‘What do you think?’ Małgorzata hovered outside the balcony in a blue shift dress. It was the sort of thing worn by shop clerks, but while theirs typically reached the middle of their calves, Małgorzata’s, roughly hemmed, skimmed her thighs. ‘Will this do?’
‘That’s just the right look.’ Krzysio twirled her around and her dress billowed, tulip-like.
She picked up a camera from the kitchen table and glanced at the clock. ‘Do you want to document the proceedings, Dominik?’ She cocked her head to the side and gave him a conspiratorial smile.
Again, I wondered what had taken place between them. Whatever it was, having Dominik take the photos of this ‘performance’ would lock them in an intimacy I couldn’t bear. I grabbed the camera in a bid to steer things in another direction. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll take the photos.’
‘Now this is a development I like,’ Dominik said.
Małgorzata straightened the hem of her dress. ‘Thank you, Ania. It will be good to have your artist’s eye on this.’
That was one way of putting it. I couldn’t believe I’d volunteered to do this. ‘I’m not going to get arrested, am I?’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘If they do want to cause a fuss, it’ll enhance the performance. The worst that’ll happen is we’ll get a night in prison.’
‘Having a prison record’s not so bad anyway,’ Dominik said. ‘It gives a person a certain mystique.’
I breathed through my nerves. Normally one shot of vodka would have warmed my veins but today there was too much adrenaline in my blood for the alcohol to take effect.
After we’d had another round of drinks, Krzysio dragged a plastic chair onto the balcony and then stepped back into the kitchen, which allowed a view of what was taking place out here. Małgorzata seated herself. As I adjusted the settings on the camera, Dominik wafted about, arranging a cushion on the ground, then shifting an ashtray and dead plant so they would be out of shot. ‘You sure you don’t need my help?’ he said with a mock-innocent raise of his eyebrows.
‘Out.’ I nudged him in the direction of the kitchen, still hoping that we weren’t actually going through with this.
‘Whatever you say …’ Dominik retreated, leaving Małgorzata and I on the balcony. The breeze cooled my face as I leaned over the rail. The parade had now commenced.
From the kitchen, Krzysio called, ‘If you’re going to do it, now’s the time.’
I rechecked the film while Dominik said, ‘Remember, let me know if you need an assistant …’
Ignoring his laughter, I took a couple of photos of the parade, the camera trembling in my hands.
On the chair, Małgorzata lifted one leg so that her foot rested on the balcony rail. My throat went dry. She wasn’t wearing underwear and I glimpsed the parting of her legs. I quickly moved away, facing her side-on. She picked up a copy of Ulysses and glanced at me. ‘Thank you for this, Ania.’ As she flicked through the pages of the book, the shouting of the parade got louder.
Long live the workers.
Unity over anarchy.
Praise to the Polish-Russian friendship.
Małgorzata tucked her hand between her legs. I shielded my face with the camera, felt for the large button and pressed. She threw her head back. Eyes closed, one hand moved back and forth, with her other hand holding the book, she read out loud.
Yes because he never did a thing like that before …
To my relief, being behind the camera gave me more confidence than the vodka had. It offered distance from what was happening and, through the eye of the lens, I could aim to give the proceedings an artistic bent.
Małgorzata stopped reading and let out a deep sigh. Below us, someone yelled, ‘Three times yes, for the Polish People’s Republic!’
She began reading again, quicker now, her hand moving in time with her words.
They do yes he came somewhere I’m sure by his appetite …
Another click. I stepped towards the balcony rail and, leaning over, took some photos of the parade. Then I switched my focus to Małgorzata. Her words were slower now, more languid. Her hand kept moving between her legs as she said Yes, yes, yes. In the apartment across from ours, a large man trundled onto the balcony and gaped at us. I pointed the camera in his direction and clicked.
As I loaded a new film, my attention was distracted by a thumping sound from inside the apartment. A knock on the door, perhaps. I could hear Krzysio say something. I glanced at Małgorzata, who was now resting her hand on her knee. More voices from inside – male voices. When I turned around I saw the militiamen. A cold sensation rippled through my chest and I guarded the camera behind my back.
‘There’s been a report of a disturbance,’ said the older of the two men. Incredibly, the edges of his moustache twitched with amusement.
‘Yes,’ echoed the younger one. ‘A disturbance.’
Małgorzata took her leg down from the balcony rail. ‘If you call reading a disturbance, then yes.’
‘Ulysses,’ said the older officer, craning to get a look. He stepped onto the balcony and I squeezed past him, returning to the kitchen. ‘My wife tried to make me read it.’ He took the book from Małgorzata and turned it over to examine the blurb. ‘It’s certainly experimental.’
‘I heard it’s smut,’ said the other one.
‘You heard right,’ Małgorzata said. Beside me, Dominik coughed in a bid to disguise his laugh.
The older man glanced at Dominik. He snapped the book shut and said, ‘As you know, May Day is an important public holiday for the People’s Republic. It’s an opportunity to show our appreciation of the workers.’ He handed Ulysses back to Małgorzata. ‘You’re not workers, are you.’
‘Students,’ I said, from the kitchen.
‘Artists,’ corrected Małgorzata.
‘Right,’ said the older man. ‘I must warn you that there have been complaints about your conduct and if the conduct in question continues, I’ll need to take you all down to the station. You understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Małgorzata said.
The younger of the two rested his hand on the gun in his holster. The tips of his ears, poking out from under his policeman’s hat, were bright red. ‘Aren’t we going to book them?’
‘I think we’ve reached an understanding,’ said the other officer. He nodded towards Ulysses. ‘You didn’t just skip to the end, did you? Apparently most people do that, but it’s important to read it all the way through. So my wife says.’
As they were leaving I was overcome with a streak of daring. I grabbed the camera and snapped some photos of the men from behind. The door closed and I threw myself on the sofa, exhausted.
Dominik leaned against the door, laughing, his forehead resting on his arm. Then he turned around and said, ‘I told you they wouldn’t care – they don’t believe in that socialist bullshit any more than we do. I’m not even sure the Russians believe in it, and they’re the ones who’ve forced it on us. If anything, this little performance will brighten their day. I know it did mine.’ He joined me on the sofa, his hand on my thigh. ‘Good job, Ania.’
There was a seedy look in his eyes and I nudged his hand away.
‘You’re a brave woman, Ania,’ Krzysio said. I checked his face for signs of lewdness but there were none. For some reason Małgorzata’s performance didn’t seem to get him all het up the way it did Dominik. Krzysio gave me a glass of vodka, then clapped his hands. The others joined in. ‘And another round of applause for the star of the show.’ Krzysio turned to Małgorzata, who was leaning against the balcony railing, the bottom of her tunic fluttering in the breeze.
That evening we watched the parade on television. The newsreaders praised the record turnout, which was a testament, they said, to the workers’ heartfelt commitment and loyalty to the Polish People’s Republic. There was of course no mention of the incident on Małgorzata’s balcony.
11
Professor Jankowski folded and unfolded his arms. He circled the table where m
y sculpture sat. Poor Mother. I clenched my fists in a bid to stop myself from covering her with a sheet.
As he exhaled, he released a phlegmatic sound from the back of his throat. A throng of students hovered nearby, awaiting his verdict. Last week one of them had cried when he heard the professor’s assessment of his piece: it was a terrible painting, the professor said, but it would be perfectly adequate as a design for a carpet.
Professor Jankowski traced the top of my sculpture, examining its elongated eyes and mouth. Someone in the room sneezed. He glanced at the offending sneezer and then removed his glasses and polished them on his shirt. ‘It’s good.’
A sense of pure joy washed over me. I bit back my smile but it was too late – he had seen.
‘Don’t get complacent Pani Skowrońska. You’ve got a long way to go. Keep at it and I’ll tell you when you’re getting close.’
I rested my hand on Mother’s back. At last she was safe.
He moved on to the Picasso-esque painting of a woman in a bath and shook his head. ‘I don’t know where to begin with this.’
The boy whose painting it was blinked hard, and I regretted the harsh words I’d spoken to him.
The professor skewered a dry paintbrush in his hand and jabbed it at various parts of the canvas. ‘No no no, no no.’ The other students lowered their gaze or stared hard at their own work. ‘Sometimes …’ Professor Jankowski gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Sometimes I think this class has learned nothing at all.’ His disappointment settled over us like smog. Even so, in my corner of the room I breathed easy.
Emboldened by my teacher’s praise, I decided to do something I’d never done before: spend the night at Dominik’s. I called him from the dormitory phone to give him the news and then said, half in jest, ‘What will your cousin think? She’s a married woman.’
Without hesitating, he replied, ‘She’ll think we’re in love. And rightly so.’ This offhand declaration sent a jolt of thrill through my chest. He cleared his throat and said, ‘There you have it. I’m in love with you and I’ve been thinking it for the longest time and I’ve finally said it out loud.’
‘See you soon.’ I spat out a goodbye and hung up.
Love. If Dominik felt the way I did, it was time to tell Father. In my letters home I’d mentioned Dominik as casually as the written word would allow, referring to him as a friend and always evoking his name in tandem with Małgorzata’s and Krzysio’s.
I was overcome by the urge to speak to Father. If only he wasn’t so stubborn and would pay the bribe for a telephone instead of languishing on the waitlist for years on end. At times it felt as though the village was in another country rather than two hours away by train.
When I knocked on the apartment door, Dominik’s cousin Danuta opened it, a small girl in a blue dress balanced on one hip. ‘Pani Skowrońska?’ She smiled broadly. ‘You’re a good influence on that cousin of mine. Ever since he met you he’s become an old romantic, talking about marriage all the time.’
Their kitchen had the welcoming smell of onions fried in butter. The linoleum floor was made to look like wood panelling and there were saucepans stacked on the bench by the sink. A plastic doll peeped out of the top saucepan, her arms held high as though she were under arrest.
‘I thought you might like these.’ I handed Danuta the bag of apples I’d bought at the markets, tiny knobbled fruits that were nearly as sweet as the ones we grew at home.
Released from her mother’s hold, the girl stumbled towards a miniature red pram, grabbed it, and then hurtled towards me. When Dominik appeared she let go of the pram and shrieked with glee.
‘Here’s my biggest fan.’ Dominik scooped up the child and then kissed me on the cheek. ‘So you two have met.’ He surveyed Danuta and me.
‘Yes, at last I get to see the famous Ania,’ Danuta said. ‘You’ve been hiding her away.’
‘I didn’t want to make this one jealous.’ Dominik hoisted the child above his head and blew loudly on her belly. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair and laughed, revealing a smattering of uneven teeth.
His room was as cluttered as I imagined it to be, with clothes and balled-up pieces of paper colonising the floor. The walls were decorated with photocopied posters for concerts and a woven hanging of a ship at sea. I tossed Dominik one of the apples I’d bought and he caught it in one hand.
He took a bite and said, ‘What did that professor of yours say about your sculpture?’
‘Apparently he liked it.’
‘I knew it!’ Dominik tossed the apple on a chair. He picked me up and twirled me around. ‘Well done, Aniusieńka. I’m glad he recognises genius when he sees it.’ With a laugh, he set me back on the floor. I circled my arms around his neck and reached my face to his. Between kisses, he said, ‘We’re going to the Rura Club. Who cares about Hemingway’s influence on Hłasko? We’ve got celebrating to do.’
I pulled away. ‘Are you still working on that paper? When’s it due?’
‘Three weeks ago.’ Dominik retrieved the apple and took another bite, finishing the core. ‘Tomorrow’s probably the last day they’ll accept it but this is more important.’
‘I’m not going to drag you away from your work.’
‘I want you to.’ He strode about the room. ‘I need to get away from this damn typewriter.’
‘But you love writing.’
‘No I don’t, I hate it! I only tolerate it when it’s over. But my God, till then … It’s excruciating sitting for hours in one place, typing, typing, typing.’ He shook his hands, as though ridding himself of the burden. ‘I’d rather be out in the world,’ he gestured to the window, ‘doing things.’
‘If that’s how you feel, perhaps you should be a factory worker instead.’
‘Perhaps.’ He gave me a dimpled grin. ‘But I’m too lazy.’
In the next room, the child let out a high-pitched scream. Dominik retrieved a jacket from the floor. ‘That’s a sign we should leave.’
‘No way.’ I navigated him towards his desk and pushed him into the chair.
‘Alright, alright.’ He cracked his knuckles. There was a ratcheting sound as he loaded a sheet of paper in the typewriter, then the chitter of metal arms stamping letters on the page. I extracted a book by Mickiewicz from the shelf and flicked to a poem I’d learned at school.
Monsters merge and welter through the water’s mounting din. All hands, stand fast! A sailor sprints aloft, hangs, swelling spider-like, among invisible nets …
The typing stopped. ‘It’s no use,’ Dominik said. ‘I can’t stay still. A walk will sort it out.’
‘You’re hopeless.’ I tossed the book down. ‘The only way you’re going to finish that essay is if I hold you captive.’ Struck by inspiration, I dug around his desk drawers until I came up with a ball of string. ‘Sit.’
Dominik lowered himself to the chair. I crouched by his side and wound the string around his calf and the chair leg, securing the end with three knots.
‘Are you serious?’ He wriggled his imprisoned leg for effect. Nonetheless he didn’t resist when I tied the other one. I stood up and leaned behind him, my chin close to his shoulder as I wound the string around his chest, fastening him to the back of the chair. ‘Aniusieńka,’ he whispered. He ran his hand down the length of my plait, releasing my hair so that it spilled around his shoulders.
‘I’m not letting you go until the paper’s done.’ I tapped the machine lightly. A metal arm rose but didn’t hit the page.
On his bed, I tried to read. It was only when a ball of paper landed on my face that I realised I’d been asleep.
‘Untie me.’
It took me a moment to remember where I was. ‘What time is it?’
‘Four o’clock.’ Dominik massaged his forehead.
There was a stack of pages on his desk. I took one, struggling to focus my bleary gaze. The writing was unfamiliar, a type of not-quite Polish, and I realised that the letters were missing the accents. Dominik grabbed the page and bent ove
r his desk, adding an overdot to a ‘z’, and then a tail to an ‘e’. He handed it back and I continued to read.
He gave me a tired smile. ‘Is it okay?’
‘I honestly don’t know how you do it,’ I said. ‘This is so much more than a paper about Hłasko and Hemingway. You start with them and then you go deeper, until I feel like I’m learning, not just about a couple of dead writers, but about the very world around me. Does that make sense?’
‘A couple of dead writers?’ He shook his head and then laughed.
‘You know what I mean. It’s good.’ The paper was brilliant, in fact. And he might not have produced it if I hadn’t been here. I was buoyed by his talent and by my awareness that I had been the one to inspire – or force – him to work.
Dominik’s hand slid under my jumper. He traced the ridge of my spine as I bent to retrieve the scissors. I rested my chin on his shoulder and then wedged the scissor blade between the string and his chest, and cut.
12
Clusters of bees clung to the sticky mouths of the hives. Insistently humming. Above them the apple trees were in blossom, shedding white flowers onto the cracked concrete path below.
A bee darted towards me, zipping so close I could make out its furred body, its translucent veined wings. I slowed down my movements. It hovered near my nose and then headed for Dominik, who let out a yelp. ‘Damn it!’ He swatted madly. At this commotion more bees darted his way.
‘Remember what I said? If you’re calm, they won’t sting.’
‘That’s an interesting theory.’
I ran my thumb along Dominik’s palm, hoping that Father was busy in the work shed, giving us time to compose ourselves. The other week I’d written to him and rather formally announced I had a boyfriend, a journalist who was clever and funny and kind. Could we come visit? He wrote back and said, of course. His letter gave no indication of what he thought of the news and I began to wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to try to get Father to come to Wrocław. Dominik wasn’t at his best in the country – there were too many bees and not enough bars.
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