.. A Bird Will Die, or a Requiem for Dreams

"And the Raven won't fly away at all, as if he were thinking of waiting years

for Palladium's bust by the door, between two stone aisles.

His eyes, gloomy as a devil's, gleam bloodily from beneath the lashes of a cloud;

The lamplight casts his shadow from above across the room,

And my soul, from that shadow that covered the chamber along,

will never rise again!"

(Edgar Allan Poe, "The Raven")

The clatter of a tram passing over the Royal Bridge drowned out Mark's last words.

"What did you say?" I asked

. "I asked how long we've been standing here. "

Karl glanced at his watch.

"Over an hour. At least we're not getting wet," he replied, looking at the streams of rain flooding the city. We were standing under the bridge, so rain was not a threat. Which didn't change the fact that it was cold, especially after over an hour of waiting for Matthias.

"Do we want to stand here like this?" "Marek said after a moment of silence. "What was he so crazy about, making us wait here for over an hour? Did he tell you something?" He looked at me. "What did he tell you?"

"He called me yesterday and told us to be here at ten. He was supposed to bring us this girl he met at the beginning of the summer break and introduce her to the team.

" "He bragged so much about her that I'd love to meet her, but he's not here..." Karl stated, then turned to me. "You've already met her, haven't you? What's she like?

" "I didn't recognize her. I was supposed to meet her; they were both supposed to come over at the beginning of July while I was on vacation with my family. They were supposed to come over for a day, but it didn't work out.

" "Uh, it didn't work out..." Marek shook his head. "Do you believe in those fairy tales? They probably had something better to do than come to you."

You'd expect such a joke from Marek. But even Karl smiled.

Karl had little connection with his country of origin. He was a completely unconventional representative of a resident of the Reich. Medium height, with perpetually disheveled dark hair, calm, he rarely got upset, rarely showed his feelings at all. It seemed to be a trait common among the inhabitants of our eastern neighbor, but his repressed emotions stemmed from something entirely different—he was simply perpetually lost in thought. Just like now.

"And when will you introduce us to this famous girlfriend of yours?" Marek asked.

I smiled and, without looking at him, replied,

"Maybe someday... I don't know whether to introduce her to you at all, because it usually ends badly.

" "How does it end badly?"

I looked at him.

"Don't play innocent. I have a girlfriend and I wouldn't want to lose her." I didn't need to go on. We all knew Marek's womanizing nature. The whole school knew about him in that respect. All the girls knew to watch out for him and it was best to stay away from him.

Interesting, because Marek wasn't exactly a striking presence. He was short, had rather long hair, and was always unshaven. He also wore glasses. But he was a master of conversation. He could strike up a conversation with anyone (actually, "anyone"; you could say the only guys he spoke to were his closest friends, including us) about any topic and always managed to add his two cents to the conversation, thus attracting the attention of the more intelligent women, who were more impressed by eloquence than brawn. Marek was a completely unusual type of flirt.

"By the way," I said after a moment, "I wonder if Matthias would be wise to introduce you to that girlfriend of his." Poor guy, his first girlfriend ever, and he'll lose her because he'll be foolish enough to introduce her to you. That would kill him. Do you know how happy the guy was?

"Of course I know. He sent everyone in the team a letter, trying to express his joy and such. That the search was over, that he'd finally found the love of his life, and so on. Standard." He shrugged. "Where the hell is he?

" "Her train must have been late," I said.

"What? What train?" they both asked.

"Didn't I tell you?" I replied, surprised. "She was supposed to return from the capital this morning, and Matthias was supposed to pick her up and bring her back to us."

Marek chuckled.

"Something must have held them up..." he said. "Were they planning to stop by her house or his?" he asked.

"I don't know, but she must have left her luggage somewhere. She's not going to be wandering around the city with all those packages.

" "Well, now we know what held them up." "Now he was laughing openly. The rest of his words were drowned out by the clatter of a tram coming from the bridge.

"I think it's a train after all," Karl said, once relative silence had settled. "Maybe we'll find it at the station." With that, he turned toward the stairs leading to the bridge. He looked at us. "Come on, what are we going to do standing around here?"

Marek and I exchanged glances and followed our friend.

Luckily, more than one line ran from the nearby stop to the Main Station, so despite it being a holiday, we didn't have to wait too long for the tram. And when it arrived, we were pleased to find that it was even possible to board it—at this time of day on weekdays, and often on Sundays as well, public transport vehicles are literally strewn with people grabbing anything they could to get on.

During our ride to the station, we broached the subject. Of course, it started with Marek complaining about the lack of crowds.

"If there were, and I had to hang on a pole or something, there would be little chance of anyone checking my ticket."

Of course, Marek didn't validate his ticket. He only validates tickets for girls he's traveling with on public transport. When he's traveling alone or with us, he never does. "Waste of money," is his excuse. Karl and I both wonder if any ticket inspector would buy that excuse.

"But of course, you don't get it," I commented, not for the first time, on Marek's behavior. "Wait until you get caught someday. Then we'll talk.

" "Listen," Karl decided to interrupt our discussion, probably because he'd heard it before and knew exactly how it would end. "What did Matthias have planned for today after he introduced us to this girl of his?"

"He said he'd lead us all in the best role-playing game session in the history of this city," I replied. "He wants to show his girlfriend a real RPG. She's apparently interested, but she's never played seriously. So I decided, 'In that case, I'll lead the best session for you,'" I added immodestly. I waited for the comments. I didn't have to wait long. "

Ooooh, the Master of Masters, the Dice Swallower, and the Know-it-all of the Rules has spoken," Marek replied with a smile. Karl, however, didn't pursue the matter and, as usual, asked with a serious expression:

"Gentlemen, what do you think about us joining the RPG Guild?"

I grimaced.

"To that bunch of pompous buffoons who are just becoming Know-it-alls and Know-it-alls? To boss around and tell us how to play? To nitpick every word during a session? Never in my life," I replied with disgust.

"And besides, it's some shady company," Marek added. Karl and I looked at him. "Well, they're kind of strange, so... hermetic. Like some kind of mafia," he explained.

I wondered where Marek was coming from with such strange conclusions—what does RPG have to do with the mafia?—but I didn't pursue the matter, because our transport had arrived at its destination—KLK Main Station.

The station building was actually located in the city center, but it was close to the Municipal Zeppelin Landing Site. That's why, above the train station building, we could see the enormous, majestic silhouettes of airships heading to and from the landing site. Unfortunately, airship travel was still far beyond our budget, but I'd always dreamed of using this mode of transport.

Meanwhile, however, we were at a bus stop for a slightly more accessible mode of transport. Dreams of airship escapades would have to be postponed for another time; for now, our goal was to find—if he was even there—our friend Matthias.

In the vast, recently renovated waiting room, which now looked truly impressive—beautiful chandeliers, marble, updated benches—a crowd of people was walking back and forth or sitting on the new benches, and among them—perhaps—our missing friend.

We began to wander between the benches, scanning the crowds, searching for the familiar dark mop of hair atop Matthias's perpetually bowed head. Matthias was a tall boy, though that wasn't immediately apparent, as he always walked with a slightly stooped posture, often staring at the ground, and on cool days—of which there were many in autumn—he seemed to be snuggled and hidden in his long light brown coat. When alone or with others, but in a mood where he preferred listening to others rather than participating, he always looked with a misty, pensive gaze. To those unfamiliar with him, he could seem lost in thought. Indeed, he often was, but he always heard and was aware of what was happening around him.

We found Matthias just like that—"cloudy," as someone once said—on one of the benches in the renovated waiting room of the Main Railway Station of the Princely Railways, squeezed between a stout woman and a large man in a state of somewhat intoxication. But Matthias, as usual, didn't seem at all interested or even the slightest bothered by his proximity on that bench. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hunched over, staring at the beautiful marble floor of the waiting room, and—what was he doing there? Daydreaming? Thinking?

Matthias had always been an eternal, dreamy—the word "incorrigible" would be fitting—optimist. Despite that perpetually gloomy expression, he always looked to the future with hope. I'd bet he was also thinking only of pleasant things now. After all, he was right—after so many years of romantic dilemmas and searching for "the one and only," he'd finally found it.

"Matti!" Marek's voice interrupted both Matthias's and mine. No matter how deep in his world he was, it was always easy to summon him and bring him back to this gray reality.

He lifted his head, looked at us with those unfocused eyes of his, and finally smiled faintly

. "Oh! Hi, team. What are you doing here?

" "What are we doing here?" Marek asked, a little less gently than before. "I think I'm about to tear something off... We've been waiting under that damn bridge for over an hour, and you're nowhere to be seen. You're sitting there, warming your butt in a warm, dry waiting room, while we get soaked...

" "What do you mean, soaked?" You were standing under a bridge, weren't you? — once Matthias returns to our world, he can be surprisingly reasonable.

"But when we were walking to the bus stop, we got drenched, right?" Marek replied

. "Why did you leave? If you hadn't, you wouldn't have gotten wet, simple as that?"

Marek frantically searched for further arguments. I decided to interrupt him before it came to blows in public.

"I take it you didn't go to the bridge because you were sitting here," I said. "Perhaps you could enlighten us as to why you've been sitting here for nearly three hours?

" "I'm waiting for a girl, I told you.

" "Well, you did, but her train was supposed to arrive, if I remember correctly, a little after nine, and we're almost twelve. State trains are sometimes late, but not three hours. Not those times anymore.

" "It wasn't late, it was on time, but she didn't arrive." I decided to wait for the next one. Trains from the capital run a dozen or so times a day.

"So what? When will the next one arrive?

" "One already arrived. An hour ago, but she didn't arrive before either.

" "And you want to sit here like this?" "

You know, she's always late, sometimes even hours. That's her style.

" "Have you called her family in the capital?"

"I don't know the number."

There was a moment of silence. We all knew what Matthias was thinking. He deeply hoped he hadn't been deceived. In fact, he didn't even consider the possibility. He was so happy with his incredible happiness, the one he'd been searching for for so long. It was impossible for it all to end so suddenly. How could it? Nooooo... Everything was definitely fine, it was just that she missed the train. She probably overslept, something probably came up at the last minute... After all, it wasn't the first time; she's like that, etc., etc. Yes, we all knew exactly how Matthias thought. We'd known him for a long time, after all. His constant problems with girls, too.

"Forgive me for asking, but how much longer are you going to sit here?" Marek asked.

Matthias looked at him. I could almost see the daggers he was glaring at him. The question was truly absurd. Of course Matthias was going to wait…

"Until she arrives," he replied, as I had predicted.

"Or maybe she came back earlier?" Karl, as usual, offered a rational explanation. Silence answered him.

"Did you check? Did you call her at home?" Marek asked. Matthias shook his head.

"I don't know the number there either," he explained, then forestalled our questions. "She just moved. I know where she lived before, but for a long time in the capital, she didn't even know where she was moving. The whole move took place while she was gone.

" "But now you know where she lives?"

"No. She didn't tell me. She didn't know herself the last time I spoke to her.

" "And when did you talk to her?" Marek had clearly decided to play detective.

"I don't know... two weeks ago?

" "That's quite a while ago. Why haven't you spoken in those two weeks?

" "She didn't call.

" "Perhaps someone who now lives where she lived before will know something?" Karl, as usual, had a clever idea.

"Have you ever been to her place?" I asked

. "No. Back in early July, when she was still living there, she and her family started getting ready to move out. I didn't want to burden them.

" "But do you know where it is?

" "Well, I know the address.

" "Listen," said Marek, the most enterprising of us all, after a moment's silence, "what we'll do is go to her old apartment now and maybe we'll find out something there, right?"

"And what if she comes now?" Matthias objected.

"That'll teach her not to be late again. And she'll probably end up in her new home." At most, she'll come to you." Seeing Matthias's somewhat hesitant expression, he added. "Come on, you'll just stand here all day, and she can stay home and call you. And you're not here.

" "But...

" "Oh, stop being boring. Let's go." Marek decided for all of us and headed for the exit. Karl and I followed him, dragging a somewhat dejected Matthias along.

Time for him to finally get a little wet too.

Unfortunately, we were unlucky, because as soon as we left the building, the rain had significantly eased, and Matthias didn't get too wet on the way to the bus stop. Marek, of course, didn't fail to point this out.

"You damn lucky bastard! We finally got you out into the rain, it's stopping," he complained rather loudly. We all stole glances at the recipient of these words, but not a shadow of a smile appeared on Matthias's gloomy face. He was still seriously worried about this fruitless wait.

On the tram, we decided to cheer him up a bit.

"Hey, sad guy, tell us something about that girlfriend of yours."

He looked at us.

"What?

" "I don't know, anything. We don't really know anything about her."

"What can I tell you... She's a year younger than me... She's interested in photography..." he smiled. "Even though she's younger, she's much more mature than many adults. More mature mentally," he added, looking at our faces. Or rather, mainly at Marek, because nasty comments and spotting ambiguities were his specialty. "If you knew how many things she taught me... She showed me so many things, all sorts of trivial things that I never realized... Seemingly small things, yet that's what life is made of. And she showed me that. She taught me how to love and practically taught me how to live.

" "It's beautiful..." Marek said after a moment of silence, filled with the clatter of the tram wheels, and not at all mockingly. Even he sometimes had moments of seriousness. And even if he did, they didn't last long. His malice immediately returned. "And now the axe question: what color are his eyes?"

We all looked at Matthias intently. We were curious if she knew. He, seeing our faces and our gazes, seemed to guess and smiled.

"What, do you think I don't know? As it happens, I do!

" "Okay, don't stall, just tell me."

He took a deep breath.

"Completely unusual, like the rest of her. Mainly green, but they turn light brown, even gold, at the edges. Besides, if you looked closely, you could find every color in her eyes.

" "And you were looking," Marek stated rather than asked.

"What else is she interested in?" I decided to ask something sensible before Marek could think of another comment.

"What do you mean what?" Matthias replied. "The same thing I'm into—cinema. Complete happiness.

" "Music?" came another question on the game show

. "Here, pretty much the same thing I'm into—blues, folk, rock.

" "Literature?

" "We actually have similar tastes, but we've each read and have different tastes, so we'll both have someone to borrow from."

Karl, who hadn't spoken for some time, just staring out the window, finally broke his silence:

"Gentlemen, isn't this here by any chance?"

We got out.

At 1/8 Zielona Street, we found a decades-old, two-story tenement house, built of red brick. We dragged ourselves to the second floor and found the door to apartment number 8.

"Have you been here before?" I asked

. "No." She was already preparing to move, and I didn't want to bother her. Especially since she said the apartment was tiny and there wouldn't be room for everyone.

There was a moment of silence.

"So, will someone knock?" I asked, looking around at everyone. Marek finally shrugged and knocked on the door.

A long moment passed, and Marek was already preparing to knock again when we heard the lock click and the sound of someone turning the knob. The door opened, and a small old woman appeared before us. She looked at us, a little frightened.

After a moment's silence, Karl said

, "Good morning. Ma'am, we'd like to know something about the, uh... family that lived here before. We can't find them... "

The old woman's smile lit up.

"Oh, of course, come in, come in." She stepped back, gesturing for us to enter. Somewhat bewildered, we entered. The old woman—Mrs. Figiel, as the sign on the door read—closed the door and ushered us in.

The apartment didn't seem small at all. It wasn't exactly an apartment, but the living room was quite large. Mrs. Figiel, after forbidding us to take off our shoes but ordering us to take off our soaked jackets, invited us in and seated us at the table. She then headed toward one of the doors leading to the next room. A moment later, she returned with a tray full of cookies. She set them on the table

. "Help yourselves. I'll make some tea in a moment...

" "But no, no," Marek interrupted, standing up, "please don't bother, we just wanted to find out where they live now, because we don't know the address, and we wanted to visit them.

" "Oh, just a moment." Mrs. Figiel stood and headed for a small bookcase. She began rummaging through a drawer. "Very nice people lived here, very nice indeed. And what a beautiful daughter they had." All three of us immediately looked at Matthias. Marek couldn't help but laugh, and so did I. Karl limited himself to a smile. Mrs. Figiel continued, returning to the table with the envelope. "They write to me here often. We've known each other for a few years, after all, and I know everything that's going on with them. Their address is on this envelope, copy it down." She placed the letter on the table. Marek reached into his backpack for a notebook and began copying. Suddenly, his face twisted in surprise

. "Do they live in Kornaustadt?" he asked. We all looked at the address on the envelope—indeed, Kornaustadt, 17 Pałacowa Street.

"Of course," said Mrs. Figiel. "They have a very nice one-story house with a small garden in a very pleasant neighborhood. They're always doing something in the house—repairing or replacing things.

" "As usual after a move," I interjected

. "Well, yes, but they did everything important from the very beginning. Now they're just changing things that suddenly became necessary. Recently, they had to convert one of the rooms upstairs into a nursery. A few months later, their son was born."

We all looked at Matthias. He seemed even more astonished than we were.

"When?" he asked.

"A few months ago... In March, if I remember correctly.

" "In... March?" he could barely choke it out.

"So how long have they been living there?" I asked.

"What do you mean, I don't understand," the old woman admitted.

"When did they move out? How long have you been living here?

" "Oh, it'll be... I don't know, time flies so fast you don't notice... four years?" Yes, something like that. Four years."

We looked from Mrs. Figiel to Matthias in disbelief. A question occurred to me: if we—our three friends from his team, who had only accompanied him on his search for traces of his girlfriend—if we were stunned, what could be said about him?

It was imperative to sit down somewhere, calm down, and think calmly. After being stunned, we could barely find the words to apologize and say goodbye to Mrs. Figiel, and finally left her apartment, where, as it turned out, she had lived not for a month, but for four years, we chose Matthias's house because it was closest. No one said a word the entire tram ride. Everyone was trying to figure things out. Matthias's parents were temporarily absent, so we had to fill in for them, inviting ourselves in and making tea, as Matthias was also absent, but in spirit.

We were now sitting at the table in the living room, steaming mugs in our hands, and still we didn't say a word. Finally, Marek decided the silence was unbearable and turned on the radio. The Princely Radio Station was broadcasting its hourly news. We learned that Karol Bauman, officially known as the president of the city's Fantastic Guild, had been arrested overseas for involvement in the smuggling of melee weapons. This was the first major success in the operation, which combined the forces of our police and those from overseas. Bauman is to be returned to us and tried here. A search for his associates is immediately underway, starting, of course, with members of the Guild, as it is suspected that the entire Guild is merely a front for a criminal group.

"So, what if we signed up there?" Marek said. "I told you it was a shady bunch, but no one wanted to listen.

" "Okay, you come up with conspiracy theories, and I have to use the restroom." I glanced at Matthias before leaving, but he was still lost in his darkest thoughts. I left.

On my way back from the restroom, I passed the door to his room. I decided to pop in and check out his collection—maybe something new had appeared.

His room, especially his desk, was a complete mess, as usual. Matthias must have been writing a letter or a short story, because blank sheets of paper and writing implements took up most of the space. I glanced at what he'd managed to create and concluded that he'd been working on a story for a long time. He'd been threatening to write something for a while now, and over the summer he was even planning to write something he'd been teasing about for a while—he claimed he had a great idea for a story and would definitely write it over the summer. I decided not to discourage him and turned to what really interested me.

I looked through his CDs, but I found nothing new, except a few new albums by that Greek composer I'm not a fan of. I headed for the bookshelves and immediately came across something interesting.

I returned to the living room with it in my hands. I tossed it on the table in front of Matthias. I think I'd snapped him out of his reverie. He looked at me.

"Did you read it?

" "Yeah, I did." Cool," he said without a trace of emotion.

"So maybe you'd be kind enough to give it back to me? There's a whole line forming for it, and you're holding it. "

He looked at me in surprise.

"What do you mean, to you?" he asked

. "Yeah," I replied with a hint of sarcasm. "It just occurred to me, completely irrationally, that if you borrow from me, you'd give it back. Not to Karl, not to Mark, but to me.

" "But I didn't borrow it from you!" he said.

"What are you trying to tell me? Of course, from me. I lent it to you at the end of June. You really wanted me to lend it to you, so I lent it to you.

" "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Oh, Jesus... Here, look." I opened the book to the title page and pointed to my signature in the upper right corner of the page. He always signs my books like that.

Matthias took the book and stared blankly at the signature for several moments. After a moment, he looked away and smiled.

"Turn it up," he said. Marek complied and turned up the volume on the radio. The ballad "Great Expectations" was playing, which everyone in the room loved, so no one objected.

"Our song..." Matthias said. "We both love it. This song reminds us both of our beginnings. We both decided it would always remind us of us. I wonder if she's listening to the radio right now and thinking about me?" His gaze fell on the book he was still holding. He closed it and handed it back to me. "Sorry, I was convinced she was the one who lent it to me. I must have done some digging."

I put the book back in my backpack. For a moment, no one spoke. Everyone was absorbing the sounds of the ballad "Great Expectations" coming from the radio and thinking. As the last notes faded, Karl spoke:

"Listen, where did you get that address? Zielona Street one over eight? From her?

" "Well, she gave it to me.

" "Or maybe you messed something up? Maybe you misremembered it? Where did you write it down?

" "In your notebook," Matthias replied, standing up. "I'll show you." He went to his room, then returned a moment later with his notebook in hand. He opened it to the addresses and showed us. Sure enough, it clearly read: "ul. Zielona Street 1/8."

After a moment of silence, Karl offered another explanation:

"Or maybe you made a mistake when you wrote down the address?"

"Well, she was standing over me, dictating. How could I have made a mistake?

" "That's exactly why you could have made a mistake," Marek interjected, "because she was standing over you. What was she wearing?" he asked with his famous sarcastic grin.

"Piss off." It didn't seem to amuse Matthias at all.

"You know what, team?" "We were supposed to play today, but as you can see, there's no point in this situation. I suggest we meet at my place tomorrow and have a nice session. Maybe Matthias's friend's girlfriend will be back by tomorrow and able to play with us.

" "Or she'll come back, and neither she nor Matthias will play with us..." Marek interjected. "

In the meantime," I continued, "I have to go, unfortunately, because my family is probably already sharpening their knives at me."

Marek and Karl only just remembered about their watches, and it turned out they had to go too. As we were leaving, we gave Matthias some good advice, like, 'Don't worry, grab a book or listen to some good music and get away from the world for a while,' and then we left his house.

On the way to the bus stop, Marek asked,

"What are we going to play tomorrow?"

"And who's going to lead the game?" "

I don't know, maybe something cheerful to cheer Matthias up," I suggested. "Anyway, we need to make an appointment and call him to let him know who's at what time.

" "Who's at what time?" Marek asked.

"I don't know..." I replied. "Maybe at my place at eleven? Is that okay?"

Marek and Karl nodded, indicating they had no objections. Karl asked,

"What?

" "I don't know, I'll lead you into something, but I don't know what yet. Maybe a waiting game.

" "Maybe you'll lead us into that incredibly unusual LARP," Marek said sarcastically, "that you're so proud of doing to us? Because it's been so long since you've led anything. Since you're already threatening us with unforgettable experiences, maybe he'll put his word into action, eh?"

I kept smiling to myself throughout his entire speech.

It was already the next day. Marek was the first to arrive at our scheduled meeting yesterday and tried to take advantage of the situation to extract confidential information from me.

"So?" Marek asked, once he'd comfortably settled into the armchair in my room. "Will you tell us more about this brilliant LARP of yours? When will you host it? What will it be about?

" "Should I also tell you how it ends?" I replied with a question. "You won't get anything out of me. However, I can assure you, there will be no character creation, no going to the plot or the forest to act it out. There will be no dressing up. In fact, it will be as if you were yourselves. Each of you will be playing yourself.

" "And the plot?" he asked.

"It's hard for me to say... I don't really know what to call it, and I don't want to give too much away.

" "And where will it take place?

" "Practically throughout the entire city." This must have made an impression on Marek. He looked at me in disbelief.

"Am I to understand that the entire city will be participating in this session?

" "Practically," I replied.

Marek was about to say something, but the doorbell rang. I went to open the door for Karl, who, after taking off his shoes, wet from the constant downpour, followed me to my room. He greeted Marek and asked,

"Will Matthias be there?

" "I called him yesterday," I replied. "He said if he didn't show up on time, we should call him and ask if he was coming. And if we didn't find him, we should wait about half an hour, and after that, we should play without him."

Karl glanced at his watch. It was ten past eleven.

"So, have you called?" he asked

. "Not yet, I'll call you right away," I replied, and went out into the hallway. I dialed his number and waited for him to connect. After five rings, I hung up. I returned to my room and reported,

"He's not here. That means he's either coming here, or he's not coming and is, for example, at the station or hanging out with his girlfriend. Let's wait that half hour and see. If he doesn't show up, we'll play without him."

Marek decided to turn on the radio.

"Did you hear what happened?" he asked. We shook our heads in response. Marek continued: "Well, they found the body of a policeman, some Kowalski, who was hunting down that melee weapons smuggling organization that was hiding under the guise of the Fantastic Guild. Should I add now, 'I told you so?'" he finished with triumph in his voice.

It was hard to disagree.

"How do you know that?"

"They're blaring about it on the radio all the time, it's on the news, it's in the newspapers... Anyway, the police are getting serious about cracking down on these smugglers and they have a few leads. First of all, they're looking for the vice president, someone named Stern, but I heard they had him on their radar, but he bolted and disappeared like a stone in the ocean. They also caught this one guy, some little minnow, but he got out of jail.

" "They have connections, the bastards..." I commented.

"I don't predict much of a life for the guy they caught, because Stern and his crew are probably afraid he's spilled the beans. And Stern's holed up somewhere and they can't find him. Now I wonder what's going on with those Guild people.

" "I think the police will go after them," Karl said, "but personally, I think that besides the mafia, there were some normal players in that guild who didn't know anything about it."

"You have to admit, the Fantastic Guild is a fantastic cover for a criminal group. But how will that affect people's opinion of RPGs? Now they'll associate us not with Satanism, but with the mafia.

" "Such a cover has another nice side," said Karl. "They can test all their plans for some action in the game first, consider all the dangers and obstacles, and then get to work. Even the military does it, so why shouldn't the mafia?" Our

further deliberations were interrupted by the doorbell. We all almost simultaneously decided it was Matthias, and I went to answer the door. We weren't wrong. It was Matthias. Alone, but terribly happy.

I led him into the room, he greeted everyone, and immediately a flurry of questions began:

"So? Did she come? Why didn't you bring her?" asked Marek.

"She didn't come, but she called.

" "When?

" "Last night," she said, "she didn't manage to reach me with the information that she was staying for three more days and would arrive on Tuesday."

"Does he still love you?" Marek, with his stupid smile, once again displayed his talent for asking nasty questions. Matthias's smile faded slightly. He didn't answer. Marek stopped smiling, and Karl and I looked at Matthias.

"I'm sure," Matthias said after a moment.

A little bewildered, we sat down on the couch. Marek asked,

"But she didn't tell you that?"

Matthias didn't answer. The first few bars of the song "Queen of Hearts" by the band we all loved came on the radio. It was the perfect excuse for Karl to change the subject.

"Matthias, when will you lend me that CD?" he asked.

"As soon as someone gives it back," Matthias replied, and I smiled to myself.

"Who?" Karl asked.

"What do you mean, who?" I answered for Matthias, but he finished:

"My girlfriend ."

My smile vanished. I looked at him.

"What's your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Yeah, right. I lent it to her, so she has to pay me back first so I can lend it to Karl, easy?"

I looked at him in surprise for a moment. Finally, I stood up, went over to my record collection, and a moment later I was holding the colorful box containing the album "The World." Matthias looked at me in astonishment.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"Hmm... From you?" I replied. "You lent it to me before the holidays, remember?"

Matthias clutched his head.

"Gosh, I'm getting it all mixed up," he muttered under his breath. "I remember lending it to her.

" "Yeah?" I asked in disbelief. "What else did you lend her?"

"'Images and Words,'" he replied after a moment's thought. I lowered my hands in a theatrical gesture, then turned back to the record collection, and a moment later I was holding the aforementioned album.

"This 'Images and Words'?" I asked.

Matthias didn't answer. There was a long silence. I put the CDs back on the shelf and continued:

"Did you lend her anything else?"

Matthias began to wonder.

"Well... I remember lending her 'The Lower Limit'." He looked at me with fear in his eyes.

"New edition?" I asked. "With that blue guy on the cover?

" "Yes. I bought it after a long search because I wanted it, and shortly afterward I lent it to her.

I went to the bookshelf, found 'The Lower Limit,' and threw it on the couch, right next to Matthias. He clutched his head again.

"Jesus, what's going on?" he asked. "I could have sworn I lent her that. Just like those CDs... And that she lent me that book, which turned out to be from you."

There was a long silence. Everyone was looking at the CDs and the book. Everyone was trying to piece it all together and connect it with the events of the previous day... How was it possible that Matthias thought he'd lent the CDs to his girlfriend, but in reality, he'd lent them to me? There was also the possibility that the address Matthias knew, where his girlfriend was supposed to live until recently, had turned out to be wrong. It could be chalked up to a simple mistake. It was supposedly typical of her not showing up at the station, because—as Matthias said—she loves being late. But to confuse her with me?

"Matthias," Mark said, "apparently something occurred to him—"tell me, what does your girlfriend look like?

" "She's a tall blonde with shoulder-length hair. She's neither fat, nor bulky, nor stick-thin. She has a bit of body, but she has a very nice figure.

" "Do you have a picture of her?"

Matthias opened his mouth to reply, then suddenly froze. He stared blankly ahead.

"No." The surprise was clear in his voice.

— Don't you have any photos together?

"No. We didn't have time to take any. We've had so many wonderful moments, but we don't have a single photo together.

" "How did you keep in touch?" Karl asked.

"I don't understand...

" "How did you communicate when you weren't together?" Karl elaborated.

"By phone, how else?

" "You don't have any letters from her from your vacation?

" "No.

" "No card? No note?

" "No," Matthias repeated, distraught.

"Do you have anything written in your girlfriend's handwriting anywhere on any piece of paper?"

Matthias pondered. Finally, he replied,

"No... I remember... I don't think so."

Marek pulled up the chair opposite Matthias, looked at him seriously, and asked,

"Matti, do you have any proof that she exists? A love letter? A souvenir? A gift? Anything?"

Matthias looked at him in surprise. Then he looked at us.

"What? You don't think I made all this up, do you?" "Hey, guys, I may not have any proof, but I have memories. I remember what happened at the beginning of July. I remember what we went through together, how we met, our first, second, and every subsequent meeting. Our conversations about books, music, everything. Who was I supposed to be waiting for at the station yesterday? Who called me yesterday?

" "Are you sure you talked to her yesterday?" Marek demanded.

"Sure, one hundred percent! I'm not crazy yet!" he replied hysterically. "I'm completely and absolutely sure that Gretchen really exists, and that...

" "Who?" I interrupted.

"Gretchen," he said, looking at me. "My girlfriend," he explained.

"Her name is Gretchen?" I asked

. "Yes, didn't I tell you?" He looked around at us. I cleared my throat.

"Well... I thought you said her name was Anna," I said. All three of them looked at me in disbelief, then at Matthias, who buried his face in his hands.

"Jesus..." he muttered, "How is that possible? It's impossible... I remember... A walk by the river... Going to the theater... A late-night movie... I remember..."

There was a silence that stretched on forever. Someone turned off the radio, and the four of us sat there in my room, pondering what we'd come to.

Indeed, it was all hard to believe. But the fact was that there was no material proof of Gretchen's existence—or Anna's—and Matthias was renowned for his romanticism, optimism, and vivid imagination. We all knew about his constant struggles to find The One, his other half, his true love, or whatever you wanted to call it. We all wondered deeply: was it possible for Matthias—a very sensible person, after all—to let his imagination play such a huge trick on him? Was it possible for memory to be so susceptible to autosuggestion? Could imagination lead someone like Matthias to have vivid, yet untrue, memories?

Matthias was so happy. At the beginning of July, the three of us were spending that summer at my friends' cottage in the countryside in the south—he sent us letters in which he wrote that he had met a wonderful girl, had finally found true love, had found his first, long-awaited first girlfriend. Was it possible that his imagination was already ruling his perception back then? It's hard to believe...

We walked Matthias to the bus stop. Karl offered to go home with him. Implicitly—to make sure Matthias didn't stumble upon anything stupid along the way—the route to his house led across the bridge....

After they both left, I was left at the bus stop with Marek, waiting for his tram. We didn't say a word to each other, both lost in our thoughts. Finally, Marek asked,

"What about this girlfriend of yours? Is she real?

" "Definitely."

Marek looked me in the eye.

"One hundred percent," I assured him. "We have mutual friends, so ask them if I have a girlfriend.

" "How long have you been together?

" "About... six months."

After a moment of silence, Marek asked again,

"When will we meet her? You know, we want to make sure...

" "Soon. Don't worry, you'll meet her.

" "She plays RPGs, right?" he asked after a moment

. "Yes. She's fantastic." "Your tram," I added, watching the metal vehicle clattering towards the stop.

"Will she play with us in this brilliant adventure of yours?" he tossed over his shoulder, heading towards the tram.

"She's already played with you. By the way, you were great," I replied with a smile.

He looked at me from the steps inside the tram.

"Gretchen played brilliantly!" I shouted.

"Who?" he shouted, shouting over the bell signaling departure.

"Gretchen! My girlfriend!"

The glass in the closing tram door cut me off from Marek's astonished face.

This was definitely the best LARP of my life. They certainly won't forget this session for a long time.