Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,71

a leaden ghost within me all that time. I felt dizzy. I tried to say something else but there was nothing to say. She took me into her arms, and I allowed her to – into her soft arms, against her pullover, cushioned by the soft breasts beneath it.

‘It’s OK,’ she whispered. ‘I understand.’ She stroked my hair. ‘You’re good. Don’t you worry. You’ll be fine. You’re good.’

Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to stop the tears. They poured out all by themselves, a force of their own, agents of relief and consolation, flooding my face, emptying my mind. And we sat like this, enveloped in one another, in the bright light, for an immeasurable amount of time. When I straightened myself, she left and returned moments later with a tissue.

I wiped my face and thanked her.

She stood still, looking down at me.

‘You love him, don’t you?’

She said it softly, neutral, almost as if it wasn’t a question. I closed my eyes to say ‘Yes’, and looked at her, saw that she’d understood. Then a shadow flickered across her face, a trace of doubt. The moment I’d been sure would come. She remained still and looked at me intently, scanning me for reassurance, begging me for it with her eyes.

‘You and Janusz …’ she began, but I interrupted her.

‘He doesn’t know,’ I said, slipping the wet ball of tissue into my pocket, trying not to tremble, to keep my voice steady. ‘Don’t say anything to him.’

She nodded, her fear dissolved. ‘Of course not,’ she said, trying to cover her relief. ‘I won’t.’

She offered me brandy again, asked me whether I wanted something to eat. I shook my head and thanked her. It was time to go.

She accompanied me to the door, hugged me. ‘I’ll call my father now,’ she said, and assured me they’d do what they could.

‘Thank you,’ I said again.

She hugged me, this time for longer.

‘Come back soon.’ Again, she sounded like she meant it.

‘I will,’ I said, almost believing it myself.

This morning I awoke and listened to the gentle traffic outside, the horns of the ships gliding past. Then I got up, took my coat and walked outside. The snow on the pavement was powdery, shimmering in the sun like shredded glass. It’s Sunday, and people were out in the streets, taking their families for a walk. I looked at all of them. It’s an impulse I can’t seem to shake, to look at everyone I pass, hoping to recognise a face in the crowd, yearning for the familiar.

I went towards the water – past the brownstones, their solid broad stairs leading up to the angels and stars and Santa Clauses in the windows; past the decorations, the abundance.

They buried the miners this week. They didn’t even say anything about it on TV – Jarek told me. He’d heard about it from home. It seems hundreds of security forces were there to prevent riots – a funeral procession lined by men in helmets, in honour of those who were killed by men in helmets. I felt more sadness than anger. Maybe because the year is drawing to an end. There is only so much hatred you can produce, only so much resentment you can hold inside of you.

Yesterday I tried calling Granny again and the unthinkable happened: the signal went through. Someone picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’ I couldn’t believe my luck, as if I’d thrown a rope across the ocean and she’d caught it. ‘How are you?’ I asked, again and again, clutching the receiver until my palms turned oily.

Her voice was the same as ever. She was fine, she insisted, a little too much. She had enough to eat. She stayed in, mostly. She tried not to read the news or listen to what the neighbours said. Of course I knew that the line was tapped, that somewhere, in some sad cramped radio room, someone was listening to us, and that Granny was trying to say the right things.

‘And you, Ludzio?’

‘I’m alright,’ I said quickly. And then I told her that I was thinking of coming home. That—

‘Don’t,’ she said, interrupting me, her voice becoming urgent. ‘There is nothing here. Your suffering won’t help us.’

‘Granny—’ I tried, to stop her from incriminating herself, but she interrupted me again.

‘Stay where you are,’ she said. ‘At least it gives me hope. And now hang up, my love,’ she added. ‘This call must be costing you millions.’

I put down the receiver and buried my