to him, saying that I had not brought glasses. Now, the lady who was going to her daughter (Mrs. Wera turned out to be her name), took out of her bag a small box and opened it. Inside were six beautifully carved crystal glasses. She said she could lend them to us, but we had to be careful not to break them because they were a gift. So Karolczak poured and told us to call him Karol, because everybody called him that way and we drank for a happy journey. And then everyone was introduced, though I must have not been listening when the Butcher and the Professor were introduced, so those two names I never could remember.
Just then, the Professor asked if we had heard about the strike in Gdansk, but none of us had. Iwona, who looked quite better, probably because she also had a drink in spite of her prior refusal, although only half a glass, opened the paper which she had been using as a fan and said that in Warsaw Life, there was no mention of it. The Butcher added that he was not interested in politics. He was going to Vienna to work since the butcher stores in Poland were already empty. The government had sold everything possible to the Western banks in order to pay back its loan and now there was nothing left to trade. In Vienna, he was promised a good job in a meat warehouse, and when he will make some money in Vienna, he would return to Poland to open his own shop. Then everything would be better. The Professor did not approve of it. If the Poles would build the West, who would build Poland this time?
Well, I told him that I knew a little about building because I was a builder and in Poland, we built everything we could afford and we ran out of money. Who knew? Maybe we should tear down what we had built and return it to the Western banks as we had borrowed too much. They listened to me, all with reverence because they saw that I had three more bottles of vodka. However, I did not have the chance to touch those because when the first one became empty, the Butcher immediately pulled out his own bottle and Mrs. Wera found some Prince Polo wafers coated in chocolate. It got merrier and merrier until an old woman walking down the corridor peeked in for a small glass because as she said in her compartment, all wore lamentable faces and she feels alone and there was no one for her to have a drink with. She had a sparrow hawk nose with a wart and wire-rimmed glasses, which made her look exactly like Baba Yaga from the children's books. She was much more cheerful than Baba Yaga, though, that we immediately liked her, and after a while, even more because she said that she had with her an herbal homemade tincture that could treat all ailments and she would let us try it later. The Professor, however, said that he does not believe in any tincture. He was going to Vienna to meet academic biochemists and believed that the only true, approved medicine was effective and that home remedies were all based on medieval superstition. But we debated with him and gave him a thorough lecture until he felt insulted and drank two more rounds without a word. Butcher, on the other hand, become more talkative after a few rounds and he started to tell what they added to the sausages to make them heavier.
"I want to visit some museums and go to a concert of the Philharmonic Orchestra," Iwona suddenly said.
Normally, I would rather go to a rock concert than hear the Philharmonic Orchestra, but I found myself saying: “I'll go with you wherever you want. Just let me earn the money for the tickets.”
After the next round of Wyborowa, all became even happier, and as the conductor came to check our tickets, he said that ours was the most cheerful compartment in the whole car and that he almost wanted to drink with us, but he shouldn’t because he was on duty. After he left, Mrs. Wera started crying suddenly, saying that she was really going to Vienna to take her daughter back home to Warsaw before she became a real whore at this street university. Then, Professor asked Karol about the location of the refugee camp he was talking about. He did not want to know it for himself, rather he wanted to know as a tidbit of general information. Karol explained to him that the best way to learn was to go on Sunday to a Polish church. There, he would find out exactly everything he needed. Iwona kept silent, her head already rested on my shoulder. (I had exchanged places with Mrs. Wera to be close to her.) She was almost asleep even
though she drank less than the others, and I was already pretty much in love with her.
I was staring at her knees when the compartment door opened and this witch with the sparrow hawk nose entered with her tincture for all ailments. Suddenly, it turned out that everyone had some ache somewhere. Even the Professor had to drink a shot, because although he did not believe in tinctures, he had to try, just for the sake of science. Then it was even more fun for a while, and later, it turned out that I had probably closed my eyes and drifted off without knowing because a sudden jerk woke me up. I sat up, deathly silence prevailing around me. When I looked outside the window, I saw that the train was at the platform of a small railway station and on the board attached to the wall of the building, I saw the inscription: STATION RED POPPIES.
***
No one knew why we stopped, but after some time, the door of our compartment opened and the conductor announced that there had been a mechanical failure and they had stopped here at a railway siding to check what happened. Clearly, there was going to be a delay. The train rolled slowly to the side track and after half an hour, it turned out that the failure was serious, so much so that they would have to ask for a second locomotive to be sent from Warsaw. In the meantime, the station building was equipped with toilets and we had to make the most of the situation.
Iwona and I went outside. It was night already, but a very clear one, so we decided to walk a little across the field to stretch our joints. Following the narrow lane around the station, we came to a gentle slope overgrown with weeds and wildflowers.
Suddenly, it became as clear as daytime, and then we saw a lot of red poppies in between the blades of grass. They stretched out their petals towards the light, probably thinking that the day had begun and watched us surprised. We walked to the top of the small hill and looked down at the fluffy carpet covering the meadow.
"Let’s roll over?" suggested Iwona.
She did not even wait for my answer. She just lay down on the grass and began to roll down the slope, her dress that was also full of poppies merging with the meadow in a swirling cloud of flowers. I did the same thing, pursuing her until I caught her at the bottom. Then again we ran up to the top. We had to hold our hands to keep our balance since the meadow was still spinning around in our heads.
"And now, together," said Iwona.
We lay down on the grass sideways and rolled down the slope, embracing each other tight, first slowly, then faster and faster, and the scenery behind her face changed with every moment: meadow, sky, meadow, sky and so on without end. Along the way, we started to laugh at the same time and we could not stop laughing all the way down.
Once we stopped spinning among those poppies, I felt her hips against mine, spurring the beginning of what usually happens in such cases. We saw each our reflection in each other’s eyes until they become hazy and we united with the meadow, completely lost in its rhythm, smell and color.
We lay still for some time, listening to the murmur of the grass above our heads as the breeze blew. Little by little, the stars lost their extraordinary clarity, the darkness spreading. Even the poppies, which had been tilted curiously over our faces, watching us, were closing up as they returned one by one to their interrupted sleep.
We rose from the grass and looked at each other.
"What happened?" asked Iwona.
"I'd like to know, too. Anyway, I'm not complaining. But next time, do not roll around in a meadow with a guy, because what happened can happen again."
"I am not complaining, as well. It was great."
Suddenly, she squeezed my hand.
"Our train!" she exclaimed.
I ran after her as fast as I could. What if the train had already been repaired? What if it left without us? We ran back the way we thought we came, but it was already dark and we could not really remember which way to go. We must have been nervous or maybe our heads got screwed around in our heads from rolling around in the poppies, because we failed to find not only the train, but also our poppy slope. We struggled through the thickets, walking for some time along the stream. It was getting darker and darker and I began to fear that we had crossed the Czech border accidentally. At any rate, we had to ask someone where the Station Red Poppies was located and we continued walking until finally, we saw the light.
It streamed through the open door of some small building, a hut rather, and as we approached cautiously, the door opened wider, as if inviting us inside. It was an old, abandoned hen house. Horizontal perches rose gradually on the rear wall and across it was a wooden table at which stood the old woman we knew from the train, pouring her herbal tincture into the crystal glasses of Mrs. Wera. Most places on the perches were already occupied. In the front row, we noticed all the friends from our compartment, some of them letting out a sigh of relief.
"Finally, here they are."
"I wonder what took them so long?" asked another.
"Can you not guess? See, she has a crumpled dress."
"And he has weeds in his hair, and in addition, his fly is open."
"Well, well. That’s their private affairs. Just let them sign the attendance list and we can start."
Baba Yaga gave us two crystal glasses filled with the tincture.
"Drink it, children," she croaked. "Everyone has signed in already."
We drank - it tasted good - then we took two seats next to each other on the nearest free perch. In the meantime, I turned to the wall and stealthily zipped myself up.
"Well, let’s begin," the old woman crooned.
The lone light bulb hanging above the table on the wire was constantly twitching and in the shadow of its light, the old witch looked like a bald cock with a crooked nose and her wire-rimmed glasses emphasized her comical appearance even more. But nobody laughed or even was surprised. Everything seemed to be quite normal.
"We are here to decide something," continued the Rooster. "Why now? Because it is just now that they are starting the first strikes on the coast of the Baltic Sea. We do not know what will come of it, but we should strike while the iron is hot. We will not sit here folding our hands or twiddling our thumbs and allow this opportunity to slip between our fingers. We should regain power and rebuild our country!"
There was a sound of enthusiastic applause mixed with clucking. The old cock was right. He had said exactly what the vast majority of those present felt. Only the train conductor did not express enthusiasm. He had a sour face and immediately drew attention to himself.
"Maybe he is a member of the Communist Party?" someone whispered from the side.
"Yeah, you better keep an eye on him," someone else said also in a whisper.
"First, I think we should express our wholehearted support for those who are on strike," the cock crowed with fervor. "Who's for this motion and who's against?"
They were all cautiously for it. Only the conductor tried to protest, then he started slowly to move sideways, towards the door. It was quickly discovered however, and he was immediately tied with last year's straw, his conductor cap pulled over his head so firmly that he could not see or hear.
"What is wrong with the existing system?" the Rooster crowed again. "And why do we want to change it? Please, feel free to express yourself."
After a moment of silence, there was a collective cluck.
"Not all at once," reminded the Rooster. "Please speak one at a time."
First perked up Karolczak, whom they called Karol.
"I 'm working on the railroad, like that one," he pointed with disgust to the tied conductor. "And for two years, I did not receive a raise, yet he probably got one." Again, he pointed to the man slumped against the wall.
"Everything is more expensive. A pound of ham already costs a hundred zlotys and the ordinary sausage, they have made into some kind of minced meat so they could put more paper and bones into it. This one here... " this time, Karol pointed to the Butcher, "he admitted to it. Those at the top, they have their special shops, and no one even knows how much they earn
."
"I never said anything against our system," yelled the Professor who looked like a butcher. (You can see that I was not the only one mixing up the two.) "But now, I have something to say. We are missing freedom of speech! Freedom of conscience! I had once a student, a lazy nitwit and a dunce. And his father called me to his office in the Committee of the Communist Party and said that if his son will not make it to the next year, I would never forget it. And such duffers rule our country."
Then the Butcher, who looked like a professor jumped to his feet and started screaming: "Yes, I was putting things into the sausage. I was putting paper too, and I will do it again, because the others did, and whoever did not do it would be kaput. If you entered the hen house, you would cackle like..." He looked around and did not finish, simply sitting down.
"And I demand the girls to be paid better than now," Mrs. Wera interjected. "I do not want my daughter to have to travel so far just to earn some money. What’s the matter? Why should a girl from a good family have to rush around the world to meet decent customers? In her own city, she would be under the eye of her mother, but in our city, all men are bums. Everyone wants to get something for free."
All the others started to complain at the same time and each had something clever to say, so in the end, Rooster stopped the random chatter and exclaimed:
"Requests for proposals now, please."
For this, the Professor again spoke up and offered to set up a new political party, which would henceforth rule the country in a democratic way. And it had to be called the Democratic Party. That was clear. And that anyone, for example, him, could stand at the head of the party, of course, provided that the party found a financial sponsor because otherwise, it would not be able to move ahead.
Only then did we notice two men sitting on chairs against the wall behind the table. They both had black suits and hats and leather briefcases on their laps - the diplomats for sure.
"And what would be the program of this party?" asked one of them.
Candlelight Stories Page 17