She looked out the gray window. It was supposed to be a sunny day again—the rays filtered into her modest apartment despite the grime of the long-unwashed windows... A cat meowed. A purr. She turned with a smooth movement to stroke its black, velvety head. Her pet purred with delight in response to the gentle caress of her hands. She was lost in thought again.
It had been two years since she'd moved into this "sanctuary of cold and hunger." Two and a half years since she'd lost her last job—after all, a business must generate profits to thrive—and about twenty-five months since her eviction. The apartment debt was too high, and the tenant, without a steady income, didn't anticipate any quick repayment. Things weren't as dire as they could have been. She hadn't been completely abandoned by the government—they had found her a replacement rental. It's just a shame it's on the second floor without an elevator...
Kitty just wanted to go outside and meowed loudly, demanding her rights. This snapped Małgorzata out of her reverie. She opened the door and watched with pleasure as the cat ran down the stairs "like wildfire." After a moment, she returned to her previous activity—or rather, the lack thereof, because she considered thinking a state of mind.
So, two years... And what's changed? I guess she's been going out less. Less? It's a lie to say so. She goes out every day. They just don't know it. How are they supposed to know what news one little tomcat can bring to a forgotten apartment...? Besides, since Kitty arrived, something has started happening. The cat forces her to look out the window, to observe the world of noise, bustle, and lonely people lost in the crowd, which had previously indifferent her...
Małgorzata glanced out the window again. How good it was to watch the children running around the yard, how wonderful it was to feel your legs carrying you so lightly and painlessly... Now, barely once a week, early in the morning or late in the evening, she hobbles down the stairs. Was it really once a week? Two weeks...? Wait, when was the last time she...? Oh God, it's been almost a month.
She flung open the window. She wanted to see Kitty eagerly climbing the hedge to jump into the neighboring yard. Suddenly, she heard a scream, a whistle, and a sharp meow piercing the air. Kitty fell from the hedge. She didn't get up. Some rascal threw a stone at her with such force that she had no chance... Małgorzata shuddered. It had to be the rascal who said that "the lady with the cats" only brought trouble because the furry creatures were running wild and smelled "bad."
A few days later, the weather cooled down. The neighbor was intrigued by Mruczek, sitting glumly by the stairwell door. His owner used to let him upstairs. Now the intercom separated him from the interior of the building, whose residents had never been particularly fond of him. The woman approached Małgorzata's door and felt a cold draft, as if icy air were seeping through the cracks in the door, as if someone hadn't closed a window.
The police forced the door open. How much too late...
None of the neighbors knew the elderly woman's name; only a search of the apartment revealed her documents. Małgorzata Wolnak. Or simply "the lady with the cats"...
***
Alicja insisted. She wanted the elderly woman's documents. After all, she had no relatives who would visit her, and why would the police need the "paperwork" of some unknown woman...? She managed to convince one of the officers—perhaps more with a pleading smile than with the force of logical arguments... But she obtained the documents.
The internet café wasn't crowded at 10 a.m. So Ala sat down at her computer and started typing every word she could think of about Mrs. Wolnak into the search engine. Unfortunately, without much success. She found several English-language websites offering to locate the woman's distant relatives overseas. However, that wasn't what interested her. She wasn't interested in rebuilding her family tree. Given the events of the past few days, Alicja felt compelled to learn anything she could about Mrs. Małgorzata's life or herself.
After over an hour, she decided to give up, or at least reconsider her idea and where it might lead her. She was about to turn off the computer when a rather interesting result appeared on the screen... The archives of the local Rzeszów newspaper. That is, the other end of Poland. Alicja was overcome with renewed interest. Unfortunately, the head of the guy who ran the café appeared above the screen. Time to finish. Just a moment, without looking, she printed out everything the computer displayed at the last minute. She ran to the university...
Sometimes the awareness of possessing something unknown and still somewhat inaccessible because we can't use it right now literally "burns" the owner. During the practice, which she barely made it to, the backpack definitely "burned" Ala. To an outside observer, it would have seemed impossible, to say the least, as the bag-like object rested innocently on the floor—some distance from the girl, at that...
But what can emotions do to a person? Alicja couldn't take it anymore. She left—or rather, ran out—of class under the pretext of not feeling well. She found a quiet corner and began rummaging through the newly printed materials. There were many admirable, yet somewhat uninteresting, mentions of Mrs. Małgorzata's professional career; there were also a few old obituaries of the Wolnak family; however, two other titles caught the student's attention for a while longer. "Tragic Accident" and "The Widow Jumps from the Window"...
On a beautiful, sunny day, in a dark corner of the university, a student sat, huddled with sadness, weeping...
***
She always did everything "for her mother," "to make her mother proud," "so we don't disappoint her," because she must have been watching over her daughter from somewhere. Practically from elementary school, she had been climbing the ladder, at the top of which her dreamed-of "success" awaited. And she achieved it. She was proud of herself and happy, because her mother would surely be happy for her. Yes... she was incredibly happy, but she had to remind herself of it often, because it was strangely easy to forget and succumb to the illusion... The illusion that something was slipping away, or perhaps worse, had already slipped away.
Thanks to him, it turned out she wasn't just hallucinating, or that the chill of the cold nights pinched her occasionally somewhere around the heart. It wasn't a feeling of fulfillment that accompanied her on lonely walks in the park, where she would steal glances at twenty-somethings with strollers. "Brats." "They're roaring." But why could a tear well up in her eye when such a "terrible brat" gave her a gap-toothed smile...?
Yes, thanks to him, everything became clear.
***
The woman took a deep, rattling breath and continued: You see, she had never been an easy conversationalist, nor the "life of the party." "Honesty – yes, effusiveness – no" – that was a brief description of her attitude toward the world around her. It must have had something to do with how people treated her as a girl. They constantly expected things of her, but promises weren't always kept. Her father was constantly away, and since her mother's death, he hadn't really cared for her. He left her to her wet nurse. And the wet nurse was nothing but endless commands and prohibitions. No wonder Małgosia later developed a certain coldness. From whom was she supposed to learn warmth...?
Adrian. He came into her life without asking if she wanted it. He knew right away that it was "this or no one." And he was so stubborn that even she had to give in. I know, she was very happy with him. Sometimes you look and wonder why such miracles happen to some people. They didn't need to talk, because they understood everything without words anyway. I was jealous. Don't get me wrong. I would never let anyone hurt her, and I knew that she, if anyone, deserved these moments of happiness. But... you see... nothing like that ever happened to me. There was love—that's what I call it. And there was happiness, so more than some people get from fate. But THEY had LOVE and HAPPINESS. In capital letters. I looked at them and learned from them. It helped. My happiness slowly began to turn into HAPPINESS, and love into LOVE. They taught me how to talk to those I love. Without words, and with words – what's important is that it was with respect and understanding.
He ignited something in her eyes that no one else had ever seen before... She was 37, at the peak of her professional career when he entered her life – because to say she'd met him would be an understatement. She'd never wanted children. She'd even sworn it off. And although sometimes it seemed to me that it might be a bit of an exaggeration, I didn't expect anything to change. And you see... Mareczek was born when she was 38. Exactly 10 months after their wedding. He was in such a hurry to be born... Maybe he knew he wouldn't be here for long...? The woman started coughing.
***
Ala looked more closely at the woman's movements as she reached for the ashtray with her cigarette. The smoke stung the girl's eyes, but she didn't dare draw her attention to her interlocutor, for there was something dignified about her. Something aristocratic, perhaps... Certainly something that brooked no opposition. The woman sighed: Małgosia had achieved everything at 38. She had her own company, a husband who loved her madly, a beautiful little son, and trusted friends. She was thriving. She was changing before her eyes from day to day. The coldness gradually melted away, and we began to see what had been hidden for so many years beneath the shell of inaccessibility. What a warm heart beat there...
Gosia didn't have to worry about money. The business ran itself. She had people to manage the publishing house. But her conscience seemed to be starting to gnaw at her... Maybe it was Adrian's influence? Or maybe something she saw in Mareczek's eyes? I don't know. But a change had taken place, and it was deeper than "just" finding happiness... It was a reevaluation of her worldview.
A businesswoman focused on profit and efficiency began making decisions that, on the surface, contributed nothing. They actually alienated some investors.
She stopped publishing widely read romance novels. She explained this by saying she didn't want to raise false hopes, distort the world's image. She did all sorts of things. However, it was her interest in Africa that began to pique people's curiosity the most. At first, it was limited to vacation trips, some training for employees, and the increased publication of reports on the "Dark Continent." But I knew – there was more to it. And I was right. Małgosia became involved in volunteering and "Adoption of the Heart." And since she had always been completely committed to what she did – now it was no different. The funds donated for this cause weren't enough... She lacked action. She was possessed – as if she wanted to repay some debt of gratitude.
Can you imagine a 40-year-old woman with a small child in the middle of the bush? I can...
***
The room was thick with smoke. Ala was starting to have serious breathing problems. However, she paid no attention to it. The eccentric old lady's story captivated her completely:
Mareczek was four years old. Not too young for a traveler who had already explored almost half of the "Dark Continent." Małgorzata was completely absorbed in her charity work. The publishing house still existed, but somewhere on the fringes of her activities. It slowly became more Adrian's "child" than hers. A child who supported all her endeavors, helped organize campaigns to help African children, published magazines and books...
While Gosia was in Namibia overseeing the "Adoption of the Heart" campaign, Mareczek gained unique experiences, and Adrian regularly shuttled between Africa and Poland, trying not to neglect his family while simultaneously ensuring their livelihood back home.
One day, I received a very short and expressive telegram: "WE'RE BACK."
***
"This scent follows me. It permeates my nostrils and, turning into pain, reaches my temples, drilling into my brain. I long to free myself, but I see no way out. There is no way out! Only the smell of the bush...
And those eyes of his. So sweet and sad. Poor, precious little thing. With a fever, with sweaty little hands, so cold, even though he was burning up... And the way he waved his hand...
I can't take it anymore!!! I feel like I'm going crazy. They say I'm going crazy. But this world has gone crazy. Yes! The world! Not me! I'll only go crazy in a moment. In a day, two, in a minute, an hour, a second.
I'm disappearing. I'm gone. Only this pain remains of me. This world has gone crazy. Why take away an innocent existence?! Why take away a shoulder to lean on?! Why slowly kill someone while they're still alive... like me...?!
God, why didn't I fly?!..."
Ala felt she couldn't continue reading. She was stealing someone else's sacred moments of pain. And she already knew everything. Too much, even.
There were moments when she regretted visiting the old lady. She regretted reading the preserved scraps of Małgorzata's notes, searching her apartment... But she needed it for something, something inside her began to grow because of it.
***
"When I think about how much time I've wasted... I feel sorry for myself. And for my stupidity. For how I pushed everyone away in my pain...
I know one thing – I want to live. The air tastes different now because I truly value it. I'm a connoisseur of fresh breezes and the stuffiness before a storm. How pretentious that sounds...
It doesn't matter. I have the right. I'll never understand certain things. Maybe it's not meant to be? But I already believe my grandmother. These aren't platitudes for me anymore. Whenever I had a problem, she'd say, 'This too shall pass.' She just forgot to add that every tear leaves a golden trail."
I am grateful to fate for my life, however much it has tested me. I wouldn't trade these five years of happiness for anything under the sun.
I am grateful for being able to walk and see this world up close, even briefly, even for these crisp evening moments.
I know my time is running out. Something hangs in the air. But I am ready. And I regret nothing anymore. Because I loved and was loved. It was worth living and surviving to remember."
***
After reading the last page, Alicja ran out of the apartment.
She stood in Paweł's doorway. "I am and I want to be. No more arguments. Tell me we still have time," she pleaded. He
let her in. With a serious, focused expression, he listened to her story about Małgorzata, her loneliness, her happiness found and lost, her suicide attempt, the loss of her publishing house and apartment. About poverty... and hope found. And about how she, Ala, was foolish and proud. And how she apologized for wasting so much time.
And when she finished, he brushed her hair from her tearful, blushing face... And hugged her. He hugged her very tightly to his heart.
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