Wafer

 

The man was big, and the girl was small. The little one had a sweet little face, and the big one had a big, ugly one. Nevertheless, they were related, and relatively closely. The big one was the little one's father, and the little one was the big one's daughter. They both had the same surname, though their first names differed significantly. The big one's name was Dżon, and the little one's name was Płatek. They loved each other, though less often lately, since Płatek's mother, Dżon's wife, had threatened her husband with reporting him to the police if he didn't stop fucking their daughter.

On the day in question, July 15, 1919, it snowed, even though no one expected such anomalies in the middle of summer. But the snow fell, not caring whether anyone expected it or not. So much for the weather, I think that's enough.

The boy got up at 5:45 and went to Płatek's room to kiss his daughter good morning. Unfortunately, near the bathroom, he ran into his wife, whose name was Klaus and who came from Nazi Germany.

"Good morning," said Jan.

"Fuck off," Klaus replied.

She hadn't been particularly fond of her husband since Jan had cheated on her with a coworker, Stefan. It had been a rather accidental affair, which Klaus had just as accidentally discovered. Jan didn't love Stefan, but Stefan loved Jan. Twice, both times in the ass. The second time, Klaus returned from work early and entered the house to find her husband staring at her, and a balding Stefan panting over him. Incestuous relations with Petal could be forgiven, but infidelity—not.

Jan, at his wife's suggestion, fled back to the bedroom and began dressing. Klaus went to the kitchen to prepare her daughter's breakfast for school. Petal, on the other hand, was still sleeping soundly and dreaming of Rambos.

The cuckoo clock struck six as John was leaving the house, Klaus was washing her hair, and Petal was still drowsy. The cuckoo, contrary to logic, wasn't going boo boo—it was going woof woof, because the clockmaker who'd put her in the clock was a member of the Kennel Club and, truth be told, was a bit obsessed with animals—fortunately, not enough to put a dog in the clock instead of a cuckoo, because what would that look like?

At 6:15, John was waiting at the bus stop for the A bus that was supposed to take him to work, Klaus was clipping her toenails with clippers, and Petal was still asleep. But let's focus on John for a moment, or everything will get messed up.

At 6:45, John, as usual, arrived early at the church where he worked as the organist. He was greeted at the door by Father Zbyszek, who wore a Venom T-shirt under his cassock, a band he'd been absolutely fascinated by since childhood.

"Praised be Jesus Mary," Dżon said jokingly.

"Sieg Heil," replied Father Zbyszek, who not only listened to black metal but was generally eccentric for a priest.

"How's it going, Father?" asked John, taking off his snow-caked coat.

"There won't be mass today," the priest said. "You can put your snow-caked coat back on.

" "Why?" John asked, surprised.

"Because without it, you'll freeze on the way home."

So John put his snow-caked coat back on and, bidding Father Zbyszek farewell with a gesture typical of the NSDAP, left.

At 7:10, the line A bus arrived, which could have taken John home, but it didn't, because John didn't get on. He decided to save on the fare and walk the few kilometers. It wasn't easy, as he was waist-deep in snow, but he managed somehow.

If John had taken advantage of the public transport, he would have been home around 7:45 and would have caught his wife in a confrontation with neighbor Warrant. He would also undoubtedly have noticed that his daughter, Petal, was also actively involved in the aforementioned situation. But Petal was miserly and oblivious, walking without thinking about anything sensible, only spitting snow from time to time.

Petal would be walking for another two hours, so let's leave him alone for now.

At exactly 8:15, Klaus finished washing herself in the bathtub and shouted to Petal that it was time to get ready for school.

"If you hurry," she added, "Uncle Warrant will give you a ride.

" "He's not my uncle," Petal replied, but it didn't sound very clear, because she still had something in her mouth that had just belonged to Warrant.

Meanwhile, the neighbor was buttoning his shirt and muttering contentedly,

"Oh, hey."

"Hurry up," Klaus said to him. "Peal will be back from Mass soon."

She was exaggerating a bit, because John never returned before nine, but she'd had enough of Warrant for today, who was much more active with Petal than with her mother that morning.

"Oh, come on," Warrant replied, and hurried off.

"You see," Klaus said reproachfully to Petal as the neighbor left, "if you'd hurried, Uncle Warrant would have given you a ride.

" "He's not my uncle," Petal repeated, but again it didn't ring out very clearly, as she was brushing her teeth.

"And now," Klaus continued to nag, "you'll have to walk. Someone, God forbid, will rape you again."

Meanwhile, let's return to John for a moment, because something completely unexpected had just happened. At exactly 8:35, John was driving through a huge snowbank when Jesus Christ appeared before him. If the truck driver who had run over John moments earlier had known this, he probably would have felt a little less guilty.

Jesus Christ looked at John with a look of condemnation.

"What were you doing with your daughter?"

"Me?" John asked, surprised by his own unexpected death. "I didn't do anything."

"Shall I show you the videotapes?" asked Jesus Christ.

"Are you filming everything?" Jon stated more than asked.

"Everything.

" "Aha," Jon sighed. "So I'll go to hell.

" "It's entirely up to you.

" "On me? What do you mean, on me?

" "What do you mean?"

Jon thought for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

Jesus Christ smiled.

"Exactly. So you'll go to purgatory, where you'll spend some time, son.

" "I'm not your son," Jon replied instinctively, but then he bit his tongue and fell silent.

I consider the subject of Jon closed, so we can safely return to Płatek and Klaus. Płatek learned of her father's death before anyone informed her. The knowledge simply washed over her. And you know what? She felt sad because she loved her father as herself (płatek - masculine).

Klaus, on the other hand, was informed of her husband's death by telephone. And she was neither worried nor happy, because it neither chilled nor warmed her.

Neighbor Warrant learned of his neighbor's death from Klaus and felt relief on the one hand, and anxiety on the other. Anxiety on the other.

Stefan learned of his lover's death by accident and wept bitterly.

Father Zbyszek learned of the organist's death around midnight, right after the Holocaust Friends meeting and just before the Black Mass. He wasn't particularly concerned, but he was also overjoyed—that was Father Zbyszek. In any case, he announced it to the congregation in church during Sunday high mass.

No one else learned of Dżon's death.