The burdensome angelicness

A day in the A family began precisely at 6:30 a.m. The entire plan was planned, and the plan was overseen by the head of the family, Mr. A. Decent, honest, a non-drinker, yet consistent, and maintaining order in the family with a firm hand. He was the one who called the shots. This earned him incredible respect from all family members, including his dachshund, and even his subordinates at work, the workers at a small factory that manufactured plastic Virgin Marys with glowing eyes and phosphorescent crosses in the dark.

The A family consisted of five people, plus or minus their grandmother, who spent half the year with them and the other half (the better ones) in her small house on the outskirts of town. This gave her ample freedom, while still feeling needed and fully participating in family life. This family could easily be called a model family, thoroughly Polish and Catholic, cultivating traditions, racial prejudices, and other things that are not often discussed openly, because a model family is also modern and tolerant. Tolerance comes incredibly easily to her because there are no Gypsies, Jews, or gays in her neighborhood. It's a decent house and neighborhood, of course, so there's no room for any "element." Besides his grandmother, there's Mrs. A., the ideal wife, educated, having completed post-secondary economics studies, thanks to which Mr. and Mrs. A. never encountered financial problems. Mr. A. could be proud of his wife's thriftiness. Besides her extraordinary and so-needed housekeeping skills, she possessed a number of other virtues. She was modest and obedient, as God commanded, always well-groomed, and actively involved in the charity work organized by the local parish's rosary group. This activity was limited to collecting gifts for the poorest, which were distributed as Christmas and Easter packages. Besides running the household and being active in the parish, Mrs. A. was also a mother, raising two beautiful and intelligent daughters. The daughters' responsibilities, which they fulfilled with joy, included caring for the dachshund, studying, and helping their parents. Raised with respect for their parents, they were entering adolescence, yet they didn't cause the slightest problem...

Mr. and Mrs. A's day began promptly at 6:30 a.m., with incredibly mundane activities like walking the dog, going shopping, and preparing breakfast. After a shared meal, the entire family, beaming with joy and full of energy, dispersed to their respective activities. The head of the family went to work, his wife took care of the house, the girls went to school, and Grandma turned on Radio M. and prayed for graces for Father the director, while sipping her medicine... This was more or less how the day went. Each family member knew their place, responsibilities, and rights, and joyfully thanked the Lord for such an idyllic life.

It so happened that one fine day, this idyll was disturbed by an event completely irrational, absurd, and, not to mention, improbable. Mr. A woke up later than usual. Slightly groggy, he dragged himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He felt unwell and silently cursed the season, inextricably linked to all manner of colds and flus. His head and back ached, and he didn't know why everyone but him was up. As he crossed the hall, he asked his wife, who was bustling about in the kitchen, why she hadn't woken him. His wife, with her usual sweetness, replied that it was Sunday, that he hadn't looked well lately, so it would probably be better to stay in bed while the rest of the family went to church. He didn't protest, as his thoughts were drowned out by the sermon on the radio. He emptied his bladder to the sound of prayer, and, not fitting through the doorway, he hit the doorframe with his shoulder. Something was constantly bothering him, he moved awkwardly, and was just about to tell his wife to prepare a large dose of aspirin when suddenly his daughters, who were leaving for church, stopped, "Be with God!" on their lips, their eyes widening. Mr. A. froze, then angrily scolded them. He was convinced he hadn't fastened his zipper properly and was starting to feel uncomfortable, but when they didn't react to his daughter's scolding, he glanced at his zipper and realized it was something else. He turned to the mirror, but his wife, also standing like a pillar of salt, blocked the mirror. He became seriously irritated and forced her to move. When he came face to face with his reflection in the mirror, he froze. The Basilisk's gaze seemed more pleasing than the sight that had so utterly shocked him. A moment later, he lay faint on the polished floor.

When he awoke, he saw five worried women leaning over him. They were all deadly serious and stared at him silently… Feeling returned to his limbs, he gently took his hand and directed it towards his head… Sweat beaded on his forehead, first he wiped it away, then he raised his hand even higher, feeling the warm ring, incredibly pleasant to the touch… He stopped there, sighed, and sobbed…

Now, now… everything's alright… his wife hugged him, barely managing the excess weight. She wasn't sure how she should touch him so as not to hurt him… Everyone was still in shock, his grandmother kneeling before the cross, praying loudly, and his daughters, silently, never taking their eyes off their mother, who was cradling their slightly changed father. What can I beat around the bush… my father simply turned into… an angel… He lay in my mother’s arms, disheveled, in striped pajamas… with a shining halo and crumpled, as if seasoned wings, which, instead of proudly spreading out and emphasizing dignity and holiness, now lay disorderly, curled up…

At first, Mr. A fell into a stupor, unsure what to do. Over time, he slowly began to recover, and as his family grew accustomed to the sight of him, his zest for life returned. After all, it wasn't a big deal; he was healthy and fine. The halo, he found, was even quite useful. It served as a lamp at night, and the wings protected him from the cold when, at the quietest hour of the morning, he went out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette. He deluded himself into thinking he was invisible... and that at this hour everyone was asleep and no one would notice his peculiar appearance. He stood there, lost in thought, wrapped in his wings, whose feathers had become tangled in the rusty railings. They slowly gained a glow. Under the halo's lantern, he gazed at the moon and savored a cigarette, hidden from his wife.

"Honey... I think it's time I went back to work, two weeks is enough for sick leave after all... you know, we have that big coat... well, the biggest problem is the halo. I tried the hat... damn..." Mr. A mused as he drank tea with breakfast. He got used to his new look for two weeks, but he began to miss something to do. Grandma told him it was a distinction, like stigmata, and he should wear it with pride, but without boasting, and he slowly began to think of himself as someone distinguished. So he went to work as if nothing had happened, ignoring the fact that it had become warm outside, the sun was shining, and he was wrapped in his coat, trying to hide it, two humps twitching suspiciously. He dealt with the halo. He simply put it in the fridge as if nothing had happened. While everyone was still asleep, he went to the kitchen. He took it off without much difficulty, and when he was finally holding it tightly, it faded and turned dull, looking like a piece of plastic. He dug into the frozen food and took a deep breath, feeling refreshed and light, kissed his despondent wife on the cheek, and left the house. At first, everything went smoothly; no one noticed anything unusual, and he attributed the hump to a bandage, saying he'd had a minor accident. But nothing happened to him. A little plaster and bandages, a few more weeks (well, no major complications) and he'd be as good as new. No one asked any questions, but his wings were going numb. He couldn't fly to the bathroom every five minutes to straighten them, and working in a heavy coat was also starting to become tedious. Sweat poured off him, and the dust and sounds of work made him increasingly irritated. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and left early. He returned slowly, worried about the whole situation. What now? His mind was empty. He had no ideas. Back home, relieved, he threw off his heavy overcoat and spread his wings. He accidentally knocked a fern and a few books off the shelf, but ignored his wife's protests.

"Honey, both girls have parent-teacher meetings tomorrow!" His wife woke him up... "I can't be in both places at once..." For some reason, this irritated him. Without a word, he got out of bed and went to the fridge. First, he pulled his halo down low on his forehead, then opened a beer. Cold, cold beer. Ever since he'd been off work, he'd been constantly thirsty. The women didn't like it, but he ignored it. After all, who's the head of the family? They owe him obedience, written in black and white, in the Bible... Admittedly, he'd never seen that quote, but the priest had repeated it often, so it's decided and it has to be that way. "I'm not going anywhere, you know I can't... how am I supposed to show up..." His wife was speechless, wordlessly getting up and starting her daily preparations. It's hard to miss two parent-teacher meetings on her own... Her husband has problems... and she has to deal with all of this. The seed of rebellion began to germinate, but it was stifled by Grandma's coughing and the crackling of the radio playing morning prayers. Days passed, and everything seemed to be going downhill. The company, without a boss, was failing… Mr. A. became increasingly withdrawn, spending hours sitting in an armchair, drinking beer, and enjoying the sight of his wings. The maintenance of the entire household fell to Mrs. A., who peered at the household finances with increasing anxiety. They were slowly running out of money. Finally, she decided it couldn't go on like this. She waited until her husband rose from his favorite spot, his eyes seemingly clearer. She stood before him and firmly expressed what was on her mind. Her husband frowned, rubbed his forehead, sighed, and said nothing. That evening, he came to her, kissed her hand, and whispered not to worry. He had made some decisions. For the first time in many days, Mrs. A. fell asleep peacefully.

Everything became clear a few days later, when Mr. A said goodbye to his family and set off into the wide world. He left his terrified wife, crying girls, and spitting grandmother behind him, packed his things, dressed in an elegant suit (to show off his wings, he had to cut and sew two special holes in his shoulder blades), and moved out, waving the promise of a quick return. His appearance in the yard caused quite a stir, and for greater effect, he spread his wings. Questions were circulating about whether it was a disguise... and for what occasion, but he simply snorted indignantly. He had a plan and wanted to put it into action as quickly as possible. He headed to television... He demanded a meeting with the director of such-and-such channel, but the receptionist pronounced him a lunatic... and they quickly disposed of him, ruining his suit and stripping off his halo, which had recently become slightly loose from constant taking off and putting on. Mr. A, however, refused to give up; he couldn't show his face until he had fulfilled his plan. He rented a tiny room in a stove-heated tenement building with a toilet in the yard, belonging to a blind old woman. He began bombarding television with letters and phone calls, strolling the city streets as if nothing had happened. Once, bottles were thrown at him, another time, they tried to set him on fire, but finally he got his way... and a newspaper reporter showed up. Unfortunately, it wasn't television, but it was always something. The questions surprised Mr. A, though... Is this your way of protesting?

- How?

- Well... by dressing up as an angel...

- but I'm not dressed up...

- yes, yes... do you consider yourself an angel?

- No, I'm an angel...

"Maybe it's different... Mr. Angel, where did you come from?" Mr. A. looked at the reporter in disbelief. "Are the media really full of idiots?" He got his answer sooner than expected, with the appearance of his photos in glossy magazines for women, where, between a column about love advice from a very popular singer and a report about the introduction of a new color accent to a certain politician's clothing, there was an article about him as a man who refused to accept the evil of this world and who claimed to be an angel. This was too much. Mr. A., in an act of desperation, went to the local health clinic, demanding that his angelic nature be documented in a purely medical manner. The doctor pretended that nothing would surprise him anymore, but with a trembling hand he touched the joints of his wings and couldn't resist the urge to pluck a few feathers to be sent for analysis. Mr. A. turned out to be a very interesting case and was referred to medical school for a more thorough examination. Once there, he was given his own room and a group of doctors who focused solely on his "angelic nature." He didn't particularly like all of this, especially since, over time, he realized that suddenly everyone around him was becoming rich and successful by exploiting him, while he himself had less and less to say. Not only did he dislike it, but it also began to irritate him, eventually leading to despair. His bitterness overflowed when, out of boredom, he reached for the remote and turned on the television. He was surprised to see his family, yet so transformed. Mrs. A. had started her own business, her daughters had started their own lives, and their grandmother had died. If you believe what he saw, he was a grandfather and a cuckold at that moment... No, his wife, of course, doesn't hold a grudge against him; after many lonely struggles, she managed to get back on her feet, and only now does she realize how much she'd lost by being stuck by his side. Now she's independent and can do whatever she wants, especially since it turned out she has an incredible talent for organization and has started a charity of her own, whose patron is Mr. A. She owes him something, after all, because if he hadn't decided to leave, she still wouldn't have known what she was missing or what real life was like. Her older daughter spoke after her. She's married, a mother, and a psychologist. The younger daughter is in a happy relationship with an older woman and doesn't care whether anyone approves or not, because she's happy. But her mother and sister have always been supportive, so the problem doesn't really exist for her. Of course, she has no idea what her father thinks, but she doesn't think he cares much...

Mr. A. turned off the television… He sat in silence, in a room full of mirrors that kept him under constant surveillance. Suddenly, he wanted to leave, simply, without drawing attention to himself… How many years had passed since he'd been able to enjoy freedom? He had no idea. Since he'd arrived at this institute, he'd lost track of time. Someone else had taken control of his life, and he hadn't protested before. Crowds of people visited him: scientists, priests, the occasional old woman who believed he was a saint, or lunatics who asked if his appearance on Earth heralded the end of the world… Mr. A. stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He was short and obese, bald, and his wings were yellowed from cigarette smoke… Was this what angels looked like? Unlikely… so what was it all about… maybe those wings had a purpose after all… why had he never actually tried them on? A moment later, he was standing on the windowsill… breathing in the fresh air filled with pollutants. "Oh! How wonderful the exhaust smells... I'd forgotten about that." Mr. A. smiled and looked down. Ten stories below him, a small, colorful crowd was beginning to gather. How funny they looked from this perspective, everyone tilting their heads up in the air... "Watch me fly..."