"The program would be very simple," Professor answered. "Stick with the West and America. I will introduce a democratic system of government, like that in western countries. There will be freedom of speech and of the press. And all the commies will go to jail."
Immediately, several people displaced themselves on their perches and moved in his direction as a sign of support.
One of the men sitting against the wall opened the briefcase lying on his lap, pulled out a wad of bills and laid it on the edge of the table in front of the Professor. Immediately, a larger group of train passengers shifted in the direction of Professor.
"And I do not agree!" the Butcher cried indignantly. "We have to stick with the Russians because they are hungry forever. Everything can be sold to them. And in America, Polish ham is in every store and what do we get from this? Peanuts. I suggest another party, the Social - Democratic Party ruled by democracy also, but not breaking up with the Eastern bloc. That will be our program."
The second of the men in black suits reached into his briefcase and a second stack of banknotes landed on the table, in front of the Butcher this time. The large group of listeners took perches near their new leader.
Then Karolczak, whom they called Karol, became really furious. He jumped on the foot of the roost on which he was sitting and waving his arms, cried aloud:
"And I am not asked for an opinion? I know the best because I work on the railways and railwaymen know, maybe with the exception of that one there... - He pointed again to the wall. - What are you guys here fucking around with? What kind of worms has eaten your brains out? Trust in the West? Stay with the East? What nonsense. We need to maintain relations with these and those. Poland as a country should be open in all directions, be modern and cosmopolitan. End the old complexes. End reopening those old wounds. There will be a new era of open borders and broad horizons. Our democracy will be based on genuine political dialogue with all our neighbours, regardless of language or geographical location."
This time the two gentlemen at the wall reached for their cases and on the middle of the wooden table, the third pile of bills was erected, not smaller than the neighbouring two. The other participants of the meeting encircled Karolczak who looked around the hen house with a proud gaze.
Iwona and me, we found ourselves at the very end of the perch and the place next to us was completely deserted.
"And what about you?" asked the Professor, astonished. "For what kind of party do you vote?"
"Me?" I started speaking uncertainly. "I...I...For none."
"How so?" the Butcher exclaimed. "Your homeland is in need and you do nothing? And where is the determined attitude of a good citizen? Please join either party. You have the right to whichever you want. From now on, there is full democracy. There is no compulsion. The old days are gone. Go ahead and choose your side."
"But I really prefer not to. When I was little, I was a member of the scouts organization, but I was thrown out for lack of subordination and since then I have not been interested in organizations. And politics does not interest me at all."
"Do you know that you can be accused of anarchism? Do you realize the seriousness of the situation in which you put yourself?" the Butcher asked nervously.
"And you?" the Professor turned towards Iwona. "What party are you going to choose?"
"None, like him," Iwona moved closer to me as a sign of solidarity.
General movement could be seen in the hen house. Some were condescendingly in favor of our stand, others not really. There were also some who began to send us downright hostile glances.
Then, Karolczak stepped back into the action. He remembered probably the remaining three bottles of Wyborowa resting in my suitcase and decided to rescue us from oppression.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. The political ignorance comes out of you all. In any democratic system, there is a place for independents. Just think, what would democracy be if everyone had to belong to the party? That would be no democracy at all but an incorporated dictatorship. It will not be like that here. Let those two remain as non-partisan citizens. Those are also needed. Indeed, if such citizens are not there, who will be working for the prosperity of our country?"
The last question was an argument of irrefutable logic. All present began to look at us with greater interest. A sort of respect could be even noticed in their glances.
"But there are only two of them," someone suddenly said doubtfully.
And again there was silence. This time, the problem was more serious.
Finally, Karolczak once again showed a flash of his extraordinary intelligence.
"We have to marry them!" cried he with relief. "Let them multiply, and then there will be more of working class. It even seems that they have already begun. Is there a priest in the room?"
There was no clergyman around, but there happened to be a retired City Hall judge. It was decided that with the lack of a priest, he was enough. None of us were asked for our opinion. They put us in front of the table from which all the money had disappeared in the meantime into the pockets of the new party leaders and the judge began to blab the lines stored in his memory. The problem occurred when the rings were needed, but the cock immediately produced two thin bracelets with a straw and they fulfilled this role. After a few minutes, we were husband and wife. The sacramental "yes" went so smoothly over my throat that I almost did not notice it and our hot kiss sparked a storm of applause.
The old cock, which was the secretary of the meeting jotted down every word we said, which he enrolled in the minutes of the meeting. (By the way, without asking anyone 's permission, he signed himself up for all three parties at the same time.) He called ours the first wedding in a free country and so everyone must celebrate. Immediately, he began to fill the crystal glasses of Mrs. Wera with his herbal tincture. Iwona and me, we drank first, and then the rest of the guests gathered, with the exception of the two men in black suits who had somehow left unnoticed. Then the train conductor was freed, as everything has already been decided, and he could hear nothing anyway. The tincture of Baba Yaga began to work immediately and after just a minute, I felt almost invincible drowsiness.
***
Later, I vaguely remembered passing the Polish and Czech border and then the Austrian as well. I slept like a log until the train finally stopped at the Vienna train station.
Each of the passengers grabbed his suitcase and not looking at the others, sailed along with the crowd along the platform, where they reunited with a slow stream of humans laden with suitcases, rhythmically shuffling towards the exit above which hung the sign: AUSGANG.
Iwona and me, we left the car last. Neither she was in no hurry nor me. We stood on the deserted platform looking at each other intently.
"Well, what now?" I asked her. "Is no one waiting for you?"
"Not really."
"Yeah. Me neither. What do you want to do?"
"Me? Stupid question. We're going to look for a place to stay."
"We? How come we? Together?"
"Of course. After all, we're married."
"You, too? You had a dream that we were married?"
"It was not a dream. Look at your hand."
I quickly rolled up the right sleeve of my shirt. I had on my wrist a straw bracelet neatly braided by the old rooster. Iwona showed me hers, also on the right hand.
I stood there with my mouth open in surprise and for a moment, I did not know what to do with myself, what to say.
"I was speechless, too, when I saw my bracelet in the train. You slept like the dead, but I checked your wrist. You also had one. So it's probably not a dream."
"They really married us? It was not a dream?"
"There is no choice but to believe since we have these damn bracelets."
"But why did you say yes?"
"I do not know. Maybe I wanted it. You? Why did you agree?"
"I thought I loved you."
"Now you don’t?"
I thought for a moment.
"It seems to me
...it seems to me that perhaps...yes...but we don’t know each other at all…"
"We don’t know each other?" She became suddenly outraged. "Don't tell me this guy who in one night made love to me and married me did everything in his sleep!"
"Well, well, don’t just turn around. It was you who seduced me, after all. Weren’t you the one who suggested rolling in the field of poppies?"
She looked at me for a moment, as if wondering whether or not it was worth continuing the discussion, then probably deciding on the latter, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase and said briefly:
"Come on. I’m beginning to get hungry."
"I guess you're not pregnant yet?" I suddenly remembered what kind of task we’ve been charged with before our wedding.
She looked at me the way a cannibal would look at a missionary, but did not answer.
After leaving the train station, we stopped on the street.
"And where will we be looking for an apartment?" I asked. "Do you think that someone will rent an apartment to a Polish guy who has no job, no money, does not know the language and who, in addition, has with him his wife and a child made in his dream?"
"You are starting to sound like a man. Before you do anything, you worry that you will not succeed. Come on."
***
It turned out that Iwona had a plan. She came to Vienna at the invitation of her aunt, with whom she had planned to stay for a month before returning to Warsaw. As for me, I had thought to stop for a bit at my friend’s place. He was living in Vienna temporarily and working unofficially to make some money and bring it back to the People's Republic of Poland. He lived in a rented apartment along with several other "tourists" from Poland, so one more single air mattress on the floor would not make a huge difference to them. But Iwona decided to introduce me to her aunt first. She was in Vienna last year, so riding the straßenbahn was not a problem for her.
"Let's see what my aunt will say," she decided for both of us.
I did not argue. It seemed we both feared that if we lived separately, our "straw marriage” would crumble.
Contrary to my fears, her aunt even cheered. Iwona introduced me to her as her boyfriend. She did not want to arouse suspicions of her aunt with a ridiculous story from the Red Poppies railway station. Any normal person who listened to such a story would think that we were nuts and would have sent us immediately to the loony bin.
"Your fiancé will stay with us," decided her aunt. "Another man in a shack makes no harm, and Hans will have someone to watch football with. Maybe he will even go into the Gasthaus less often."
Hans came home from work before the evening. He was a big, always happy Austrian fellow.
"My good old chestnut man," Iwona's aunt presented him.
Immediately after dinner, he turned on the TV, where an international game of football was being shown between Austria and another team. I had to see the whole game with him, who slapped me from time to time on the shoulder while saying happily:
"Ya, Ya!"
One of the Austrian players drew his attention particularly. His name was Prohaska and he seemed popular then. Once Prohaska scored, Hans cried like crazy:
"PROHASKA!!!"
And we immediately drank a glass of white wine each. When instead the ball fell into the Austrian grid, Hans did not scream, but we had to drink the wine anyway. After the match, Iwona and I went for a walk through Vienna’s streets. Her aunt lived near Mariahilferstraße, the most commercial street of the city, within walking distance to everywhere. Iwona, who already seemed to know Vienna quite well, showed me around with the air of a tourist guide. I looked at the display windows curiously, surprised by the ridiculous prices. Why must something cost 19.99 shillings and not 20 like in Poland? From the beginning, I had never understood that and probably never will. We walked into a chic department store and drifted between racks with lots of beautiful clothes on hangers, of course, all hellishly expensive. I did not care how many nines after the decimal point the tags had. I could never be able to afford them anyway.
"I bought this dress with the poppies exactly here," said Iwona. "With my first earnings and of course, it was on sale."
"I'll buy you an even prettier dress one day," I joked half-heartedly. "Maybe I'll find a job digging ditches or something like that."
"Here, nobody digs the trenches with a shovel. Machines do everything. And everything you learned in Poland will not be useful for much if you don’t speak the language... Wait!"
She suddenly squeezed my hand. I stopped mid-stride.
"What is it?"
"Nothing, probably nothing. It seemed to me that I saw someone..."
We went on exploring the next floor in turn. After we went back out to the street, I invited Iwona for the ice cream, so we sat on a bench by the street with ice cream in hand. And here I thought that it was enough just to cross the border and life had changed for me so suddenly. Well, they know well what they do by not letting us leave our country without the passports which are so hard to obtain. Otherwise, all the people would come here and stay.
After returning home, I got some good news: Hans has already been in his favorite Gasthaus and they needed someone to work there, though it might be “in black”. The job was hard, but easy - handling the kegs of wine and beer in the basement.
"Arbeit sehr gut, sehr gut, ya, ya..." Hans repeated, each time patting me on my back. "You start Monday."
Iwona went to visit the owner of the hotel where she worked as a maid the past year and found that she could also start on Monday. Everything could happen in Vienna. It was an enchanted city and could not be otherwise.
I visited my colleague the next day. I brought with me one of my bottles of Wyborowa (the other two I gave to Hans as a gift, which had put him in such a great mood that he patted me even stronger on my neck and cried his ya, ya.) My colleague introduced me to his roommates. There were three of them, coming from various Polish cities and trying somehow to make two ends meet while waiting for their visas to the United States or Australia. The most interesting of them was Lolek. Lolek did not work anywhere. He had no time for it. The smart Warsaw sparrow knew everything and could cope with any situation. Right after the second glass of wine, I had learned from him that wool was the best stuff to send now to Poland, what kind of toilet soap they bought in the country and for what price and in which Jewish shops at Mexikoplatz, you could get it all the cheapest. He knew all the owners of these shops. With many of them you could get along in Polish. They liked him all because he knew how to bargain almost as well as they did. He was not very keen about language, but it seemed he was doing quite well in his Viennese life, showing that while the street university could not give you a diploma, it was an excellent school for practical living. Lolek sent packages to Poland through friends going back or the friends of friends, or through the train conductors and truck drivers, smuggling it in various corners of railway wagons or their trucks.
But the trade was not the sole source of his income. At night, Lolek was involved in telecommunications as he said. Mainly, he operated a big part of the urban telephone network. Using a piece of paper, he blocked the hole through which the public payphone returned change to the client. The phone would then work well, but not issue any change. The change only returned to Lolek, who occasionally made the rounds of his network to collect his extra income. It took more than a little cunning and dexterity of one’s fingers to lock and unlock the machine so that it was not visible from the outside.
We became friends with Lolek later. With all his cunning, the guy was extremely friendly and helpful, pouring funny jokes out of his sleeve and one could not dislike him even if one wanted. And for such a greenhorn like me, he was a real treasure trove of practical wisdom.
The next time we met, I complained to him about the high charges for phone calls to Poland. He looked at me like I was crazy.
"And why the hell do you pay for calling?" he exclaimed.
"What do you mean, why? I pay
to speak to my family."
Lolek sighed in despair.
"Look." He drew from his pocket an object unknown to me. "Do you know what this is?"
"I have no idea."
"This is a gas lighter, the same one you use for a kitchen stove."
Now, I looked at him in amazement.
"You talk through the lighter?"
"You don’t understand. It is an electronic lighter. You place it near a pay phone display and press the trigger. The electrical charge it gives off, gets the phone module gets crazy and all of a sudden, it will show 150 or 200 shillings. You can talk all you want."
"Isn’t it illegal?"
"Sure it is, but only if you get caught. Therefore, after you charge the phone, you immediately give the lighter to some guy outside who moves away with dignity. If you get caught in a phone booth with the lighter, you are done."
He paused before continuing.
"Another way is to use the sword. You need a thin, elastic flat metal band with a length of about 35cm. You enter it into the money slot at the right angle and when you feel a slight resistance, you start to tap it down. The stupid phone thinks that the taps are the coins. When you see the sum you wanted on the display, give away the sword to the guy outside. It is as dangerous as the gas lighter."
Such lectures cost me a viertle of white wine. I never regretted it though, as it was not an expense. It was an investment in knowledge.
***
My work in the Gasthaus really did not require great intellect. It was amazing how much beer and wine one could enjoy in this singing nation. The great advantage of this work was the fact that I was most needed in the evenings and on Saturdays and Sundays. It was great, because Iwona and I had decided to enroll in a German language course during the day. It gave us the opportunity to extend our visas and apply for work permits.
When I asked Lolek how he took care of visa problems, he muttered carelessly that he had some fake papers and that was good enough for him. He pissed the matter off. Making money was important for him and the formalities had been created just in order to avoid them neatly.
For our own use, Iwona and I received from her beloved aunt a small room with a bed. Iwona’s aunt was not a bureaucrat and did not require us to present our marriage certificate to her. My claim as the fiancé of Iwona was legal enough for her. Everything worked fine. We had a little time for ourselves during the day, but the nights, oh these Viennese nights...
Candlelight Stories Page 18