Pajamas

 

Aunt Bożena came to visit us in early March. Her visit was just as unexpected as the one in mid-November and at the end of the summer holidays. But she was famous in our family for always dropping in unannounced, when we least expected it. The worst part was that she ignored our requests to announce her arrival in advance.

That was her style. She didn't care about orders and always went her own way. Like a cat. She always got what she wanted. I don't know if this was a result of spending half her life under the same roof as my grandmother, who spoiled all her children beyond decency, or perhaps the fact that she currently lived in the United States, where she had a very successful business and was practically swimming in cash. She constantly emphasized this by sending us expensive gifts and photos of her, naturally, dressed in a mink coat with her next husband.

My aunt didn't resemble the typical sister of someone's mother. Ordinary aunts couldn't fit into their stretchy tights, had tattooed eyebrows, and a huge, hairy mole shamelessly jutted out on their noses. But my aunt was a complete outlier. She fit into any tights, even the tightest ones, her makeup was impeccable...and as for the mole...well...even if she ever had one, she would have had it removed immediately at one of those exclusive plastic surgery clinics in Atlanta or Chicago.

I tried in vain to find any flaw in her appearance. I did so constantly, from the moment she appeared on the doorstep, intoxicating everyone with the heady scent of Chanel No. 5, until she slumped with feline agility onto the living room couch, revealing her perfectly slender calves. My search was futile. As with every one of her visits, I came to the same conclusion that my aunt tried so hard to prove to everyone with her appearance—that she was a woman of perfection.

My parents and I sat down next to my aunt. We were all still in shock. It always happened when, on a typical weekday, an unearthly creature in a skimpy miniskirt and long blond hair appeared at our door, exclaiming, "It's me, darlings!". In my opinion, my parents tolerated my mother's sister only because she always gave them "modest" gifts they could never afford themselves. "

I'm signing a contract with a construction company on Friday, so I thought I could visit you!" my aunt began, smiling broadly. I have no idea how she does it, but whenever she speaks, she shows all her teeth. Incidentally, perfectly even and snow-white.

"We're so happy about your visit, Bozena..." my mother said, giving my father a wry look, whose gaze wandered over my aunt's long legs. "But shouldn't you have told us when you were coming?" she added, without any sweetness in her voice.

"Darling!" my aunt exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "We barely see each other twice a year, and you always say the same thing. Instead of lecturing me, you should bring me tea. Tony Blair always does that when I visit him...

" "Jesus..." I groaned, rolling my eyes.

"Julia!" my father thundered, defending my aunt's offended majesty.

"What?!

Don't be rude."

"I'm not.

" "Of course you are. Calm down, child, and..."

"I'm calm!!!"

"Darling!" my aunt laughed, placing her hand on my father's shoulder, which instantly deflated. Seeing this, my mother went into the kitchen, muttering something about tea. "Don't argue! You'll all be yelling at each other when I leave. I think..." a good-natured smile crept across her face. "...I have something that will calm you down."

She got up from the couch and went to the hallway, where she'd left her bulky Louis Vuitton bags. A moment later, she returned, clutching three decorative packages. She gave one to me and the other to my father. My mother received the third when she returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea. My aunt sat back down and brushed an invisible speck of dust from her shoulder.

"Open it, open it!" she urged us, seeing us staring impassively at the gifts. It was obvious she couldn't wait to see our reactions. She froze, resting her chin on her hands and staring at us in silent expectation. A naive smile like a small child slowly blossomed on her face.

My mother began to open the package first. With a few deft movements, she opened the paper bag and pulled out a set of solid gold cutlery.

"Oh!" she moaned softly, unable to utter a word. I felt a slight jolt of relief. I didn't have the slightest desire to open my gift. All these unnecessary ceremonies were driving me crazy.

Dad brought out a shiny Swiss watch. This lifted my spirits a bit, because I knew he'd always dreamed of one. Maybe I'd get something I'd like, too? My aunt usually gave me completely unnecessary things. So far, I'd received a multimedia course in an Aboriginal language and a brass candlestick. Even though I didn't like receiving any gifts, especially ones from my aunt, I always had to express my gratitude profusely, as if these gifts would at least save me from a cruel and agonizing death.

"Really, my dear, you didn't have to..." Mom sighed, gazing reverently at her twenty-four-karat teaspoons.

"Oh, come on!" My aunt waved her off and smiled sweetly. I knew she was secretly hoping for more such praise. "I visit my beloved sister's family once every Russian year! Is it wrong that I want to make up for your months of separation so generously?"

"Of course not..." my father stammered. "But you see... we can't accept such expensive things..."

This was where the traditional exchange of opinions began about whether we could accept my aunt's gifts. My parents insisted it was inappropriate, though I knew it was just idle talk. In reality, they were very keen on these gifts, and they only said so out of principle. Of course, my aunt always stuck to her guns, and in the end, we accepted them anyway. With superficial embarrassment and inner joy.

During their discussion, I stared at my gift as if trying to scrutinize it. Usually, I claimed to abhor all wealth and excess, but a small, materialistic part of me couldn't wait to see what was inside. Finally, my aunt urged me on with her twinkling eyes, and I, just waiting for the moment, quickly unwrapped the gift.

My face fell a little when I saw what it was.

Pajamas.

And not even the pretty, colorful ones you find in lingerie stores. Maybe they used to be pink, but now they looked more like cotton candy without dye. Childish ruffles were sewn onto the cuffs. The whole thing looked more like a frosted cake than a proper outfit.

"I... sooooo pretty," my mother squealed, trying to distract my aunt from my sour expression. At the same time, she motioned for me to admire the piece of cloth in the same way.

"Well... aunt..." I began shyly. "You've truly outdone yourself. How did you know these were the pajamas I dreamed of?" I added, encouraged by my father's nod.

"Gorgeous, right?" My aunt clapped her hands together. "I bought them from an old friend of mine in Singapore. I gave him $200, and he said they were worth much more." When I gave him $500, I thought he'd punch a hole in the floor from bowing to me. He kept saying they were special pajamas and that I definitely wouldn't regret them.

The words "$500" made me dizzy.

Five hundred dollars!!!

"Julia will definitely wear them today when you sleep over, right, honey?" my mother smiled.

"Excuse me?" I groaned.

"Oh, but this will be wonderful!" my aunt exclaimed passionately. "I'm sure you'll look wonderful in them. I may be all for a woman always being well-groomed and elegant, but I'm sure a little simplicity and kitschiness never hurt. On the contrary! It will definitely help!"

The thought of putting on that pink pillowcase gave me an unpleasant knot in my stomach. "

I completely agree with you!" my mother exclaimed.

Then I left them alone. I knew perfectly well they would discuss my aunt's travels and successful transactions in detail. Previously, out of pure curiosity, I'd stayed with them, allowing myself to be filled with unnecessary information about the price of rayon in Sri Lanka.

Frankly, I couldn't stand my aunt. She might have been beautiful, had a lot of money, and boasted a larger property collection than many wealthy Polish business owners, but her mannerisms, movements, and vocabulary disgusted me. I couldn't stand it when she bragged about all the trinkets she bought. As if to emphasize that my family and I belonged to a different social class. I truly hated her hypocrisy and duplicity. I knew perfectly well that she thought of us as little insects, nothing compared to her splendor. However, because she and my mother were still related by blood, she forced herself to visit our humble abode from time to time and tell us how much she missed us. And each time, seemingly out of hidden pity, she lavished us with expensive gifts.

And when I saw her suddenly appear at our door, I wanted to spit in her direction and retreat to my room as quickly as possible.

My parents didn't have a very high opinion of Aunt Bożena either. I often overheard them in the kitchen talking about her and her relationship with our family. When my aunt came to visit, they tried to put on an air of extraordinary kindness, but I knew that deep down, they only dreamed of swindling her for those blonde boats.

They talked all evening, and when they decided it was late and time to make my aunt's bed (she always slept over, hoping to cause us even more trouble), she suddenly remembered that I was supposed to show her my sweet new pajamas before bed.

Urged on by my mother's pleading glances, I gave up and a moment later I was standing before my aunt, dressed in a pink ruffled pajama. No one noticed that the pajama pants were way too small for me, only reaching mid-calf.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful!" my aunt enthused, stunning us with her American accent.

I spun around a few times, causing the pink ruffles to rise. I felt like I could sink into the ground. I hated it when people jumped around me and admired everything I wore.

After a long celebration of my outfit, Mom began preparing a sleeping quarters for our guest. After shaking out the sheets, I slipped away to my room.

It was already well after ten. My aunt's visit had exhausted me terribly. The mere thought of her made sweat break out on my forehead. I turned off the light. I didn't even have the energy to change into normal pajamas. I threw myself onto the bed and buried my face in the pillow. I breathed a sigh of relief and covered myself with the duvet. Finally, I could rest.

My room was small but cozy. We lived in apartment buildings, so we couldn't afford a larger apartment. I tried to arrange my furniture as practically as possible in my nook. It turned out rather clumsily, so every shelf and cupboard was crammed to the brim. On the other hand, I couldn't live anywhere else.

One of my constant problems was short-term insomnia. Before sleep finally overtook me, I had to lie still for at least an hour, even though I was incredibly tired. It was a problem beyond my control, and I had no idea how to get rid of it.

So I lay there. My face buried in the pillow, buried in the sheets. And I thought. About what a terrible aunt I had and what hypocritical parents I had. I knew they tried to be nice, but sometimes I couldn't understand why they couldn't just tell my aunt honestly what they thought of her.

I couldn't hear the shuffle of the sheets being pulled out in the living room anymore. I thought maybe everyone had already gone to bed. I didn't have the strength to open my eyes, but I had the feeling the kitchen light was off (my door was opposite the kitchen). This struck me as odd, because I knew my mother always went to bed after me. Sometimes I'd lie in bed for two hours, and she'd still be bustling about the kitchen. I couldn't hear any conversations either, and I was sure my parents always had long conversations about various topics before bed. Had my aunt's presence affected them so much that they abandoned their typical habits while she was there?

However, I could clearly hear someone showering behind the wall. This struck me as incredibly strange, as the other wall was my parents' bedroom, not the bathroom, which was at the end of the hall. Besides, I was almost certain my parents had already washed up.

I opened my eyes, but the room was dark. I could vaguely see the shapes of some furniture and objects. I reached for the bedside table to turn on the light, but my hand found nothing.

The whole situation was starting to make me distinctly uneasy.

I threw back the covers, and at that moment I heard the sound from the bathroom fade, replaced by footsteps in the hallway. By now, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as I looked around, only one thought struck me:

"Oh my God, this isn't my room!"

Suddenly, the door to the room opened and someone turned on the light. The lamp's glare blinded me for a few moments, and when I finally regained my sight, I saw a boy not much older than me, a towel around his waist.

For a few seconds, we stared at each other with indescribable shock in our eyes.

And then I started screaming.

And what a scream!

The boy violently jumped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. I stood there, clutching the duvet to my chest and screaming decibels. Finally, I couldn't breathe. I collapsed onto the pillow and covered myself completely with the duvet. I had no idea how I'd gotten into this room. This wasn't my room—I was sure of that. But how...? How had I gotten there?! I kept repeating in my mind, "Oh God, oh God, oh God!!!"

I almost died of fright when I heard the door open again. In a final act of desperation, I jumped out of bed and, pointing my index finger at the stranger, screamed,

"Stay away from me!"

I was so surprised when it turned out the person who opened the door was my own mother.

"Julia!" she scolded. "How are you talking to me? Besides, it's after midnight, you should be asleep! You have school tomorrow, my lady!"

She didn't even notice the surprise that flashed across my face. I still stood there, paralyzed, my hand outstretched toward her.

"Where... where is that boy?" I choked out after a long moment of silence.

"What boy?!" my mother said in alarm. I knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Never mind..." As if on the command "rest," I regained control of my limbs and sat up in bed. "I think I had a dream...

" "That's good...because I was getting scared that you were bringing strange men into your room at night." She laughed at her own joke. And I wasn't laughing at all. "Oh, and don't worry about your aunt. You know how she is...you just have to get used to her...

" "Mom..." I groaned, still thinking about what had just happened. "I don't feel like talking about Aunt Agata right now...I'm tired and I want to finally go to sleep..."

"Ah..." Mom sighed. My words offended her a bit. "Okay, I'm leaving now."

She took tiny steps out the door. As she closed the door, she gave me a sad look. I didn't get to see that, because by then I was already lying face down in the pillow, my heart pounding furiously, and my mind blank.

For the first few moments after waking up, I was the same carefree high school girl I always was. But when I remembered yesterday's incident, a desperate groan escaped my throat. I wasn't worried about the fact that I'd probably been transported to a house of complete strangers without my knowledge, or even about the fact that for a few minutes I'd been lying in the bed of a stranger. I was worried about my own ignorance. I couldn't find any logical explanation for what had happened. How was it possible that one moment I was lying in my bed, in my room, and the next I found myself in some completely unfamiliar place? Maybe I was sleepwalking? Or had alien invaders irradiated me with some nefarious substance, thus giving me the ability to bilocate?

At school, I couldn't think of anything else. I couldn't concentrate on lessons or on what the teachers were saying (though then again, that happened to me quite often). I considered various possibilities. How could someone unconsciously transport themselves from one place to another? Maybe I was some kind of mutant? I once watched a cartoon on TV where teenage characters revealed supernatural powers, such as telepathy or teleportation. Maybe I was that teleporter?

These were the kinds of thoughts that haunted me throughout the day. Even when I was about to catch the bus home, I strolled leisurely along the sidewalk. My body was on the ground, but my mind and all my thoughts had drifted off in an unknown direction. I was sure I'd already considered every possible possibility, from UFO abduction to teleportation. However, none of them seemed plausible enough to be true. Or was it just a bad dream?

Suddenly, I felt my nose bump against something hard. I stopped. It was a military backpack slung over the back of a member of some youth subculture.

"Hey!" I exclaimed reproachfully. "This is what we do, you know?"

The boy, shaken by the blow, turned around with a look of vivid indignation written all over his face. But when he saw me, his face fell a bit. Mine did too.

"It's you!" he exclaimed passionately.

"Oh, damn, balance!" I shouted back.

It was him! That boy from yesterday!

I flew under his arm like an arrow and ran. I had no intention of getting to know him or explaining anything. I was sure he wouldn't believe me anyway. Because what was there to explain? "Listen, man, I ended up in your bed completely by accident!"

To my annoyance, the man gave chase.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Stop!"

He was much faster than me, and I realized he was about to catch up. Luckily, my stop was close. What's more, heaven sent my bus just then. I jumped on board at the last minute. The doors closed a split second later. My tormentor only had time to furiously slam into the corner of the bus. I heard him shout something, but I couldn't make out the words.

I took a deep breath and sank back into my seat.

I'd never been so terrified in my life when I went to sleep. I had no idea if I'd end up in some strange apartment again.

My parents had been watching me closely all afternoon. I don't blame them. I would have watched them closely too if they'd been shaking and dropping things at every sound all day. Even my aunt expressed her concern. Maybe not in the way you'd usually expect, but she did say,

"Do you want the number of my private psychologist? He'll definitely help you." Don't look at me like that, kid. In the States, every self-respecting citizen has their own psychologist! You have no idea how much it helps me!

Remembering this, I carefully settled onto the pillow, as if it were about to explode. I slowly pulled the covers over me and closed my eyes. The light had been off for several minutes. I lay there paralyzed, afraid to make a move. I listened intently to the sounds around me. This time, I heard snippets of my parents' conversation through the wall. It calmed me down completely.

Suddenly, all my irritation seemed incredibly stupid. "I'm crazy!" I thought, giggling hysterically. "I must have dreamed something stupid, and I'm so worried about it! Like a child!" I let out a few snorts and mentally scolded myself for my behavior. Then I yawned and spread my arms wide. It was my favorite sleeping position. This time, however, I suddenly jumped out of bed with a squeal.

I was sure I'd touched someone's face.

Holding my wrist, I slowly moved closer to the bed I'd been lying in moments before. I saw the outline of the nightstand and the lamp on it. I tugged on the lampshade cord and turned on the light. In an instant, the same thing as the night before hit me.

This wasn't my room.

But it wasn't the boy's room either. This one was bigger. It had a queen-size bed. In it lay a massive, middle-aged man. Rhythmic snores emanated from his throat. It was his face I'd touched. I groaned in disgust, because this man wasn't as pleasant to look at as the one from yesterday. He was huge, fat, and his bare chest was four times the size of mine. He was sleeping so soundly that he didn't even feel me slap his fat cheek.

I stared at him with wild eyes, rubbing my hand as if it hurt.

I was somewhere else again. Transported again. It was impossible!!! And I still didn't know why. Why me?

But at this moment, I had a much bigger problem. I had no idea how to get back. Last time, I'd just—pop!—and gone back. And now? How was I supposed to get back?

I glanced at the digital clock on my desk, its bright green numbers telling me it had just struck midnight. I also thought that since the bed was a double bed, and only one person was sleeping in it at the moment, the other could still be in the apartment, even in the bathroom. Which meant she could return at any moment.

And she wouldn't be happy if she saw a strange girl in tacky pajamas in her bedroom.

I shook my head impatiently. "What am I supposed to do?!" I thought, panicking. They might even accuse me of breaking and entering. But who would break into someone else's house wearing only pajamas, and pajamas just like mine?

And suddenly it hit me.

Pajamas!!!

I grabbed the pink fabric and stared at it in surprise. Had it transported me here? It was very likely, as my magical adventures had begun the moment I put them on. Where had my aunt gotten them?!

Footsteps echoed outside the door. I froze in place. I wondered whether to jump out the window or hide behind the brass dresser in the corner. Finally, I simply threw myself on the bed and pulled the red, flower-embroidered bedspread over my head. In an instant, the footsteps and snoring stopped.

And just like that, I was back. I realized this when, alarmed, I emerged from under the covers and saw that I was back in my own room.

And I knew exactly what I had to do.

First thing in the morning, I went to my aunt's. In my hands I held my pajamas, folded into a bundle. I tossed them on the glass table in front of the couch where my aunt was sleeping. She had curlers in her hair and cucumber slices over her eyes. A loud snoring escaped her.

The clatter of the tabletop didn't faze her in the slightest. She was still asleep. And not at all like the lady she always tried to be.

"Auntie," I growled at her. A wild snort answered me.

"AUNTIE!!!" I repeated directly in her face.

She snored violently and jumped up from the couch, the cucumber slices falling to the floor with a thud.

"Jesus Christ!" she cried sleepily.

"Unfortunately..." I replied sarcastically. "It's just me.

" "Julia?" What are you doing here at this hour? - my aunt muttered, picking up a roller that had fallen out of her hair from the floor. - You should still be sleeping.

- We need to talk.

My tone must have sounded truly serious, because my aunt looked at me suspiciously.

"Your parents wouldn't be happy if I gave you money. They wouldn't, oh no, they wouldn't..."

"I don't want to borrow any money from you," I sighed resignedly. I sat down next to her and handed her the pajamas.

"I want to talk about it. "

My aunt, uncomprehending, looked at the clothes in her hand.

"What, you don't like them?" she asked, a bit surprised. "I thought you liked them..."

"These pajamas are weird," I cut in quickly, trying to get straight to the point.

"They might be a little too pink, but a little kitschy never hurts..."

"That's not the point.

" "What?

" "These pajamas are weird because..." I wondered how to put into words what I had to tell her. I knew it was unlikely she would believe me. "...when I put it on the first time...well...I woke up in a strange boy's bed.

" "Jesus Christ!" my aunt exclaimed once again. "Julia, you're only seventeen!" She turned to me and placed a worried hand on my shoulder. "Don't you think you're a little young for this?"

"No, no, no, no, no!" I denied fiercely. "You misunderstood me!" I exclaimed, waving my hands. "It was like this: one second I was lying in my bed, and the next I was in another! In a completely different house! I had no idea what had happened! And I was completely awake. I thought I'd dreamed it, but yesterday it happened again! And this time I woke up in yet another bed!!!" I recounted passionately.

When I finished, my aunt began to stare at me with even greater concern. After a moment, she raised her hand and placed it on my forehead.

"Just as I thought," she said. "Fever."

"But when is it true?" I exclaimed reproachfully.

"Yes, child, of course. You'd better go back to bed. You're delirious with illness.

" "But that's beyond belief!" I cried. "Auntie, I'm not sick at all! I'm telling the truth!"

"Yes, of course, honey... Krystyna! Your child is sick!

" "Who's sick?" my mother called from the kitchen.

"Julia. She's talking nonsense.

" "Okay, okay," I sighed. "I could have guessed it would be like this," I added quietly.

True.

I could have.

That day I stayed home. It turned out that, contrary to what my aunt had imagined, the illness was very real. My body temperature was dangerously high, and for the good of my body, I was excused from school. I was brutally shoved back into bed, which, incidentally, I was thoroughly fed up with, as most of my unpleasant adventures had been connected to that very piece of furniture. And if that wasn't enough, they put me in those wretched pajamas.

Which I had already decided was cursed.

My illness almost immediately knocked me off my feet, so I didn't even have the strength to fight back. I thought it might be pleasant—lying in bed and doing nothing. I only had to close my eyes and I fell asleep. Before I could even count to ten, I was already drifting off into dreamland.

I had no idea when I woke up. But it was because my throat felt incredibly dry. I felt like if I didn't drink something soon, I'd dry out. I slowly opened my eyes and crawled out from under the covers.

And almost immediately, I was back under them. Because he was there again! Or rather, I was there again.

The boy was sitting at his desk, his back to me. I glanced at the clock above his head. It was after 1 p.m. He must have been doing homework. I couldn't see because his back was so wide.

Slowly, so as not to rustle the fabric, I burrowed under the covers. However, my movements were too reminiscent of those of a bull in a china shop, so the boy turned around.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed at the sight of me. He made such an unfortunate turn in his chair that he fell off, hitting his head on the bed in the process. After a moment, he stood up, rubbing the sore spot. "What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely terrified. "Who are you? What do you want? Why are you lying in my bed?!!!

" "Hmm... well..." I began in a nasal voice. "It was like this... my aunt came from America and gave me a present..."

"I don't want to hear about any presents! Get out of here!

" "Well, that wasn't nice..." I muttered sarcastically. I glared at him disapprovingly. He wasn't much older than me. His slightly long hair indicated he hadn't been to the hairdresser. He held a sharp pencil in his hand. Indeed, he was doing his homework. If I wasn't mistaken, it was geometry.

"Would you find it pleasant to climb into my bed?" he retorted.

"I'd be happy if I were you," I snorted in response.

"For your information, I'm not happy.

" "I noticed," I grumbled with a sudden surge of courage.

"So maybe you should just get out of here, huh? How did you even get in here? I didn't even notice!

" "That's what I wanted to tell you. This outfit I'm wearing has some magical powers..."

"You've got to be kidding!

" "...and it transports me to any bedroom in this country, if not the world. But I haven't had time to check that yet...

" "Crazy..." the boy muttered under his breath.

"Crazy?! Crazy?! I'll prove you crazy!" I exclaimed indignantly. "I'll be back! Now watch. We'll see who's crazy!" With that, I pulled his duvet over my head.

And I'm sure he saw the huge body stuck under one of the blankets evaporate, and said blanket gently fall back onto the mattress.

I'm sure of this because a moment later I found myself home.

At first, I considered throwing away my magical pajamas. I was afraid they might ultimately prove extremely dangerous. However, after further consideration, I concluded that if nothing happened to me after three astral journeys between bedrooms, I would be safe in the future. And so, the pajamas became an indispensable part of my wardrobe.

After using them for a while, I learned to properly wield their extraordinary abilities. At first, I could only travel between the bedrooms of my hometown. However, the more I used the pajamas, the further I could travel. And so, eventually, I ended up in an Indian tipi, an Eskimo igloo, and even a Negro hut. Trying not to give the inhabitants of the places I visited heart attacks, I simply wandered through their homes like a kind spirit, looking at pretty objects but (God forbid!) taking nothing. Okay, once I treated myself to mussels from Queen Elizabeth's kitchen, but I swear it was all just tasting!

Of course, I had my share of mishaps. Like when I discovered that not only she was asleep in an old woman's bedroom, but also her aggressive dachshund, who caused quite a stir. Or when, while wandering through a house, I stumbled upon the youngest member of the family rummaging through the refrigerator. In such cases, all I had to do was flee in panic to the bedroom where the mussel had appeared and hide under the covers. Then I was instantly transported to my own home.

But the pajamas had a way of taking on a life of their own. I never knew where I would end up next. Besides the apartments of the average bourgeoisie, I visited the mansions of wealthy Westerners, but also the tiny dwellings of families living on the brink of poverty. After a while, I realized that the magical pajamas wanted to show me not only happiness, but also the despair and poverty of people from all over the world, and to touch my heart. Because of this, some of my trips were quite depressing. Later, however, I decided to take small gifts with me to give to any lower-class families I might encounter. And so, little orphans from the Transcaucasus woke up with oranges in their paws they'd probably never seen before, and a young African-American woman from Nigeria, expecting a baby, found a pair of baby sleepsuits under her head the next morning.

I must admit, playing Santa Claus became my favorite hobby.

But pajamas didn't stop at teaching me compassion and sharing. I had no idea why, but at least once a week they compelled me to visit the person she'd brought me to in the first place.

Later, pondering the purpose of these visits, I came to the conclusion that, besides the fact that my pajamas made me a night fairy and a good spirit in every house I visited, which entailed a great deal of responsibility and caution, she also wanted me to gain something from this work.

And so she bonded me with Tomek.

And later, when the poor boy finally got used to my intrusive visits, we stopped limiting our friendship to his bedroom.

And the pajamas?

Well, they were still my permanent nightwear. And later, when the daily bags under my eyes began to bother me, I limited my nocturnal excursions somewhat, but I couldn't give them up. For example, for these articles in international newspapers:

"Keiko Tanata from Tokyo claims she was visited by the Pajama Fairy."