Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,57

mouth curling into a smile.

We all agreed, and kissed each other goodnight, and watched them speed off on their Vespa towards their part of town. Rafa? waved down a taxi and was gone.

Then it was just you and me on the large empty avenue. We walked uptown. I reached out for your old self, waiting for our masks to wear off in the cold of the night.

‘I’m so happy you came,’ you said, looking at me in a loving, tipsy way, almost childish. ‘Wasn’t it great? What did I tell you, huh?’

I nodded. ‘It was great.’

We walked on, the pavements deserted. It was late. I listened out for the sound of our steps. They were almost in unison, and something serious, something important that I’d pushed down all night long, rose to the surface of my mind. I told you about my meeting with the professor, quietly, ashamed of my hopelessness. Not daring to ask anything of you, only recounting. You listened attentively.

We were on Poznańska Street, with its cobbled stones and tall pre-war kamienicas and lines of prostitutes. Young ones and old ones, most in long coats with miniskirts or tight dresses showing underneath, their bodies violently stretching the fabric, threatening to break it. They called out to us while I talked, accents coarse and loud, and we walked on without looking.

‘I’ll give you a special price, sweetie,’ one of them cried with a clipped Silesian twang, ‘for such a beautiful face. And bring your friend too.’

The other women chuckled like hyenas in the dark. I didn’t dare look at you. I couldn’t see anything funny in that moment. We reached the end of the street with the Palace of Culture towering before us, large, dark and ominous, and beside it the train station, lit but seemingly empty.

You stopped and looked at me with a consolatory smile. ‘Don’t worry, this one is easy. You can ask Hania this weekend. At her house.’

A flash of opportunity raced through me. After that night, the restaurant, anything seemed possible.

‘Are you sure?’

You nodded. ‘She likes you. And I’m sure she can have some strings pulled for you. She and Maksio always had all the exam questions in advance, you know. That’s why I never needed to go to lectures. And at the camp neither of them lifted a finger.’

I looked at my shoes, my head racing. ‘And it won’t be weird with Hania? Coming on to you?’

You smiled and shook your head lightly. ‘Did you see her tonight? She’s not desperate. Besides, she falls for guys so easily. She’s probably into you right now.’ You laughed again.

‘OK, then,’ I said, still anxious. ‘This weekend.’

We hugged, our cheeks coming up against each other, me feeling the beginning of your stubble. I always loved that sensation.

‘Goodnight,’ you said, turning towards the other side of the river.

‘Goodnight, my dear.’

I don’t know why I didn’t confide in Karolina. Part of me wanted to, longed for someone I could talk to completely. I suppose I wasn’t ready. I was afraid she’d smile at me and say ‘Hear, hear!’ or something cynical about the seductive taste of whisky. I was afraid she’d warn me against asking for favours one couldn’t return. The last thing I wanted right then was to be warned. So when I called her that week from a telephone box on the corner of my street, and she asked how I was doing, I put on the most cheerful voice I could manage and told her everything was alright. And I let her tell me how she’d fallen for that short boy she’d danced with at Hania’s party. His name was Karol. He was an engineer. I made a joke about their names, Karol and Karolina, how it was clearly meant to be, and she laughed, like in the old days. Then she asked me about the PhD. I said I hadn’t seen the professor yet, that I was seeing him the week after. That I felt sure I’d get it. She said she’d cross her fingers for me, that she’d be happy for me. Hanging up, I missed her more than I had before the call.

I walked back to the flat to prepare for the weekend away. I packed, unpacked, packed again. Ironed my clothes. It didn’t feel like I was going on holiday, but on a mission from which I’d return changed. That evening, just to reassure myself, I walked back down into the cool street and to the telephone box.

‘Ludzio, I knew it