We froze in terror. If Grandpa had not stopped the car, we would have possibly died since my grandfather could not certainly halt the car on this slippery road on time. We would have crashed into the bough and been thrown off the road. It was such a big bough indeed, and both men had great difficulty moving the obstacle aside to clear our way. This is my story.
"Not less puzzling than the previous," said Barbara. "Which is why I do not understand where your doubt is coming from. It is a very typical example of some supernatural intervention in our lives. If it did not happen, it could have been a complete disaster for your family."
"Yes, but there is still something at the end of this whole story. Later, after returning to Pruszkow, my grandfather gave his car a thorough check-up. And guess what he found? A dead moth right behind the glass of the reflector. Back then, car headlights were not as sealed as they are now. The glasses were installed separately; the reflective bowl also, yet in some way, a moth got inside. It warned us, but paid with its life, dying from the heat of the lamp."
"That does not detract from your story at all," comforted Barbara. "A moth in winter time? This alone is not normal. Extraterrestrials and supernatural beings do not have a body. They must use something to warn us of danger. Sometimes, it can be an animal. Sometimes, another man and sometimes, even a physical object as in the case of my little angel."
Once again, she pointed to the figure standing on the dresser.
As if to confirm her words, the angel nodded. We all laughed nervously
"Well, and you?" Barbara turned to Jacek. "What are you hiding from us?"
Just as Jacek was about to speak, she got up.
"Oh, no, wait a minute," she cried suddenly. "What kind of a hostess am I? Girls, please help me."
All three disappeared into the kitchen and soon, we smelled the aroma of fried sausages.
In the meantime, Karl again took care of filling our glasses with wine. As he did, I could not help but study him. Karl seemed to me somehow different. Different how? I did not know. I had no idea what this otherness was. Maybe he was a little paler than others? Or perhaps he spoke less often than we did? But then, that was understandable. After all, we did not know him. Or maybe it was because he lived in Munich, where people were probably different? That was quite normal.
The sausages were served with fried potatoes and spinach, all of which were delicious. Then, of course, there was coffee, tea and home-baked apple pie. As we ate, we forgot all about our stories, completely absorbed in the pleasures of the palate. Barbara turned on the lights, but the white candles on the table remained lit, reminding us that we had to return to our stories soon.
It happened after the empty plates had already left the table to be cleaned up in the kitchen. Once more, the presence of Barbara’s grandmother lingered as if she was still living, the atmosphere of unreality returning among us. And then, as if on cue, I heard the first clap of thunder and the sky between the trees shone over the horizon.
"It seems to me that a storm is coming in our direction," noticed Jacek. "Somehow, it enhances the atmosphere of terror. Do you not fear anything?"
The girls denied it with a laugh.
"Well then, I'll tell you my story." Jacek went on. "It is neither long nor terrible, yet another story of the summer vacations. I wonder why the most interesting things always happen during the holidays. Haven’t you noticed? The rest of the year, it seems to be boring and monotonous."
We nodded, of course. Every kid knows that the rest of the year is just to fill the time between the school vacations, which is when life really unfolds. Everything is in just those two months for which you have to wait so long, and which seem to be, furthermore, twice shorter than the others.
"One summer my friend Maciek and me, we went for our first auto stop tour. Back then, auto stop booklets were handed out at tourist offices only to persons who had completed their 16th year of life. We still lacked a little bit, so Maciek swindled the booklet from his older brother, along with his map and some kilometer coupons. We used this one booklet for both of us, as we already knew that adults invent the rules just so we could break them. I don’t know about you, but to me, it seemed that all the things which could make us happy were forbidden to us like riding on the steps of the tram, smoking, truancy, going to the movies allowed for those above eighteen years, spitting on the sidewalk, littering and all that. What was not forbidden to us? Not too much. Just going to school and learning, which was exactly what we liked doing the least. Or at least, some of us did not like it, including me."
"Well, now, you're a real adult," said Barbara. "Are you allowed to do everything?"
"Maybe not everything, but quite a lot. Anyway, back to the story. So Maciek and I went on our first hitchhiking holiday. The tourist office had blown up the idea of hitchhiking in the newspapers and on the radio so many drivers willingly took hitchhikers, especially those drivers who had already won a prize for kilometer vouchers in the auto stop lottery. Most of them, however, were reluctant to give us a ride, afraid of hooliganism or vandalism as on the trail, you could actually come across very different kinds of people.
The real thrill of hitchhiking is accumulating kilometers. Of course, it is important which way you are going, but the number of kilometers you will pass in one day is more important. We did not go far on the first day. The best lift we had, took us only a few dozen kilometers maximum and in the evening, we found ourselves near Dzialdowo, still close to Warsaw. Such a shame. We felt hungry as wolves, so we lit a small fire near the road and began to bake the potatoes we dug from a nearby field, the only thing we did not lack on our auto stop trip.
Then, we heard steps from afar. Someone was walking along the shoulder of the road. It was a girl. As she came closer, we realized she was a little older than us, and that she was dressed in Polish made jeans with a backpack on her shoulders. She sat next to us at the fire and without asking, she took from the heat one of our potatoes.
"I am Henka from Lodz," she said. "You are probably from Warsaw?"
We nodded.
She peeled the potato, often stopping to blow it because it was probably too hot and ate the potato without a word. Then she stood up, threw the backpack straps over her shoulders and said:
"Do not get into the pickup truck with the blue tarp."
With that, she disappeared into the darkness.
We would have probably forgotten about her if we did not see her again in identical circumstances, this time around Mragowo. The second time, she also helped herself to one of our potatoes without asking and before fading into the darkness of the evening, she reiterated her warning. We tried to call her, to ask what she meant, but she did not even look back.
What could we do? We met many pickup trucks along the way - it was a hitchhiker’s favorite vehicle - but none with a blue tarp. Tarpaulins were generally gray or greenish, with varying degrees of fading, but never blue so far.
We wandered across the lake country, curious to know the local people and their lifestyle. Nothing teaches self-reliance so well as hitchhiking. We rode from town to town and met new people every day. Sometimes, we slept out in the open air on top of haystacks, sometimes, in a barn, not always asking the owner for permission. This first hitchhiking trip was one big adventure. We were always hungry. We had little money, but apples clipped from some orchard in the evening and the potatoes from the fire always rescued us from starvation. One morning, after spending the night in Ostroda, we decided to continue in the direction of Olsztyn. Just after we left the city, one pickup stopped beside us, kicking up the dust from the side of the road with its wheels.
"Where are you guys heading?" inquired the driver of the car. "To Olsztyn maybe? If so, get on the back."
Without even thinking, we grabbed our bags and were about to jump in when both of us stopped suddenly in mid-motion. The canvas on the pick up’s chest was tight-fitting, faded from the sun and rain, but it was clearly blue, especially at the seams and folds of the
material. We didn’t get on.
The driver shouted:
"If you don’t want to get on, then that’s fine, losers," and drove off, kicking up another cloud of dust.
For a long while, we stood there by the side of the road, wondering if we made the right decision. We did not feel comfortable with missing a ride, especially since the pickup truck was empty. In addition, it was going exactly in the direction where we planned to go.
"The cab smelled of vodka," said Maciek, who was good at making excuses. "It's better that we did not go."
Fortunately, we waited only half an hour more. A large Lublin truck took us, with an open chest and two benches on the sides. I liked those the best. Sitting up high, you can see the landscape far to the horizon and the rush of warm air whips your skin and pulls your hair as if trying to tear each strand off your head. That is the real taste of freedom.
Halfway to Olsztyn, our Lublin truck slowed down. From afar, we could see a ruby and sapphire "disco" light of a police cruiser flashing in front of us on the road. Slowly, we drove near the accident site and it was when we saw the pickup with the blue tarp impaled on a tree. On the side of the road lay two bodies.
One of them we recognized as the driver. The second body, to our surprise, belonged to the girl in blue jeans. Next to Henka from Lodz lay her backpack. The police officers had not yet covered them so they both lay with their pale faces exposed to the sun, as if they still wanted to catch some tan at the last minute. Neither Maciek nor I knew what to say, or even to think. To this day, I have no idea what it was all supposed to mean. After all, if she knew the pickup with the blue tarp was dangerous, why did she get on it? To this day, this question still bothers me. If someone could give me an answer, I will be deeply grateful."
Again, silence fell, none of us knowing the answer to Jacek’s question.
Barbara sighed. "Well, if some supernatural powers are trying to contact us, they would do it their own way. That does not mean we can actually read their message using our mundane way of understanding."
She turned to me. "Now it's your turn. So far, you have not said anything. Have you also had this kind of experience in your life?"
I was silent. How could I tell them that the time for my story had not yet come as my story had not started yet and I had no idea how it was going to end so they should wait calmly and patiently because it is near. It is right there, within reach. I feel it in the air. I can almost see it…
I decided to buy myself some time.
"How about we let Karl have his turn now?" I suggested. "He is, after all, our guest. It is not proper for him to wait so long."
My suggestion was aided by another bolt of lightning, after which was heard a prolonged clap of thunder. The eyes of all present turned from me to the window and then fell on the face of Barbara’s guest, who clearly felt somehow uncomfortable, already beginning to squirm in his chair. From the corner of my eye, I saw Barbara trying to help him and she was about to open her mouth to say something, when suddenly, an even more violent explosion shook the air and a sudden blast of the storm opened wide the window and swept through the small lounge, extinguishing all the candles on the table.
The room went dark. In the darkness, we could hear the stream of rain coming through the open window, the droplets crashing on the wooden floor and creating quite a splash. One of the girls screamed. Some guys cursed (maybe it was me). Someone abruptly pushed back his chair.
Suddenly, electric light flooded the room. Barbara stood at the door, with her hand on the switch.
"What's with this weather?" she said, pouting. "And why tonight, when I have guests?"
She walked quickly to the window and shut it, turning the brass handle tightly.
"I’ll wipe the floor right away. Please do not move from your seats. Karl, you can pour some wine in the meantime, right?"
She was answered by the silence. When we looked, Karl’s place at the table was empty.
"Has he been blown away?" joked Barbara. "Well, I will go look for him immediately."
She left the room and returned after a while with a mop and a tin, galvanized bucket.
"I have no idea what happened to him. He’s nowhere to be seen," she said as she cleaned up the puddles.
"Could he really have been blown away?" asked Halinka. "The blast was exceptionally powerful."
"Blown away?" Piotrek had a doubtful expression. "An adult guy like him? I think not. Maybe it was the lightning."
"Lightning?" Barbara's eyes grew wide. "Lightning couldn't have vaporized him! If he was struck, something should have been left. Some powder. Some bones, maybe. Yet here, his chair is completely clean."
We looked at the chair Karl had been sitting on. True enough, the wood gleamed with old varnish. There was not the smallest speck of dust there.
"Or maybe he became afraid of the storm and jumped out the window," Nina said. "He even looked scared."
"If he was afraid of the storm," said Barbara, who just finished wiping the floor "he would not run outside. He would rather hide somewhere inside the house, and he is nowhere to be seen. He didn’t leave through the front door. The latch is locked from the inside."
"Did you look under the beds?" asked Nina, still not giving up.
"I had no time. If you want, you can help me. We have to search the entire house."
"The husband of my aunt once disappeared also like that," Halinka said. "He was found only after the war, heavily worn, but my aunt was happy anyway."
"I'm not going to wait for the next war," said Barbara. "Come on, everybody."
We spread around the house, looking in every possible nook and cranny, inside the cabinets and under the beds. Under one of them, Piotrek found a porcelain potty of Barbara’s grandmother, but Karl was not there. Jacek returned with a flashlight from the attic, all entangled in cobwebs.
"Spiders, yes. The attic was full of them," he said. "But no one was called Karl. I asked."
Barbara, however, was not in the mood for jokes, her face more serious than usual.
"We should go to the garden and check if he is there," I suggested, more to calm her conscience than from my own conviction. "After all, it just stopped raining."
"Indeed," she agreed, looking out the window. "We’ll turn on the lights in all the rooms. That way, we’ll see better."
Then we walked throughout the entire garden, across and around. It was no use, however. We found no traces of Karl.
The garden gate was latched from the inside with no indication that it had been tampered with. Yes, he could go outside and close the gate behind him. But why would he do that? It seemed unlikely that a foreign guest would jump through the window, scared by the lightning, and then race into the black, unknown forest.
We returned to the living room, resigned.
"Maybe we should dig the garden?" Nina threw out the idea without conviction.
"Are you nuts?" Halinka snapped. "Who would have time to bury him? Piotrek? He seems to specialize in digging up corpses."
"I did not dig," Piotrek defended himself. "I just watched them digging."
"Do not quarrel," Barbara scolded them. "I'm calling the police. I see no other choice."
"Can’t we just wait for him to come back?" Nina muttered. "Maybe we should give him some more time?"
Without a word, Barbara went out into the hall, where on the wall, next to the door, hung a phone. We heard from the hall chaotic shreds of conversation. The tone of Barbara’s voice was enough to testify about her nervousness.
"In the beginning, they did not want to come," she complained after her return. "They said that they do not have enough people. It was only when I said that he is a foreign guy from the dollar zone and that his disappearance would have political repercussions that they agreed. Pretty soon someone will come here."
"Maybe they will send a dog?" Nina wondered out loud. "A good dog would come in handy."
"A dog? And how would we get along with him?" Jacek worried.
After a few moments, a police car’s headlight swept through the living room, and then froze.
"They came," said Barbara. "The police station is just near."
She went out into the hall to open the door.
"I’m Lieutenant Balski," said a voice in the hall. "Well, where is this missing person?"
"Why are you asking me, where?" answered Barbara. "It’s me who wants to know. That’s why I called you."
"Are there any witnesses?"
Barbara widely opened the door to the living room. There were two policemen. On the heels of the man who called himself Lieutenant Balski stood a young corporal, obviously fresh out of police school. He had with him a leather service briefcase. When they saw all of us in the living room, they stopped. They looked at the extinguished candles and bottles of wine on the table.
"Some party you were having here," remarked the corporal. It was evident that he was trying to use his "adult" voice.
"Not really a party," Barbara corrected him. "Just the usual social reunion."
"Well, this was not usual, if your guests disappeared in the darkness."
"Only one has so far."
"Only one, eh? But so far, he has not been found."
Barbara had to tell them everything exactly as it happened while the young corporal was carefully filling out his report. In the meantime, we had to give him our personal details and submit our signatures.
"Where do I put the cross?" he lowered his voice and leaned closer to his boss to ask for some guidance. "I have here boxes for ‘injured’, ‘wounded’ and ‘killed’. There is no box for ‘disappeared’."
The Lieutenant said nothing.
"And I got even have ‘kicked by a horse’ but I do not see ‘disappeared’" the corporal added. "Do you have a horse here?"
Candlelight Stories Page 21