Agata leaned over and stroked the smooth surface. The water was clear and warm. They were sitting on a wooden jetty, jutting into the lake about twenty feet long. Behind them stretched a small hill, at its summit the brick walls of a small summer cottage. Everything was tightly enclosed by a dense forest.
"I like it here.
" "Mother too," Beata replied.
"It's a peaceful and quiet place. She needed something like that.
" "Maybe she'll finally get some rest. And we should probably get back. We need to unpack, change, and... go to town. What do you say, sister?"
Agata nodded. Beata was referring to Mabel, a small tourist village two kilometers away.
"Are you in such a hurry to hunt someone?"
Beata smiled broadly.
"We're on vacation after all, aren't we?"
They stood up and slowly began to climb back to the cottage.
The forest echoed with dozens of voices around them. A loud rustling came from the nearby bushes, probably a mouse scuttling back to its hiding place. The treetops swayed in a peaceful, majestic dance. The girls stopped halfway up the slope. From this point, a magnificent view of the lake and the surrounding area unfolded. Dozens of vacationers were peacefully sweltering on several beaches, the silhouettes of kayaks cutting through the water. It smelled of resin and summer.
They clasped hands.
"A beautiful view," Agata thought.
"You're right. It's simply wonderful here... I love you," Beata thought.
They embraced each other tighter. A smile, warm and peaceful, blossomed on their faces. Beata ran her finger over the silver ring she wore on the little finger of her right hand. She had to wear it. Otherwise, people wouldn't be able to tell her from her sister.
***
First there was darkness. Then a space opened up, immediately filled with colors and sounds. Someone named things, told about the stars, served juice. Everything was lemony and juicy. Happy. Full of warmth and love.
But then the space closed in. Something happened that flooded it again with a tarry, impenetrable blackness. What was it? Nobody knows. Memory, jealous, locked these memories in a cold cage and hid them in a cubicle under the stairs. It got rid of the key, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
For a while, hope for old happiness, for a old life, smoldered within. But that too faded, smothered by the cold, wet hand of emptiness.
There was no hope.
Until suddenly, today, the space opened again.
But it was different.
***
Mabel was a typical resort town, the kind that comes alive in late March and goes to sleep with the arrival of autumn. In summer, it pulsated with life and energy from vacationers strolling down the main avenue with waffles or steaming corn on the cob. In winter, you could probably walk from one end of Mabel to the other without seeing a soul.
Some people turned away.
They were already used to attracting attention. To avoid this, they dressed differently for their first walk around town. Agata wore beige trousers and a black blouse with thin straps, Beata a light blue dress. Her hair was tied in an elegant ponytail.
"So? Breaking the ice?" Beata asked.
"Sure."
They bought ice cream and sat on the low wall surrounding the Polish Teachers' Association holiday resort. Time passed quickly. They walked all over Mabel, looking into almost every little shop, occasionally commenting loudly on such novelties as the mirrored sunglasses that allowed you to constantly observe those following you, or the "Smurf" ice cream topping.
They returned to the cottage tired but satisfied.
"So, how do you like the neighborhood?" their mother asked as they flopped onto the living room couch.
"The neighborhood is great, but everything's expensive," Beata replied. "You pay five złoty for a stupid waffle.
" "We can make waffles here. I saw a waffle iron in the closet. Do you fancy some?
" "A waffle machine," Beata interjected.
"Do you fancy some?
" "You're still asking! Mom!
" ***
Michał Ruciak plopped down heavily on the bed. He tossed his trademark yellow cap into the corner.
"How much?
" "Twenty-four Wyborcze and three Wprost.
" "Nice.
" "Where's the nice one... Below the limit. If this keeps up, I won't be able to afford to go home." Instead of earning money, I have to contribute to the business. Phew! I'm a complete failure.
"Then leave."
Michał shrugged.
"I don't know... After all, I'm sitting by the lake, I have food and shelter. My parents can always send something. I haven't called yet, but I don't think they'll make a problem.
" "Don't think about it. For now, you're still breaking even.
" "Besides, it's an interesting job. There's something to see every day. You know who I saw today?
" "Go ahead.
" "Twins. Identical, I tell you! And how pretty... Ah!
" "And what?
" "What do you mean, what?" I walked over immediately.
"Oh, and what did you say?
" "Hmm. Exactly?
" "Exactly."
Michał sighed and stared at the ceiling. A few seconds passed before he drawled,
"Maybe a newspaper."
Rafał, a fifteen-year-old redhead, currently Michał's summer buddy, burst out laughing. The echo of loud, juicy giggles echoed off the walls of the small room for a long time.
***
Agata and Beata were sitting on the terrace. It was a warm, humid night. They were drinking hot chocolate from large, blue mugs. Their mother had already gone to bed, having vacuumed half the house.
"What are we doing tomorrow?" Agata asked.
"What do you mean, what? Beach, beach, and more beach... I want to burn out this summer. Last year didn't work out.
Indeed. The year before, they'd spent exactly two weeks at the seaside. It rained for twelve days. They'd returned home furious and broke, literally and figuratively.
"I think I'll take a walk in the woods.
" "You'll have no shortage of places to walk around here," Beata said.
"I'd also like to write something.
" "Exactly. Have you finally finished that poem, 'Zumanity'?
" "No. And I'm afraid I won't finish it," she added after a moment.
"Why? It looks great. You really have a talent for it.
" "That's not the point." Agata shook her head and put down her mug. "I've explained this to you before. Unlike short stories, poems are strange because it's not the author who rules the poem, but the poem who rules the author. You can't just say to yourself, 'Today I'll write a beautiful, moving poem,' and sit down in front of the page... What a pity," she smiled.
Beata leaned her elbows on the wooden tabletop and cupped her face in her hands. Her long, golden hair flowed over her shoulders. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.
"No one will disturb you here. I believe you'll finish it.
" "I wish. I really would."
Their hands moved toward each other, finally finding each other under the starry sky. The moon was rising, the night smelled of pine needles. The twins' fingers intertwined shyly.
"I believe in you," Beata thought.
"I know."
They sat in silence for over fifteen minutes.
***
The sun beat down mercilessly. There wasn't even a cloud in the sky. A light, warm breeze blew, and the water was wonderful.
Beata dove in with delight.
The day promised to be wonderful. Since nine in the morning, she had been lying on the unspoiled beach they had found during yesterday's evening walk. The small stretch of golden sand was surrounded by impenetrable bushes. Privacy was practically guaranteed. What more could she want?
She slowly swam toward the shore.
Suddenly, she saw a flash. She stopped and turned her head toward it. Something was shining through the trees, far away, on the other side of the lake. An iridescent shape cast silver reflections on the water.
Then she heard a scream.
Someone was screaming. In her head. Images came to her. As if someone had scattered colored glass before her eyes. A scratch on something cold. Drops of water falling on... Cold, damp, and darkness, blooming between the trees, originating in something... A soft clatter, as if something had fallen onto the stone floor. The sound was suspiciously familiar, evoking associations, but... He was too far away. Gone. She couldn't recognize him. And eyes. Eyes, staring fixedly at the sky, which had become black, shrouded in bloody shreds of something that definitely weren't clouds, might have been, but not here, not here,
"not here, sis..."
It wasn't her sister's voice.
Beata choked on water. A bitter, disgusting taste flooded her mouth. She screamed, her hands flailing chaotically against the lake's surface, and she seemed to be sinking underwater, lower and lower. The sky closed in above her when
Everything fell silent. The voices faded, the images faded, and Beata realized she was less than twenty feet from the shore, floating calmly, parting the water with confident movements of her arms. "
Oh my, did I fall asleep? What was that?" she thought.
When she was close to the beach, she stood in the water and looked again at the other side of the lake, trying to pick out from among the trees the image of that strange, opalescent
(something)
(that wasn't there, couldn't be, right?)
forest. Lush, healthy pines swayed majestically, whipped by the wind. Distant, white sails. A motorboat. And that was it. No flashes.
"Phew. I had to swim away for a moment," Beata said loudly, as if trying to convince herself.
Hearing her own voice, she felt more confident. She even laughed when the ambiguity of the words sank in. "Sail away"—ha! She stepped ashore.
Traces of sleep (dream?) fell from her like a worn snakeskin. She wrapped herself in a blue towel and dried her hair. She sat down on a blanket and grabbed a bottle of water. She drank a few sips. The water was warm, but still perfectly refreshing. She breathed a sigh of relief.
There are things in heaven and earth... she thought. "I wonder what Agata would say to that."
But when her sister arrived an hour later, Beata had already forgotten the strange dream ("A dream. Yes. Definitely."). She listened to her sister's story about the crazy squirrels that persistently patrolled the surrounding area and the woodpecker that furiously tapped its beak on the metal hood of a no longer working streetlight. They laughed for a long time, then went home for dinner. They left the blanket on their beach. Because who would come looking? – Beata asked rhetorically.
The human mind has a way of easily forgetting things it wants to forget.
For dinner, they ate pierogi with blueberries, prepared by their mother. They were sweet and delicious.
***
The sun was slowly sinking behind the trees when the squirrel jumped into a small clearing hidden among the trees. It stopped at a post, sniffed for a moment, and then ran on. In the center of the clearing stood a round, stone fountain. However, there was no water in it; the wind had scattered only sand, dust, and dirt at the bottom. The squirrel climbed onto the low wall surrounding it. She looked around. It was quiet.
Quiet.
With a graceful leap, she jumped inside. She heard a rustling sound. It came from beneath her feet.
Sharp claws scratched the dry, stone floor. She jumped onto the central part of the fountain. Its long, red tail rested on the stone ornaments.
One of the metal tubes hissed softly. A single droplet escaped.
It wasn't a drop of water.
The animal fell asleep.
***
The sun was at its zenith when they set out for their walk. The path ran along the lake.
"You're nervous. Why?" Agata asked.
"Nervous? No, what are you talking about? More like irritated. There aren't any decent, handsome men in this stupid village!
" "Maybe you're not trying hard enough.
" "Maybe. But they could at least come out of their holes.
" "Patience..."
They sat down in a small clearing. Beata plucked blades of grass and threw them in front of her. Agata lay down on the ground and closed her eyes. She absorbed the peace and quiet of the place. It was what she needed... She had been looking forward to this trip for months. When her mother came home one March evening and told everyone about her idea, it all sounded so unreal... And now? Now they were here, the sun was shining brightly, and they were enjoying every moment. She just felt sorry for her father, who had to go to Belgium on business.
She took out her notebook. She bit the tip of her pencil. She took a deep breath and let her thoughts flow. Perhaps he'd grasp some metaphor, grasp it, and create something truly beautiful around it...
They only saw the boy when he stood over them.
"Hi, girls.
" "Hi," they replied, surprised.
He had short, fair hair. He looked about seven years old, but his gaze held a strange depth. As if he were looking at them... and through them.
"What are you writing?
" "I'm trying to write a poem," Agata explained.
"What's a poem?"
She didn't know what to say. She sat, surprised, when her sister came to her aid:
"A poem is a puzzle of words that come together to create something beautiful.
" "Aha.
" "And what are you doing here?
" "I'm walking. It's very beautiful here.
" "Aren't you afraid you'll get lost? Where are your parents?"
The boy suddenly flinched. Beata immediately regretted her question.
"Mom's at the doctor's. A dentist.
" "I think: A dentist. The one who treats teeth?
" "Yes. The one who treats teeth."
There was a moment of silence. Beata returned to her ritual, throwing grass. Agata put down her notebook and looked at the boy more closely. He was looking around intently, as if... seeing everything for the first time. That was the true, enviable curiosity of a child, she thought.
Suddenly, the boy said,
"You're the same.
" "Yes.
" "But you wear a ring," he pointed at Beata. "So we could tell you apart.
" "Yes..." Beata gave her sister a quick glance. A smart kid.
"Mom can tell that you're you, and not the other way around?" he asked, looking at Agata.
"No," she shook her head. "Even she can't.
" "It must be a nice feeling.
" "Sometimes it is. You haven't introduced yourself. What's your name? I'm Agata, and my sister's name is Beata.
" "My name is... Łukasz. Yes, Łukasz," he repeated. And now I have to go. It was nice meeting you. See you, girls. Bye."
He turned on his heel and walked away, still looking around. Beata dropped the blade of grass. They exchanged questioning glances. There was something strange about the boy, but they couldn't say what. Their hands unconsciously moved closer together. The moment their fingertips touched, the world seemed to gain in color and sound. They felt a pleasant sense of relaxation.
"Interesting kid," Beata thought.
"There's something in him," Agata thought. Suddenly, she squeezed her sister's hand with all her might.
The boy stopped. Suddenly. As if... As if he'd heard them.
He turned.
"In you too."
And he was gone.
***
The twins stood in complete silence for several seconds. They watched the boy disappear into the trees. Agata spoke first.
"He heard us.
" "We heard him too.
" "How is that possible?"
Beata sighed. A few years ago, both of them had tried to discover the source of their abilities. All their searches had been fruitless.
No one knew of their abilities. Not even their mother, whom they loved very much and held in great respect. Therefore, they had no one to turn to. In the end, they accepted everything as an axiom, a certainty, requiring no proof or scientific theories. An unusual way of communicating, and that was all. They didn't believe anyone else existed.
"Assuming we were alone was illogical.
" "How old could he have been? Six? Seven?" Agata asked.
"He was young. Very young.
" "Maybe it was all just a hallucination, a mirage... "
Beata squeezed her sister's hand tightly.
"Agata. Listen. It all happened, we both felt it."
"But..."
"No buts. We have to get a grip. The kid knows our language. Maybe next time we'll try talking to him."
"Do you think there will be another chance?"
"Yes. I think we'll meet him again."
"Beata?"
"What?"
"I love you... And I'm afraid. That we'll miss something, that something will separate us."
"Hysterical. What could separate us?"
Agata didn't answer. She thought about the boy, his words, his face, with strange shadows on it.
Beata remembered the dream, that bitter, disgusting taste flooding her mouth and the glow emanating from between the distant trees.
But they remained silent, because neither of them wanted to admit how afraid they were.
***
Mabel's main boulevard was bustling with life. Michał weaved among the passersby, waving newspapers and shouting. On average, one in fifty people noticed him. One in one hundred stopped. One in five hundred decided to buy. On an eight-hour workday, this was barely a satisfactory income. But he had grown accustomed to it. Worse still, he realized he liked this job.
There were many interesting people to be seen. Families strolling down the street with slow, stately gaits, stopping at every stall; groups of young girls, giggling, showing off their perfect tans and shapely thighs (oh, there were plenty of those around here... Michał didn't mind)... But when he spotted a woman running, he stopped.
She wasn't old, but the days of happy youth were probably behind her. She looked to be thirty-five or forty. A gloomy brown dress hung from her shoulders. Her hair was tousled and greasy, clumped together in thick strands.
She ran towards him. She looked straight into his eyes, panting loudly.
He tried to get out of her way,
but failed. He felt long, bony fingers dig into his shoulders. He saw her eyes: bloodshot, dark circles under them.
"Where is he?" she snapped.
"Please let me go. What are you talking about?
" "He ran away!" But I'll find him. He's so defenseless...
"Without a doubt... You will find him... But please let go of me!"
He felt the grip weaken. After a few seconds, the woman ran on, staggering and stumbling. People pointed at her, but she didn't seem to notice. A few minutes passed before Michał's heart calmed down a bit. He looked around. Life had returned to its daily, monotonous rhythm, no sign of the mad
(because she had to be mad)
woman. He waved his hand. "After all, you've never seen things like this," he thought, taking a deep breath. He pulled out several new newspapers from the bag slung over his shoulder.
"The latest news from Poland and the world! Only here, with every newspaper you get free sun glasses, perfect...
"
Beata was tired. She sat on a bench by the small square, right next to the main entrance to the beach. She needed to calm her frayed nerves. She and Agata parted in silence; each went her own way. Beata felt she had to face the strange feeling that had settled at the bottom of her mind alone. For the first time in a long time, she felt the acrid taste of loneliness. Her hand involuntarily went to the ring... It was there, as always. The touch of the cool, smooth surface didn't calm her, quite the opposite.
She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. The smell of the town—cooked corn and curled ice cream—had an incredibly soothing effect. She listened to the footsteps of passersby, that unique, seaside chatter. For a few seconds, she felt better.
Then she noticed a tall, deeply tanned boy. He was walking down the main street with a slow, unhurried gait. He smiled slightly, narrowing his eyes delightfully. The afternoon sun slid across his muscular torso. Beata was surprised to find herself feeling incredibly warm. She bit her lip, unable to tear her gaze away from him. "
Please, let him turn this way," she whispered, without even realizing it.
The boy, however, went straight ahead and disappeared within seconds into the dense crowd gathered around the street portraitist.
Beata sighed. The first, but not the last, she thought. Although... Mabel is small, after all. If he was strolling alone, surely he didn't have a girlfriend? After all, what kind of girl would let her boyfriend
(SUCH a guy)
stroll half-naked along the main boulevard?
She daydreamed.
Oh yes. She would meet him again. She closed her eyes and lost herself in blissful fantasies. This was what she was missing... Exactly. All her worries and fears melted away, dissolved in colorful, girlish dreams. The acrid taste of loneliness gave way to something entirely different – a warm, pulsating desire growing inside her. Without opening her eyes, she licked her lips.
Suddenly, she felt someone watching her. It wasn't a clear, lucid thought or a vague, vague premonition. Simply a signal, a subtle nudge, a movement in the air. She opened her eyes.
Across from her, leaning lightly against the wooden fence, stood a tanned boy.
He was watching her.
Smiling.
***
The scent of pine needles pleasantly teased Agata's senses. For a good hour, she had been walking along the forest path, a twisted ribbon circling the lake. She breathed deeply. She tried not to think about the boy who had heard them, or the strange, cold stab of unknown fear. She absorbed the peace of the forest depths with her whole being.
She had a pen and a hardcover notebook with her.
She sat down on a small, neglected jetty. She took off her sandals and dipped her feet in the delightfully cool, clear water. From this spot, they could see their wild beach and the hill, atop which the summer cottage's windows reflected sunlight, scattering it across the lake. The scent of summer and resin hung in the air. "
Well, Agata, it's time to finally write something," she urged herself. The pen hovered over the paper. The blank pages were incredibly motivating...
But what good was it?
After a few minutes, she put the notebook aside. She was irritated. Not even the smallest idea had touched her. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Before leaving, she had nourished herself with visions of a poet sensitive to beauty, sitting by a crystal-clear lake. She was supposed to draw inspiration from nature, the air, the clear sky... And in the meantime?
Meanwhile, furious, she rose from the jetty and continued on her way. Silently, she chewed over the stiff metaphors, trying to forge a new context from them. Even that didn't work.
Lost in her aggressive thoughts, she didn't even notice when she'd left the main path. Only after a few minutes did she realize she was treading on fresh, tall grass, with trees almost touching her with their twisted branches.
She stopped. She cursed silently. She was about to turn back when she noticed a glow coming from between the dense bushes growing dozens of paces ahead. There, the path ended. She cautiously moved forward. Sharp twigs scratched her calves, but she pressed forward, driven by the curiosity typical of youth and... something else. A voice that suddenly spoke in her head, a quiet, melodic whisper. She couldn't hear it, though; it was well hidden, just beneath the surface of her consciousness. From there, it sent broken sentences.
(OK. A NICE GIRL)
With the sole of her shoe, she pressed the nettle stalks to the ground.
(GREAT. JUST A FEW MORE STEPS)
A sharp twig slashed her face. Agata felt the salty taste of blood in her mouth. But she kept walking, for she was close now .
(VERY CLOSE)
. She pushed through the bushes.
A small clearing came into view, one side open to a lake. In its center stood a stone structure that looked remarkably like...
"A fountain..." Agata whispered.
She stepped closer.
Everything was dry. Apparently, the mechanism had broken down long ago. The bottom was covered with a thick layer of dust, sand, and rotten leaves.
(GOOD. PERFECT)
The central part of the structure caught her attention. Built of solid stone, it seemed perfectly crafted. Every element was perfectly matched. Even that small sculpture of a squirrel... You could tell the hand of a master. Agata ran her hand over the shallow indentations that made up the intricate ornamentation running along the low wall surrounding the fountain. There was no trace of dust. The wall was perfectly clean.
"Strange."
She skirted the fountain and walked to the shore. The waves lazily lapped at the fine, warm sand.
(WE WAIT...)
The trees rustled softly...
(...SISTER...)
***
The sun was now sending only faint flashes from behind the thicket of distant forests.
Beata stood on the terrace, her arms stretched out on the railing. Her eyes were blurred.
"Hi.
" "Oh! I didn't hear you.
" "Aren't you cold?" Agata asked, noticing that her sister was wearing only a short skirt and a top.
"No. Oh, no..." Beata shook her head with a smile that immediately piqued her sister's interest.
"Beata...
" "What?
" "You're blushing! Do you want to tell me something?
" "Me?"
The broad smile and the sparks practically flying from Beata's eyes told Agata everything. She snuggled up against her sister. Now they were both looking at the same point, looming on the horizon, distant, yet close.
"What does it look like?"
"He's blond, tall, well-built... He's studying veterinary medicine. Can you imagine? I've never met a boy studying veterinary medicine. He writes poetry. "
Agata shuddered.
"Oh!
" "Sister, don't you tremble here. He's mine. "
Their hands intertwined involuntarily.
"You know I never..."
"I know. I'm just saying."
"I'm happy you're happy."
Beata delicately freed herself from her sister's embrace and jumped onto the railing with a graceful movement. She fixed Agata with her trademark, playfully penetrating gaze, tilting her head at the same time, making her look incredibly charming. Truth be told, something told her that this was precisely what had caught the boy's attention...
"It's high time for you, sister.
" "I'm in no hurry. And you'd better tell me the name of this beau of yours."
Beata hesitated for a few seconds, as if afraid that the very word, once spoken, would shatter all the charm.
"Krzysztof."
"Nice.
" "Girls!
" Their mother called them to dinner. They glanced once more at the orange glow that the sun, which had set a few minutes earlier, had cast across the sky and went inside. That evening, they were very talkative, often bursting into laughter. Their father also called. They talked with him for over fifteen minutes, snatching the receiver from each
other every few minutes. After dinner, they sat on the couch. She and her mother listened to the radio playing oldies. They discovered that the taste of popcorn paired perfectly with the aroma of strong, bitter tea. They talked about the past and made plans for the future, both near and far.
Agata announced that she would become a poet. Her mother was somewhat surprised, but after a few minutes, she finally announced that she solemnly accepted the decision.
Beata sat, lost in thought.
"And you, Beata?
" "Me? What?
" "I asked what you want to be.
" "A loving and beloved wife," she blurted out immediately.
Agata burst out laughing.
"Oh, girls..." her mother sighed, hugging them. "We'll wait and see..."
An hour later, the twins were already in their beds, and delightful snores came from downstairs. Agata couldn't fall asleep.
"Beata?
" "What?" her sister muttered, clearly roused from a shallow doze.
"I went for a walk today.
" "So?
" "Nothing... It was nice...
" "That's great."
After a moment, Agata heard her sister's calm, regular breathing. Beata was asleep. Sleep, by a strange twist of fate, clearly had no intention of coming to her. She recalled the afternoon walk. The forest, the path, birdsong, and the lake... But why, when she tried to recall specific images, did she feel a cold fog flood her eyes? She must have been very tired. Her exhausted mind often gave way.
So she promised herself she would repeat the walk soon.
She felt she had seen something beautiful...
(something... unimaginably beautiful... how could I forget!)
She considered sharing this impression with Beata for a few moments. However, she concluded that her sister had other things on her mind. Oh, yes, very interesting things, she thought and smiled.
She fell asleep.
***
Right after breakfast, they went for a short walk. Short, because Beata had arranged to meet Krzysztof at noon. They were already near Mabel when Beata nudged her sister:
"Agata! Look who's coming!"
They stopped.
An old woman in a brown dress was approaching from the opposite direction. Leading her by the hand...
"It's him!"
The fair-haired boy, however, walked with a strange gait. He laboriously placed one foot in front of the other, as if pushing through the air was painful. He stopped several times, and then the woman tugged at his collar.
They ran toward them. When the distance was reduced to a few steps, Agata was overcome by a strange premonition. The boy's behavior was unusual. He moved like...
(like a paralytic?)
and his gaze wandered over the surrounding trees, never stopping at any.
"Maybe we can help?" Beata asked.
"Who? You? We're doing just fine, me and Łukaszek, right, Łukaszek?"
A thin trickle of saliva hung at the corner of the boy's mouth. The woman immediately wiped it away with a tissue from her pocket.
"We just went for a walk. Like an ordinary mom and a regular little boy. I'm keeping an eye on him because he likes to play hide-and-seek with me." She tightened her grip on the arm, which resembled a withered stick.
They stood there, unable to believe their eyes. They clasped their hands together.
"It's him."
"But..."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Hi, little one," Beata said. "Hey?" She waved her hand right in front of his nose.
"Shhh," the woman snorted.
Agata felt her stomach shrink to the size of a small plastic bag. As if that weren't enough, each breath came with difficulty.
"Why isn't he answering?
He isn't answering? He can't see us at all..." Agata thought, watching the child's blurry vision dart across the bushes, trees, and sky.
"Łukaszek is an autistic child. He had an accident when he was little," the woman said. "We have to go now, right, Łukaszek?" With that, she gave him a firm shove. He staggered, but took a shaky step. A trickle of saliva fell onto the forest floor.
"He... isn't saying anything?
" "He's autistic!" He hasn't said a word in five years. Let's go."
Agata and Beata stood silently for a long time, watching. Finally, the woman and her son
("Łukaszek")
disappeared around a bend in the forest path.
"Beata... What's this all about?
" "I don't know," Beata shrugged and glanced at her watch. "It's almost noon, I'm going. We'll talk tonight, okay?"
Agata was left alone.
Many thoughts rose and fell in her head. She had many questions, but no answers. Who was this boy? Was it really him?
(Yes!)
What had happened? She remembered perfectly well how they had talked to him. Just a few days ago...
(The day before yesterday)
...he spoke. Slowly, but he spoke!
She clenched her fists. Tears welled in her eyes.
She felt lost. She remembered almost nothing from her recent trip to the forest... Only a strange feeling of boundless fascination. What could have so captivated her? She reached into the recesses of her memory in vain. She felt that...
***
...she was dreaming. A strange, abstract dream. A basement, dark and damp. On the shelves were thick books, covered in dust, sticky to the touch. She pushed them aside. With chaotic swings of her arms, she flung the volumes to the floor. They fell with a dull thud, only to shatter a few seconds later into thousands of pieces, like glass. They dissolved, pouring into holes in the floor, which suddenly began to enlarge. They grew and grew until the entire floor was covered in pitch-black. The light from the dim bulb faded, as if muted. Something began to hiss... No. Not hiss. Gurgle. Like water... Yes. Water. The blackness stretched out long, slimy fingers toward her. She stood, suddenly realizing that the door had vanished, or perhaps it too had been consumed by the void that was already, already brushing her feet with its cold breath. There were no shelves. There was nothing. Only the sound of water flowing above her, below her, and right beside her, within arm's reach, through dozens of channels that emerged from the walls, only to disappear into the dark abyss. They gleamed in the glow of a dying bulb. Then everything vanished. The barely visible glowing rod fizzled and went out.
She couldn't utter a sound in this cellar (basement?) filled with emptiness, where everything around her suddenly came alive, as if darkness had taken form (poured into her?) and was now creeping toward her, simultaneously from all sides, from below, above, and to the side, to take her to its kingdom, which lies deep beneath consciousness, in the farthest recesses of human fears, in a layer of darkness and fear, a powerless, black silence.
She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut with all her might.
(COME ON...)
Whispers appeared. Single, quiet, then increasingly longer and bolder, spilling from the cracked lips of something sitting in the darkness. Then another, and another, until finally a cacophony of whispers surrounded her. She stood motionless, because although she didn't understand a word, she understood everything
(...SISTER...)
Yes.
She understood.
She opened her eyes and...
***
...saw a butterfly perched on a rock next to her. The forest spoke its beloved language, composed of rustling leaves, birdsong, and the sound of soft footsteps.
Agata was afraid.
And she was alone.
But she knew where to go.
***
The space opened up again. Once again, it was filled with colors and sounds, the smell and taste of the air. This time, however, Łukasz didn't pretend nothing had happened. He couldn't.
He abruptly let go of his mother's hand. She screamed at his gaze: determined and PRESENT. He sees me, he really sees me! – she thought.
“Oh my god... Łukasz? Łukasz!”
She screamed, but the boy ran with all his might. He passed several gazebos, a small park, and continued running, heading for the place where he had met Two Identical Girls. That this was the second time he had met them, there was no doubt about it, though he didn't remember it clearly; everything was outlined like hazy paintings on a dirty window.
He had to make it. He had to warn them. Especially the one who didn't wear a ring.
They wanted HER.
Just like him. When he was two.
***
Michał was just returning to the cottage, mentally tallying the daily takings. He'd sold almost all the newspapers. He whistled softly. His thoughts drifted to the twin sister he'd met a few minutes ago. Those thighs, neck, breasts... Ah!
She wasn't alone, though. She was glazing over a grinning blond orangutan. They were holding hands, damn it. They were fast.
Oh well. Luckily, he could fantasize as much as he wanted.
(That butt...)
Suddenly, he saw a woman lying on the path. She looked strangely familiar. Yes! The same brown dress. Doesn't she have a different dress? he thought. The mind sometimes suggests the most absurd thoughts at the most inopportune moments.
"Ma'am?"
She was breathing evenly, rhythmically. A worn leather handbag lay next to her. It was closed, meaning no one had touched it. So, an attack was out of the question... The woman didn't have any bruises, scratches... She probably just fainted. He gently patted her cheek. She mumbled something
(Łukaszek?)
She turned her head. Michał took a bottle of mineral water from his bag and moistened a handkerchief. He gave the woman a cold compress. Because what was he supposed to do? He had no idea... Now he regretted sleeping in the last bench during the first aid course.
The woman snorted and opened her eyes.
***
Beata was in seventh heaven. Just her and HIM. Alone. On the beach. And above them, the sky, full of stars.
"It's beautiful..." she whispered, nestling in HIS arms.
"I wish I could take down one of the stars and give it to you. You could lock it in a golden box and enjoy its glow every night."
"You've already given me more than anyone. "
He smiled.
"Wait. Life is just beginning.
" "I don't have to search anymore.
" "Nothing?
" "Nothing. I've found what's most important. It surprises me..." She paused.
"What?
" "I've never fallen in love like this before," Beata confessed. "It's always been... Short, comic-book romances, you know... A party, some madness, and then you wake up and you can go home.
" "I understand.
" "With you, I feel so... Special. You're wonderful...
" "You're wonderful," he replied, kissing her cheek. "Like the touch of a summer breeze..."
They sat motionless for a few minutes, embracing each other, silent. The moon hung overhead, casting a pale glow on the lake. The forest was exceptionally quiet, only the sounds of a joyful summer dance coming from the nearby resort.
Beata drew a circle in the sand.
"Krzysztof?
" "I'm listening.
" "Do you know these forests?" I mean... Have you gone for any long walks?
"A few times. Why do you ask?
" "Were you there?" She pointed to a distant part of the forest, on the other side of the lake.
"No. Never. What's the matter?
" "Never mind. I thought I saw something behind the trees. Something was glowing.
" "Probably some vacationer playing with a mirror. There's nothing there. I saw a map.
" "No buildings, no resorts?
" "No. It's a wild area. But anyway, I bet a few years will pass and it will be swarming with campsites, shops, and marinas... That's the way of things. It's sad to see humans stealing nature's last breath. Although I think... Beata? What's wrong with you?"
She woke up as if roused from a nap.
"What? What were you saying? Sorry, something..." I was listening to you, and suddenly everything went black.
"It's nighttime," he smiled.
"Ha-ha. Did you hear something?
" "No. Do you want to get up?"
"Sit down, I'm fine. Didn't you hear anything?
" "No. But you...?
" "A voice, from over there, from the lake. Damn it. "
"What happened?
" "It's like my sister.
" "And where is she now?
" "She's probably asleep, holed up in the house. Listen, never mind. Forget it.
" "Won't your mother worry about you?
" "I'm in good hands..." She broke off as Krzysztof leaned down to her neck. First, he caressed her with his warm breath for a long moment, then kissed her gently. Beata purred with delight.
"Did you say something?
" "That I'm in paradise, simply paradise..." She sighed and threw her head back. As she expected, he didn't waste the opportunity.
Her blood was rushing in her head. All her senses focused on the world here and now, never mind that it was night, her mother, her sister, and the holidays, and she was young. Never mind that it was time. Only HE mattered, his kisses, his caresses, the melody of their harmonizing breaths, shallow at first, then increasingly rapid, ragged, interspersed with choked moans. The wetness of his lips, the gleam of his eyes, the touch of his hands, as if created solely to bestow happiness and bliss upon her.
Krzysztof took off his shirt and laid it on the still-warm sand. Slowly, unhurriedly, and without breaking their kisses, they lay down on the beach, deaf to the world, open to each other.
For a brief moment, a mysterious anxiety settled deep within Beata's heart. Her sister wasn't at home. She knew this even before she lied loudly to Krzysztof. But that fear vanished in a split second when she felt her shirt slowly slipping from her shoulders.
Beata closed her eyes, surrendering to her other senses. She absorbed HIS scent, felt the touch of his hands, his kisses, gently and tenderly roaming his body...
***
The sun had long since set, but the boy still ran, stopping every few minutes to catch his breath.
He searched. He had to find her. The fear grew with each passing moment. A sense whose existence he sometimes blessed, sometimes cursed, told him he had less and less time.
He had already run all over Mabel. No sign of the twins.
He ran into the forest.
***
...night.
...the sound of water.
(and its surface smooth as a mirror)
...the coolness of the stone.
(a finger... So lovely to trace over the engravings)
...shape.
(so beautiful, wonderful)
...voice.
(he knows. He understands me. He... He will kill loneliness)
...night.
...the sound of water.
***
Beata's scream caught in her throat. She parted her lips, dug her nails into Krzysztof's neck.
And then, through the noise that muffled all sound, the sound of breaking branches broke through.
"Someone's coming!"
- So what?
- Ah!
She stood up abruptly, covering her bare breasts with a ripped blouse. Krzysztof stood up too. They both stared at the young, fair-haired boy standing opposite them.
"What, young man?" Krzysztof moved toward him.
Beata grabbed his arm.
"Leave him alone!"
He froze, surprised. The boy was breathing heavily, leaning against a tree. His gaze was fixed on Beata.
"You... You... Mu..." he stammered.
"What are you talking about?
" "She... N... No... N-no...
" "Calm down," she approached him, alarmed. Suddenly, a black, tarry terror gripped her, all the fears she'd carefully concealed surfaced. "What happened?
" "Oh... Oh... She..."
Beata took his hand. She acted purely on instinct. The part of her mind that was responsible for rational actions
(because he has autism, because he doesn't speak like we would think, because that's impossible)
quieted and receded into the shadows, giving way to instinct, sometimes the greatest among guides.
He looked at her gratefully, and for a brief moment, a perfect, pure thread of understanding connected them.
"Calm down. Tell me what happened."
"Where is your sister?"
"I don't know."
"They were looking for her. Now she's going to them."
"Who are you talking about?"
"There's something evil in the forest. Something that took my soul when I was two. I don't know what it can do today."
"Where is it?"
A spasm racked the boy. He slumped limply to the ground, blinking.
"Krzysztof! Help!"
They laid him down. He was breathing, conscious, but...
(oh, no...)
he stared at them as if they were pieces of wood.
***
Space closed.
***
Beata clenched her fists helplessly. If only she knew...
(!)
- Krzysztof?
- Yes?
- I'm begging you. Take him to Mabel, his mother is surely already there. You'll recognize her immediately. I have to look for my sister.
- Beata?
- We don't have time! Please, do it - a tear rolled down her cheek.
He embraced her.
- Be careful.
- Go!
***
She didn't know how long she ran through the forest. It was dark, only the moon cast a cold glow over the surroundings. Twigs painfully cut her face, legs became tangled in the thicket of bushes. She was guided only by intuition, which this time took the form of cold certainty. She didn't think. She reacted. Something told her that if she could manage to look at what was happening soberly for even a moment, she would die of fright or lose her mind.
The moon had disappeared behind the trees.
However, a pale glow shone from between the distant tree trunks.
(THIS glow, THIS glow that...)
She tripped over a root sticking out of the ground. She fell onto something hard and felt the sweet taste of blood in her mouth. Dirt mingled with tears on her face. She stood and continued running.
She twirled the ring in her fingers.
"Agata... Agata..." she sobbed.
The glow grew stronger and stronger. Finally, Beata ran into a small clearing. The fountain in its center glowed with a bright light.
***
She stopped.
(I don't believe it, I don't believe it, I don't believe it)
The glow seemed to seep from within the structure, from the center
(from the heart)
. It pulsated rhythmically—sometimes fading, sometimes growing stronger. Everything gave the impression of a diseased structure, an organic epicenter. Beata, carried by an impulse, looked up, but what stretched above her was not the sky, but blackness, a starless void, a gaping abyss full of silence;
drops dripping onto the cobblestones.
...drip drip drip...
a fountain full of water...
enormous, richly decorated, various sculptures
(No! No! Please, no...)
so real...
(!!!AGATA!!!)
***
...it's my fault my fault why I let her I shouldn't have left her, not even a step, a few meters, centimeters why I left her I let her go we were always together everywhere always together and now this one time why wasn't I there for her why didn't I listen to her she said something she wanted to say something but I didn't listen I should have had to we've always been together it's my fault oh god I should have been in her place yes oh god
it's my fault...
***
A soft, metallic sound.
The ring slipped off her finger and hit the stone floor.
***
In a split second, the mother was gripped by the absurd suspicion that she didn't know which daughter she had before her. However, this fear faded when she saw her left hand.
"What happened? Where's your sister?"
The girl slowly raised her eyes.
"Beata's gone, Mom."
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