The only thing left was to push the body into the grave and bury it, which he did without the effort. In the end, he trampled the surface of the grave exactly, making it perfectly even so that not even a small hill indicated its position, and placed on the top of it the stone he previously used. The rain would do the rest. Tomorrow, there would be no sign at all that someone was buried here.
The Jesuit made a sign of the cross, then sent the bully on his way, throwing at him two gold coins.
“It’s over, Henryk,” he said when they were left alone, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder. “We were both lucky. I managed to get away from her, took refuge in the Order. You are lucky also, because you have me as a friend. You would not have been able to defend yourself against this suicidal love. She took poor Jadwiga first, because she stood in her way. She would have kept you alive for some time only, until the last drop of blood was still in your body. After your death, she would have moved on to the next victim. Who knows? Maybe she already had her eye on someone. They are like this. So is their nature.”
“ She won’t wake up anymore?” Henryk asked, hope and dread mixed in his voice. “Is it really the end of her existence?”
“We have done everything that is known scientifically. She was shot with a silver bullet to the head, an aspen spike was driven into the middle of her heart and she was buried at a crossroad. As long as the wood is in its place, certainly, she will not wake up. And rest assured, nobody will find her here.”
The monk made the sign of the cross again, then returned to the road lit by the silver moon that had just begun to show behind the clouds.
The carriage had been gone long since, the coachman having pulled the reins and driven off at the sight of the pistol, leaving his mistress at the mercy of kidnappers.
They both moved to the place where their mounts were waiting, their reins tied to a tree branch.
At a small clearing, by the fork of two roads lay the stone illuminated by moonlight. It still showed the traces of black blood. Soon, it would disappear completely.
***
The Wislostrada highway rose before the eyes of Warsaw at a stunning pace. This long thoroughfare was built to solve the traffic problems of the city along the Vistula River. The large number of people and equipment thrown on the priority construction site meant that the imposed progress of work was impressive. The individual sections became operational in accordance with the schedule (or at least, that’s what was said in the Tribune of the People, the most important official newspaper in Warsaw) and the working people of the capital had already begun to believe that riding to the work on crowded trams steps was about to become the history. The only thing left was to bring to the streets of Warszawa more buses, as having one’s own car still remained a dream for ordinary mortals.
The brigade of Jaskola worked on laying down the drains at the "Czerniakowska" section of this huge project. The major earthworks were made, of course, by heavy equipment, but the finishing works were still done by hand, using ordinary shovels. Maybe it was better. Physical work, apparently, was good for one’s health.
In America, for instance, everything was done by the machines, and what? People get sick. Just look at how big they are. And despite the fact that over there, they have the best medicine. Isn’t it simple? The Polish worker does not have time to get sick. He knows, moreover, that the best cure for all ailments is a good quarter of vodka with a piece of whole-meal bread in the storeroom. Only if this "natural treatment" doesn’t help should one consult a doctor, certainly not before.
Just refreshed with a dose of such “medicine”, the brigade worked with redoubled energy, which is to mean "half-heartedly". Still, due to the promised quarterly bonus, the boys gave of themselves as much as possible. They were placing heavy, concrete pipes along the road in the places designated by engineers, deepening the trenches made by excavator with shovels, where was needed.
“Have a look, guys!” One of them exclaimed suddenly, bending over something sticking out from the bottom of the trench. “Here are some bones. Maybe there was once a cemetery here?”
They came closer and stood around Rybarczyk, who carefully removed his findings from the earth with his spade.
Below the rusty blade slowly emerged some fragments of the human skeleton.
“Be careful, Rybarczyk. Be careful. Try not to damage it,” the foreman admonished him. “It must be very old. It is easy to break.”
“And what do you need it for, Jaskola? What do you want to do with this stiff?” asked one of the workers. “Do you want to put it in the glass cabinet in our cloakroom?”
“We have a duty to report any object found here, you jerk” blandly explained Jaskola to his younger colleague. “Management will know what to do with it”.
“They’ll grab it for themselves,” said Marciniak. “They grab everything possible, so this one they’ll take also.”
“And what for? What will they do with it? Put it on display in the boardroom?” wondered the younger worker.
“Why not?” agreed Marciniak. “And next to it, they’ll hang a plate: The Hero of the work from the Czerniakowska section".
“The dark mass you are, not the working class, you idiots,” Jaskola patiently admonished his younger colleagues. “The Management will notify the authorities of the city, and they will send here a commission from the Department of Archaeology, or something like this.
“And what will those dudes do?” the young worker asked curiously.
“What do you mean what? They’ll lock the section and begin archaeological excavations. That’s what.”
“Then our job will just get fucked up. What about our bonuses?” Marciniak suddenly worried.
Jaskola leaned heavily on the blade. The logic of this statement was not to be overthrown easily. The two deep wrinkles on the foreman’s forehead deepened even further, indicating a process of serious thinking occurring inside his head.
Meanwhile, Rybarczyk’s shovel uncovered the greater part of the skeleton.
“Look at this, fellas,” called he digging more. “Something is sitting here.”
He bent down and pulled out from between the ribs of the deceased an oblong piece of something that looked like it was made of old wood.
“Maybe he died because of this,” said Marciniak. “Maybe it was the tip of the lance of a knight.”
“Or the spear of a hussar,” Jaskola gave his opinion.
“What kind of wood would stay so long in the dirt?” doubted the younger worker.
“It happens,” Jaskola stated. Of course, he as the foreman, knew best. “It depends on the humidity of soil and acidification,” he added scientifically with an air of authority.
“It crumbles at a touch,” Rybarczyk threw away the dark object with disgust. “What do we do with it, Jaskola?”
“Cover it tightly with the soil and we proceed as if nothing happened,” ordered the foreman. “And no word from your mouth, okay?"
The men nodded with relief and returned to their interrupted jobs, satisfied that the danger of losing their premiums was averted.
***
Danka came home late on the last daily bus. The Delicatessen Store where she worked was open late into the evening and today, in addition to all the hustle and bustle rained, an inventory was performed and Danka had to stay with the manager of the store as the controller that was sent from the Board to verify the books, filling out the boring forms until the end of the day.
Danka was necessary there, especially when checking the inventory. No one else knew as well as she did what and where the items were located on the shelves - where was the chocolate of Wedel, the cans of Russian caviar and all other products. After a few years of working in the same store, she knew everything by heart.
After she had completed her studies at a School of Commerce, she got this job and was proud of it. The Delicatessen Store, after all, was no ordinary grocery shop. Here, real coffee was available,
foreign liquors, even the American cigarettes like Chesterfield, Pall-mall and several other brands. It was a shift job, true, but the inconvenience of that was rewarded out by the prestigious rank of the shop.
Other girls from the School of Commerce often changed their work. Sometimes, it happened that from a clothing store, they found themselves in a meat outlet. Generally, they went to the place where they could earn more. And they couldn’t be blamed. The work of a salesperson in socialist Poland was not the best-paid job and changing one’s workplace was the easiest way to get a raise. Danka did not even think about it. She loved this shop with its smell of ground coffee, and she was well liked by both the staff and customers. Even the store managers who changed from time to time appreciated her commitment and, above all, the fact that she was only one of a few not trying to grab the post from her superior. Because she was conscientious and hardworking, Danka recently received a promotion to the position of Senior Sale Assistant.
Danka lived in the neighborhood of Chelmska street. From the bus stop at Czerniakowska, it was a short walk to her home. The only problem was that she had to watch out for excavations. Since the start of the construction of Wisłostrada highway, there were plenty of them along Czerniakowska street, some of them quite deep and the street lighting, needless to say, was not perfect.
After getting off the bus, Danka headed briskly towards the block of apartments where she lived.
She opened the door and went inside. Someone just entered that way in front of her, because the lights on the platforms had not faded yet.
She liked this gamble - did she have time to reach the next floor before the machine switched the light off? Of course, she did not. In the middle of the first flight of stairs, she heard a faint click and the staircase were plunged into darkness. It did not matter. She knew by heart where the next switch was located. Holding the handrails, she climbed up, but she had just taken a few steps when suddenly she froze. The cold feeling on her nape told her she was not alone. Slowly, she looked back down and saw a lighter shape, like the silhouette of someone coming toward her. Letting out a strangled cry of terror, she fainted, collapsing on the concrete stairs.
***
“Mrs. Danka! Mrs. Danka! How do you feel?” She woke up to the voice of a concerned neighbor.
She opened her eyes and found herself still lying on the stairs in an uncomfortable position. She moved her arms and legs - nothing hurt. With the help of the neighbor, she stood on her feet with difficulty. She had to grip the railing to keep from falling again.
“Well, I just opened the door to put out a bottle for the milk,” said Mrs. Bielinska. “And here I saw someone lying across the steps. What happened to you, Mrs. Danka? I will call your husband right away.”
“No, it is not necessary,” Danka said quickly. “No need to scare him without a reason. Nothing happened. I only passed out, probably from overwork. It's alright. Thank you so much Mrs. Bielinska and have a good night.”
She reached the door of her apartment, pulled the key out of her purse and opened it. The neighbor did not take her eyes of Danka until she disappeared behind the door.
Danka felt strange, as after the big libation. Maybe she should go to the doctor tomorrow? Maybe something was wrong with her? Could it be pregnancy by any chance? No, impossible. What then? She shook her head. There was no use in panicking. She would wait till tomorrow. It was probably just the usual syncope. It could happen to anyone, probably from overwork. She could not remember anything from before the incident. She only knew that she still felt some residue of anxiety, but she did not quite know why.
She had no idea that from that moment, her body no longer belonged only to her. A stranger, an uninvited guest who she could not easily get rid of, had crept into it.
***
In a matter of a few weeks, apparently nothing happened. But soon after, colleagues at work started to notice some changes in Danka’s behavior and appearance. Her professional duties, she still fulfilled fine, but slowly, she became a little different. She spoke to them with greater confidence, was more resolute and energetic, no longer allowing anyone to treat her from the top. What's more, she began to wear high-heeled shoes and dress herself in a more and more fashionable way. And when one day she came to work with make-up and straight from the hairdresser, they understood that something was going on.
"Surely, she has someone," they decoded accordingly. "It cannot be otherwise."
Only a secret lover could cause such a change in a married woman.
It turned out that she was really attractive. Kulczycki from the Directorate of the Management Board so stared at her that he ran into a bucket of dirty water (the cleaning lady had just washed the floor) and fell straight forward on the stone floor, painfully hitting his coccyx and splashing the contents of the bucket profusely on his new suit from the "Adam" fashion saloon for men, ruining his beautiful, wool pants in the color of coffee with milk.
Danka noticed, of course, the impression that her transformation produced in men, and she was amazed by it, but what amazed her more was that she really liked it. These changes incited the lustful gaze of men and the jealousy of women and she wondered immensely why she had paid so little attention to her own appearance so far. She decided to see how far she could go. She allowed Kulczycki to invite her for a cup of coffee, maybe partly as compensation for his drenched pants and his damaged honor. Nothing more. Two meetings with small cups of black coffee, without any commitment, and after two weeks, her manager, Mrs. Mirska, was directed to run the newly opened deli in another part of town. And here? Who was appointed as the store manager? She, Danka herself.
It turned out that she had a natural talent to manipulate men, as never before she could apply it at work.
The only person who did not notice the changes occurring in the Danka was Jakub, her husband. A passionate scientist, he taught math classes at the University. When he returned home every evening, he hurriedly ate the dinner prepared by Danka and after a brief exchange of views about the events of the day, during which his thoughts wandered somewhere in the clouds of mathematical formulas, he shut himself up in his little room he called the studio, lit by a lone desk lamp. In its light, he engrossed himself with his books and notebooks in the world entirely unknown to Danka, the world of numbers and mathematical equations.
So far, Danka was extremely proud of her husband, especially since she absolutely could not understand the topics on which he worked. Those aroused in her fear and respect, as alchemy in the Middle Ages or sorcery long before. Now, however, her relationship to Jakub had changed. His world of mathematical magic appeared to her as an absurd nonsense and a useless waste of time, which was so valuable, after all. It even crossed her mind for a moment that it would be better to replace him with some more entertaining model of a husband, but after some reflection, she decided to wait. Actually, a husband such as Jakub was a real treasure: he knew that his wife was there, but he almost never saw her as a woman. He was better left alone.
They had no children. Jakub did not mind, or maybe he didn’t even know about it. Danka, to fulfill her maternal needs, bought herself a guinea pig, and she named her Mancia.
Danka fed her and cleaned her cage everyday, and in the evening, took Mancia out of her cage, petted her and spoke to her before the bedtime. That was their usual routine, but recently, something strange happened, something that shook Danka to her depths. As she was playing with Mancia one evening, she found herself hugging the warm fur of the guinea pig to her face and with her lips, she brushed the neck of her lovely animal, feeling with her fingertips the beating of its little heart pumping hot blood into its veins. And then, something inexplicable happened. Danka’s teeth sank into the neck of her pet and she felt on her lips the hot taste of blood. The pig squeaked thinly with pain and froze, terrified. Danka felt suddenly a wild spasm, like an orgasm. The delight that ran down her body somewhere from inside her was impossible to describe and both of them, she and Mancia
, froze like two lovers after just completing their act of love. Danka felt downright heavenly good. She smeared the wounds on the neck of Mancia with salicylic alcohol, kissed her tenderly and put her back into the cage. Then she washed herself and went to bed, trying in vain to understand what actually happened.
The next morning, when she remembered last night, she thought it was a cruel dream. She took Mancia out of the cage and looked carefully. Sure enough, the pet had two wounds on its neck, as if someone had cut its skin with a sharp knife. Besides that, it seemed to be fine.
"So it's true," thought Danka. "I really bit her."
She felt terrible remorse, as after committing some serious crime.
But the pet lived. It was just perhaps a little more sleepy than usual and that was it. The greater worry was where did such unusual pleasure, which she still remembered with shame, come from? She had never before noticed in her heart any signs of sadism or anything similar.
What made her act like a freak yesterday? Maybe she should go visit a psychiatrist? There must be some hidden explanation of such barbarism.
***
One day, Danka dropped by the commission store in the neighborhood of her work. She had dreamed recently of getting an overcoat, a French raglan-cut style. They had just one for sale, so she decided to try it on. The price was astronomical, of course. It was crazy for a store clerk, but for the new promoted manager of the deli? In the end, her promotion led to the increase of her salary. Who knew? She might be able to scrape enough dough somehow. She should celebrate in some way the change of her status, after all. As for persuading Jakub to go to the restaurant or the theatre, there was no chance.
Trying on this French marvel she saw behind her in the shop mirror, the interior of the shop. A few people stood before the counter checking out different items. Suddenly, Danka stiffened. She saw someone she completely did not know. She was sure that she was seeing him for the first time in her life, but he was in some strange way, familiar to her. The man watched the fountain pen slowly, carefully. You could see that it was an extremely important decision for him to buy or not to buy it.
Candlelight Stories Page 37