Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,25

The flames would hypnotise me. I’d merge with them, with their dancing, destroying, and bearing. We played this struggle, breathless and elated, heads light and filled and spinning, until exhaustion, until we released ourselves on to each other and fell asleep entangled like weeds.

I don’t know how many days we stayed at the lake, because each one was like a whole world, every moment new and unrepeatable. In a way these felt like the first days of my life, as if I’d been born by that lake and its water and you. As if I’d shed a skin and left my previous life behind.

The lake and the forest became our territory. We fished, making rods from branches and using bits of bread as bait, and we grilled the fish – flat and grey and delicious – over the fire and ate them with our fingers. We walked into the forests behind the lake and found berry bushes and small clearings the size of living rooms, where branches hung over beds of white flowers. We’d lie down and make love, falling asleep afterwards. We’d wake in hazy happiness with the sun still above us, and when we’d walk back to the tent the only thing we’d leave behind was the shape of our body in the flattened grass.

The lake cleaned us every morning and evening. It washed off the sweat of summer and of lovemaking, maybe even the fingerprints on our bodies. And every time I swam I experienced the same elation I’d felt the first time I stepped into the lake, devoid of struggle, a feeling of weightlessness I hadn’t thought I could feel. During these days the shame inside me melted like a mint on my tongue, hardness releasing sweetness.

I floated in the water and you lay by the shore reading Giovanni’s Room. The air was the same temperature as our skin, or a little lower, caressing us. Later we’d lie next to each other and watch the clouds, observe the change of their fantastic shapes: from unrecognisable to familiar, familiar to unrecognisable.

One afternoon, towards the end of our stay, we went to the nearest village, about an hour’s walk away. We found a small shop and bought bread and cucumbers and apples and beer. The sun was descending as we made our way back. It was dark before we reached the forest. You’d forgotten your torch. The path was lit only by moonlight. And as we walked along the fields, the image of my childhood nightmare returned to me, like a challenge from the past – the empty silence of the world, the fields stretched out on all sides, a sense of the monoliths staring back at me. But I didn’t even have to decide whether I was scared. I wasn’t. The tombstones – along with the shame – were a mere memory, dissolved like sugar cubes in summer rain.

We walked on through the forest, taking in its furtive sounds, until we reached our clearing and saw the moon on the surface of the lake. We stopped and watched. Then, without a word, we undressed and slipped into the water. We swam, fearless and free and invisible in the brilliant dark.

Chapter 4

Night fell particularly early today, and outside the city glimmers across the other side of the river like a sequinned dress of steel. I was hungry when I got home and decided to make a sandwich. The bread is white and already sliced. Over here, all you have to do is chew. I buttered the bread and sprinkled sugar on it. It’s not the same as home, but it did the trick. Then I picked up the phone and dialled Granny’s number. The signal was still busy. I’ve been trying for days. I tried not to worry and wrote her a letter instead, asking how she was. Of course they will open and read it before she does. But I no longer care.

After that I switched on the TV. The news is getting worse: they’re hunting down the opposition, arresting the key figures of Solidarno??, dispersing the underground, hunting down trade union leaders. Probably torturing them, said the presenter, her pretty face matter-of-fact. I believe it. I don’t want to, but I cannot help myself. I wonder: are you involved? That’s the question that follows me around like a shadow. Would you still defend the Party now?

Maybe the worst thing is that I have no one to speak to, no one who could open the window on