Candlelight Stories

by Andrzej Galicki

  Now that the mystery had been solved, all the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. That's why she came to his room in her panties only, to serve as bait, as if he was a fish. And when she decided to get caught, she warned him against Joanna. Maybe she feared that the other female would be faster? Who knew what ideas swarmed in such a young mind? Meanwhile, she was the nymphomaniac. Not Joanna. He had to watch her. Again, the indecision - just why watch? To avoid such a wonderful adventure? To prevent incredibly beautiful moments of pleasure? She was, after all, a legally adult person who knew what she was doing. Henry looked down at the notebook on his lap and delved into reading. What he read, absorbed him so much that he forgot where he was and after reading all the text, he read it again and again as if trying to learn it all by heart.

  ***

  They sat around the table, feasting on dumplings with butter and sugar - another specialty of Mrs. Stefania - and looking at each other. Henryk, who in the meantime, already lost his certainty of who was his guest last night, moved his cunning look from one woman to the second. Several times, he choked on the overwhelming question threatening to escape his lips: "Well, admit it now. Which one of you ladies screwed me last night?" But he refrained for fear of ridicule; it could be fatal.

  “How did you sleep last night, dear Mr. Henryk?” asked Joanna suddenly.

  He looked at her, puzzled. Why such a question? And why this sudden ‘dear’ before his name? Such familiarity for no reason? Just yesterday, he was simply Mr. Henryk.

  "I've got you," he thought with relief. It must be her. But - what about the text in the notebook? How could she know Baska invented this beginning? Maybe Baska herself repeated her conversation with Henryk? After all, it was not so hard to remember a few sentences, was it?

  “The dumplings are great.” Joanna turned to Mrs. Stefania. “Can you tell me the secret behind preparing such a delicacy?”

  “I know,” said Baska. “First, you have to sow the grain.”

  “What grain?” Joanna was surprised.

  “What grain? Wheat, of course, to produce the flour. You should do it at night, somewhere in the woods, in a dark forest...”

  Here, Henry had the impression that Baska was giving him such a perverse look that his hand, which held another dumpling, hung over the table. "Sure it was she, what a fool of me." The realization dawned on him in a heartbeat. "She betrayed herself. Now, I know everything. You do not fool me, you little dodger. I’m too old for you to make a sparrow of me."

  After dinner, they met again at the table with lit candles. Mrs. Klara was very taken over. She made a lot of strange faces. In the yellow light of the candles, her face looked like a kind of demonic mask.

  The gaze Baska sent him from behind her lashes said, "And what did I tell you? Doesn’t she look like Belphegor?" Henryk had never seen Belphegor before, but he smiled to his secret lover.

  "I wonder if she will come today?" he thought, and the more he thought about it, the more he got caught up on the fact that he would like her to come. Moreover, he started to imagine it even without admitting it to himself. Actually, since dinner, from the moment of her joke about the black forest, he had gained confidence that it was Baska who was his guest last night and now, he could not stop thinking about her. Out loud, when he was alone, he told himself that if she appeared again, he would give her a good spanking and chase her from his room. But silently, he thought:

  "Oh, if she comes, I’ll let her do everything. I’ll pretend I’m sleeping deeply, that I know nothing, that I see nothing. Oh, what a beautiful moment it will be..."

  Meanwhile, Belphegor mumbled a spell with a monotonous voice. Henry felt his left little finger touching the little finger of Mrs. Stefania while his right little finger was burning at the contact with Baska’s finger as she sat next to him. (He wondered if she was feeling it, too.) Their eyes were all closed, although Henry was sure that Baska opened hers every now and then. Finally, after a long, long wait, Mrs. Klara said she felt the presence of the spirit in the room.

  “Who are you?” she asked solemnly. She listened then to the silence piercing their ears, a long velvety smooth silence. Finally, she said: “This is the same creature as yesterday. She is demanding a pen.”

  Henry put his pen on the plate, trying to break the chain created by their hands as shortly as possible. The pen began to rotate slowly, but no answer came. Mrs. Klara asked further questions, but received answers that were incoherent, sometimes even pointless. Something happened, however, that sent a real thrill through those gathered in the room. At some point, they saw a hazy glow, an oblong-shaped silhouette in the corner of the room. It did not last long, just a moment, but was clearly seen. After a while, the specter dissolved itself, merging into the wall. The pen also sank on the plate. The contact was broken.

  Mrs. Klara switched on the light and extinguished the candles. She was very tired, but very excited. “There was a vision!” she said excitedly. “A real vision, and it's only our second session. This happens very rarely.”

  “But why was it so stupidly answering your questions?” asked Baska.

  “The whole spectral energy was concentrated on an attempt to show up” explained Mrs. Klara. “And besides, maybe our questions seemed silly to him. Over there, on the other side, they think differently than we do.”

  “And how do you know it?”

  “I know because I have long been dealing with these issues, my child. Even if you're patient and willing to learn more, you have to go through many of these sessions in order to know more about these things. Science denies the existence of communication with the world of the dead. Then we have to open its eyes. This time, we have seen the proof. The signal was extremely strong.”

  No one denied it. They got up from the table, Joanna looking Henry in the eyes as she passed him at the exit into the hallway.

  “What an exciting experience, is it not, Mr. Henryk?” she asked with her velvet voice. “Probably I will not be able to sleep tonight. I'm so afraid...” She licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue and gave him such a look that he shuddered.

  "Really?" thought he, suddenly suspiciously looking at her. Impossible. After all, he had already decided it was not her. He returned to his room weighing the pros and cons of being a pensioner and ended up counting more pluses.

  The door opened, of course, without a knock and Baska ran in wearing her pajamas, which means only her panties and the shirt of her older brother.

  “What a performance by Belphegor. Did you see, Freaky? He showed us the real ghost!”

  “You call it real? Hardly something could be seen.”

  “Hardly something? And the glowing silhouette, what was it? Mickey Mouse? What did you think? That such a spirit stranger will pose for a picture with us on the second night? Or sing the opera arias? Did you hear what Belphegor said? That, for the second time, it was a lot. We have to wait patiently. I do not know if I can handle waiting. I want to see much more...” Baska stopped suddenly, fixing her eyes on the open notebook. She snatched it up.

  “You started writing, ” she exclaimed excitedly. Henryk rushed to her instinctively to get the book back, but she quickly ducked with it under the table. He came to his senses and decided that, after all, he would not wrestle with her. After a few minutes, she got out from under the table, threw her arms around his neck and tenderly kissed him on the cheek.

  For a moment, he could feel her small, firm breasts against his chest, stunning him a little. “Dear Freaky.” She sounded very pleased. “You started exactly as I wanted and what you invented is very interesting. Do tell me when you'll have more. I’ll turn up out of curiosity. So, see you tomorrow.” With that, he heard the door closing behind her. Resigned, he sat down on the bed.

  "So it's not her," he thought. "How naïve am I?”

  He remembered now this seductive parting look Joanna gave him just moments ago. And the wandering tip of her tongue reminded him of something. With
a deep sigh, he went to bed. He knew that he had to give his head a rest. Otherwise, it would hurt him a lot.

  ***

  This time, he was also in a boat. The boat was dragged through the desert sands by two bald camels, their dried up bones rattling loudly with every shaky step of their long legs. The black, merciless sun hanging over his head sucked the light out of the desert sand. The light wandered up in the form of rays and here on earth, remained of it almost nothing, so that although it was not completely dark, almost nothing was visible.

  She appeared sitting on him like she was atop a horse in her black outfit of a Bedouin woman, her face and body covered with half transparent tulle. She began to sway back and forth, as in the previous night, falling into the rhythm of the camel's steps and the clattering of their dry bones, which resounded around and spread into the still warm sand far, far up to the horizon.

  The form sitting on him was so light and airy as the muslin covering her. He could barely see her in this rapidly escaping light. He was afraid that the merciless sun would pull her into the night and take her up before he could reach this indescribable bliss, which was just beginning to embrace his whole body.

  He tried to raise his hands to grasp her hips and press her closer to him. That way, if she had to ascend, he would also be with her, so that the present moment would never end. But he could not even move his hands.

  It ended, however. In spasms and painful cries of happiness, with him feeling like the luckiest man on earth.

  He closed his eyes and the rocking of the boat began to steadily fade, and the dry clatter of bones drifted off into the distance indefinitely.

  Henryk knew he was now alone. He felt tired, damn tired. He slept until the morning on his back, without changing position, until the room was filled with a new, bright day.

  This time, his pajamas lying on the floor was no surprise anymore. He got out of bed, put on his glasses in a hurry and grabbed his book with both hands. It was there. The next chapter of his book had been written in the same handwriting, without deletions, still using his own pen with a gold nib. He closed the book and put it on the table.

  "Yes, I’ll read it together with Frederic. That way, it will be easier to understand. As they say, two heads are better than one," he thought.

  ***

  The fountain pen lying on the plate spun, then slowed down for a while, and again rotated faster as if it was undecided which of the letters should be considered appropriate for the answer.

  The question was still the same: "Who are you?"

  The question was simple, direct. Belphegor decided that the time had come to invite the evening guest to make a personal appearance to the audience. True, there was a danger that it may become frightened or upset and never return. There were allegedly such cases. But for the sake of science, a researcher must sometimes take risks.

  Finally, the pen stopped on one of the letters. It was the letter ‘I’. The following letters were found much faster and easier, until those gathered at the table read the whole neat sentence: "I am the Countess Z".

  "Hard to believe," thought Henryk, staring at the apparition visible in the corner of the room. Maybe visible wasn’t the right word. It was barely visible, after all, but unlike the previous day, when there was only a hazy glow resembling the shape of a human, there were tiny sparks of a bluish color, like microscopic electrical discharges.

  Henryk tore his gaze from the specter and looked at the two young women sitting opposite him. So far, he had not solved the puzzle of which was his night lover, so he temporarily concluded that both of them were, and both he coveted earnestly, so much so that he got caught himself up in the fact that he thought about them even more often. They appeared in his head almost constantly and the circumstances in which they appeared generally resembled adult movies. He reprimanded himself at first for such phantoms, but soon realized that he could not resist it and resigned to surrounding himself with them. He did not call Teresa anymore. He was not even able to think about her or the navy blue clothes he had left at home.

  The session came to an end. After one more inquisitive query of Belphegor, the spook flashed angrily and walked away, leaving on the table the motionless pen of Henry. The séance was over.

  "Somehow dear Mr. Henryk is not in the mood today," said Joanna licking her upper lip. "Maybe something can be done about it?"

  Henryk looked at her and smiled slyly, showing predatory teeth.

  Indeed, he did not look the best. He had a flushed face. Maybe he even had a fever. He moved his inflamed look to Baska. What about her? Not concerned about the state of his health? Maybe she had become indifferent? Ha! He would see who was more needed by whom, during the night, of course. He would see who was unable to resist temptation - them or him.

  To make things simple, his mind had started to combine both women into one person. Sometimes, he even got lost in conversations with them, not sure which one was which.

  ***

  The next night was like the previous two.

  He found himself once more in a boat, this time at the bottom of the dark blue sea, and his moments of pleasure were watched from between seaweed by the eyes of a big, hairy octopus. Disturbing were those looks, but he, united with the dissolute siren, whose face he could not identify, stopped paying attention to them until he forgot about them completely. There was only her, naked and wet and impossible to comprehend with his mind that was clouded by red-hot lust, sensual and shameless, and leaving him with fatigue that could be soothed only by a deep sleep.

  In the morning, he found, of course, his pajamas on the floor, and a notebook with the next chapter written with his own pen.

  ***

  Teresa had already signed all the documents that lay in a pile on her desk, dangerously expanding from day to day. She put aside her pen and looked thoughtfully at the window. Since Henryk had left her, her life had changed a lot. At work, of course, nothing had changed. No one even knew what happened. But her private life fell into ruin. Admittedly, she was still sure that any moment Henryk would return, any day at most. He wouldn’t be able to handle himself in this ruthless world. For sure, he would come back like a lost puppy whining at the door, begging for forgiveness. And she, after a long reflection, would forgive him generously. After all, Teresa understood that to err was human. It could happen to anyone. A penalty would be imposed, of course. It could not be otherwise, but every shepherd forgives the lost lamb, and she felt more than anything that she was his rightful shepherd.

  "My clumsy thingy," she called him in her thoughts fondly. And now, that he ran away, she realized even more how strongly she needed him, how much the mere knowledge that someone was waiting for her at home, someone who needed her, gave her confidence, especially when something did not go well at work, when she got a flick on the nose from someone above her (unfairly, of course). Back home, she could always "appreciate" herself by putting Henryk in a corner, regardless of whether he had committed some stupidity or not. Now, he was missing. He had left her, taking from her what turned out to be so important to her - her inner peace of mind. Why did she treat him too harshly? What did that stupid pen actually mean? Nothing. If she knew that he had cared so much for it, she would have bought it for him instead of this unfortunate tie and everything would have been the same like before.

  There was a discreet knock on the door and the secretary poked her head inside.

  “Mrs. Wisniewska,” she announced.

  Mrs. Wisniewska, head of the purchasing department and a disgusting, sassy hag, came into the office and closed the insulated door.

  “These are the documents that you asked for, Mrs. Director,” she said, putting on Teresa’s desk one thick file. “Can I do anything else for you?”

  “No, thank you. That's all for now.”

  “Somehow you look tired, Mrs. Director. I hope you are alright?”

  "What does this bitch want?" though Teresa. "Maybe something could be seen on my face?"


  “By the way, do you have a family in Mokotow?” Mrs. Wisniewska mentioned here the street name and house number.

  “Why?”

  “Just yesterday, my husband drove me to the clinic for examination in that neighborhood, and it seemed to me that I saw Mr. Henryk coming out of that house. It was quite early in the morning so the time was quite strange, but who knows? Maybe it just seemed like Mr. Henryk to me. Maybe it was not him at all.”

  “Yes, over there lives an old aunt of my husband. He visits her from time to time.”

  “Well,” said Wisniewska. “Family is so important.”

  In her voice, Teresa sensed a thin thread of mockery.

  She put on a furious expression after Mrs. Wisniewska had left. "Shit," she thought. "Tomorrow, the whole office will know that the husband of Mrs. Director has a mistress." In her imagination, she saw smiles all around and the eyes of her co-workers casting her ambiguous gazes with a mixture of ridicule and compassion. Anyone who had ever worked in a large office knew this well.

  And what if it was true?. And this thingy, he was even not able to join the communist party, not to mention to find a lover. But of course, he could. He was tall and handsome, after all. Even now, with his slightly graying hair and his aristocratic features, he always caught the eye of women. But he never cheated on his wife. She was sure of it. He was just such a freak.

  Teresa felt suddenly that she missed him. What would happen if he did not come back? If he seriously considered leaving her? No, it could not be. Then why didn’t he call? Only one call she has received from Henryk since the separation.

  She made up her mind. She was going to take care of the matter. She wrote on a piece of paper the address she had heard from Mrs. Wisniewska - her memory was of such quality that she remembered it clearly. Then, with a loud sigh, she opened the file brought her by this woman.