Sleeping Prince

 

That day, the wind broke from the heavenly chain completely unexpectedly. The golden Polish autumn, which had seemed like a myth, a linguistic habit repeated every year at this time, had become a reality, and throughout the park, one could constantly encounter couples in love, old women feeding ducks, melancholic students, unruly high school students, punks collecting wine, and, of course, employees of the Municipal Utilities Company raking leaves that would be on the ground the next day anyway. Such is the order of things. People have a habit of raking leaves, and the habit of leaves is to fall to the ground. The October sun showered everyone with its rays, and even the ducks seemed content. Perhaps it was simply because they had received an extra portion of crumbs that day.

When Adam arrived in the park after 3 p.m., he was amazed at the view around him. Everything was peaceful and serene, but he himself didn't fit in with this idyllic atmosphere. As always in autumn, he was overcome with blues, self-doubt, and dullness. Moreover, his eyelid was beginning to twitch dangerously. "Lack of magnesium," he thought rationally, and made the impossible decision to give up coffee indefinitely. He walked slowly through the yellow, orange, and red hues in his idiotic green jacket. Every time he left the apartment, he couldn't recall what diabolical force had tempted him to buy this bizarre garment. It was indeed very warm, but that was its only redeeming quality. Its monstrously wide sleeves and fierce green color evoked, at best, a condescending smile on the faces of those passing by, and in the past six weeks, he had been called "froggie" at least twenty times by his overprotective and overly curious upstairs neighbor, Mrs. Wandzia.

It was Friday, and he wasn't in a hurry. Another miserable day at work was over, and no one was waiting for him at home with dinner. So, reaching the pond, he sat down on a bench and stared at the duck a few meters away. It wasn't particularly bothered by the company it had gained; the man clearly had no intention of giving it bread, so it calmly returned to preening its feathers. He began to sadly recall today, which might as well have been a week ago, so similar were they. He hated his job; being a warehouse worker in a supermarket wasn't exactly a particularly engaging position. He couldn't stand these groundhog days any longer, distinguished only by the signs on the boxes he moved. He knew he had to change something. In his life, in his attitude, but with each passing year, he felt less and less energy for anything. He couldn't even change his hated jacket, let alone talk about work. He was 32 years old, lived in a small studio apartment in a block of flats, had a collection of Beatles vinyl records, a nearly empty bank account, discovered his first gray hair today, and had a small, wretched fern on the windowsill. He had no wife, no children, no car, no hope of ever owning one (because he didn't have a driver's license either), no record player, and no geranium, which wasn't as stubborn as the fern and couldn't stand the constant lack of watering, wilting last month. The flowers were a gift from Mrs. Wandzia, who wanted to give his apartment a "homey" touch. Whenever he met the old woman in the hallway, he remembered the plants and felt a pang of guilt about the geraniums. Sitting on the bench, he once again concluded that his miserable life was meaningless, and while he was wallowing in self-pity, he failed to notice what everyone else greeted with growing concern.

Within a few minutes, the pale blue sky was obscured by a thick blanket of gray clouds. The world momentarily dimmed and froze in anticipation. The uninvited guest soon appeared in the park, shaking the remaining leaves on the trees, tearing them from their branches and inviting them, along with others, to a frenzied dance. The wind picked up, terrified white carrier birds clung to the trees, and Adam, who had just begun to replay all his life's failures, remained absently seated on his bench. Only when heavy raindrops began to fall in torrents did he snap out of his reverie, and just as abruptly as before, the wind broke free from his seat and ran to the nearby bus stop in search of shelter. Although the designer of his jacket had equipped it with a special pocket for his cell phone and a keychain, he had forgotten about the hood. Perhaps Adam, like the Romantic poets, should have stayed by the pond, letting the raindrops mingle with his tears, then jumped into the water, ending his life eaten by carp. However, he decided he was in a foul enough mood to be even more wet. He consciously checked the departure time of the number 8, the only bus he could take, and sat down on an uncomfortable yellow plastic seat. It looked like a half-hour wait, but at that moment, he really didn't care. Just as he was about to sink back into the gloomy depths of his melancholy, a huge German shepherd suddenly burst into the bus stop, vigorously shook himself free of the water, and in an instant ran up to Adam, throwing his massive paws over his shoulders. The man stared at the dog in terror, afraid to make the slightest movement, and the dog began to lick his face. Adam would probably have sat there until the dog got bored with him, which, considering how eagerly he was licking him, might not have happened very quickly if a soaking wet girl hadn't arrived at the bus stop. She immediately tore the dog away from the petrified and astonished man.

"Don't be afraid. Kira is as gentle as a lamb, just as stubborn as a lamb, and I couldn't get her to use the leash today," she said apologetically, nervously brushing strands of wet blond hair away from her face.

Adam shrugged and assumed a pose: "Not at all, and I wasn't at all afraid that beast would bite my head off." The girl sat down, and the gentle monster known as Kira sat beside her. Despite his owner's assurances, Adam still felt a little uneasy and was convinced the dog was just waiting to taste him again. The sudden intrusion of the soaked couple unnerved him. Someone's presence is always distracting, influencing our behavior, and he could no longer think about anything else but his unfortunate jacket. As if reading his mind, the girl suddenly spoke:

"Nice jacket."

"Sure," he replied casually, making it quite clear he wasn't in the mood for a chat, and certainly not in that style.

She seemed to have given up and wouldn't invade his space any longer; just being there was annoying enough, but the girl was clearly not the quiet, taciturn type, because after a moment she said again,

"When I really think it's a nice jacket."

That was too much for Adam. Who is she to talk to him like that? He looked his uninvited companion up and down. He didn't need to see the dog; he'd gotten a good look at it during their passionate one-on-one a few minutes earlier. She was short, petite, even dainty, and Adam had the impression that if she wanted to, Kira could have grabbed her mistress, carried her to the park, and buried her without the slightest difficulty. He couldn't quite guess her age, but as she sat on the chair with her legs drawn up, she looked barely fifteen. He decided to ignore her childish teasing and began to stare passionately at the toes of his black boots. It was slowly getting dark, the wind was howling through the streets, and he couldn't wait for the bus to arrive. Although they'd only been waiting together for a few minutes, it felt like ages had passed since she'd arrived at the bus stop, and though he'd decided to ignore her, he began to study the girl again. Only now did he notice that she was wearing nothing but a completely soaked sweater and was trying desperately to contain her shivers, clenching her fists tightly. He realized with shame that her comments might not have been entirely disinterested. He overcame his overwhelming desire to maintain his distance, took off his jacket, and handed it to the chilled girl.

"Put it on.

" "No, thank you," she vehemently refused. But seeing her hand still outstretched, she took it from Adam and carefully put it on, as if it were made of precious material rather than ordinary polyester.

"Now you'll be cold." You acted like a true gentleman. "

Adam, as if to deny this, immediately shrank back.

"I also have a turtleneck. Besides, to be honest, I don't particularly like it, and you did me a favor by taking it away from me, even for a moment. "

The girl laughed, showing off a full set of teeth that would have done the best dentist proud.

"I noticed. But I really think it's a nice jacket," she replied cheerfully.

Wanting to quickly dismiss the subject of his attire, even though he had just brought it up, he said enigmatically,

"Then you're probably a lady."

"And where do you get that from?" she asked, curious, seeing his mischievous expression.

"Only a lady goes out so lightly dressed in this weather," he said in a truly elegant and old-fashioned manner.

The wind clearly understood his words and, to demonstrate its full potential, intensified, startling the dog, who was clearly as cowardly as he was large.

"When I left, it was beautiful outside. Besides, it was supposed to be a short walk, but Kira insisted on going to the park.

" "I don't blame her, I like the park too, maybe not right now, but I do.

" "If it were spring, we could go to the park and lie on the grass," she said dreamily, but after a moment her expression fell and she added, "or better not. Dogs leave tracks.

" "Tracks?" he said, surprised.

"Well, those, well, filth. Better to go to the forest.

" "Ugh, that's not good either. Squirrels leave tracks in the forest.

" "Oh no!" she laughed. "Squirrels are in the trees. We think they're birdhouses, but these are squirrel toilets."

Adam didn't know why he was talking so passionately to this ridiculous girl. He hadn't spoken so freely to anyone in a long time. At work, he had a reputation for being a grump, and it was entirely justified. He remembered that it hadn't always been this way, that there had been times when he'd risen in the morning and, after just a few lazy, bear-like grunts into the warm, overnight-rumbling pillow, stretch, rise, and begin the day with—it seemed to him now—strange enthusiasm. He'd rise as early as possible and go to bed as late as possible. While he still had the strength to stand, he refused to sleep, and even when he did lie down, the rush of thoughts, plans, and dreams filled his head. With an effort, he forced himself to close his eyes, so that at least they could rest during those short nights, and, staying awake, he dreamed. That was what the best times were like; they never lasted very long, a month or two at most, but then it wasn't too bad either. There simply wasn't that life of eternal inspiration, when time is so full and poignant at every moment, yet at the same time there seems to be so little of it. Now... now everything was blurry, indistinct. He lived day by day, thinking not of what he was doing, but of what he wasn't doing and what he wasn't. But that moment at the bus stop had something extraordinary about it. That sudden rain and the unfamiliar couple, as if a magical gust had been sent to lift his spirits. He felt something changing; he didn't know exactly what yet, but he felt as if he were slowly waking up. From a tiring and very long sleep. The weather hadn't improved at all, but it seemed to have stabilized. The wind blew steadily, mercilessly.

"What a beautiful gale," his companion sighed as a stray beer can rolled right in front of their feet, causing Kira to snuggle even closer to her mistress. "Don't be afraid, Kira, it's only the wind. It won't carry us anywhere today."

Adam remembered the story of Dorothy and her dog, Toto, who were kidnapped to the Land of Oz, and he smiled at the thought, observing the frightened dog that had previously filled him with the same terror that now gripped her.

"You have a fearful dog.

" "As I said, she's as gentle as a lamb. Besides, she's not my dog. She's just one of my charges. I'm doing a student internship at a nearby shelter. Life has seen this dog through its paces, and she's still afraid not of people, but of the wind.

" "A student?" he couldn't contain his surprise.

"What? Don't I look like it?"

"Honestly? I'd say you're finishing high school," he replied, embarrassed.

"You're not the first. That's my charm; not everyone has to be tall. The world seems much nicer from this height, don't you think?"

Before he could answer, a muddy five-wheeler pulled up to the bus stop, and the girl jumped up, clipped the dog's leash, and pulled the reluctant dog toward the bus.

"We have to go now. " "It was nice talking," she said, and got in.

"Goodbye," Adam choked out at the last moment, as the doors were closing behind the unusual couple.

She disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived, and when Adam was left alone at the bus stop, he could hardly believe it had all happened. The girl was gone, but the extraordinary feeling she brought with her presence lingered, and he felt a strength within him, perhaps not enough to move mountains, not even enough to climb K-2—and until now, he had considered even M-2 beyond his reach, but enough to start slowly. He would remember everything he had dreamed of, because sometimes even dreams need to be reminded.

Today still held a few surprises, and before the anticipated eight-hour train arrived, the wind that had previously driven the clouds gathered its belongings and swept away from the city. Adam, astonished, looked up to see the black silhouettes of clouds escaping against the backdrop of a beautiful sunset. The phoenix of the sky was being reborn in the flames of a sun dying in royal purple and gold. Adam couldn't wait any longer. For the bus, for everything else. He had to get to his apartment as quickly as possible. So without delay, he stood up and briskly, at times even running in almost childish excitement, set off for home. Usually, he walked this route anyway, but today the unpredictable weather almost forced him to drive. The wind, the rain... He was so grateful that he could barely keep himself from licking the water off the sidewalk in gratitude. It took him less than fifteen minutes to reach the staircase of his apartment building. Like a schoolboy, he ran up the third floor, skipping every other step. Only when he stood before the gloomy brown door of his studio apartment did he realize that his keys had left with his jacket. For the first time, he began to miss that green abomination, not because of the keys, but because of the girl he'd just met. Despite all the enthusiasm he was currently bursting with, he felt this little creature act like a healing medicine, like raspberry syrup he'd drunk as a child, spreading warmth throughout his body, making him forget his sore throat. Keys weren't a problem. He lost them constantly, not only that, but also hats, gloves, and one day even his left shoe, but that was a long time ago. Back in the days of his "wild youth," when he couldn't remember a thing about evenings spent with his school friends the next day. Experience taught him that he always made an extra outfit for Mrs. Wanda. He went up a floor, knocked briskly, and after a moment heard the old woman's footsteps in the hallway. She stopped, and he almost physically felt her looking at him through the peephole. The door opened, and he saw a delighted old woman eagerly inviting him in. He entered, but before he could explain his reason for coming, the old woman beat him to it:

"What? Lost our keys again?"

Adam smiled and nodded sheepishly.

"Oh, you young people. You're always losing things, running around," she said, heading for the drawer of a large dresser, definitely too big for her small apartment. She kept her most important belongings there, including Adam's keys. "Oh, if only I could still do that."

The man expected to hear another sigh for his lost youth, but was pleasantly surprised when he heard:

"Oh, if only I were sixty again. Hell! Even seventy would be good."

Adam felt almost like a baby at that moment. Sometimes he forgot how old his neighbor was, especially when he watched her bustle around the flower-filled house with such energy. He felt downright foolish thinking about how he'd been wasting his time so far, forgetting that "you only have one life, and you have to try really hard to live it well." Those were his mother's words. Once again, he was reminded how much he missed her. After her death, he couldn't stand their old, then-too-large apartment anymore, so he packed up all his belongings and moved here. There weren't that many possessions anymore. A few boxes at most, that was all he needed, but when he went downstairs with his keys in hand and a diligent order to get more as quickly as possible, he was certain that everything he needed today to fulfill his grand plan was in the apartment. When he found himself back on his floor, he stopped dead in his tracks, unable to utter a single sound. The girl was standing in front of the door. With the dog, still a bit wet, and still in his jacket.

"You left your keys in your pocket," she said first. "And your wallet. That's why I came," she added, seeing his surprised expression.

"What an idiot I am," he said, and he really thought so, unsure what to do next.

But then he came to his senses and invited her in for tea.

"It's turned nice, but I'm sure you'd like something warm."

The apartment was truly modest. A small hallway, one room, a bathroom, and a cramped kitchen, which they had just entered. It was his favorite room; apart from sleeping, he spent almost all his time there, so it would take a moment to dig out the napkin from under the pile of magazines, books, and never-completed crossword puzzles. Trying to erase the first impression, he acted like the perfect host.

"What would you like to drink?" I have regular, loose green tea, green tea in bags, lemon, raspberry, rosehip, chamomile, St. John's wort tea," he said in one breath, and after a moment, he finished, searching through the abundant cupboard. "And flaxseed."

The homey atmosphere made the forms "Mr." and "Mrs." disappear imperceptibly. She looked at his collection, a little horrified, then at him, and finally asked,

"Do you have any coffee?

" "Yes, of course. Natural or instant?

" "Natural, two teaspoons, no sugar, no cream," she replied quickly. "I'm just saying so you don't have to ask again."

He smiled and added,

"In a cup or a mug?

" "It doesn't matter."

He put the water on and stared at the kettle, undecided for a moment.

"Wait a minute, I'll be right back."

He went into the other room and nervously began searching the shelves. He knew it was somewhere there, and he couldn't wait any longer. Exasperated, he pulled out the drawer and dumped its contents onto the sheets. The bed, still unmade from the morning, was instantly filled with old photos, scribbled pens, a broken pencil, Peter Pan cards, used bus tickets, Christmas cards—in short, all the unnecessary things you put away but can't seem to throw away. There was one more item. Adam, delighted, grabbed it and ran to the kitchen. When he entered, he saw that the coffee was already brewed on the table. For a moment, the tables were turned, and she invited him to join her.

"Sorry, I didn't know it would take so long. I wanted to show you something," he explained.

"Show me. What are you hiding?"

He hesitantly reached out and placed the small object on the table. Light reflected off its smooth, glass surface, and on the smooth tabletop it looked like a just-popped soap bubble.

"A paperweight? Is that what you wanted to show me?" she asked, surprised.

"That's not the point," he said, sitting down in the chair. "Look inside."

She obediently peered in, shaking the object earlier and creating the familiar snow effect.

"Well, snow, but it rained today." She still didn't understand what he was getting at.

"No, no. Look inside."

She seemed impatient with this insistent request, but she looked again.

"I see little white houses, a miniature city."

She looked at him questioningly, and though he didn't say anything, she guessed she had completed her task. He took the toy from her and, still gazing into its interior, said,

"You see. When I was little, and for the first time, bored with the fake snow, I looked inside, I was enchanted by this city. In all my naivety, I proudly told my mother that one day I would build such a kingdom for her. It was foolish, I quickly realized that, but ever since then I've dreamed of buildings. Whenever I read about the Tower of Babel, I didn't worry that God had divided people, condemning them to misunderstanding. It infuriated me that he had ruined such a beautiful structure. And although childhood dreams often change, as I grew older, I still wanted to design. That ball is a symbol. Do you understand?

"I understand," she replied.

She sipped her coffee. Adam, captivated, watched as she held the cup in both hands, as if trying to warm herself. For a moment, she pressed it to her chin and inhaled the aroma.

"You're not an architect, are you?

" "No. I'm not.

" "Then thank you even more.

" "For what?

" "For telling me."

He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She was drinking. In that moment, she was completely absorbed in the act of drinking, as if it were a ritual. She sipped the hot beverage in small sips, gazing at him warmly over the blue mug. He noticed it was the same color as the girl's eyes. "It's all like a fairy tale," he thought. She put down her coffee, and this time it was she who laid out her gifts on the table. A stack of keys and a black, unfortunately not very full, wallet.

"I didn't take anything. I just looked at your ID. Now I know everything about you.

" "So there's no point in introducing myself?"

She shook her head no.

"But I should." Jagna.

"Nice.

" "I know."

And they lived for a while longer, and were happy together.