Swans Are Fat Too

by Michelle Granas

  "Aaaaa!" shrieked Maks, "Blood! Blood!"

  "Is she all right?" asked Kalina, "Hania, do something!"

  "Blood! Blood!" Maks shouted, hopping about.

  "Maks! Be quiet!" commanded Hania, going to the bed. Boże, Boże, she knew nothing about dogs. "Imagine it's ketchup."

  "I'm going to faint!" whimpered Maks.

  Must be from Ania's family, thought Hania, her mind ricocheting. Surely the puppies were coming much too fast for normal? "Maks, you can't faint! Go find a hairdryer! Go!"

  "Do something, Hania," said Kalina, "this one––I think it isn't breathing."

  "Get that bulby thing we bought, Kalina, quick!" Kalina was gone and back in a flash, handing her the instrument.

  Hania knelt beside the puppy. Indeed, it still had the sack over its face and appeared quite still. With a feeling of deep revulsion she wiped the sack away and began to suck the liquid from the puppy's throat with the bulb syringe. It didn't seem to be responding. She continued to aspirate and rub it. Maks had come with the hairdryer. Maybe it was breathing now? She wasn't sure. She handed the puppy to Kalina with instructions for her to warm it. There was the other puppy to see to. And another puppy was coming, Boże. She'd read what to do on the internet––had tried to prepare––but she'd never expected it would be so––so real. "Paper towels, Maks! Run!" He ran.

  And now, oh horrors, there were the umbilical cords to be seen to. Tie them with dental floss and cut them with a dull scissors. That's what the material said. Three puppies––if the one Kalina was warming lived.

  "It's moving," she said, "look! It's moving!"

  Okay, so that was that. An hour later there were four puppies, two brown, one black, and one spotted, nestled beside their mother, nursing. Hania, Kalina, and Maks stood in a row, watching them.

  Hania drew a deep breath. In a minute she could start cleaning. Maks would have to sleep elsewhere.

  Someone was knocking at the door. Who could it be? More bill collectors? She didn't think she could deal with them now. Her hands were still bloody. Maks had already gone to see. She could hear him exclaiming excitedly to someone: "Bartek-had-puppies-Hania-saved-one-with-a-squeezy-thing-she-made-it-breathe-there're-four-of-them-there-was-lots-of-blood-it-was-horrible!"

  Hania stepped into the other room. There was Konstanty, holding out her handbag: "You left this in the car."

  "Oh. Thank you. I'm so sorry to have inconvenienced you. I can't…" she gestured helplessly with her stained hands.

  He laid the handbag aside. "I gather you've saved the day again. Congratulations."

  "Yes," she said rather wanly, "I'm the fix-it lady, the repairwoman."

  "I'm sure you are," he smiled at her, and was starting to say something when Maks interrupted him.

  "Come see the puppies! Come see!" he called, gesturing and hopping excitedly toward the bedroom.

  Konstanty glanced at Hania.

  No! thought Hania with an inward cringe. The bedroom's a total mess. It was a total mess at the best of times and now…She really didn't want him to go in there, but Maks was still beckoning, and there was nothing for it but to invite him with a gesture to follow.

  Kalina had disappeared. The room was empty except for Bartek and her offspring. The puppies had squirmed into a heap beside their mother, who growled softly as Konstanty approached, but made no objection when Maks bent down and carefully scooped up a puppy. He placed it in Konstanty's hands. Konstanty held it up to eye level and examined it.

  "A very fine puppy," he assured Maks, and Maks nodded with pride, took the puppy away, and handed him another.

  Hania stood quietly in the middle of the room, twisting a paper towel around her fingers. She felt nervous and shy. Suppose he thought she'd made a mess of the umbilical cords? Or that it was poor management to have let the dog have puppies on the bed?

  Konstanty, gently cradling the last puppy in his hands, looked around the room at the shambles of bedclothes and blood, at the discarded aspirator and towels, and his gaze came to rest on Hania. She looked like she was expecting him to criticize, he realized with surprise. And he had only been thinking how resourceful she was. He regarded her slightly flushed face for a moment in silence, uncomfortably aware of a mingled sense of pity and esteem.

  "You did very well. Really. Congratulations." He handed back the puppy, and said cheerfully and rather briskly, "Let me help you tidy this up. This sort of a job is, er, my sort of job. I think you've probably had enough for today."

  But Hania was adamant in refusal and increasingly discomposed, so he quickly took his leave and departed. She closed the door with relief, went into the other room, and sat down with a great variety of thoughts.

  Always after a crisis or stress, the next day had a rather unreal feeling. Hania worked at the history, but the lines kept repeating themselves before her eyes.

  …Stanisław August Poniatowski, the last king of Poland, was kidnapped twice––the first time in 1733 while he was still a baby, by a political opponent of his father's. He was not born to the throne, but was groomed for the position by his relatives, the leading magnates of Poland. He was given a good education and sent abroad to study government (including to England, which he admired, except for cock-fighting and the education system––'all about the cane.') He then went to St. Petersburg, where, before returning to Poland to be elected king, he became the lover of the future Empress Catherine.

  In describing himself at the time, he laid claim to only moderate looks and intellectual gifts, but considered himself devoted and loyal, sticking to his associates even when they wronged him, and always 'infinitely grateful for any kindness.'

  Like me, thought Hania, remembering Konstanty's smile the evening before. I shall always be grateful for his kindness to me. Somehow she felt like crying. Fortunately, here was Maks to distract her.

  He set a small, sleepy puppy down on her keyboard, and she had to quickly scoop up its warm body to keep it from falling.

  "Isn't it beautiful?" said Maks with deep feeling, leaning over it, willing her to admire it as well. He seemed almost friendly after the birth of the puppies, and, in any case, very occupied with the creatures. "When do they open their eyes?" When will they walk?" he asked three or four times an hour, and ran continually to the room to look at them.

  Kalina got dressed to go out. She stopped before she left in front of Hania. "Is this better?" she asked. Her clothing could have used eight inches more material in every direction thought Hania, but it was a big improvement. She was touched that Kalina should have taken her advice, even belatedly.

  "Much better." And then she added, "I'm sorry about the other night. I thought we were good enough friends that I could mention the matter, but I didn't mean to upset you. I don't have the right to tell you what to wear."

  Kalina didn't look at her. "I didn't mean what I said," she muttered.

  Well, thought Hania. Well. One small success. The telephone rang and she picked it up, wondering who on earth. It was Konstanty, and, flustered, she could see Maks and Kalina listening with interest to their conversation.

  "Dinner? Tomorrow? Yes, that would be lovely. No, no, I'll meet you there."

  She put down the phone, feeling pleased, embarrassed, and worried.

  "Are you going to marry Mr. Radzimoyski?" asked Maks.

  "No, Maks, what an idea!" she exclaimed in dismay.

  "I can lend you a nice halter top to wear," giggled Kalina.

  She found a dress shop the next morning, one with a big sign saying it had dresses for plump panie. Nothing fit. There wasn't a dress in the shop that would go round, and the shop owner, irritated with her for being so unreasonably large as not to match the stock, finally just shrugged and refused to look for larger sizes or make suggestions. She retreated behind her counter and sat there sipping tea while Hania flipped dispiritedly through the hangers of dresses for women of fifty who'd put on a few too many pounds but still needed to go to the office. There was nothing appropriate, unless
maybe this sand-colored dress with the crochet neck. That was almost pretty, but it would never fit. Still, she tried it on. It did fit. In fact, she looked almost––almost nice in it. She stared at herself in the mirror. Almost like she was a little slimmer, and the color was good, and it was crisp and fresh.

  "I'll take it," she said to the shopkeeper, who rose, bored, from her stool.

  "500 złoty."

  Hania gasped. 500 złoty. She hadn't noticed the price tag. They could eat for quite a number of days with that amount of money. Oh, well…she would put it back. She was never extravagant, and to pay that much would be unreasonable. She began to return it to the rack, and then stopped. Was it unreasonable to want to look nice just once? That is, as nice as she could? Such an occasion wasn't likely to happen again.

  "I'll take it," she said, digging in her purse for the money.

  12

  There's a wheel extending into the street, beside it a bell with a string; the infant was to be placed in this wheel and the bell rung...but when too many infants began to be abandoned in the wheel every night...a guard was stationed nearby...

  ––Jędrzej Kitowicz, 'On the Infant Jesus Hospital, Description of Customs during August III's Reign,' (mid 18th century)

  She was to meet Konstanty at the restaurant; it was close, he had said. She dressed early, admired––almost––her image in the mirror, turned this way and that. It had been worth the price, this dress. And her hair was good––she had nice hair, thick and shiny. She would meet Konstanty in twenty-five minutes.

  She came out of her room and looked for Kalina so she could say good-bye. Maks was sitting alone in front of the television. "Maks, didn't Kalina come back?"

  "No."

  But Kalina had said she would be back––she'd said so, Hania thought nervously. Still, it was early yet. She had time. No need to get upset. She sat down and twisted her purse strap into a pretzel. The minutes ticked by. It would take her ten minutes to get to the restaurant if she walked fast. She wanted to walk slowly, to arrive fresh and not panting in her pretty dress. However, if she had to run, she would run. Oh, why didn't Kalina come? She would go sit at the piano and play scales. She rose, and as she did she heard the sound of the door opening. It shut very quietly, and no one appeared.

  "Kalina?" Hania asked eagerly, going into the entry. "Kalina, I have to leave…" And then she stopped. Kalina was leaning against the door, sobbing, silently, the tears running down her twisted face.

  Hania went to her, "Kalina, what's the matter?"

  Kalina shook her head.

  "Come in here." Hania put her arm around the girl and guided her into the piano room. They sat down together on a bench.

  "What is it?"

  "I can't tell you." She continued to sob, gasping for breath.

  Hania looked at her watch. Seven minutes. She could make it on time perhaps, but she couldn't possibly leave Kalina in this state.

  Eight o'clock. He would be waiting, thinking she'd stood him up. How very funny. She felt like joining her sobs to Kalina's.

  She told Kalina she'd be right back, went to the telephone, asked for information, and then called the restaurant. At the restaurant they said they would deliver her message if they saw anyone fitting the description, but they couldn't make any guarantees. That was all she could do. She hoped he'd forgive her. She collected a box of kleenex and returned to the piano room.

  Kalina's sobs were quieting. Tears simply streamed down her face and she sat disconsolately. "Kalina, I want to help you, but I can't if I don't know what's wrong."

  "At the church…."

  "Yes?"

  "There's…I've…We…"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm pregnant."

  "Mother of God!"

  Kalina smiled wanly through her tears. "No, not exactly like that."

  Hania sat still. What did one say? Kalina was sniffing, between intermittent little gulping sobs. "Only now, he says…he wants to end it."

  "Who is he?" Not a priest, thought Hania, please, not a priest. But there were priests who had children, every one knew that.

  Kalina didn't answer.

  "You say at the church. Is he a priest?"

  "No." Well, that's one good thing, thought Hania with relief. A choir boy then. A pimply young fellow, experimenting with sex between soccer with his friends and cramming for a school exam.

  "It doesn't matter who he is."

  "Okay." She sat silently beside the girl, hoping her sympathy was felt and not knowing what to say.

  Suddenly Kalina was talking. "He's the editor of a magazine they sell there. In the printing house by the church. It's an annex to the parish house. It's a magazine about family values, and homosexuals––how bad they are––things like that. He came out to the bus stop when we were sitting there once––two of my girl friends and I––not here, around here, it's quite a ways away––and he gave us these magazines. And we looked at them, and I said 'this is stupid stuff, I don't believe this––I know about family values.' And he said 'come into the office, and let's discuss it.' So I went. I thought he came from the church so it was okay. And then we talked a lot and then I started to go to see him every day, and later…anyway, he said he loved me…and then I learned he's married and has children, but by that time it was too late…" she shrugged.

  "Does he know?"

  "Yes…he says if I tell anyone he'll be in trouble and he thinks I'm too loyal to do that. And that it was a sin and it has to stop. But he said that before and then…it didn't end. Only now I know it's really ended."

  Hania looked her question.

  "Because he's started with my friend Paulina." She began to cry again.

  "Oh…How old is Paulina?"

  "17."

  "So maybe she's beyond the age of consent, but you're not. It was a crime on his part, Kalina."

  "I don't care. That doesn't matter."

  But––thought Hania, and held her peace. No, it probably didn't matter right now.

  "When…how long…how long have you known?"

  "Since a little before you came. But it's three months old."

  "Three months! Are you sure?"

  Kalina raised her head and looked at Hania, making her feel her own naivety and inexperience. "Of course I'm sure."

  "And you haven't said anything?"

  "What is there to say?"

  "Only…your parents will want to know…and, and, things like that…"

  "I don't want them to know."

  "But they'll have to...."

  "Yes. But I don't want them to know when they could make me have an abortion."

  Hania considered this. Would they? Could they? She had no reason to believe Ania and Wiktor were particularly good Catholics; on the other hand, she had no idea what sort of ideas they might have about abortion. She wasn't a particularly adherent Catholic either and yet she shuddered at the idea. "But you can't have an abortion in Poland…"

  "They could make me go abroad."

  Hania considered some more. "Not against your will. Would they?" Presumably Kalina knew more about her parents' ideas than she did.

  Kalina hesitated. "No. Yes. I don't know. When they're not here it's easy to think I wouldn't give in …but if they were here it would be different. They can make me feel I have to do whatever they want so they'll be happy," she considered lucidly.

  Yes, thought Hania, the Lanskis are good at that sort of manipulation.

  "I can't tell them…" Kalina looked at Hania pleadingly. "Please, will you tell them for me? Not now, but later, when they come back...."

  "You want this baby, Kalina?"

  "Yes." There was passion and conviction in her voice.

  But, thought Hania, you are too young to have a baby, way too young. You are fifteen. You have problems. You suck a pacifier. You aren't ready to be a mother. How will you support it? How will you look after it?

  "In another month it won't matter. Then––will you tell them, Hania?…Not before though."
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br />   "But your parents will come back at the beginning of September. I have to be in New York at the beginning of September."

  "Don't go. Please stay. We need you here––there's Bartek too."

  Don't go?

  Maks came into the room, whining. "What are you doing here? I'm scared in the other room by myself. It's time for me to go to bed. Why doesn't anyone take care of me?"

  "Maks, I just told Hania about the baby."

  "Oh, that." He wasn't interested. "Someone come with me to the bedroom."

  Hania rose. "Yes, Maks, I'm coming."

  The next day she felt overwhelmed by the tasks ahead of her. And there was Konstanty. She had met him on the stairs that morning as she toiled up to the apartment with two plastic sacks full of groceries. She had greeted him very shyly.

  "Did you get my message?" she asked.

  "No, I didn't get any message."

  Oh, no. "I couldn't come last night. I'm so sorry. There was a crisis with the children and I couldn't leave. I called the restaurant. I hoped they would give you my message."

  "It doesn't matter. Please don't worry about it." He was going on down the stairs, "I'm in a bit of a hurry, please excuse me, goodbye." He was gone.

  Hania stood on the landing, watching his retreating figure. And I had this pretty dress, she thought, I almost looked nice. Now he's angry.

  She couldn't give in to despair. She had other responsibilities; she went to face them. She would have time to make breakfast and an hour or so to work before she started making phone calls.

  On a November night in 1771, King Stanisław August was kidnapped for the second time, his efforts at reform having annoyed a part of the noble class, which rebelled. His abductors, as they fled Warsaw with him, were undone by the dark, the mud, the fall of a horse, and incompetence. The king escaped with the aid of one of his kidnappers, whom he had persuaded to change sides after a long philosophical discussion. He wished to offer an amnesty to all the rebels but was prevented by Russia and Prussia…