Guardian Angel Part 2

Amredin didn't like such places. They made his wings dizzy, inciting an irresistible urge to flee. Unfortunately, a Guardian Angel doesn't choose where he wants to be. Like it or not, he follows a person.

Ralph sat exactly as he left him. Propping his head on both hands, he stared at the empty bottles of vodka.

The pub was one of the worst in the city. It was swarming with drunks and criminals, and Evil hung heavy in the air. Although the main scent was the smell of burning cigarettes. It was difficult to spot anyone standing three meters away. The entire room was filled with a thick, gray fog. At such moments, the Angel was glad his Creator hadn't gifted him with the ability to smell. The place was painted a dark, repulsive color. In the corners, unswept for years, spiders had carved out their own kingdom. Cockroaches scurried along the walls, unchecked. People sat staring blankly into glasses churning with an amber liquid of unknown origin. Occasionally, a stray cockroach would fall in. If it didn't drown first, it would perish in the drinker's powerful jaws.

Most people in the bar no longer had their Angels. They were alcoholics suffering from depression with no prospects for the future. Even the Devils weren't interested in such people.

Amredin spotted only two Angels. One stared blankly at his protégé; he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The other was swatting a fly away from an old, toothless bartender dozing off on a stool. He also spotted a Devil. He sat alone, drinking beer, not in the best of moods. Contrary to appearances, they weren't much better off than the Angels. Leading someone astray became so easy that after a while, it became tedious. And on top of that, television and the Internet were taking away the Devils' jobs. No wonder they were breaking down too. More and more of them began coming to the "Under the Broken Wing" tavern to drown their sorrows in alcohol with the Angels.

A sharp blow to the back interrupted the Angel's thoughts.

"Amredin! Old friend!" The sooty Devil smiled at him amiably.

"Bernt! What's up!?

They'd been friends since time immemorial. Even back when Bernt was an Angel.

" "Come on! The old man is furious with me for saving a girl from drowning. Did he send me on a three-day training course on "How to Overcome Good Reflexes?"

Amredin laughed.

"Oh, you still have some Angel traits. You never became a true Devil, and you probably never will.

" "And what's a true Devil supposed to be like?" That's silly talk. I've never been a true Angel either.

They began to reminisce… How Bernt had switched the key to the Gate, so St. Peter couldn't open it just as St. Faustina arrived. Or how he had untuned the angels' harps on the day of a concert honoring Elvis Presley. And how he had cut the Archangel Gabriel's robe so that it fell off while he was delivering a sermon on modesty. All of Heaven laughed. Except for the Archangel Gabriel, of course.

"Oh, Bernt, Bernt, you were always causing trouble.

" "Yes, now I'm causing trouble too… It's nice to hear my old name from a friend.

" "What's that old name?" Amredin asked, surprised.

"They changed it. They thought it was too angelic. Now I'm called Wazygard.

" "Ooooh… that's really terrifying," laughed the Angel, and the Devil joined in.

When they had calmed down, Bernt asked him what he was doing. He nodded at Ralph, who was sitting next to him.

"Hmm... A hopeless case," the Devil muttered.

"You have no idea how bad it is. I have absolutely no idea what to do to get him back on track.

" "A tough case. There are plenty of them these days." Bernt pondered. "Maybe a little accident? Remember, you can always count on me in these matters." He winked at the Angel.

"I don't think it'll help. He has nothing to lose."

The Devil's face lit up. "Or maybe..."

Ralf reviewed his entire life. Raised in a normal Christian family in the poorest part of town, he quickly fell in with bad company. He dropped out of school because it was so boring. He was sent to a reform school for three years for breaking into a jewelry store. After his release, he began working physically, getting drunk every day, spiraling ever deeper into decline. And all this along with his friends, two of whom were currently serving time, three of whom had gone abroad, and one of whom had committed suicide. This last course of action seemed most appropriate to him. Suicide… Suddenly, it was as if something, or someone, had lifted him from his chair. He glanced around anxiously, but saw no one. His feet moved of their own accord toward the exit. With a dancelike gait, so unlike himself, he left the bar. He didn't know what was happening to him. Had he had too much to drink? Yes, that was definitely it. He tried to stop his legs and lead them back to the bar, but it was no use. So he stopped resisting and let himself be led, wondering what would come of it all. He passed other stuffy bars; dirty and stinking tenement buildings; liquor stores and brothels. He entered a narrow, forest path he'd never noticed before. He finally reached the shore of a lake. He stopped above it and caught sight of his reflection in the water. He noticed that he hadn't shaved in a long time. He looked older than he actually was. Suddenly, his mouth dropped open, though he didn't want to say anything. He heard his own words:

"Look at the state you've gotten yourself into. Aren't you ashamed?" Ralph felt something akin to shame.

"I should shave," he thought. But the voice, and it was his, continued.

"It's not about whether you shave or not. It's about your whole life."

The voice seemed to change tactics and said,

"I'm happy because I want to be happy. I want to be happy, and that's why I'm happy."

Ralph considered his words. I want to be, and I am... How simple.

"There's someone who loves me and is always with me. I can always turn to them for advice or help. And I'll always get an answer, because they love me.

Who is it? Who loves me and wants to help me?"

He heard the faint rustle of wings, and another figure was reflected on the water. She stood next to him in a gray, soiled cloak, with feathers sprouting from her back. He thought she whispered,

"It's me."

But when he looked next to her, he couldn't see anyone, but she was still visible on the water's surface. The figure smiled at him sympathetically.

"I'll always be here," he heard, and felt a warm, friendly touch on his shoulder. After a moment, only Ralph's figure was reflected in the lake. He knew, however, that someone was standing beside him, and that they had always been there, but he was unaware of it.

He stood for a moment longer by the lake's shore, admiring the sunset and breathing in the clean, refreshing air. Returning home, he marveled at the chirping of crickets and the hooting of an owl on its hunt. It was all so beautiful. He wondered why he hadn't seen it before. He returned with a deep conviction that everything would work out. And he was no longer alone.

The Four Seasons

SPRING

She awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, feeling a surge of fear rising somewhere near her heart. She didn't know what had roused her from sleep—perhaps a nightmare, or perhaps a noise from outside? She rose and looked around the dark room. Moonlight, easily penetrating the curtain, cast mysterious shadows on the rosy cheeks of porcelain dolls, caressed the spines of books containing the most beautiful fairy tales, and sank into the glassy eyes of stuffed animals. Calmed, she fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes.

Suddenly, a desperate scream shattered the night's silence. Her eyes widened, and her heart fluttered anxiously in her chest. A second scream—sharp, accusatory—mingled with the first after only a few seconds, piercing deep into her consciousness.

Only now did she realize where the raised voices were coming from. She shuddered in terror, unable to comprehend what was happening or stop the tears that welled up in her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and hid under the covers, clutching her beloved teddy bear tightly.

She cried until dawn, even though the screams behind the closed door had subsided after a few minutes.

In the morning, she went with her mother to look for snowdrops. She didn't ask about her red, puffy eyes, which her mother tried in vain to hide. She simply remained silent.

SUMMER

The harsh rock music blasting from the inside of the old boom box perfectly suited her mood that day. In the morning, she hadn't opened the curtains to prevent the terrible sun from turning the room into a hot oven. Now she was sitting on the bed, finishing sewing the blouse she'd accidentally torn the day before. Accidentally...

At one point, the needle flickering in her fingers slipped dangerously, and a moment later, its tip sank softly into the pale skin of her palm. Impatient, she yanked the needle out with a jerk, causing a dark red drop to appear at the pierced spot. She stared at the blood for a moment, as if considering something, then blew gently on it, transforming the trembling drop into a thin crimson streak. She sighed softly, then looked sadly at the photograph hanging on the wall opposite her. Almost immediately, she looked away. The wound was still too fresh, unhealed... She blinked rapidly, but she couldn't stop a lone tear that rolled down her cheek and onto her hand, blurring the bloody trail.

With a few silvery flashes, she finished sewing. She carefully examined the fabric. It had worked—her father wouldn't even guess she'd torn her new blouse. She smiled faintly. Her friends were coming in a few minutes. They promised to bring something she hadn't tried yet.

She never looked at the photograph again.

AUTUMN

She was returning from work along a quiet park path, colorful leaves swirling in the air around her. She gazed thoughtfully at the birds slicing through the pale gray sky. This was the only moment of the day she could devote to herself.

Unfortunately, the path was disappearing far too quickly, swallowed up by one of the city's main streets. It was high time to return to reality.

It was at that moment that she saw him—he was standing near a photography studio, embracing a short, unfamiliar blonde. She watched the couple as if mesmerized. She noticed how comfortable they were in each other's company: they looked at the photos in silence for a moment, then the blonde laughed, he kissed her, and they walked away, arm in arm, toward the city center.

Without fully realizing it, she turned and walked back into the park. She sat on a bench under an old oak tree and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. She didn't even feel the tears smearing her perfect makeup. She was no longer in a hurry to get home.

WINTER

She walked slowly, holding the arm of her friend, whom she had known for over fifty years. Their black robes stood out clearly against the white snow that blanketed the tombstones surrounding them. They stopped at one of them.

"It's been five years..." she sighed, raising a wrinkled hand to her face to wipe away her tears.

"Yes... soon we'll be here too, my dear. Soon our time will come too..."

For a moment, they immersed themselves in silent prayer for the soul of the deceased, lit a candle, and then departed, arm in arm.

She died a few years later.

Jamie

Between.

As soon as I boarded the helicopter, it began to pour down in earnest. The rain would accompany me for many days to come. The last remnants of my good humor, if any, dripped onto the metal floor along with the water. Besides the pilots and the gunner, the plane contained five conscripts and a sergeant. I'd never seen any of them before.

One had red hair like a rusty Chevrolet, a short black man with pursed lips, a guy who looked like a repeat offender, and two Italians. Like most youngsters, I puffed on a damp cigarette and stared dispassionately out the window. I'd always thought the Vietnamese jungle was all shades of green, dotted with colorful birds and oriental plants. And below me stretched a brown patch of rotten green forest, its contours fading in the pouring rain. In this weather, I only noticed the camp when the sergeant roared in our ears,

"Okay, sweeties! The pleasant ride's over, the battlefield is below us!" As I looked down at the camp, as if in response to the sergeant's call, a mortar shell exploded. The soldiers nearby scattered, seeking cover, and in the distance, I heard the rattle of rifles coming from somewhere in the jungle, drowned out by the roar of the propellers. Suddenly, I longed to stay in the plane, which suddenly seemed like a cozy place. Looking at the other guys, I sensed they were thinking the same thing. Unfortunately, someone below was already signaling a landing with a flare. The helicopter began to slowly descend. When the skids touched the ground, I adjusted the straps on my backpack and, without waiting for the sergeant's encouragement, jumped out. The others ran after me. On the way, I passed a smiling soldier. He waved at me with his hand, wrapped in a rusty-red bandage, and jumped into the helicopter. I waved back as the plane took off. I couldn't hear him, but I saw him laughing.

An officer holding papers waved us over. As we approached, he read the names scribbled on the paper so quickly that we didn't even have time to reply, "Yes, sir, that's right." "

Starting tomorrow, you'll begin your routine duties. Today, you'll familiarize yourself with the camp," he spoke quickly and indistinctly. "Take care of your weapons; ammunition will be issued to you in the morning. Private Shark will show you where your bunks are." He pointed to the bruiser standing at attention next to us. He glanced at us again, as if about to say something important, but turned away and simply muttered, "

Have a nice day."

We looked expectantly at Private Shark, who smiled broadly. Or rather, grinned. He did indeed resemble a shark now. I wondered if that was his surname or just an apt nickname.

"Move!" he barked suddenly, his expression unchanged. We jumped nervously, but no one knew where we were supposed to go.

"What are you waiting for? For the yellow people to chase you away?" He looked at us, surprised. I took a half-step forward, trying with all my might not to get my tongue tangled in a knot. Still, as always in tense situations, I stammered,

"G..g., where should we go?"

Shark opened his mouth, which a moment later formed into a curse, but said nothing, just pointed to the row of barracks to our right. As we moved off, he turned to me,

"Next time, Scorsky, don't be so mouthy

." It's like this when a fight's about to break out, my fear vanishes. I wanted to stand in front of him and hiss, "Why?" I don't like being pushed around, especially by idiots like him. I may not be a particularly impressive figure, but my father was a professional boxer. He even had some success, he managed to teach me a thing or two. I looked down at my feet and quickly returned to the line. After all, it was my first day at camp, and I didn't want to attract attention. Shark left us outside the barracks, reminding us that we had to meet with Sergeant Armer at 5:00 PM. We entered the dank den. A few guys were already inside, some nodded in greeting, some ignored us. Five cots at the end of the barracks were waiting to be occupied. Everyone chose a spot for us, and we began unpacking.

"My name is Jamie Corey," the short black man I'd arrived with finally said.

"Hi," I said, shaking his hand. "Josh Scorsky."

"Is that a Russian name?" he asked.

"Polish. My father is from Poland," I replied, secretly enjoying the conversation. It was nice to finally have someone to talk to, and looking at those who had been at the camp for a while, it didn't feel good.

"Mike Kusher, from Illinois." "That Shark will probably be on our minds for the next few days," he added after a moment. "

Forget about that asshole. He simply has no one to take it out on," I said, spreading the blanket. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the glance of one of the Italians. I turned to him.

"Better not irritate him, Scorsky," he said tensely. "He'll insist on us again, and we'll be screwed for months to come."

I shrugged and went back to making the bed. After all, I didn't want to irritate him. But I'm not going to let him throw me around either.

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed. We still have three hours until 5 p.m.," I said over my shoulder, lying down on the bed. Sooner or later, the rest of us also went to bed, but somehow no one managed to fall asleep. Kusher rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head.

-When do you think we will meet the Vietcong? - he asked, looking ahead.

"Don't count on it at this base," one of the elders said. "The Vietcong don't operate this far away. Guerrillas and part of the regular army. Just as dangerous, but not as well-supplied.

" "How long have you been here?" I asked, raising my head.

"Three months here, and four months before that in Tong Shui," he replied.

"Well, that's all downhill from there..." Kusher said. "What was it like in Tong Shui?"

"Easy... close to the border. It's a bit rougher here. But you can survive."

I buried my head in the blanket. "There's still so much time..."

Jamie nudged my shoulder.

"Get up, we have to go to Armer."

I got up quickly, squinting. But I must have dozed off. We put on our raincoats. I pulled up the hood. Jamie put on a hat with an unusual brim.

"A souvenir," he said, seeing my questioning look. "It brings me luck. And it's waterproof." He flashed his white teeth, smiling.

We stepped out into the rain, Jamie leading our small group. Then we learned he was trained as a scout. He'd learned the camp layout a few days before we arrived. Armer glanced at us, looking up from his desk, which was littered with maps. "

You're here. Good. There's some unpleasant news for you. I know you just arrived, but you'll most likely be setting off with the Fourth Marines for Tsuang Phi the day after tomorrow. It's about a three-day, arduous march north. The road leads through the jungle, so it won't be pretty."

"What's in Tsuang Phi?" the redhead asked. "

Colonel Luvich is in Tsuang Phi, trying to hold the town. The air cavalry can't do much in the town itself, and the gooks are hiding in the forests. We'll replace some of Luvich's men and track the gooks down in the jungle. Simple..." he stretched. "Any questions?"

The second day, Jamie and I go on patrol. Sergeant Stocker, the same one who received us upon arrival, says it'll be quiet. Yesterday, our guys blew up a resistance nest from which the yellows were firing mortars at us. It's still raining, and I don't know the terrain. I don't know much about the jungle. Jamie explains a bit about finding my way around in this kind of terrain, but I'm not really listening. I try to spot anything behind the gray curtain of rain. I wonder how I'll tell Marines from Vietcong in these conditions. I keep my weapon pointed low to the ground, hoping I won't have to use it. Not yet.

We return at dusk. I wonder how anyone knew which direction we were going and how to get back, but Jamie says it's easy. He's nice, so I don't interrupt him as he continues his lecture on azimuths and degrees. Dinner is served at the camp, and we find Red and the others.

"How was it? Were you shooting?" Kusher asks, curious.

"It wasn't that bad," Jamie replies.

"Armer says we're not going anywhere tomorrow. Luvich is holding up well, so we might not be needed there at all..." Kusher recounted the day, his mouth full of food.

"It would be a good idea not to even bother with this place," I mused. "

Don't count on that." The black man pushed a bowl of potatoes towards me. "Sooner or later, we'll be chased somewhere."

We returned to the barracks in good spirits. The Italians had swiped a few cans of beer from somewhere. The inspection was over, so we settled back and continued our conversation, smoking our pipes.

"Did that private clown pick on you today?" I asked after a few deep sips.

"Tony had to scrub the latrines," the redhead laughed.

"Fuck that asshole..." I smiled. The guys made strange faces and looked at the ground.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Who are you fucking, stutter?" Shark stood behind me. His legs were spread apart, his clenched fists hanging at his shoulders. I stood up cautiously and glared at him. I knew a confrontation would eventually come. But I didn't expect it to happen so quickly. " Say

that again, stutter," Shark barked.

"Fuck you," I hissed. As if on cue, Shark lunged, trying to land a wide hook. I bent softly on my feet and punched him in the stomach, then quickly in the ribs. Powerful shots, they should have stopped any man, but I underestimated my opponent. He threw a high knee, hitting me square in the face. My vision went white for a moment, but I managed to back up and maintain my guard. Shark lunged again, but this time low. He grabbed my legs and pinned me to the ground with his full weight. We rolled on top of each other until the rest of the guys separated us.

"Keep doing that, Scorsky, and you'll get your share," Shark threatened, breathing heavily. I could barely stand, my hand over my split lips. We glared at each other for a moment, then Shark left.

"Good job, Josh," Tony growled, "now we're in for some serious trouble."

I turned and headed for the bed. I didn't feel like arguing again, let alone fighting. My head was pounding with pain, but thankfully all my teeth were still in place. I collapsed heavily onto the bunk.

It's raining again. I don't go on patrol; I sell the doctor a cheap story about how I punched the low ceiling of the barracks. He probably doesn't believe me anyway; these fights happen from time to time. He tells me to lie down for the rest of the day. I try to follow the doctor's advice, but by late afternoon I feel I've had enough of staring at the ceiling and listening to the rain pounding on it. I go outside, wrapped tightly in my coat. Rudy and the rest of the guys haven't returned from patrol yet. I wander aimlessly around the camp for a while. I don't envy the guards in the towers. They have to stand there, lashed by the rain and exposed to the piercing wind. Finally, I decide to stop by the canteen. I have some money from my kit, so I can afford a beer or something extra to eat. Inside, it's pleasantly dim, and Dixie is playing on the radio, or rather, the tape recorder. Only after a moment do I notice Shark sitting at the counter. I couldn't have made a better choice. I've almost decided to head back to the barracks when Shark gives me a small nod. I hope it's some kind of greeting. I wave and slowly approach. Shark shows me the empty chair next to me. I sit down, eyeing the first-class private a bit suspiciously.

"You've got a good shot, boy," he says, staring straight ahead.

"My old man taught me that. He was a boxer," I reply diplomatically. Shark takes a new can, opens it, and sets it in front of me.

"Have a drink. How's your head?" he asks. I still don't know what he really means.

"Better.

" "My old man's a real son of a bitch..." He takes a long drink. "He never taught me anything useful in life. That's why I joined the Marines. I was sick of his damn company. What are you doing here?"

I shrugged.

"Just fine. I finished school, my parents couldn't afford college. I didn't have a job," I said.

"You couldn't have asked for better." Vietnam…" he sighed. "I feel like howling when I think about spending another four months here. " "It's

all ahead of me," I said, sipping a cheap beer. He looked at me and laughed.

"Yeah… It's all ahead of you," he repeated, then shook my hand.

"Good luck," he said seriously. I shook his hand.

"Thanks… And thanks for the beer," I said, a little sheepishly.

"You're leaving for Tsuang Phi tomorrow. Don't get killed," he shouted as I was already at the door.

In the morning, the entire company was lined up in marching order at the north gate. I was standing next to Jamie and Kusher. All the soldiers had their raincoats pulled up. Jamie stood out a bit with his funny hat. We couldn't have asked for a better morning to march—the rain was pounding down on our heads, and the wind was biting in our faces.

"In the jungle, the wind won't bother us so much," Jamie said when I complained about Mother Nature. The long column marched a few kilometers behind the scout troop. We were somewhere in the middle. After two hours, I stopped feeling the squelching in my shoe and started ignoring the puddles that kept appearing. We were quite friendly, so after a while everyone was talking about something.

"You know what I'm most afraid of?" Kusher said. "That I'll step on a fucking mine and have my balls blown off.

" "You don't have any balls anyway, Rudy, so why are you shaking?" Tony laughed. "

Screw you, wimp," Kusher snapped. "

I once heard of this guy from Alabama," one of the soldiers walking beside him interjected. "He dreamed of being an athlete. Before he was drafted, he even won some competitions. He was fast as an arrow."

"What about him?" the redhead asked impatiently.

"During a patrol, he stumbled into a trap set by partisans. A nasty hole filled with sharpened bamboo. His leg got so badly wedged in the hole that he couldn't pull it out. While his buddies were digging out the trap, they stumbled upon a mine buried just beneath the bamboo. Two of them died instantly, and the athlete had both legs blown off below the knees.

"Jesus... I think I'd rather end up like those two," Kusher whispered, glancing warily at his feet.

"Don't give up, Rudy," Tony said. "No one would want to pull you out anyway, in case you stepped in something."

"Fuck you, Tony!" Kusher yelled, looking up from the ground for a moment, but then he began probing the ground beneath his feet again.

"I haven't experienced anything yet, but I'm already starting to hate this war. And this damn rain," I muttered.

That evening, we set up camp near a stream that flowed swiftly through the jungle. Jamie, Kusher, and I were to keep second watch, at the eastern outpost, a kilometer from the main force's position. After a short sleep, we set off that night to relieve the guards. Jamie led the three of us. After a few minutes, we reached a hastily dug hole surrounded by a few sandbags. The Marines inside, content, headed back to camp for a well-deserved rest. We settled into the trench, nervously clutching our rifles. "

Four fucking hours in this hole," Rudy whispered to himself.

"Just stay alert, we'll pass the time," I replied quietly. We poked our heads just above the sandbags and tried to observe the forest hidden by the curtain of rain. A leisurely hour passed when Jamie cursed softly and whispered.

"Look," he pointed to some bushes a dozen or so meters from our position. We leaned out a bit.

"What's wrong, Jamie? Gooks?" I asked nervously. Kusher cocked his rifle.

"At least three," he whispered. I strained my eyes and after a moment noticed dark silhouettes creeping through the trees.

"Kusher, flare," I hissed. "That way we'll illuminate our target and alert the camp. Although we should be able to handle the three surprised yellows ourselves." Rudy nervously loaded a flare and looked at me.

"Everyone ready?" I asked, aiming my rifle at the enemy. Jamie nodded, and Kusher fired. The flare soared upward, illuminating the night with a green glow. We immediately began firing. Two of them were hit, the third managed to drop to the ground and began firing chaotically in our direction. A few rounds slammed into the sandbags protecting us. We instinctively ducked our heads. In the green glow, I could see the terrified faces of our comrades. The rattle of the Kalashnikov stopped for a moment. "

I'm reloading." "I whispered, peeking out of cover just in time to see the fleeing gook. I brought the M16 to my shoulder and started firing. The third round connected.

"Did you hit him?" Rudy asked, rising slightly.

"Yes," I replied. "Looks like we got them all."

The flare began its slow descent toward the ground. The shadows of the trees moved slowly, giving the impression that the entire jungle was moving.

"Do you think we deserve a medal for this?" Kusher chuckled.

"Be glad you survived, asshole," Jamie snorted.

"That wasn't that hard. Or maybe we're just that..." Kusher didn't get to finish his sentence as bullets whizzed past our ears with a loud whistling sound. We plunged headfirst into the trench. Shots came from many places, short, intermittent bursts, and the thud of some heavy machine gun. Bark was peeling from the trees behind us in all directions. I risked poking my head out for a split second. Fire emplacements flashed menacingly in the distance. "

We're leaving," I shouted. Jamie lobbed a smoke grenade. Without a backward glance, we sprinted, ducking as low as we could. We kept tripping over branches or tripping over the uneven terrain, but even on our knees, we kept moving forward. As soon as we spotted a thicket of underbrush, we plunged into it, shielding our eyes from the lashing twigs with one hand. My lungs burned unbearably, my legs buckled with each step, yet we didn't stop. Finally, we broke through. First me, then Kusher. And only he.

"Where's Jamie?" I asked the redhead as soon as he came within whispering distance. "

He was right behind me," he replied, disoriented. In the distance, I could hear the dry fire of M16s and the thud of Kalashnikovs. Our men began a nighttime skirmish with the yellowtails. I looked around. Jamie was the only one who could navigate this thicket. Ultimately, I could only rely on the sound of gunfire. And so I decided to do just that.

"Keep your eyes peeled, and follow me, Kusher," I said, reloading my rifle. Rudy nodded. We set off in the direction of the American rifle fire. Earlier, I'd been afraid I wouldn't be able to tell my own from the gooks in this damn rain, but now I felt like sniping at every suspicious bush. We'd gotten a good few dozen meters when Kusher threw himself to the ground. I leaped to the nearest tree and leaned against the thick trunk.

"Something's moving in those ferns," he whispered. I peered around the tree a bit. Sure enough, every now and then the ferns in front of us swayed slightly. Someone was creeping toward us. Kusher swapped his magazine for tracer rounds and knelt on one knee.

"I'll get that damn little guy." He started shooting, slowly at first, then faster and faster. I leaned out from the other side and fired a few shots as well. Silence. Kusher swapped another magazine.

"Do you think I hit him?" "Rudy asked. I shrugged. "

He didn't stand a chance, I unloaded the entire magazine," he added after a moment. We could have stood there all night now, wondering if the yellow guy was dead. An enemy patrol could have spotted us at any moment.

"Cover me. I'm coming," I said to Kusher. He nodded and aimed at the ferns again. I jumped out and ducked low next to the next tree as quickly as I could. Silence. I looked out. Slowly, almost crouching, I approached the ferns. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I might faint, and the rifle seemed to slip from my sweaty hands. Just before the ferns, I stopped, aiming at the spot where the body should have been. It was there. I moved even closer.

"Jesus..." I whispered. Jamie lay at my feet, a piece of his head blown off by the bullet. I heard Kusher approach. He looked at the body and vomited.

"We're done for..." he said when he'd recovered. "Trial and the noose... Fuck, we're done for..." "Shut up,

" I shook him. "Get the shovel and dig."

I'd almost throw up myself, but I knew we had to do something. Maybe they'll treat it as an accident, maybe not. We didn't mean to kill him; it happened. When we were finished, we pushed the body into a shallow grave and quickly buried it. We sat down next to him, breathing heavily. We didn't hear any more gunfire. I was wondering how we were going to get back to camp when I noticed the shadows shifting again. A flare! I looked up and noticed an orange flame in the sky. The orange signified the camp. We looked at each other and sprinted towards the source of the glow. The camp was relatively quiet. Exhausted from running, we collapsed near our tents. Someone handed us soup, which we greedily ate. Looking around anxiously, we whispered a shared version of events. After emerging from the thicket, we lost Jamie. That's what we told Stocker.

"Damn," he cursed. "That means if we don't find him by morning, he's been captured by the Vietnamese."

We lowered our heads, nervously nibbling on bread, but that story suited us. "

Nevertheless, good job, guys. It could have been hot if they'd managed to get close to the camp," he said as he left. We nodded groggily and quickly crawled into the tent. Kusher fell asleep quickly, but I struggled for a while longer. When I finally managed to fall asleep, I dreamed of Jamie walking through the jungle, his ridiculous hat perched on his smashed skull.

After waking up, we went for a quick breakfast. We exchanged a few words with the Italians, but they left us quickly, knowing what we'd been through the night before.

"Don't worry, Jamie will be found. He knows his way around the jungle," Tony said, patting my shoulder. I muttered something in response and quickly went to get my equipment from the tent. The company was slowly forming a marching formation.

"Will this damn rain ever stop?" I said, more to myself than to anyone.

"We've all had enough of it," I heard a voice coming from beside me. A senior soldier. Two stars painted on his helmet, four lines below. Twenty-eight months in Vietnam. "

Everywhere's a swamp, you can't see a thing. Not even the people we're shooting at..." I continued, remembering last night.

"The rain washes away sins... like purgatory. Do you know what purgatory is, boy?" I nodded, but the veteran didn't interrupt.

"Purgatory is the vestibule of hell..."

"For my money, war is already hell," I muttered.

"Oh no... Hell is where you only get for what you do during war." He laughed darkly as he walked away. I looked at his retreating back for a moment and continued walking. Around three, Galicky, Stocker's adjutant, ran up to us.

"The sergeant wants to see you, boys. Follow me." Kusher and I exchanged puzzled glances, but we followed. Stocker waved at us from a distance and headed into the thicket. When we reached it, he pointed to something lying under a tree. As I got closer, my heart sank with terror.

"Jamie Corey, right?" Stocker asked, or rather stated. I nodded slowly. Kusher crouched down, catching his breath. From close by, I heard him begin to whisper,

"...an accident...it was an accident..."

I squeezed his arm.

"Looks like the slant-eyed guys caught him," Stocker said. "They shot him and left him on our road. We dragged the body down because accidents like that are bad for our boys."

I exhaled with a loud whoosh. Rudy choked.

"Everything okay with you?" the sergeant asked. I nodded in agreement, and Stocker continued:

"Anyway, he was your buddy, and I thought you should know. Besides, someone has to bury him. So rip off your dog tags and get to work."

When we were alone, Kusher blurted out,

"You think the gooks dragged him here?" "

Who?! He left on his own?" I growled. "Let's start digging, I don't feel like staying here any longer than necessary."

We buried the Negro a second time, this time in a deeper grave. We packed the earth well. I don't know how they found him buried in those ferns, but at that moment, that was the least of my concerns. Stocker had come so close to finding out... For the rest of the day, I tried to stay close to Kusher. I prayed he'd hold out and not blurt anything out. In the evening, however, we found ourselves in the same tent as usual. "I wonder...

" the redhead whispered.

"What are you thinking about, Kusher?" I muttered, a little annoyed as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

"I wonder which of us hit him," he finished.

"Sleep," I replied. "It doesn't matter who hit him, it was an accident." "

It does. One of us is responsible for his death," he whispered.

"You want to find someone to blame?" I sat up in bed. "Then blame the gooks, or better yet, Armer, for sending us here.

" "But it's not like that..." he tried to argue.

"What?! This war, this..." thoughts swirled in my head.

"I just don't want to be to blame," Kusher whispered.

"But one of us is. Let me sleep." I interrupted the conversation and threw the blanket over myself.

The next day, I avoided Rudy like the plague. As I marched, I carefully observed the surroundings. It seemed to me that behind every fern that drooped under the weight of accumulated rainwater, Jamie was creeping up. Too much excitement... I'd had enough of the forest. Fortunately, towards evening, we reached the edge of the jungle. The first buildings of the city were visible ahead of us. Civilians scurried between shelled buildings, shielding themselves from the rain with pieces of cardboard or scraps of cloth. Luvich's headquarters was located in a dilapidated tenement building, and the surrounding houses served as improvised barracks. The soldiers stationed there greeted us cheerfully, sharing the latest news. The city could be retaken at any moment; the yellow ones were launching surprise attacks from the jungle. There were too few of us to risk dangerous forest patrols. After speaking with Luvich, Stocker called us in for a briefing. Our task was to detect the enemy concentration in the forest and provide coordinates for the helicopters waiting at the ready. My turn to scout was tomorrow afternoon. Kusher, I, and the Italians went to a town that was relatively quiet. Some shops and most of the bars were open, and trade with American soldiers who had brought dollars was thriving. All the brothels were also open, and that was the first place the Italians went. I was stunned to see that most of the prostitutes were still children.

"Come on, Scorks, we're just letting them make money," Tony remarked, amused.

"Piss off, pervert," I replied curtly. "I'm going for a drink."

Kusher came with me. We entered the first bar we found. Piss beer and sake were the only options, but we weren't too picky. Rudy, who was already drunk after a few drinks, began rambling incoherently,

"Damn, I had another dream about Jamie last night."

I didn't feel like talking about it, so I ignored him.

"You too?" he asked. "I saw you watching the forest today..."

"So what?" I snapped.

"You're scared too, aren't you?" He glared at me.

"What am I scared of?" "

That Jamie's following us..."

"He's dead, you idiot," I muttered, but at the same time, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"Not enough to keep me from getting out of my grave..." Kusher hissed.

"The gooks dug him up, are you crazy?" I shouted.

"Gooks, shit!" His tongue was tangled. "He left on his own because he wants revenge." "

You're completely crazy. I'm out, wake up call in the morning," I said, getting up from the table.

"I hope you hit him!" he shouted after me. I quickened my pace, feeling the curious glances of the nearby Marines.

"That you're to blame!" Kusher stammered. I ran toward the barracks, my heart pounding. I didn't know if I was more afraid that Kusher would blurt everything out or that he was actually right. Too much alcohol. Too much rain. Too much of everything...

I dreamed of Jamie again. He was wandering through the forest, his hat sitting crookedly on his deformed skull. He took lazy steps, kneeling every now and then to sniff. Then he moved on, faster and faster, until finally he broke into a run. I woke up drenched in sweat. After breakfast, I prepared for patrol. We were divided into eight-man squads, including a radio operator. Kusher was pale, suffering from a hangover. "

Sorry about yesterday," he said in greeting. "I got drunk, I talked nonsense."

I patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.

"Okay, forget it."

We set off for the forest promptly at 2:00 PM and for three hours, we followed our designated azimuth. We stopped periodically so the radio operator could provide our coordinates. We didn't want to be the target of accidental fire. An hour before dusk, we stopped for a short rest to regain our strength before returning. One of the soldiers walked a few meters away to empty his bladder. The patrol leader managed to shout at him not to stray too far. He nodded and took a step toward us. The explosion threw him like a rag doll. Deadly bullets began whirring at our heads. Someone screamed, clutching their bleeding stomachs. Those who made it in time dropped to the ground or hid behind tree trunks. The radio operator nervously gave directions, while the rest tried to fire towards the flashing fire. One of our men fired a grenade launcher, hitting a clump of trees and bushes. The explosion ripped away the camouflage, partially exposing the bunker. A Vietnamese man was crawling out clumsily.

"Jesus, it's a bunker!" someone howled nearby.

"There's more!" I heard above my ear. "Hit the bushes to the right."

I glanced at the indicated spot. Only now did I notice the outline of a cleverly camouflaged structure. "

We have to retreat before the cavalry arrives!" the commander shouted. He turned, planning an escape route. A shell slammed into his spine with a terrifying crack.

We were slowly giving ground, our numbers dwindling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kusher reloading his rifle. I slapped him on the back and shouted, "

Rudy, we're falling, helicopters are about to come in."

I threw a grenade as far as I could and we ran. The rest of the squad was also quickly retreating towards Tsuang Phi. Something landed on my shoulder. I slapped my hand, thinking it was a piece of bark that had splintered from a tree, but I still felt it. We kept running, this time in the right direction. We only stopped when helicopters flew overhead. We heard the loud whistling of rockets launching and felt the shock of the air under our feet.

"Scorsky, you got hit in the arm," Kusher remarked. I raised my hand to my eyes. It was covered in blood, but I felt no pain. I tried to feel the wound, but to no avail. Then I remembered my arm. I turned my head. My entire shoulder was covered in blood. My whole arm was slowly starting to go numb.

"I guess it's not that bad," I blurted out like a tough guy, but then I felt like vomiting. Kusher helped me apply a bandage. We slowly moved toward the city, the rest of the squad far ahead of us.

"You know, Scorsky, you could even get sent home for that!" Kusher whistled.

"You think?" I replied, surprised.

"They'll probably even give you a medal..."

"Screw the medals. But I'd love a break from this rain." We both laughed. The sun was slowly setting, bathing the jungle in a purple glow. Suddenly, Kusher stopped.

"Scorsky, see?" he whispered. My vision was already slightly blurry; shock, blood loss, and fatigue were making their presence felt. But I spotted him. I probably would have mistaken him for a Marine from our reconnaissance unit if it weren't for his hat. The ridiculously wide brim fell askew on one side of his face. Jamie raised his rifle to his chest and fired. The bullet slammed into a nearby tree. We didn't wait for the next shot; we started running. Another shot dug into the ground in front of us. Kusher tried to turn to get off a few shots, Jamie's shots becoming more accurate. We ducked lower and continued to run.

"We'll escape, we'll escape him," Kusher panted. "We'll escape..."

The mine exploded right under his feet. I fell, struck by the stinging blast. Rudy lay next to the tree. He stared, gaping, at what was left of his legs. I got up, coughing. My right hand, the same one I'd been wounded with earlier, stung mercilessly. Red skin surrounded the charred back of my hand.

"Kusher... are you alive?" I asked, trying to suppress a choking cough.

"It's not fair..." he whimpered. A trickle of thick blood trickled from his mouth. "Josh... go now..." he said, pulling out a grenade. "

I'll help you." I felt foolish saying it. We both knew no one could help here anymore.

"Go ahead, maybe I'll be able to hold out until he comes."

I turned my head, terrified. I'd completely forgotten about the black man chasing us. He was almost there. I rose to my knees. I felt like tears were streaming down my face, but my face was completely drenched in rain.

"Jamie, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, you son of a bitch! It was an accident, okay?!" I howled. He didn't shoot me, so I stood up and slowly started backing away.

"Accident, bro..." I repeated, more quietly. "This is war, it's not our fault..." I continued backing

away. Kusher stared at the black man intently.

"Go," he whispered. I turned and began limping toward Tsuang Phi. I kept dreading the sound of a gunshot and a bullet ripping through my back. Finally, there was a bang, but it was the sound of a grenade exploding.

The doctors at Tsuang Phi somehow put me back together. I learned later that I was the only survivor from our unit. Damn lucky me, wasn't I? A week later, I was home. I even received a medal for bravery. I sent it to Kusher's mother. I often wondered what really happened in the jungle that day. Today, I'm not so sure who was shooting back then—me, Jamie, or Kusher... I know I tremble now thinking of all the poor people we killed back then. I'm afraid they'll emerge from their rotten graves and seek justice in this world. I know now that I've entered my own personal hell. Sometimes I dream of an old veteran with two stars on his helmet.

"War is like purgatory, son," he says, laughing darkly. "War is like purgatory... And hell is where you are now."

unexpected love

Alicja was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus that took her from home to school and back five days a week. For her, it was an ordinary December day. Nothing foreshadowed what was to come.

The bus was late. Alicja was starting to feel cold. Her dark cheeks were turning red, and her toes were tingling with an unpleasant tingling. She couldn't wait any longer. She went to the nearest telephone booth, inserted a few coins, and called a taxi. Five minutes later, the taxi she was waiting for arrived. She climbed into the seat next to the driver and…

"What are you doing here?" she asked Kuba, who was behind the wheel.

"Nothing," the boy replied, a bit confused. He was twenty years old (three years older than Alicja). He had known Alicja for about five months, since he and his family moved to the street where Alicja's grandparents lived. They saw each other quite often, but rarely spoke… And now this meeting?? "Normally, I study marketing and management, but sometimes I work part-time at my father's company. So where should I take you?" – the boy didn't want Ala to think he was working as a taxi driver

. "Well... home... I mean, to Kościuszki Street, please." The girl was stunned

.

The road was covered in ice. Kuba drove intently. They both remained silent. At one point, as they were driving downhill, a fast-moving Mercedes came around a bend straight at them. Kuba turned the wheel a few times, but it was no use because the road was too slippery. Alicja screamed and held on to her seat tightly. Meanwhile, the boy lost control of the vehicle. They crashed into a roadside tree at quite a high speed.

Alicja woke up in one of the hospital rooms. Her head hurt, and her right arm was in a cast.

Next to her sat a figure with a worried expression. It was Ali's mother.

"My daughter! It's so good that you've finally woken up! Do you recognize me?" How are you feeling!

- Mom……… What happened??

- You had an accident, remember? But everything will be fine, you'll see! You just need to get plenty of rest.

- Aaaau! - The girl moved slightly, causing her immense pain. - What's wrong with me?... - and then she remembered everything. - What about Kuba??!

- You have a concussion and a broken right arm, but don't worry, my daughter. You'll pull through! And Kuba? He's fine too. He has one broken leg, but that's all. The police say it's only thanks to him that nothing worse happened. And they've already caught that road hog. It turned out he was under the influence of alcohol. I'll make sure he doesn't get away with it…….

"Good morning," Kuba stood in the doorway, leaning on crutches, one leg in a cast. He also had a plaster on his forehead and, like Ala, was full of bruises. Mom decided to leave the young couple. She knew Ala didn't like being interrupted while meeting her friends. When the door to the gym closed, Kuba sat down on the girl's bed with great difficulty.

"How are you feeling?" he asked the girl.

"As you can see," Ala smiled at him friendly. "And you?

" "I'm quite, quite well. They're discharging me today. You'll be kept for another week or so for observation.

" "Oh! What am I going to do here! I'll be bored to death!" "

I assure you, not at all!"

Kuba was right; Alicja wasn't bored at all. The boy always came from college to visit the sick girl. Concerned for his health, his father had forbidden him from taking taxis... and Kuba, after what had happened, had no intention of doing so anyway.

The young couple had grown very close. Kuba didn't want to go home. Sometimes he stayed there until the nurses shooed him away. Alicja didn't want to leave him either, but the knowledge that she would see him again tomorrow filled her with joy.

Soon, the girl was discharged from the hospital, but she continued seeing Kuba. The terrible beginning ended with a great, long love.

What a Wonderful World...

I walk down the street, passing a crowd of faceless people. A gray, shapeless mass, with its trivial problems and empty laughter ringing in its chest. A game of appearances, a vanity fair, a bottomless pit of stupidity.

In the headphones I've sealed myself off from this world, Kurt falls silent, swearing: "No, I don't have a gun..." No

, I'm not sick of everything at all...

The song ends, but every ending is the beginning of something new. I hear a soft click. Time to turn the page. I reach into my pocket and pull out the cassette. Side A. What about an alcoholic? What about an abnegator? What about an abderite? What about "and that's all of me"?

I turn it over and put it back in. The 21st century? The time of Discmans and MP3 players? Bullshit. Nothing can replace the sweet crackle of a broken Walkman.

The voices in my head fade, making room for the opening bars of the next song. I don't know what the author was high on to start perceiving the world this way. I didn't get that high even on meth.

"I see trees of green, red roses too..."

I look around and don't see them. There's no place for them in the concrete jungle. They died long ago under a thick layer of asphalt.

"I see them bloom for me and you..."

For me? I smile ironically. Even my own family can't look at me, so I doubt some unknown flower would dare open its petals for me. Unless it were some weed—an outcast like me.

"And I think to myself what a wonderful world..."

I laugh bitterly. Why did I even record this?

I'm already reaching for the button marked "F.FWD" when a hoarse voice tirelessly continues its narrative of its vision of the world.

"I see skies of blue and clouds of white..."

I raise my head. It's no use, man; the sky is covered in leaden clouds. It's about to rain. And once again, shattered dreams will flow down the streets along with the rain.

God, I think I'm going crazy...

"The bright blessed day, the dark sacred

night..." I snort. I see nothing sacred in the darkness of night. Violence, rape, murder, drug addicts, screams, shrieks, mocking laughter. This is "Wrocław by night." Holy people, if there are any here, go to bed before dark to avoid seeing these horrors. Out of sight, out of pure heart.

"And I think to myself what a wonderful world..."

There's probably no point in arguing with the author. He knows better...

"The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky..."

I looked up again. The last time I saw a rainbow was as a child. Factory smoke effectively prevents one from admiring the wonders of nature. These are the "charms" of living in a factory district.

"...Are also on the faces of people going by...""

My gaze drowning in the gray sky, I accidentally bumped into a young woman, knocking her to the sidewalk. The impact stunned me slightly. The girl leaped to her feet in a single bound, her face turning purple. Oh, here comes the explosion... Thankfully, I couldn't hear the words, but her rapidly fluttering jaw told me everything. I apologized incoherently and moved forward, continuing my journey to nowhere.

Was Louis referring to the colors of rage in that part?

"I see friends shaking hands saying 'how do you do'..."

I noticed two tracksuit guys standing in the gateway. They bumped fists in a simple greeting. I quickly turned my head and quickened my pace. My skin was too precious to mess with bald guys in tracksuits. I wouldn't stand a chance against those typical ABS—Absolutely No Necks.

"They're really saying 'I love you'..."

I risked a quick glance back. Somehow I didn't think so...

"I hear babies crying, I watch them grow..."

Some idiot snatched an old woman's purse and ran like an arrow, turning into one of the seedy alleys of this beautiful city. Yeah... kids grow...

"They'll learn much more than I'll ever know..."

That's a fact. Recently, some thirteen-year-old was caught breaking into a government archive or something. I can't do that...

"And I think to myself what a wonderful world..."

I turned off the tape. I'd had enough. This song had made me terribly depressed. I couldn't find beauty in this brutal world, tightly embraced by gray clouds. I trudged sadly to the bus stop. I lost a good twenty minutes before the bus graciously arrived. Fortunately, there weren't many people. I sat quietly. By the window.

And while watching the slowly moving image, I saw a strange streak of light. I looked up at the sky in surprise. It seemed that the clouds had parted a little, and a shy ray of sunlight managed to penetrate their fathomless depths.

My heart beat faster. I felt this was a sign. A sign especially for me. I smiled, certain that not all was lost.

Well, Mr. Armstrong. Yet there was still something beautiful left in this world. A spark of hope, dispelling even the darkest darkness of doubt.

My lips involuntarily whistled a melody that has always given me strength since then.

"Yes, I think to myself what a wonderful world..."

A short story of a certain love

He was heading towards the hospital. Michał. Thirty years old, with short, black hair, green eyes framed by thick eyebrows, a long, clean-shaven face, a body neither thin nor fat, hidden beneath a new, black suit. He was a man like many others in the world, nothing special—neither in appearance nor intelligence. Sure, he might have been well-read, but he hadn't picked up a book in years—he had read extensively in his youth, but his job now prevented him from doing so. Michał was a truck driver, driving east and west with various goods. The day before, his wife, Magalena, had given birth to a child. A son! Many men dream of a male heir, one who would not let the family name die, one who would be a reflection of his father, one whose task would be to fulfill his father's ambitions, to accomplish what he himself had failed to accomplish. Michał was now on his way to the so-called maternity ward to see his child, to visit his wife. They met back in high school – he was finishing his senior year, she had another year of school ahead of her. Shy glances at each other, their first conversation, their first dance, their prom: his and hers, their first kisses, their first night… So many memories, moments shared, the good and bad moments that every marriage has. Michał's love for Magdalena was eternally vivid; despite the passing of the years, he still loved her as much as he did in the early years of their relationship. He never cheated on her, despite having many opportunities to do so – isn't that obvious, considering he was a truck driver? Ukrainian, Bulgarian, Polish – so many women smiled at him as he drove around with his goods. Through the window, he saw their smiles, their inviting gestures, their skimpy clothes – what man, exposed to so many temptations for so many years, wouldn't eventually be tempted by "a little something"? Probably not many, and Michał was one of those few. Not only had he never had any other woman but Magda, but the thought of cheating on her never even crossed his mind! Magdalena was a good wife; it's surprising she didn't divorce Michał because of his frequent and often lengthy trips. She always waited for him, greeted him with a smile of joy, and devoted herself to him with great enthusiasm. A few months ago, she went to Germany to work on a farm with several dozen women from her town – she hadn't been away for quite a while. During this time, they exchanged letters. Michał usually wrote after returning from his trips, she after work. They rarely spoke on the phone; after all, international calls are very expensive; there would be no point in spending money when Magdalena had just gone to pick it up. April 13, 2004 Hello, Michal! I haven't seen you for just a few days, and I already feel an inexpressible longing in my heart. To think that this is only the beginning of our separation! I'm sitting here writing, and I can see your face in my mind's eye. Writing these words, I feel as if I were simply telling you how I'm doing, as if you were with me, because you are indeed very close—you are in my heart. And around me? The stable, the fields, the house of the man I work for, and the building where we're housed. There are about forty of us here—twenty Polish women, a few Russians, Ukrainians, and a few men from strange parts of the world—Georgia, Turkey, a few from Africa... This entire farm, holding, or whatever you call it, is located in the middle of nowhere—the nearest shop is a few kilometers away, in a tiny town that, no matter how you look at it, is quite pretty and, to some extent, even charming. But are you interested in these details? There are so many of them, if I wanted to write you everything, I probably would never finish... The work isn't easy, but I hope I'll get used to it quickly, because so far I finish work terribly tired, with a pain in my back, and only thinking about falling asleep. I'm afraid I won't be able to get used to it... As I fall asleep, I think about you and what it will be like when we finally meet. I also think about how wonderful our nest will be, how wonderfully we'll arrange it – new furniture, a new kitchen, a bathroom. Now, at this moment, I'm also overcome by an overwhelming desire to sleep, so I'll finish now. I know this letter isn't very long, but it doesn't take much to express the most important thing: that I LOVE YOU AND I'M THINKING OF YOU. Your Magda. April 20, 2004 Hello, dear wife! I think of you too, very often. While we're apart, I stuck your photo in the bottom corner of my window. Sometimes I glance at it while driving, but I constantly look at it during stops, while I eat. I just drove back from Ukraine – God, the corruption there is so rampant. Customs officers need to be given some hryvnias, and the police too, because they're standing almost every few kilometers, catching anyone who drives past them. As you can see, corruption is rife there, and is it any different in Poland? You know it yourself – the only difference is that in Poland no one flaunts it so much, no one asks for money so brazenly. After all, corruption is corruption, and nothing justifies bribe-taking. Oh, back to work – I try not to bring it home with me, you know that very well. And the house is empty without you, cold, downright deadly! Just a few more months and we'll see each other again. I tried to get a ride through Germany, then I could have dropped in on you for a moment, seen your beautiful eyes, the face I love so much, but "the lord and master" sent me to Norway – I'm leaving tomorrow. Maybe that's even better; I can't stand the atmosphere of home without you. I received your letter, and it made me very happy, but also sad at the same time. You're probably asking why. Maybe your trip wasn't the best idea? You'll still get sick; women aren't made for hard physical labor, after all. I also hope you'll get used to it and say, with Stendhal, "Wait a minute, there's his "Parma Hermitage" somewhere..." "It's safe to say that fear was a hundred times worse than misfortune." But know that if things get difficult, you can come back at any time – money isn't the most important thing, as the saying goes, "money doesn't buy happiness." We don't have to renovate the apartment as soon as possible. It's beautiful when you're in it anyway! Tell me how you're doing, I'm waiting for your letter. I'll be back in about five days, at least I should be able to finish in time. Sending you warm kisses! Yours, Michał. May 5, 2004 Hi! You might be happy to hear that I'm starting to get used to work – I don't come in as tired as I was at the beginning. I have more time for myself – I'm meeting people with whom I share my increasingly better fortune on this farm. Almost everyone is friendly, we're forming friendships, and we've even arranged to meet up when we return to Poland. People from other countries stick with their own people, but they're by no means avoiding us. You can communicate with them by sign language or speaking your own language – you know, Slavic languages ​​are very similar, and you can understand each other somewhat. Of course, there's no question of long conversations, but it's still something, right? I also met a German; he gave me a ride a few times to that tiny village I mentioned in my previous letter. His wife, it turned out, had Polish grandparents and understood a little Polish, but not enough to talk about the proverbial everything and nothing. She translates, albeit a bit clumsily, what Stefan (her husband) is saying, and she also translates what I'm saying for him. I listen to their conversations and their translations, and I'm slowly starting to speak German. Of course, I mostly memorize words, but I hope I'll be able to construct some sentences in a few months. I also met Ahmed, a Turk – he speaks Polish better now, having worked as a cook in a Polish hotel a few years ago. He hopes to open a restaurant in Berlin, where his family recently moved. One of the Africans also speaks Polish – he used to study in Krakow. While the cultural differences are noticeable, it's nice to talk to people of other nationalities for a reasonable length of time. Despite everything, I spend most of my time either at work or with Polish women – even though there are no luxuries here, I'm not complaining. Love and thinking of you, Magda. May 13, 2004 Hello, Madzia! It's been a long time since I've waited for a letter from you, because for me, these two weeks without a word from you have felt like an eternity, and even longer! Right now, as you've probably guessed from the stamp, I'm in Austria, south of Vienna. I was passing through this charming city, couldn't resist a quick stop on the Ringstrasse, couldn't resist a quick sightseeing tour. St. Stephen's Church, a charming pub on Backerstasse, and—what was the most important reason for this little trip for me—the house where Mozart himself lived (while also asking the pub owners, I even came across the building where the maestro died, although the building was demolished some time ago and a new building was built in its place...). You know how much I like Mr. Wolfgang, right? Perhaps someday we'll go to this wonderful city together to visit, for example, Schonbrunn Palace, which I read about in some guidebook I bought for a few cents? I'm driving south to Ljubljana—in the car, you look at me from a photo, I hear your voice, and when I fall asleep, I remember you, all the most beautiful moments spent with you. Once, when I was very young, I read about meetings in dreams, completely conscious—if only we could meet like that, you and I, connect our souls in a dream... It's been a month since I last saw you, smelled your skin, felt its silky softness, and most importantly, felt your warmth... I'm so, so glad that work isn't difficult for you anymore, that you're not bothered by the fact that you've gotten used to it. I just hope you don't stay in Germany too long... That was a joke, of course, although I really would love to meet you, or at least talk on the phone. I should be home on May 28th. I'll be back from Slovenia in a few days, then I'll do a few short courses in Poland and spend a few days in this empty, creepy house (yes, that's what it's like without you!)... Your loving husband. On May 28th, he woke up early in the morning. She could have called at any moment; before work, perhaps she'd found a break, perhaps later. Coffee after coffee, a racing heart, and the ever-recurring question—"Will she call? Will she make it?" Flipping through channels, staring at the screen with a vacant gaze—the TV image obscured her face. It had been almost five weeks since he'd last seen her, his longing for her growing with each passing day, and while work had somewhat drowned out her absence, now sitting in his empty apartment, it resonated within him with redoubled force. Finally, he waited, waited for the long-awaited sound of the phone ringing... They spoke briefly. She seemed ill, she didn't say much, there was no trace of enthusiasm in her voice at hearing him, at talking to him. It worried him, but he said nothing. He thought that, contrary to what he wrote, it was probably hard for her, but I didn't want to worry him....June 7, 2004 Hello, husband. I know that during our conversation you probably didn't sense the joy in my voice, the joy at hearing your voice. I was very happy, I really was! I just didn't feel very well, I was a little weak. I think you'll be happy when you know the reason for my feeling. Well, dear Michael, now I know for sure, we're having a baby! Reading those words, he froze, stunned. Although I think the word "surprised" would better describe his state. A baby... He'd dreamed of one for a long time! They'd been trying for one for several years, unsuccessfully. They had tests, and they showed no contraindications for either her or him. A baby... Finally! Do you remember our last night together before I left? It was that night, without a doubt, that we gave life to this little being who is slowly developing inside me. I think I'll stay here a few more months; it won't be harmful to the baby, not at this stage. What more can I say? I think that with this news, everything else will seem irrelevant, right? Kisses, Magda. He felt happier than ever. The child he dreamed of for so many years had finally arrived, developing in Magda's belly. A son or a daughter? It doesn't matter at all! The important thing is that it's here, that it will arrive in a few months. Then he'll give up his long-distance travel, who knows? Maybe he'll quit his job and find something local. He'd already seen his first steps, the way he says "daddy," the way he laughs, revealing for the world to admire, his first tiny tooth. What should he name him, or her? It doesn't matter, it's the least important! June 14, 2004 Hello! You have no idea how happy the news about the baby made me! I'm so happy! I don't think any event or news has ever filled me with such immense joy! Yesterday I was shopping for a while – beautiful strollers, clothes, and cribs flashed before my eyes! We'll go shopping together someday and buy our baby all these wonderful things. Come back soon – it's not worth risking something you can't even count for money! Do it for me and for our baby – after all, we've been waiting for them for so long... They exchanged two more short letters, in which he tried to convince her to come back, and she tried to convince him there was no need. Finally, she returned, in mid-July. Michał's joy was marred by her behavior. He was happy, indeed, to see her belly growing, becoming bigger and rounder, but whenever he returned home, he found Magda in a bad mood. She didn't say much, she was sad, as if the flame that had once burned so brightly and joyfully within her had diminished, as if it were barely smoldering. Michał was worried about his wife. He told her what he'd observed, of course, but she blamed it on the pregnancy, which can have a negative impact on a woman's well-being. In the final weeks of her pregnancy, she became very nervous, as if she were anxious about something, as if some worry were consuming her mind. Michał spent this period by his wife's side, helping her in every way he could, caring for her as best he could, comforting her, trying to make her laugh. However, his efforts had no effect on her. "Once she gives birth, she'll definitely feel better," he repeated to himself. Until finally, that day arrived, January of the new year. Unfortunately, Michał had to go on a trip, albeit a short one, but that was when the baby was born... He returned two days later. The day was cold, and a light snow was falling. A faint puff of smoke escaped Michał's mouth, the frozen snow crunching under his feet. He walked as fast as he could, clutching a bouquet of roses. He couldn't wait to see his child. He crossed the hospital threshold, warmth hitting his face. His frozen body began to regain color. He removed his hat and approached the receptionist. She informed him where his wife was, and he went there as quickly as he could, rushing like Hermes. She was asleep. She looked beautiful—"It's all over now," flashed through Michał's mind. He stood in the doorway, gazing tenderly at his wife's sleeping face. He asked a nurse passing by in the hallway where his child was. She led him to the maternity ward, pointing to one of the sleeping children... "There must be a mistake," Michał said, surprised, staring blankly at the nurse, who looked perplexed. "No, there can be no mistake." This child was born to your wife. Marek looked at the little one wrapped in a white swaddle. He stared into that chocolate face, that... mulatto. He dropped the roses on the floor and ran out of the hospital.

JULIA: Prologue

Prologue

Human life is one of the most complex aspects of our existence. There are people who master it perfectly, despite its fragility and transience. They achieve balance and inner peace, gaining strength like the sails of a boat—the wind that allows the boat to sail peacefully for years.

Sometimes, however, fate, fickle and filled with irony, sends a storm and a gale that no one can overcome. And then the element fights life in an unequal battle. A battle that is almost certain to be lost.

Such a battle was she now fighting. A battle that inevitably led to her death. She had no strength left, and for several minutes she had stopped resisting. There was no place on her body that wasn't seared by a vivid, ominous pain, and the blows were incessant.

She wasn't fighting a natural element. Fire wasn't burning her, water wasn't consuming her, hurricane wasn't tearing her apart. She was losing her life at the hands of another human being. The man who had once promised her a wonderful life at his side, filled with love and devotion. He had promised her a future together until their deaths.

Or perhaps it was her death? She was no longer certain. The past now blended with the present into a single, tangled mass, without rhyme or reason.

She lacked the strength to call for help. She couldn't even draw a breath.

When his foot struck her exhausted body with fierce fury once more, she realized that the heart he had stolen from her was no longer enough. He yearned for something more.

But would the life he was tearing from her chest be able to satisfy him? What if even that wasn't enough?

She awaited the end with every second the clock ticked. She heard it clearly, between the furious insults that fell from his lips.

And suddenly everything in her body stopped. She stopped feeling them. The clock ticked, louder and louder, like a church bell.

She didn't know how, but she opened her eyes to gaze one last time at her executioner. He had stopped striking and was now staring, somewhere beyond her field of vision. She saw her hand rising toward him. Funny, she hadn't felt it.

She wished he had looked at her then. What she saw in his icy eyes terrified her.

She closed her eyes as his leg rose above her again.

She didn't feel another blow, but she was sure she heard the sound of splintering wood.

Her hand fell limp to the floor at his feet.

The wind had stopped propelling her battered boat, and the sun had ceased to illuminate her path, plunging her into impenetrable darkness. She was left alone, abandoned on a vast, ominous ocean, with no land in sight.