Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,61

air around it strangely solemn and untouchable like the bed of someone recently deceased. I walked to the window, took in its view over the forest. Right by the window stood a shiny round table covered in framed photos: Hania and Maksio as children, chubby and small, but the same faces, eating ice cream; their parents – the father like an older, fatter version of Maksio, though with a different mouth, almost lipless, and the mother, tall and elegant, with Hania’s dark eyes. A more recent one of the four of them standing and smiling with the Eiffel Tower behind them. And then my eyes fell on the photograph beside that one, and for a moment I saw without comprehending. My mind jarred. In it, their father was dressed in a military uniform, covered in honours and medals. My own hands were shaking as I took the photo from the table and looked at it up close. I felt nauseous, dirty even. Hania’s father and Gierek, shaking hands, smiling at one another.

The Party Secretary’s face was broad, self-satisfied, taking in Hania’s father with apparent fondness. The same man who’d looked down on me from countless banners and posters during the parades, the country’s so-called saviour. The one who’d ordered the price increases. I thought of the empty shops across the country, of Pani Kolecka, of the lives spent queuing for little or nothing – and then these smiles, fat and self-indulgent. I was dumbstruck. I wanted to throw the photo to the ground, to stomp on it, to feel the glass and wood shatter beneath my heel. To hear the paper rip, to see their smiles tear apart. It was only with great effort that I made myself put down the photo and walk back to our room. I lay on my bed, my eyes open. The whole scheme – to ask Hania for help with my doctorate – now seemed more obscene than ever, and yet I told myself that I had to do it. Just this one time, ask for this one thing, and then never deal with them again. I closed my eyes and the world spun around me, my weight shifting and spinning with it.

When I opened my eyes the room was dark. I felt pleasantly dulled. Night had fallen outside. Laughter came from downstairs and I heard footsteps in the corridor. You opened the door with an expression of barely suppressed excitement.

‘It’s dinner time,’ you said, looking at me. ‘Are you coming?’

I nodded. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

I washed my face and put on a clean white shirt. When I came downstairs something was already in full swing. A record was playing, and you were all in the kitchen, wine glasses on the counter, you talking to Maksio, and Agata and Hania hunched over a pot on the stove. There was a strong earthy smell in the air.

‘What’s for dinner?’ I asked.

Maksio looked up and smiled mischievously. ‘Hania’s witch speciality,’ he said. ‘Not especially filling, but you won’t feel any hunger – trust me.’

Agata chuckled; Hania threw him an indulgent look, and turned to me with a long wooden spoon in her hand. She was wearing a purple wrap-dress and a huge amber pendant hung from her neck.

‘It’s a special soup I make from time to time,’ she said, a smile playing on her lips. ‘I think you’ll like it.’

‘Either way, we need to make the most of tonight,’ said Maksio, looking irritated. ‘Tomorrow the ’rentals are coming.’

‘Our parents are coming tomorrow,’ said Hania without turning around. ‘But just for one night. They won’t be bothering us.’ She took a large porcelain bowl and poured the soup in. It was the colour of mud, dark and rich. ‘However, we won’t be able to do this. So let’s eat.’

We sat down at the table with the large bowl in the middle. Its earthy smell wafted up with the steam. Everyone looked expectant and excited, even Agata.

‘What is this?’ I asked.

Hania looked around the group, everyone smiling at my question. ‘Zupa,’ she said, meaningfully. ‘Poppy-stem soup. It will send you flying.’

Her black eyes gleamed. You were sitting next to her and nodded at me encouragingly. She served me the first cup and handed it across the table. All eyes were on me. I held the cup to my lips and downed it in its entirety, pouring it into myself like medicine. I wanted to dissolve with it. There was a dark-brown taste to it, bitter, unforgiving.