Angel in the Mad Men's Ward, Part 2.

Days passed. Majewski got to know the patients, the rules of the ward. He stood out a bit from the others. He spoke little, observing everyone with a strange sadness and seriousness. From the very first day, I noticed how easily he made contacts. He was unsure of himself, fascinated by people; interacting with them was something unusual for him. I watched him greet everyone after breakfast, without exception. He shook hands with the sly, mouthy Narutowicz, shook hands with the withdrawn Zieliński, and even greeted the Plants of our ward, with the people who were now mere blobs of tissue, capable only of chewing, digesting, and excreting. Even old Kukłacz proved interesting enough for Majewski to spend an entire morning with him, looking at yellowed military photos that probably dated back to World War II.

If only I could focus on Michał Majewski, I would have deciphered him long ago. But my thoughts constantly circled his little princess, his pearl, his hope. It was Zosia who kept Majewski going; it was thanks to her that neither I, Red, nor any other nurse had managed to get a new patient.

I couldn't wait for Tuesday, yet I dreaded it. It didn't matter, though; time ticked by inexorably; I involuntarily counted the hours until Zosia's return. I was certain she'd return whenever she could. She loved her Michał too much not to seize every opportunity to see him, especially since each meeting could be the last, though Zosia likely didn't know it yet.

And finally. The Big Day arrived, Tuesday. I decided to sit on the couch outside my office. This time, I longed to be closer, dreaming of smelling her scent, perhaps even being honored by a lost lock of Zosia's hair.

I waited. And Majewski waited too. We were both sitting on the couch outside my office, both nervously glancing at the large clock hanging on the wall. Michał was reading the newspaper, or rather, only glancing through it occasionally. I pretended to take notes. An outsider might think there was practically nothing different about us. And indeed, there was. We were the same. Apart from the fact that Majewski possessed the greatest treasure on earth.

The ward door opened slowly. I knew it was her; I recognized the unmistakable uncertainty that accompanied her constantly, and I felt a slight shiver in the air. Majewski recognized it too. He jumped up; Zosia spotted him from the distance and began to run. I closed my eyes, enjoying the patter of tiny feet, clad in red shoes.

She practically jumped on him. She wrapped her thighs around his waist, snuggling as tightly as possible. He stroked her head, kissed her auburn hair, where, besides his hand, the sun's rays danced, filtering into the hallway through the half-curtained windows. The sun, too, yearned for Zosia.

I wanted to give them a chance to talk freely. So I stood and walked a few steps away. I stood in the doorway to the Plants' room, pretending to write down observations.

Of course, I wanted to eavesdrop on what they were saying. Besides, I don't know. Maybe I wanted to learn something, or maybe just hear what an angel's voice sounded like?

I stood there, staring blankly at Nowacki. The idiot had been trying to build a bomb for four days, using cutlery stolen from the cafeteria, tobacco from his cigarettes, and a few candy wrappers.

The silence behind me was strange, so I cautiously turned around. The girl sat on Michał's lap, whispering something into his ear. They spoke very quietly. I felt a pang of disappointment in my stomach. I was about to think of a way to get even closer, when I suddenly remembered something...