Barwik (Funeral)

 

1. The funeral.

The first drops came unexpectedly, so much so that initially Maksymilian Barwik didn't even notice it was raining. The priest celebrating Mass at Arkadiusz Tarb's grave, undeterred by the rain, spoke invariably at the same, monotonous, slow pace. The large crowd gathered around the grave patiently endured the rain, the biting September chill, and the trumpeter's obvious lack of musical talent. The deceased's family behaved decidedly well. There was no display of suffering. A few perfectly acceptable, even encouraged, tears during the Mass, faces expressing solemnity and sadness, but also, at appropriate moments, expressions of sympathy, addressed to all those who supported the deceased's family in those very difficult times...

The K-ka Cemetery always seemed to Barwik one of the most beautiful places he had ever seen, and certainly the most beautiful in his hometown. It was situated on two hills, one of which was the highest point in the area. Unfortunately, Tarb wasn't fortunate enough to be buried atop it. Although, Barwik supposed, it meant nothing to Tarb himself. But to the family... He himself treasured the location of his grandmother's grave. It was the tomb where he had rested alongside her husband, or rather, on top of him (there was only room for one tomb, but his grandfather had died early enough that by the time Barwik's grandmother took her last breath in the city hospital, she could be buried there).

The coffin slowly began its journey to the bottom of the hole he'd dug in the world. Barwik began to think about the unpaid cell phone bill. Too many damn bills to pay! Who could keep track of it all: gas, electricity, water, rent, renovation fund, telephone, cable TV, apartment rental, cell phone... He decided that as soon as the funeral was over, he would go to the post office.

He was distracted from his thoughts about the bills by the sight of a woman standing to his right. A simple gesture of smoothing her hair caught his attention. The woman tucked a strand of blond hair behind her left ear. She stood turned away from Barwik, so he couldn't see her face. She wore a simple brown coat, a knee-length skirt, also brown, but a lighter shade, and black boots that reached mid-calf. She was slim, tall... Barwik judged that he wouldn't have to bend down much if they were kissing standing up. He almost assumed the woman's features formed an image he would like. Like lightning, a vision of himself flirting with a woman, of them having dinner together at his apartment, and then he was in bed with the blonde. A bed that had seen no other women for three months now, only those on the television Barwik had set up in his bedroom. The mischievous vision flashed by, leaving behind the memory of Dorota. Or rather, the entire complex of feelings that had remained after their breakup. After three years of dating, one day she simply told him she wasn't sure she loved him. During a terribly long evening, Barwik tried to understand what was going on, why suddenly, in an instant, what had seemed so obvious, simple, and stable had collapsed like a house of cards... They went to the cinema, laughed at a rather pleasant comedy, then went to her place, made love, and half an hour later Dorota was sitting next to him with tears in her eyes, curled into herself, staring at her knees. When he asked what was wrong, she didn't answer. He pressed her, until finally, in a trembling voice, she told him that she'd thought while watching the movie how good it would be to fall in love. "How the hell did I think you loved me?" Barwik wanted to ask, but instead he just said, "I don't understand..." She said nothing. A sudden anger gripped him; anger so intense that for a moment he thought he might strike her. He wanted to scream, howl with rage at the sudden presence of this stranger, this indifferent woman. So suddenly, without reason, without warning, without even a single warning sign. He asked, "What's the matter with you? Do you want to break up?"

They looked at each other. She had tears in her eyes, but she wasn't crying. After a long moment, she nodded. Barwik couldn't believe what was happening was real. He felt unreal as he stood up and began gathering his things: wallet, phone, car keys... He went out into the hallway, while she was still sitting on the bed. He put on his shoes, looked at her again... She wasn't looking at him, she wasn't crying. He went out onto the stairwell. He had the feeling that what was happening was a dream. That in a moment Dorota would run after him, fall into his arms, that everything would be as it should be. With each step he descended, the urge to turn back grew within him, to run to her, to fall on his knees before her, and beg her to come to her senses. But he didn't. It was as if he'd lost control of his body. He descended the stairs despite himself. As he left the building, he looked up, hoping to see her in the window, beckoning him... But there was no one there.

The trumpeter blew his mouthpiece once more, and the mournful sound of a funeral march drifted through the treetops of the cemetery. Perhaps this sound prompted a crow dozing on one of the branches of the oak tree under which Tarb was buried to defecate at that precise moment. For years, crows had been the target of fierce attacks by the maintenance crews at the municipal cemetery. This was due to their penchant for despoiling the tombs, built with such care and often at considerable expense. Trimming the branches was attempted. However, the old cemetery trees proved too tall for the tallest booms, so only a portion of the nests were removed. The following year, the crows rebuilt their nests on higher branches. They also tried to scare the birds away with a pneumatic cannon, which discharged compressed air with a loud bang. Indeed, at the sound of the gunfire, the crows flew away from the cemetery, but after an hour, when the cannonade subsided, the birds returned to their nests. Over time, most of the crows became so accustomed to the noise that they began to ignore it completely. So, for now, the municipal services were unsuccessful in their fight against the crows over the cemetery (especially since residents of the neighborhoods surrounding the cemetery began complaining to the city authorities about the noise).

"The" poop landed in a thin streak on the slightly pilled surface of the brown coat, so subtly that the blonde owner of the coat didn't even notice. Barwik smiled with amusement. After a moment, however, when it turned out he was the only witness to the desecration of the blonde's brown coat, he became angry. This meant he had every right, even an obligation, to inform her discreetly. That meant he had a reason to start a conversation with her... That meant his fantasy suddenly, because of bird poop, had the right to exist.

For the rest of the funeral, Barwik couldn't focus on anything but the white blur. He felt a pang of heat at the thought of having to talk to the blonde soon. He imagined walking up to her and saying, "Excuse me, ma'am, a crow shat on you..." After such an introduction, could he add anything that would even make him think about inviting her for coffee or meeting her for dinner? How the hell was he supposed to fill the space between the remark about the bird droppings on her coat and the moment they were frolicking naked in his bedroom?

The funeral ended. People slowly began to disperse. Some gathered around the family of Tarb, who had just been buried. Barwik didn't feel obligated to offer his condolences. Tarb worked at the same company as him. Barwik knew him from meetings and the rare occasions they had to work together. He didn't really know much about him. Barwik had seen Tarb's wife a couple of times before, at a company picnic for all the employees. He'd come to the funeral because it was appropriate for someone to represent their department, and since no one really wanted to go, they'd held a drawing. Barwik had never been lucky at games of chance...

The blonde also began to head toward the cemetery exit. Barwik followed her, determined to inform her about the infamous decoration on her coat. However, when he was barely within arm's reach, behind her back, his determination vanished without a trace. A familiar feeling of paralyzing fear of embarrassment crept in. What did he expect? He'd never been good at picking up women... He often wondered where he'd found so much energy, cunning, and determination when he met and then seduced Dorota.

Anger, as it always did when he lost to his weaknesses, gripped him. "I have nothing to do but chase girls," he thought. "I have enough problems, all I need is a woman..."

At that moment, the blonde stopped unexpectedly. So unexpectedly, that the speeding (and otherwise somewhat distracted) Barwik bumped into her. She would have fallen if Barwik hadn't grabbed her arm at the last moment and held her steady. As if to reassure herself she wouldn't fall, the woman also grabbed Barwik's arm, pulling herself closer to him.

"Sorry," Barwik muttered, feeling her face flush.

"It's okay," the blonde smiled, clearly amused by Barwik's embarrassment.

Barwik pulled away from her, deciding they were standing far too close and that it had been going on too long. It was interesting that moments earlier he had been freely imagining the blonde and himself making love in his bedroom, and now he was embarrassed by her close presence. Perhaps Barwik's discomfort wouldn't have been so great if the woman hadn't turned out to be very pretty. In fact, there was nothing particularly remarkable about her appearance. The harmonious composition of gentle features, thin lips, a graceful nose, and brown eyes formed a whole that seemed to Barwik the essence of femininity.

"Be careful," the blonde said, and Barwik had the impression she was winking at him flirtatiously. "Are you in love, or what?

" "In love?" Barwik replied grimly. "Certainly not."

This was also his typical reaction. The more he liked a woman, the more distant he became from her. He was downright rude to women who embarrassed him simply because they were attractive.

"I'm sorry again," he said, a little more composed now, and started down the alley leading to the cemetery exit.

"Wait a minute," she called after him.

"Yes?

" "Did you come by car?

" "Yes.

" "Can you give me a ride into town?

" "Of course..." Barwik replied after a moment of thought. He was struck not so much by the blonde's directness, which he himself probably would never have dared, but by the question itself. To town? They were in town. The cemetery was a five-minute walk from what could be described as the center of K-na.

"It's raining harder and harder," the blonde explained. "And I still have to get back to the office. I'll be completely soaked before I get there on foot... I forgot to bring my umbrella from the office. If you could drop me off somewhere on the street... I'd be incredibly grateful.

" "No problem," Barwik said, even managing a slight smile.