The Dream Shop

A person walking the streets of Little Paris usually overlooks the charm of old houses. They don't see the ornamented facades that once were the pride of their owners. Most often, they practically run ahead, rushing to work or joyfully returning home. They pass old doorways crowded with scoundrels, praying not to hear their silent plea:

"Lord, lend me a bottle. I'm sixty groszy short."

Only sometimes, someone whose sensitive soul has not been robbed by these crazy times, as if in defiance of everything, will stand and gaze with delight at these old walls. They will awaken the sleeping, almost dead, as if slaughtered by bullets fired during the last war, the sad souls of the old tenements. They will revive their joy with their kind eyes and an admiration they haven't felt in a long time. And it is precisely in such moments that they forget the wounds inflicted by grenade explosions, which for sixty years no one has tried to remove. They don't think about those bullets fired from the machine guns of T-34 tanks in 1970. But also about the latest ones, carved with the stylus of foolish children: "Ziutek, I love you."

Somewhere among these nooks and crannies, amidst this human misery and poverty, the rush and pursuit of life, somewhere deep in the quarter formed by Krzywoustego and Wojska Polskiego streets, just beyond the intersection of the two narrow streets, lies a small shop. Hidden as if in a basement, protected from the laughter of the profane, it awaits you. All you have to do is go down a few steps. On the inconspicuous door you can see the inscription: Shop of Dreams. Open from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. And when you enter, you will always meet an older, smiling man and hear his warm voice.

"What can I do for you?

" ***

Our story began many years ago. We were little boys raised in a small town. Just mischievous boys of the local establishment. At least that's how it once seemed. The son of a state farm director, the son of a teacher, an engineer, or a doctor. Our concept of wealth differed from what people say about money today. We lived in the same large apartment building. Our apartments sometimes faced the apartments of bums, and we'd kick a ball in the yard with their children. We weren't the spoiled, carefree brats you see outside your window today. We wore the same pants for hours because to buy different ones, you had to wait in line or overpay at the market. We didn't have everything, either. Every little thing meant hours of waiting in lines, social service letters, and near-riots when something suddenly appeared unexpectedly in our local shop.

Our holidays were boring. Nothing was on TV, we couldn't go to a winter camp – obviously, our parents were too rich, and the weather wasn't conducive to fun. A typical Pomeranian winter. As the old saying goes: "It snows, it gets muddy."

We didn't really know what to do. We spent all day playing Thousand, board games, and tracking down Free Europe. More laughing at the disruptions the party was inflicting on us than listening to the news the "free world" was "revealing." We did all sorts of stupid things, like throwing eggs at passersby. We also kicked Flute's father out of the fusion. We burned a huge hole in the carpet and made numerous tiny pellet ricochet holes in the mosaic wall, his old man's pride. Of course, we can't forget the biggest trophy of this prank: Chudy's face, green with fear, as he pulled pellets from the mosaic, which, by some strange coincidence, lodged themselves on both sides of him, harmlessly.

Actually, it was Flete's idea. We were going to the cinema. There were two in our town. Back then, they still were, but unfortunately, one has collapsed today, and the other one is a grocery store. But back then, they were operating at full capacity. Of course, they mostly played Soviet hits. We often watched them during compulsory school gatherings. We called it the Soviet pornographic film: "Vanya Dismantles the Tractor."

As you can see, our town didn't offer much entertainment for us kids. The big city nearby was a different story. There, you could throw stones at demonstrations and get hit in the head with a baton. Besides, there were more cinemas there. Back then, they were probably showing the first or second Indiana Jones movie. The film toured Poland in two or three copies, so we'd have to wait about six months for it to arrive. Besides, there was the "Kosmos" cinema. The magic of this place, now completely forgotten, slowly overgrowing with wild trees, in accordance with the wishes of the historical preservationist, had an effect on us. We grasped its subtle charm, hypnotizing our minds and unleashing our imaginations. We went to "Kosmos." The film... the film was just an addition.

I waited all night, thinking, or rather praying, that in the morning they wouldn't throw laundry detergent or shampoo at the Thousand and One Little Things. Grandma wouldn't forgive me. I would have spent the whole day in line. But we were lucky. That day, the shopkeepers could, as usual, yawn with boredom and say like a barrel organ, "It's out, I don't know when it will be." We, on the other hand, had the honor of taking the back seats in a rickety Autosan bus, plodding along at a snail's pace toward the big city. Frost frosted the windows, and the deactivated heating system didn't raise the temperature inside at all. The only heater was a friend shivering, like you, with cold. Of course, as was often the case back then, the journey couldn't be without adventures. Although such adventures wouldn't be unusual today. The bus declared a strike near Helios, then the pride of propaganda, the largest warehouse of empty shelves in the big city.

For little boys like us, the journey by public transport, with several transfers, almost across Poland's longest city, was quite an adventure. Nevertheless, after navigating city trams and buses, we reached the city center. Unfortunately, at 11:00 AM, the next screening was at 12:00 PM, and there were no tickets left.

We bought them for 2:00 PM, then went out for pastries. With eggs, of course; meat was rationed. We managed to find a vending machine with an intact receiver. There hadn't been a demonstration in ages. Our elderly people wouldn't have heart attacks.

We didn't know what to do. We visited "Lucynka i Paulinka" and wandered aimlessly among the ruined houses of Little Paris. It was still quite safe back then. Although the bums, just like today, stood in the same doorways, back then they sometimes had to sober up and show up at work. Besides, they were actually calmer. One call from the committee and they'd get a slap on the back.

We even wandered around corners where no one goes today. Whatever you say about communism, life was a little safer. At least around Little Paris.

We found those little steps. Interesting, but if you don't know this shop is there, you'll never know it exists. You'll walk right past, never even guessing what's in the little window through which that old man watches the street.

"Look. It says: Shop of Dreams. Let's go in.

" "Come on. Let's see what's inside."

We went in. Various objects hung on the walls. Old, useless trinkets, a few medallions and talismans. Various, simply strange. We wandered around for a few minutes, laughing a bit at the shop's collection, before the owner approached.

"What can I do for you?"

"No. We're just watching.

" "I know, I was your age once. A person your age doesn't need dreams. They have pockets full of them."

"Yes, we have so many dreams of our own." To this day, I don't know which one of us shouted it. Then we acted foolishly, pretending it was neither of us.

"Yes, boys. You have so many. But someday, I know you'll run out of them. Then I invite you to my place. I'm sure I'll find something for you."

***

I've lived in this big city for many years. It's interesting that even though I know every nook and cranny, I always have trouble finding the old man's shop. It seems as if he's running away from you, hiding. Only when you, or the person you're with, have a problem does he unexpectedly appear from the ground.

I once found him during my studies. I was walking with a girl. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. Just a normal brunette, the kind you can pick up on the street. We didn't go out together, but it was still nice to go to a café together after classes and chat about nothing for half the day. It's interesting how a man can talk to women about nothing. Even with our best friends, we had to have something in common, and with women...

We were walking down a familiar street when I remembered that old man's shop.

"Dorota, have you been to the dream shop yet?

" "The dream shop?"

She looked surprised.

"No, I've never heard of it.

" "You know, it's that old man's shop. He sells all sorts of old, useless items and tells all sorts of fairy tales.

" "You're talking magic.

" "You could call it that. ... You want it nearby, we just have to pass the wailing wall.

" "Okay, we don't have anything better to do anyway."

I dragged her to that shop. It seems a bit surprising now, but back then I had no trouble finding it. We went down the steps and saw a familiar sign, as if by magic, unchanged from the first day I was here. A shop of dreams. Open 9:00 a.m.–5:00 p.m.

"What can I do for you?"

The old man didn't let us wander around the shop this time. He approached immediately, as if certain we wanted to spend our money.

"No... We're just students and don't really have the money for expensive trinkets.

" "You see, I wouldn't want to give you anything expensive. But this piece of tree bark and the spirit enclosed within it. It will bring you a good husband and bring you happiness in life.

" "But, I'm with a boy.

" "No. It's just your friend. Old eyes sometimes see more than young ones. You're not a couple." He thought for a moment. "You're looking for something special. Or rather, someone.

" "Everyone is looking for that. "

The old man looked at us warmly and said,

"Yes, you're right." Many people seek this, but not all. I see in your eyes that you haven't yet set your goals in life. Please, just take this 4,000 złoty, it's really a small thing. You don't have to pay.

"But I'll feel embarrassed accepting it from you.

" "You can pay. You can also take it for free. It's up to you. But I insist, please keep it. It will bring you happiness. You'll meet someone special. He won't be a perfect beauty, but he will be a truly good person."

We wandered around the shop for almost an hour, the old man telling a story about each item. We listened open-mouthed, until Dorota finally bought the piece of wood.

"What are you talking about? It's his old number.

" "You don't understand anything."

I don't know if that little piece of wood helped her. But I can say she's been lucky in life. She's a pediatrician. She just finished her specialization. Her husband is a gynecologist with a good private practice. He's from our class, and while he's certainly not the pinnacle of beauty, they're doing well together. They live peacefully, free from life's storms, and are just finishing building a house.

***

We met after many years, a few high school friends. Not so long ago, teenagers who had inexplicably become men before their thirties. Practically all of them had careers. Paweł was an accountant in several companies, Robert had just become a shareholder in the veterinary company where he'd worked until recently. Even the worst slacker in our class, Maciek, became the director of an industrial cold store. Only I was still a junior assistant, listening at every briefing: "A young doctor should...", generally responsible for all of humanity's misfortunes, including floods and earthquakes.

We chatted for hours, about our fates, our wives, and our work. You have a lot to say when you haven't seen each other for several years. The star of the evening was Sławek, who had just been promoted by Artur Andersen. For a provincial Agricultural University graduate, he'd achieved a lot.

I don't know who started the conversation.

"Do you remember that old madman who sells dreams?

" "Which one?" asked Artur.

"You know, there's this little shop where the old madman sells all sorts of old, useless trinkets."

A discussion ensued, especially since Sławek insisted on going to the shop tomorrow. Some of us were delighted with the old man, a few laughed loudly, but Sławek had never heard of him before.

We parted ways late in the evening and went home. We parted ways, leaving our past behind. Although we promised to meet up many times, we never managed to get together. Each of us has our own lives. The only promise fulfilled was a visit to that shop. I promised to take Sławek there tomorrow morning.

Sławek picked me up in his company car. My wife wasn't too happy after our drunken binge yesterday after my Saturday morning trip. She didn't look too happy, but she kissed me before leaving, saying simply,

"Come back as soon as possible.

" "I'll try.

" I knew the trip would take some time. Sławek was in a hurry to get to Warsaw, so we agreed he'd take me to the store and then I'd drive home alone. I didn't have my own car back then. As my colleagues at work used to say, "A man can walk, cars are for women." Of course, I disagreed, but you don't argue with women. Especially when they're your superiors.

I settled comfortably into the passenger seat and we began our journey. The new Volkswagen sped through the star-shaped streets. We quickly arrived. I found it. Finding a parking space was more difficult. It was the city center, of course.

The shop was open. However, there was no old lady inside. There was a young, rather attractive blonde standing there.

Sławek felt in his element. I know how much he enjoyed abusing shop assistants and bringing them to tears. It was his calling card. I didn't like it, but unfortunately, it had an effect on women. I mean, on those young dolls from good homes. They were glamorized Barbies with a brain, accustomed to having their parents fulfill their every whim.

Sławek had money and knew how to use it. In our company, he didn't hide his conquests. And those girls absolutely loved how he abused other women. Interesting, but they consider such behavior masculine.

But then, despite that twinkle in his eye, he behaved quite appropriately. When the girl politely asked, "How can I help you?" he looked at her and replied without his mocking yuppie tone.

"I read that you sell dreams.

" "That's how we sell various trinkets to make them come true or to evoke them.

" "You see, I'd like to buy a kilogram of dreams.

" "Dreams aren't bought by the kilogram. But I'll certainly find something that might interest you."

The girl managed to disarm Sławek despite everything. She acted so naturally, as if the nonsense he was trying to ridicule her with were the purest truth.

"Then I'd like to buy happiness.

" "No, I won't sell you happiness either. You see," she said, flirtatiously waving her long lashes, which spread around her jade eyes, "that would be selling illusions, and her master has an abundance of them on television.

" "I guess you can't buy much here. Maybe I could at least buy success in life.

" "You have success in life. You don't have to buy it." But I can give you something to keep them with you.

She went to the shelf and pulled out a trinket.

"Sir, this is a very expensive amulet. We've saved it for special clients like you. You can hang it around your neck or attach it to your belt loop...

" "And you think that something like this... is supposed to bring me success in life."

The girl looked at her tormentor uncertainly. Ready to flee from the sneer's gaze rather than stand there any longer. But then, as if from underground, the old man rose and whispered a few words quietly. Sławek hung his head, wordlessly took out his wallet, and paid.

I didn't have time to talk to him. He only whispered, "Thanks, but I'm in a hurry to get to Warsaw," and fled

.

We met almost two years later. He was running along Bogusław's Passage. We exchanged a few words. He had changed. He wasn't the same ladies' man I knew. He had a wedding date set and was behaving like no other. After Enron's bankruptcy and the liquidation of his company, he too had gotten back on his feet. He has a good job at ING. As he was leaving, I asked him about the old man.

"Yes, I remember. You know, he said I was right. This stone won't bring me success. But I can bring it to myself with a smile. Not a mocking smile, though, but a sincere one, from the bottom of my heart. And the stone... The stone is just there to remind me of that."

He smiled briefly.

"You know, I wear it all the time."

I look up at the full moon, surrounded by a halo. I watch the reflections dance on the surface of the pond outside my window and think of that old man. I wonder if he's still alive. And for a moment, I feel like running there, buying a little bit of my dreams. Some insignificant piece of the mosaic that could replace my own, so brutally trampled by a hard, merciless life.