Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,21

so they can spend?’

‘I don’t mind hard work. As long as you get something for it.’

‘It always seems better somewhere else,’ you said, ignoring my comment. ‘There are so many chances here. Look at me,’ you seemed to blush a bit here, lowered your eyes for a moment. ‘I come from a poor family. And I’m the first one to get a proper education. They even gave me extra points in my entrance exams because we’re working class. And now I’ll work for the government. This is freedom. I could have never had that under capitalism. The Party cares about us. When my mother got sick’ – you swallowed, your voice becoming smaller – ‘they sent her to a sanatorium for three months. Three months. Do you think they give that to anyone in the West? For free?’

I shifted, adjusting myself over the thick roots of the tree. ‘But don’t you care that we are not really free? They tell us what they want us to know, and that’s all. We’re not even allowed to leave the country when we want to. We’re being kept.’

You were very calm, didn’t say anything for a while. ‘You’re making it sound worse than it is,’ you finally said. ‘And how do you know it’s really better anywhere else? Ultimately, we’ve got to work with what we have. It’s as easy as that.’ You smiled and looked at me. ‘See it as a game – everyone knows the rules. And if you can’t change them, there’s no point in worrying.’

A cool wind started to blow and I felt a shiver, goose bumps on my arms.

‘But maybe we can change them,’ I said, feeling foolish suddenly, reaching for something that was no longer there.

You smiled lightly. Your complete lack of worry surprised and relieved me. ‘To answer your question … It would be nice to go and see it one day. The West. But not as an escape. I’m not like David in Giovanni’s Room.’ You smiled again, and a rush went through me. ‘But I’d like to see something else. Cos you need to try things out and see them for yourself, right?’ You slapped my knee and heaved yourself up. ‘C’mon, dreamer, we’ve got to get going now, unless you want to sleep out here in this field.’

The rain had stopped, and everything around us was quiet. The sun came out, faint and ready to disappear behind the horizon. We walked down the road with our thumbs stretched out, but no cars stopped for us. We walked and walked until the sun set, and we still hadn’t got anywhere. The fields around us were wet from the rain, not ideal for camping, and we didn’t know what to do. Finally we found a farm where a family agreed to put us up for the night. The farmer’s daughter showed us the barn, where they allowed us to sleep. She brought us bread and lard, which we devoured like wolves. Then we spread out our sleeping bags on the hay beside each other.

‘Goodnight,’ you said after you’d switched off your torch. You undressed without a trace of self-consciousness, your silhouette in the dark crawling into the sleeping bag next to mine. I could hear you breathe, like a gentle crashing of waves. And slowly, drop by drop, the rain started up again. It pattered on the roof like fingertips practising piano chords. We lay on our backs and listened, not saying a word. I sensed you near me, your body somehow animated despite its stillness. My heart was beating faster than the rain. Suddenly I wanted to be close to you, desperately so. I could feel the pull of your body, little strings drawing me towards you. But I couldn’t move. Heartbeats passed, light years of back and forth in my mind, and just when I began to think I would never have the courage, you shifted towards me and placed your head on my shoulder. My heart stopped. I didn’t dare breathe. Your head was heavy, like warm marble, and your hair brushed my cheek. I was paralysed by possibility, caught between the vertigo of fulfilment and the abyss of uncertainty. I thought of how rashly I’d acted with Beniek that night so many years earlier, at the dance, when the lights had gone out. How painful and unforeseeable the consequences had been. Despite that, I had just gathered the strength to think about what it would be like to touch my hand