Swimming in the Dark - Tomasz Jedrowski Page 0,72

head in my hands.

Part of me still wanted to return. Even though I knew that, once there, they would never let me leave again. Even though I knew it was a folly, that I’d be a prisoner. But at least I’d be there. Inside.

I walked to the waterfront, to the broken-down piers. Across the foamy river the skyline of Manhattan was drawn against the sky, a hundred glistening Palaces of Culture assembled next to one another, absorbing the December light. And looking at that light, I thought of Christmas at home, the way we used to spend it. I thought of Granny and Mother and I buying a carp from the man in the street, picking the fattest one from those swimming around in the metal basins standing on the pavement, pointing our gloved fingers at the same one. We would take it home, let the bathwater run and make it swim in the tub. This was my favourite part. I would give it a name. I would tell it that I’d take it to the Odra and release it. And I’d mean it. But then Christmas Eve would come and I’d be hungry, and Mother would be ready. She’d take it out of the bath like she’d taken me out when I was small, careful not to drop it. Then she would cut its head off. She would slice open the body and scoop out its organs like the seeds of a grape, her hands as red as the devil, blood trickling down her wrists and forearms all the way to her elbows.

The day after I saw Hania, I didn’t return to the Bureau, like the man in the glasses had made me promise. I sat in my room, stared at my watch and imagined him at his desk, growing agitated. Every minute after that, I expected a knock on the door, militiamen taking me away or a representative from the housing board handing me a notice of eviction. But none of that came. Not the next day, and not the following one either. The week drew to a close without anything unusual happening at all. Except that it began to snow. Snow tumbled from pillow-white clouds all over the city, dancing giddy flakes, freshly born, covering streets and houses and cars with a sparkling crust, bringing everything to a halt for a moment.

One morning, soon afterwards, Pani Kolecka knocked on my door and handed me a big brown envelope. Inside was a passport with a visa.

A couple of weeks later I saw Karolina for the last time. She was waiting for me outside in the snow, a large fur hat on her head, her breath visible in the cold. She smiled when she saw me.

‘Why didn’t you go inside?’ I asked, nodding towards the door of the bar.

‘I wanted to go in with you,’ she said, kissing me on the cheek, wrapping her arm around mine.

Inside, we were hit by the warm air, the looks of the patrons. Men, young and old, eyed us with barely concealed curiosity. Like last time, we sat near the bar and ordered two beers. They were playing Donna Summer’s latest song, ‘Bad Girls’. I tapped along with my fingers.

‘Funny you would ask me to meet you here,’ said Karolina, smiling. ‘I thought you didn’t like this place.’

I laughed. ‘I changed my mind. That’s allowed, right?’

‘Encouraged,’ she said, enjoying herself.

The beers arrived, and we toasted. Karolina started telling me about the last few weeks, about her dates with Karol. They were in love.

‘I am so glad for you,’ I said, and meant it. ‘So glad.’

We ordered another round, toasted again.

‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’

I took a long sip and began to tell her about you and me and Hania. The uncensored truth, for the first time. She gasped throughout, but didn’t seem too surprised. Until I told her about the passport.

‘So you’re …?’ Her eyes began to shimmer.

‘Yes. Next week.’

‘That’s great,’ she said, her voice breaking with emotion. She looked at her beer. ‘And can’t you … wait?’

‘I think it’s time for me,’ I said. ‘And now that you’re the one in love, I’m not going to ask you to come with me.’

She looked up. Tears freed themselves from her eyes, drawing black paths of mascara down her cheeks. She cried noiselessly, and I took her into my arms. When she was done, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar