by Maeve Binchy
“Little Ania.” Marek knelt beside her and held her hand.
She said nothing, just stared past him at the flower bed, which had been a gutter until she had dug it and planted it and fed it, and got rid of the slugs and insects that had gathered to celebrate her little garden.
“Ania—this changes nothing,” Marek was saying over and over.
She looked at him eventually. “How exactly does it change nothing?”
“We will still meet. You are the one I love. You know that.”
“I'm sorry?”
“But you know that what you and I have is special. Nothing can replace that.”
“You are going to marry Oliwia,” she said dully.
“Yes—but that makes no difference to us. We will still work together, have our room to go to for loving.” He was looking at her as if nothing had happened.
“Why are you going to marry Oliwia?” she asked.
“You know why,” he said.
“No. I don't. Why?”
“Because she's pregnant, of course,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“I don't believe you.”
“Well, that's what happens.” He shrugged.
“And it's your baby?” Her eyes were huge.
“It's not a baby yet…and nobody's saying anything about that. But you did ask.”
“Of course I asked, Marek. I may be silly, but I'm not a total fool. Of course I ask why the man who says he loves me and is going to marry me has made another woman pregnant and is going to marry her. Why should I not ask? And what do you mean, nothing will change?”
“Nothing needs to change, Ania—it's up to you.”
“But if you're married to her …”
“She will be at home, her father is building her a big house. We can go on as before.”
“You are mad, Marek. You are cruel and mad.”
“It has nothing to do with love. If you don't believe that, then I am lost.”
“And so am I. Lost. Totally lost.”
“What will you do?”
“I don't know yet. Maybe I will die. Maybe the river will close over my head.” She spoke very calmly.
“No, no—you can't think like that.”
“Nothing to live for now.”
“You will see, Ania. Everything will be the same as before,” he said.
“I will go home now.”
“You'll come to work tomorrow?”
“I will see.”
From inside the café she heard them call, “Mar-ek! Mar-ek!”
“I had better go back,” he said. “It was her hairpins in our bed.”
“It was business. It had nothing to do with love.”
“In ourbed.”
“It will never happen again,” he said.
“No, of course. She will have her own marriage bed from now on,” Ania said bleakly.
Ania couldn't remember the weeks that followed. Only little incidents that happened here and there.
Her mother got well and strong again. Her sister's baby boy was born, so Ania went to the trimmings shop in the next town and bought blue ribbons. The old man with the poor sight was there.
“You don't come here so often now,” he remarked.
“No, my reason for visiting here changed,” she said.
“And are you happier now?” he asked unexpectedly.
“No. I'm not happy. I don't see any reason for going on.”
“I felt like that once, when my eyesight started to go. I wanted to go up to the north and swim far out to sea in the cold water and not come back. But then I thought perhaps I will have happiness even without good sight.”
She remembered the little pearl buttons she had stolen from him on her first visit.
“Oh, I realize I took buttons by mistake the first time I came to see you. I always forgot to tell you about them. I must pay for them. I can do so now. It was six little pearl buttons …”
He smiled a relaxed smile. “I knew that one day you would remember.”
“You knew?” Her face burned with shame.
“And now you have.” He was pleased and vindicated in the goodness of people.
“Have you been happy since …since everything?” she asked.
“Yes, little one, very happy. What a waste it would have been to swim out into the North Sea.”
“I'll remember that,” she said. But she didn't remember much else.
She didn't remember whether she worked all the time in the Bridge Café and if Oliwia came in, and if Ania and Marek went up to the room that she had prepared so lovingly for them and their life together. She didn't remember the builders coming to put on the big extension, the long-planned dining room over the river. But they must have come. And people must have delivered furniture. Marek, Roman and Lev must have hired a chef and more waitresses.
And Oliwia must have gone into labor and had a baby daughter, because Ania did remember a big christening party at the Bridge Café and the little girl who was baptized Katarina. Ania must have met Oliwia's father, but she had no memory of him whatsoever. And she didn't remember why Lev had an argument and left, saying it was a family concern now and he was better out of it.
All she remembered was feeling numb; and occasionally Marek's lips on hers while he told her over and over that she must believe that she was dearly and deeply loved by him.
If she had heard this story about someone else, Ania would have said that the woman must have been completely mad. And perhaps that's what she was: mad.
That was what her family thought. Her sisters each took her aside and said there had been serious gossip. People were saying that Ania was having an affair with Marek, a married man.
When Józef heard about it, he decided that it was time to bring his wife down from the north to pay a visit. He spoke to Ania the first night they arrived. All they had left was their good name, he told her. Fortunately, no one had told their mother about what was going on. It must cease immediately.
Ania didn't remember much of Józef s visit. His wife, Zofia, went to visit the café and later found Ania alone to talk to her.
“I can easily see why you fancy him,” she said, having inspected Marek. “He's a handsome man, but he's only playing with you.”
Ania found herself asking her why she said that.
“He's a married man,” Zofia answered baldly.
“But he doesn't love her,” Ania explained.
“I know, I know, I'm sure that's true, you know. But he doesn't love you either. If you understood that you would be free.”
“I don't want to be free. I want to be near him all my days,” Ania said, visibly distraught.
“One day you will love someone else. You will be glad we spoke like this.”
“I am not upset that we spoke, but I will never love anyone else and nobody else will love me …”
“I do wish you well,” said Zofia softly. “If ever you want a holiday, come and see Józef and me. He is very silly, the way he puts things, but he is so fond of you. He's always telling me stories of you as a little girl.”
Ania supposed she cooked their meals for them. It was hard to recall. They were always thanking her for this meal or that. Her mamusia was smiling and was of course overjoyed to see her son, and she got on so well with his bride, Zofia.
“It's lonely without them,” Mamusia said sadly when they left.
“But they say they'll come back every year,” said Ania.
Mrs. Zak told Ania that people were so shocked at her behavior that they were going to take their work away from her mother.
“Will you leave my mother as well, over what they call my behavior?” Ania asked.
“No, because I am your mother's lifelong friend. She has been a good, hardworking woman since your poor father died so tragically. It's not her fault that you can't respect other people's marriage vows.”
“Maybe other people will think as you do, Mrs. Zak.”
“I wish I could agree.
I am a businesswoman, a practical person. A lot of the other ladies here have no work outside the house. Too much time to gossip and make judgments. Mark my words—she will lose work over this …”
“Unless?”
“Unless you give up your foolish ways, Ania.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Zak.”
She must have spoken to the shopkeeper again on many occasions, but there were months and months of a fog and she couldn't recall.
Then one day she saw her friend Lidia. Lidia was going to work in Ireland. There were huge opportunities there if you were prepared to work. Possibly Ania would come too? They could find adventures, a new life and earn money. Irish people were Catholics like here in Poland, so it wouldn't be so much of a change. Lidia had heard they were friendly there and made strangers welcome.
“Oh, but that's all right for you, Lidia. You studied English, you will be able to speak to them. I would be lost.”
“I'd help you in the beginning,” offered Lidia.
“No—I would hold you back.”
“You just don't want to leave him—isn't that it?”
“No, it's not that.”
“Of course that's what it is, Ania.”
“I'm not ready to leave yet.”
“So I'll give you my address there, and when you are ready you come to me.”
“You seem very sure I will come.”
“You will one day,” said Lidia confidently.
“It might not sound like love to you, Lidia, but it is,” said Ania sadly.
“Suppose he had somebody else?”
“But, Lidia, he does have somebody else, he has a wife and a daughter.”
“No—I mean as well as that.”
“Don't be ridiculous!”
“He does, Ania. Believe me,” Lidia insisted.
“Why should I?”
“She's a friend of my sister's. She says it's love. Just like you do.”
“It's not true.”
“Why would I tell you if it were a lie?”
“To make me come and work abroad with you, for company. I can't go. I can't leave Mamusia, or this place, or my sisters …”
“Or Marek,” Lidia ended for her. “But you will one day, so I'll give you my address when I get there.”
“What's her name?”
“Who?”
“Your sister's friend?”
“It's Julita.”
“Right,” Ania said.
After that things became a bit clearer. It was as if a camera had come into focus. Ania remembered the weeks after she had heard about Julita. She had done nothing with the information, of course, except file it at the back of her mind in an area that was rarely disturbed. But Mamusia had started to complain that some of her old clients were finding what seemed like excuses for not coming to her anymore. Her two sisters said that she was by now the talk of the town. The nice young priest asked her if anything was troubling her because he always had a good listening ear even if he might not be much help.
When Ania met Lev, who worked in an ice cream factory now that he had left the Bridge Café, he also had something to say. Ania had gone there to see if she could get a contract for her mother to make their overalls and uniforms.
“How is the café going?” he asked.
“It's going well, I think. You know Marek, he doesn't tell us much.”
“He should have told you more. I always said that.” Lev shook his head. “After all it was you who found the place for us.”
“No—I wrote to him but he already knew.”
“He didn't know, Ania. He just didn't want you to think that you had found it for him.”
“I'm sure it was some mix-up …” she said. And eventually she received a letter from her sister-in-law in Gdansk.
Dear Ania,
I don't know why I am writing this letter, but I liked you straightaway when Józef and I came to visit.
A couple of weeks ago, we went to a trade fair, where people buy fittings for restaurants. We saw Marek there. He was looking at very expensive pancake-making equipment, what they call a creperie. We spoke to him, but he didn't remember us at all so we didn't explain exactly who we were. He was with a very young girl called Julita.
Whatever you do in life I wish you luck and happiness.
Józef thinks we should leave well enough alone and say nothing, but I felt you should at least have this information to help you make your choice.
Love,
Zofia
“Where was Marek last week?” Ania asked Roman casually.
“Oh, he went to this trade fair, saw all kinds of great stuff there. I expect he ordered all kinds of stuff as well.”
“Can he afford it all?” They had long stopped calling it “our” café. It was Mareks now and everyone knew it.
“Well, he has a fair amount of support from his father-in-law,” Roman said.
“Yes, as long as he keeps his nose clean,” Ania said.
“What do you mean?” Roman looked anxious.
“I don't know,” Ania said truthfully.
Marek came in that evening. She heard Roman warning him that she was in an odd mood, so he was very charming when he approached her.
“Lovely Ania, how well you look. Will you dance with the men tonight, make them thirsty make them spend their money?”
“So that the creperie machine will soon pay for itself?” she asked.
“How do you know about that machine?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, me? I can see into people's souls. I see you have been interested in having a pancake machine.”
“Oh, and do you see that you are going to lower your frilly blouse and get those men dancing?”
“No, I don't see that. Oddly …”
He left her and went back to Roman. “You're right. She is in a funny mood,” she heard him say.
Ania wandered out into the yard and picked some flowers. She arranged them in a glass and was about to bring them upstairs.
“Where are you going?” Marek barred her way.
“I've arranged some flowers for you. I was just taking them—”
“No, don't go up—the place is very untidy.”
“So what makes it any different from usual, then?”
“Are you all right, Ania?”
“Yes, I'm fine.”
“Good. So I'll take them upstairs later.”
“Shall I stay tonight?”
“Well…perhaps not tonight.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” He was troubled.
“Yes. Possibly Oliwia is becoming suspicious, and you will need her father to be your friend to pay for all the things you ordered at the trade fair.”
“How do you know I was at a trade fair?”
“You told me you were going to it, don't you remember?”
“No, I don't.”
“Oh, but you did, and Roman told me that you were there too. Why?”
“Nothing.”
“Am I right about Oliwia's father?”
“Sort of.”
“Weren't you lucky to hear about this place, Marek?” she asked him.
“Yes, yes, I was.”
“And who exactly did you hear it from?”
“I can't remember—it was all long ago.” He was very uneasy now. It was so strange to see him like this. Always it had been Ania who had been apprehensive—but not tonight.
She worked late. No dancing but nonstop serving and waiting on tables. Then she put on her jacket and began to walk home. Marek ran after her.
“Is something wrong, Ania? You have been very strange tonight,” he asked.
“No.” She continued walking.
“I mean, you know the situation. We are into Oliwia's father for so much money, you and I can't make any move at this stage. And of course little Katarina is getting older and sees things, so she can't be around the café so much, which means I have to be up at the house more. But you know all that.”
“Yes.” Ani
a didn't break her stride.
“And you do realize that I love you and only you?”
“Sure.”
“So what's all the attitude about?”
“Go back, Marek. Back to the café. Julita will wonder what has happened to you.”
“Julita?” He stopped as if shot. “You mean Oliwia.”
“No. I mean Julita; she will be in a good mood because she has a lovely vase of flowers, but she will wonder why you are not coming upstairs to see her.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he blustered.
“Good-bye, Marek.”
“What does this mean?” He was starting to look defeated.
“What it says. Good-bye.”
“You are leaving the café.”
“I have left.”
“But you can't do that. What about your wages …and …everything …”
“I have taken my wages from the till. I left a note.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know.”
“You'll get over this—it's a silly fit. It's nothing.”
“No, I won't.”
“You got over my marrying Oliwia. You came back to my bed after that.”
“I know. Wasn't it extraordinary?” Ania said.
They were nearly at her house now and he realized he wasn't going to get any further tonight. “Tomorrow, when all is calm, we will talk. There is a phrase, ‘Morning is wiser than night.’ Perhaps it's right.”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“See you tomorrow, Ania.”
“Good-bye, Marek.”
She did not close her eyes that night, which was just as well, since there was a lot to be done. She finished a great mound of her mother's sewing work and left the garments neatly ironed, folded with labels on each one. Then she sat down and wrote a long letter to her mother. Once she got the first few lines, it was easy to write.
Dearest Mamusia,
I have been a poor daughter to you and I mean to make it up. I have been so very, very foolish, Mamusia, seeing love where there was no love, believing words which were not true and making myself into such a fool
I have to go away. I will make it up to you, Mamusia, believe me, I will. I will go to Ireland with Lidia. But first I will tell you the whole story. No more lies, Mamusia. Just the whole sad stupid story…
Then it was simple. In fact, Ania wondered why she had never told her before. She packed a suitcase to take with her and placed the rest of her clothes in a cardboard box in case they would be of any use to her sisters. She left the green jacket on top, the one her mother had trimmed with velvet. The outfit she had worn when she met Marek.