NATAN

"I won't tell you the truth,

but the sea,

but the winds flying to distant riots,

but the fogs,

when the morning ones remove the veil

from the passionate face of the world,

similar to mine."

Everything was there then, but I had no one to tell this truth to. I was walking like a fool at 6 a.m. along the Baltic Sea. Despite the early hour, few people were wandering the beach besides me. I walked barefoot, and in my hand I held the sandals I'd bought in Wrocław a week ago. These trips were a curse to me, but oh well... I chose the exhibition and had to travel with Marek all over... well, maybe not all of Poland.

That day, I woke up early to feast my eyes on the sea... the last time I was there was when I was 15. I went on a trip with my friend's parents. I don't remember the details of the entire trip, but I know one thing - it was the best vacation of my life. That's how I remember it.

As I recalled it, I walked, dipping my feet in that terribly cold sea. There was a small lighthouse on the horizon, and one of my absurd goals was to get there before noon, take a taxi back, and still have time to open the exhibition at 1 p.m.... and then I'd find a moment and describe it meticulously to Andrzej, who would put it beautifully into words and then give it to me for authorization...

I came here, to Pogożelica, with Marek and Andrzej. About a month ago, Marek got it into his head that we'd go to Poland with his drawings—he was a great painter. He graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts, and I didn't really know why he chose the path of an amateur, but he always told me he was looking for a thrill... He had a life; when we were still in Warsaw with the exhibition, he jumped off some unfamiliar bridge with a bungee cord... I thought I was going to faint with fear as I stood there and watched him jump off that bridge. Brr—the thought makes me shudder...

Andrew, on the other hand, was the opposite of Marek. A calm guy, and I always went to him with my problems. In his small studio apartment in the center of Krakow, there was always a warm corner for me, a cup of tea, and then a whole night of talking...

I honestly don't know how our group is still together – since high school. It all started there... I remember the jealous glances from girls who would look at me with envy when I'd arrange another trip to the city with them... Strangely enough, our relationship was always friendly. I don't know how, but our friendship never bordered on "dangerous liaisons"... it was just perfect. Of course, we had arguments, but always over some trivial matter that the three of us quickly forgot about...

So I walked along the seashore in olive-green capri pants and a rumpled shirt buttoned only three buttons. Everyone was staring at me, but not because of my appearance, because I looked completely normal; they were probably surprised I was getting into the water so early. Besides, they probably thought a young girl like me had probably fled her hotel room, leaving her lover there, who was spending a sleepless night. How deceptive can be at first glance...

The speck of the streetlight slowly grew larger, but at a certain point I realized my feet were already aching from the sand, so without drying them at all, I put on my sandals and, at the nearest street entrance, brushed them off and leaned against the wall. "

How beautiful the sea was... for such an old woman to be excited about the sea," I scolded myself, though I was nowhere near old, oh, I was. I was 26 then and had just finished my studies: psychology. My dream psychology degree, which I paid for by painting fences and delivering flyers because my parents had no money. I have a degree, but I worked in publishing. As a rule, you don't work in your profession. A messed-up life always complicates everything...

I was looking at the sea and suddenly I had a craving for a giant waffle... one with fruit and whipped cream... So I got up and went looking for a suitable stand where I could grab something like that. They were just setting up, but a small restaurant, completely made of wood, caught my eye. I don't remember the name now, but I know I would have written it down if I'd known what awaited me there.

"I'd like the biggest waffle you have with whipped cream and fruit," I said to the handsome salesman, intoning each word.

"Um, sorry, but I'm not a salesman..." he announced, and we stood facing each other, saying nothing. I waited for him to say something like, "Daddy's coming soon," because he looked awfully young. We were rescued from our daze by another man who came out the kitchen door and asked me simply, "What can I get you?"

I, already speechless, replied, "A waffle." The second "seller" looked older than the first, but he was around my age, or a bit older... quite a nice guy! He asked me for details, like what kind of fruit, how much cream, etc., and a moment later brought me a huge waffle with giant strawberries. I sat down on a chair at the counter, afraid half of this masterpiece would fall to the ground with any movement.

I devoured it in about five minutes; I can't remember the last time I ate something like that... I remembered from that vacation 10 years ago that there were tons of waffle stands in Pogożelica.

- How much is due? - I asked the other guy this time, and he looked at me with a sort of contemptuous look and asked with the greatest surprise in his voice:

- Are you leaving already?

"Yes, I have to get to the lighthouse in Niechorze by noon," I replied dispassionately, strangely eager to share my plans with him.

"You'll be fine if you stay a few minutes longer. I'll buy you a coffee," he said, looking into my eyes persistently. Damn, I looked into them for the first time... they weren't my dream blue eyes, deeper than the ocean, but sweet hazel eyes, sparking with interest. I caught myself wondering what kind of hands he had, and asking myself that question is already a bad thing.

"Hmm?" he urged, and I stared into his eyes like a fool. Finally, I recovered and replied something along the lines of I had a ton of work and some "marketable lies."

"Well, don't let me ask you, there's nothing better than a cup of coffee in the morning." That sounded like a bad ad for expired coffee. I was also surprised by his mannerisms and his way of approaching me... no one had ever hit on me as Mrs. before.

"No, thank you, I really have to go... you're awfully nice," I complimented and stood up from my chair.

"Please, just one coffee, strong as death, black as coal, and hot as love..." he said, and with this new twist on a well-known saying, he completely killed me. I decided to stay, but I kept thinking about his hands... was this some kind of perversion?

The guy smiled wickedly and disappeared through the door.

"First he convinced me to stay, now he's coming—a serial killer or a rapist," I thought, but still I wanted to stay here, in this bar, at this counter, where this guy would surely approach any moment. Indeed, he arrived with a steaming cup, which he placed right in front of me. I inhaled the aroma and decided the coffee smelled quite inviting.

"It smells nice," I said, unsure if to him or to myself.

"After all, I made it myself," he laughed at his remarkably successful joke and tucked a strand of his rather long hair behind his ear. I didn't even change my expression; this time I wasn't looking at him, but at the blackness of the coffee, as if searching for a fly or a hair.

I didn't want to find anything there, but even if I did, I'd probably drink it... I didn't want to spoil the atmosphere.

I took a sip of the coffee. Indeed, it was probably brewed, because it tasted delicious...

"This isn't Turkish coffee, freshly ground, brewed," he announced, seeing me staring at it. "

I feel... you know... this is the first time I've ever drunk coffee not from a bag, and I have to admit, it tastes delicious.

Delicious—and that's good. I haven't used that word since high school Polish essays, and in this situation, it was the only word that came to mind."

"Natan," he said, ignoring my other words. He only latched onto the "sir" and extended his hand to me. Without hesitation, I shook his hand, and then he kissed it. He had an unusually warm hand; I didn't get a good look at it because he quickly hid it behind the counter.

Natan... what a name, I thought, and I developed a whole story in my head. His parents were Jewish, but they died at the hands of the Germans... then I got a bit confused about the era, but that wasn't important.

"Mariola," I said. I didn't like saying my name... so common—not like Natan's.

"Nice to meet you," he whispered, and then some idiot came up to order a beer, and the whole mood went to hell. I wordlessly finished my coffee and slung my corduroy bag over my shoulder.

"How much is owed?" I asked, interrupting Natan's argument with the guy about not pouring him enough beer. A beer in the morning is like cream, I thought then, and smiled to myself.

"Nothing," he replied, continuing the argument.

"But sir... how much is a waffle and coffee altogether?" I asked, perhaps with exaggerated distinction.

"Natan," he simply said, and finally dismissed the guy, pouring him a second mug of beer. This guy probably still remembers me, because thanks to me, he earned a free beer.

"Listen, it's nothing to you," he said, leaning his elbows on the counter.

"Natan... I want to pay for myself," I said firmly, but at the time I didn't realize I only had 20 złoty in my wallet.

"Well, let me buy it for you.

" "No... how much is it?" I asked again. The people sitting in that pub must have been having a good laugh, staring at us.

"Nothing, Mariola—give me a break."

"Okay, if you really want to buy me something... I came here for a waffle, and you talked me into coffee, so logically, I'll pay for the waffle and you'll pay for the coffee, okay?" I asked. I'd come up with a great compromise, ugh... logical thinking... now that I remember that, I have to laugh.

"Okay... can't it be the other way around?" he asked, knowing that a waffle was more expensive. I still don't understand this determination in men... but Natan's behavior surprised me greatly, specifically his nonchalance and style.

"You can't," I replied dryly and took my wallet out of my bag. By the way, I don't know why I started wondering why I was carrying it...

Natan accepted the cash without a word (4.50 - I still remember J), and just as I was getting ready to leave, he emerged from behind the counter in his pretty white apron and gently grabbed my arm. I automatically turned around and met his gaze again.

"Would you like to meet up for coffee when I'm done...?" he asked, and you could clearly tell from his voice that he cared.

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid I won't be here when you finish work.

" "Now then. Do you have time?" he asked hopefully.

"I was supposed to go to the lighthouse, but I have time," I replied.

Natan quickly took off his apron and threw it over the counter—probably as some way to impress me.

"Then we're going to Niechorze," he said.

"Who's staying here?" I asked, concerned.

"You'll see," he replied, and said something to the boy I'd first noticed. After a moment, he came back to me and announced that we could go. I couldn't help myself and started laughing. I stood there like an idiot, laughing in his face. It must have looked terrible, because Natan was looking at me with great concern.

"You terrorized your brother, right?" I asked, stopping laughing immediately.

"I didn't terrorize him, I just said he could pay me back." I nodded, and we calmly left the bar. Then we returned to the beach. I took off my sandals again, and Natan was wearing flip-flops, so he didn't interfere.

"You know what?" You're quick to pick up girls," I said.

"Pick up? Is this a date?" he asked with a smile, putting me down a bit. I'd let myself off the hook, but luckily, a question I'd often teased Marek about popped into my head.

"So you say so.

" "Yeah?" he sighed, and the date was over. Despite my 26 years, I felt like a silly teenager on a first date.

"You're not a local?" he asked.

"I'm not, I came from Krakow.

" "Krakow, what brought you here..." he asked, pausing for a moment.

"My friends and I travel around Poland with our paintings and exhibit them on the streets. And you're probably a local...

" "Absolutely."

The sea water seemed even colder, and we'd been walking for two hours, talking. Natan lived in Pogożelica and was studying some kind of tourism program—I won't tell you which one, because I've already forgotten... He was two years older than me, and I had a great time talking to him. I knew immediately that this would be more than just a walk.

"Do you think I did the right thing by taking the job at the pub and not going to Warsaw?" he asked, as if interrupting the discussion.

"Fine," I replied without thinking... otherwise we wouldn't have met... I finished in my mind.

Finally, we reached the entrance from the beach to Niechorze. There was a wall covered in various graffiti – we stopped at it. I put on my sandals, and Natan stood there, scrutinizing me.

"What are you looking at?" I asked, trying to meet his eyes, but I couldn't tell where they were because the sun was shining terribly. It was almost noon, after all.

"Can I kiss you?" I heard in response. He always answered questions with questions. This question completely blew me away, and before I could answer, he started explaining:

"I know, don't hang out with strangers..." he said with a sneer. "Maybe we should stop for coffee, because the streetlight's already over there." He gestured to the red-and-brown streetlight hiding behind the trees.

"I'd love a beer," I said, my throat dry from the constant conversation. We walked into the first bar we came across, and Natan bought two cans of beer.

"You paid for me again," I said in a rather uninventive tone.

"But this time I won't accept any money from you...

" "I don't expect that either, give me the can," I said urgently, taking the yellow aluminum from his hand. After a moment, I tasted the beer, but somehow I didn't like it.

We walked first through open fields, then through wild greenery, which I kept shuddering as I walked, thinking I'd just been bitten by a tick. When we reached the red brick building, we had to throw away the cans in the fridge because they wouldn't let us in.

The stairs were even more dented than the last time I was here – another wonderful discovery of mine.

"Look here," Natan said, pointing to a small calligraphy on the wall. "That's mine.

" "Well, I don't know if that's something to brag about," I laughed. Then Natan grabbed my hand… such a small gesture, but at the time it meant so much.

Holding hands, we reached the very top of the stairs. There I saw the most magnificent panorama I'd ever seen. Lakes, houses, the sea – I stood there, my mouth hanging open, amazed at how such a simple sight thrilled me.

Natan, one by one, told me where everything was; he knew this area like the back of his hand, or better yet. At one point, I looked into his hazel eyes, and contrary to the rules my mother had furiously drilled into me since childhood: never ask a man for anything, because they always want payment, I ordered him... yes, I actually ordered him to kiss me.

Of course, he complied. He kissed me long and passionately – everything was in that one kiss: the past (as we wandered along the beach), the future (the knowledge that there would be no other like it), and the present (Carpe diem)...

Through that kiss, I discovered something new – the taste of love at first sight.

"When I was 16, I made a bet with my friends that I would be the first to kiss on top of this very lighthouse... I lost then, but today I won," he said, and I simply wanted to cry. Sob like a little child because I would never see him again...

"What happened?" he asked, and I couldn't hold it in anymore and burst into tears. Natan hugged me, and that hug was even more pleasant than the kiss. I felt his... completely his. I was no longer afraid to look him in the eye, and I looked at his hands, too, but he stubbornly held them in his.

When I calmed down, I told him it had been the most beautiful hike I'd ever had. When we'd reached civilization (read: Niechorze), my cell phone rang unexpectedly. A text message from Andrzej: "Mariola, where the hell are you? We can't start without you." I looked at Natan meaningfully, and we embraced again. I wanted the moment to last forever, but finally Natan pulled away and said as seriously as he could:

"Listen... I'm asking you for one thing - let this place remind you of me, okay?

" "Okay," I replied meekly, and my eyes moistened again.

"Wait a moment," he said, and began searching his pockets. After a moment, he pulled a small amber piece on a string from his shirt pocket. I knew he wanted to give it to me... I started crying again, but this time Natan didn't hug me.

"Remember me," he ordered, pressing the amber into my hand.

"I'll remember, I promise," I replied, and got into the taxi. I drove away, staring at Natan's gift. As I drove past his bar, tears welled up again. The driver kept glaring at me, but didn't even ask what had happened. I paid the taxi driver and got out just outside the campsite where Marek, Andrzej, and I had set up camp.

"Where were you while you were gone?" Marek asked, cheerfully unfolding the paintings.

"Damn, in heaven," I replied, and immediately rushed to the tent.

Now I'm sitting at a table—the same one where the man who had argued with Natan over a beer was sitting. I just got back from a barefoot walk in the morning sand, and in my pocket I have an amber piece from him. Now I've come especially for him. I don't know his address, or even his name... but I'm waiting. I met him here two years ago... wait a minute, isn't Natan that handsome guy taking the baby out of the stroller?" No... impossible, his hair is short, and Natan didn't like routine...

And yet it's Natan... I'll never forget those hazel eyes for the rest of my life...

NATAN, Natan, Natan... this name is still a mystery to me - I still haven't checked its origin... And so much time has passed...

---

Don't judge harshly, I wrote this immediately after returning from the hotel - I didn't exchange a single word with Natan.