DREAM HUNTER

They'd been sitting drinking beer in the Rzeszów market square for an hour. The sun reflected off the umbrellas above the tables, and the stifling heat of the hot asphalt entangled the legs of the plastic chairs.

"Are you still thinking about religious studies?" Anka broke the silence, looking at Kasia.

"Hmm, sometimes in the evenings I lie there and imagine myself in a long skirt, glasses on, and a ton of books under my arm, walking through the university corridors. Energetic steps, a pensive gaze, and new ideas for meeting topics in my head. Then I'd stay up until midnight with a group of enthusiasts like me, discussing how the world is perceived in the relationships between different religions...

" "You have an imagination," Gosia laughed.

"Is that bad?

" "No, but I prefer to have a concrete plan instead of an imagination. I want to be a designer, so I went to tailoring school." I'd prefer to be in high school, because that sounds better, but as a future designer, I have to know everything inside and out—literally and figuratively. So I'm going to this school, completing internships, and meeting people who might be able to help me someday. After school, I'll hook up at a studio, maybe after a while I'll get a job with a well-known designer, and after a few years, I'll start working for myself. End of plan.

"True, there's not much room for surprises here," Kaśka said.

"Wait, when I'm making your long skirts for you in ten years, that'll be a real surprise.

" "Forgive me for interrupting, but I've been listening for a moment and I'd like to tell you something. If I may, of course." The tall blond man in a gray T-shirt and sunglasses, who had been sitting at the next table a moment ago, now stood between Kaśka and Gośka. They both simultaneously felt a light, earthy breeze.

"No sense," Gośka thought. "The wind can't smell of earth. At least not in the city center, in the middle of a hot, asphalt square." She wanted to ask the other girls if they could smell it, but the tall boy was already talking.

"As for you," he turned to Kaśka, "a long skirt and glasses don't seem to make much of an impression on guys...

" "And who's talking about guys?" Kaśka asked, "does everything always have to revolve around something as trivial as guys? Maybe I don't need anyone, because good books and even better discussions are enough for me to be happy?"

"Maybe they're enough for you now. But in a few years, you'll want someone by your side. And few guys can stand it when their girlfriend spends money on books instead of hairdressers. If you're coming home at midnight, preoccupied with these discussions of yours... Think about that before you lock yourself in the house to cram for exams. Not only will you waste a piece of your beautiful, young life sitting with a book, but you'll also end up just as your mother predicted—a lonely, bitter spinster, the kind of woman they tell scary stories about to little children to make them behave.

" "How do you know what my mother predicts?

" "Most mothers say that," Gośka said, "when, after reaching the age they think you should, you don't even have a wedding ring on your finger. Mine scares me like that too, only she adds a pack of cats and a lonely death by starvation to the vision.

" "You won't be lonely, you'll have a pack of cats," Anka laughed.

"But maybe their food will cost me so much that I'll actually starve to death.

" "You won't," the boy said. They laughed at the certainty with which he said this. "But think about something else – you're already hiding where you go to school because you're embarrassed to admit you'll be a seamstress. At parties, you say you go to high school and, in a panic, you recall the names of professors your friends told you about. And what then? Before you get, as you say, a job with a famous designer, you'll be sewing mass-produced trousers in a small, stuffy workshop. You'll get married, and what will you tell your friends you meet years later? That you're a seamstress? As far as I'm concerned, it's a profession like any other, but think about whether, when you meet managers, supervisors, or even accountants, you'll be able to say you work in a tailoring shop.

" "Probably not," Anka said. Because Gośka was known for caring about her image. She used her fashion knowledge not so much in school, but in her own clothing. That's where her hiding the truth about what school she went to came from. She wanted to be perfect. A precise outfit, a precise plan, a precise life – Gośka.

"Looking at you, I see you like to dress well," the boy said, as if hearing what Anka hadn't said. "Have you thought about where you'll get the money for it? Your parents give it to you now, but once you start working, you can't count on them, can you? You know how much tailors earn; until you actually achieve something, it'll have to be enough...

" "You know what, I don't feel like drinking this beer anymore," Gośka said, getting up from the table. She was nervous, though she tried to control herself.

"Besides, I don't feel like having a conversation about nothing," she added, looking at the boy.

"I have to go too," Anka began gathering her things from the chair. "I have to go get my plane ticket today."

Kaśka and Magda also stood up. The atmosphere of a quiet, lazy afternoon vanished with the boy's arrival.

"For now," Gośka said, and without looking at either of them, she set off toward the bus stop. Kaśka and Magda slowly followed her.

"Are you going towards Trzeci Maja?" the boy asked Anka. She nodded.

"I'll walk you. I have to take care of something there too."

They walked in silence for a moment. It occurred to Anka that neither of them had asked the boy his name, but remained silent, lost in her own thoughts. The boy was the first to break the silence.

"Are you going to buy a ticket?

" "Hmm.

" "Where are you going?

" "To the States.

" "For vacation?

" "A little longer," she smiled. "You know, my uncle got me a job there. I'll stay a while, save up, and come back.

" "Why?" the boy asked, slightly ironically.

"What 'what for'?" she didn't understand.

"Why do you want to come back here?"

"Because this is my home. I live here, I have family and friends here. Besides...

" "Patriotic nonsense," he interrupted, "why are you even going, if you love our beautiful, perfect country so much?

" "Because I want to save something," she said, getting angry. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind with the scent of earth hit her. She ignored the feeling, wanting to tell this arrogant boy that he was wrong. And that he had no right to criticize other people's dreams. Not hers, nor Gośka's, nor Kaśka's.

"I want to open a restaurant when I get back. A small place with atmosphere. I have a good education, a lot of experience, and even greater passion for it. But I won't earn it working in someone else's kitchen here. So don't tell me I don't love Poland just because I'll be leaving for a year or two.

" "Don't get upset, I don't mean that at all. I just wanted to say that if I managed to leave, I wouldn't come back." You'll toil there, work nonstop to save up as quickly as possible, come back, invest in that dream restaurant of yours, and then lose all your money because no one can afford to eat in restaurants these days.

"Stop it!

" "Think about it. If you stay there, you don't have to work like an ant because you're in no hurry. You don't have to stress about losing the money you worked hard for two years in six months. You live a full life, sunbathing under the gaze of your jealous family.

" "It's already here." Anka stood in front of the travel agency door. "You know, we have a completely different approach to this, so there's no point in arguing." She lacked the courage to say everything she was thinking. She was glad they'd arrived and that she could be free from him. "Don't wait for me, it'll take a while."

"People are more nervous these days than they used to be," he said, but Anka didn't consider his words. She opened the office door and went inside.

"Yes, people are much more nervous these days than they used to be," he repeated, smiling to himself. "But that doesn't mean they react differently."

He turned and began to walk slowly forward. He strolled along the main street for a moment longer, then turned toward the Wisłok River. When he reached the river, he headed toward the only larger hill, commonly known as "The Mound." He stood at its summit, spread his arms as if preparing to embrace a powerful friend, and closed his eyes.

He remained motionless for a moment, savoring and relishing his next victory. He knew what would come. He knew that the seeds he had planted today would bear fruit. Not today, not tomorrow, but they would surely grow.

His words would persistently echo in each of the girls' minds. Now they were outraged; in a week they would try to forget, and in a month they would start thinking about it.

Kaśka would soon meet a boy who would be worthless, but with him she would feel for the first time that someone cared about her. This future alcoholic will give her a few moments of joy, a false sense of security, and the impression that she's important to someone.

She'll then recall his words about boys hating girls in long skirts, about girls who read too many books but don't go to the hairdresser often enough.

She'll give up on her dreams and won't even pass her final exams because she won't have time. She'll be preoccupied with her boyfriend, the breakups and reunions, the brief moments of happiness and the long periods spent trying to get him to quit.

Years later, she'll be a tired woman, jealous of her children's academic careers. Unfulfilled, with an alcoholic husband, yet uneducated and unemployed. But even then, she'll be too afraid of being alone to change anything.

As usual, Gośka will logically and coldly rehash his words at home. She'll realize that she truly can't deny herself things she can afford now, things she'd have to give up if she lived on a tailor's salary. After school, she'll find a job at a cosmetics wholesaler, telling herself it's only temporary. While writing invoices, she'll meet a boy. Handsome, intelligent, and well-mannered. He'll win her over with flowers, kind words, and friends in high places. Friends to whom she can't admit she's a seamstress.

Gośka will waste her truly great talent sewing curtains for the guest room in their large, beautiful house and telling her friends she had them imported from Paris. And every time she lies, something will close in her torn soul. Because despite being a successful mother, wife, and model homemaker, she'll never feel true pride. Nothing will give her true satisfaction. For the rest of her life, she'll be running from her ambitions, seeking fulfillment.

And Anka would leave, still believing she'd return. After a year of toiling in the cleaning service, she'd meet new people, make new friends, and meet a new boyfriend. And she'd no longer want to return to the country where she'd had to deny herself everything. They'd show her how to live well with the money she earned. They'd teach her how to enjoy what she had there, which she didn't have here.

Anka would never return to Poland. She'd amass a considerable fortune, buy her dream house. In her free time, she'd wander its vast rooms, once again admiring her prized possessions. And she'd rarely enter the kitchen, because it would be too painful a reminder of her unfulfilled dreams. And when she died alone, because she'd never had time for love while earning her living, she'd feel as she had throughout her life—far from her place, alien and out of place, like a puzzle piece forced into its wrong place. The

tall guy in the gray T-shirt, now without sunglasses, knew all this, and it gave him strength. Still with his eyes closed, he began to breathe slowly, drawing in deep breaths through his mouth. And with each inhale, the wind struck the earth, stirring its particles and absorbing its scent. As he exhaled, the wind rose and danced through the air, entwining trees and tall grass in its rush. It plunged into the river, descended onto the roofs of the allotment houses, raced between the railings of the bridge, tapped on the windows of the nearest apartment buildings, and returned to the river again.

In that wind was the power of thousands of human dreams. Big dreams, whose fulfillment would influence the fate of the world, and small ones, forgotten by no one.

And the boy in the gray T-shirt fed on this power. He grew with each dream taken away, with each unfulfilled dream. Because he knew the old truth that a seed, once sown, will spread. A person deprived of dreams, in their bitterness, will deprive others of their dreams. Unfulfilled, they will try to destroy others' dreams. In this way, his power as the sower would grow and grow, and he himself would soon be invincible.

The tall boy in the gray T-shirt was no fairy tale character. Nor was he an emissary of Satan, nor a visitor from another planet who had come to subjugate the Earth.

He was created from beginning to end by humans. He arose from their thoughts, opinions, words, and imaginations. Real and omnipotent, he knew no boundaries of space or time. He lived on every continent and knew all classes.

His name was Public Opinion.