Measles "The Oder"

 

I don't know if I have the right to combine the several events I'm mentioning into one story. I wouldn't be surprised if someone found it "far-fetched," even ridiculous, or downright stupid! I sometimes see it that way. But sometimes I stop on a bridge, watch the Oder flow, unhurriedly, as if proudly, and wonder...

It all started with a letter from Kuba, my brother, who lives in B., a small town near Opole, with a spoiled-as-a-whip bitch (I mean, a dog!), working as a warehouseman, which is his greatest failure in life. He has enormous literary aspirations, and so he regularly, every week, sends me a long letter, in his opinion a masterpiece of epistolography. I wouldn't want anyone to fall asleep reading his ramblings, so I'll just quote a fragment of a letter from October 23, 2003:

"(...) Today, as usual, Netka and I walked along the river. You know, when you have a spaniel, autumn ceases to seem like a picturesque, romantic time of year. It's dirty, rainy, and muddy! Now, almost every day, I have to wash Netka's paws and brush the dried mud out of her ears. She really doesn't like it, and besides, she can't get it into her little, shaggy head that it's all her favorite walking spot's fault, that if we went to the park, where the grass is thick and the paths are covered with grit, she wouldn't have to endure this daily toilet. Meanwhile, by the river, believe me, the mud is knee-deep. At least knee-deep in Netka's, although I must admit it's a truly charming place. There are plane trees growing there, which at this time of year shed their leaves, and the earth Under every tree, she is covered with a silvery brown coat...

Recently, Netka's hunting instinct has been awakening, one that I thought her ancestors had long ago suppressed by their breeders, but which, in reality, was merely dormant. Fortunately, she has always been afraid of water, and this fear is still stronger than the call of nature, so she doesn't jump into the river after birds, but she is incredibly drawn there.

Something peculiar happened on today's walk. Or maybe it didn't?

Netka, off the leash, happily ran back and forth, barking at everything that moved, while I walked slowly and carefully, not wanting to get my pant legs dirty. I watched my step, trying to avoid puddles left over from yesterday's downpour and preferring to tread on tufts of grass, which, for some reason, are rare and sparse here. We both came across the tracks, almost simultaneously. Netka stopped with her nose to the ground, then raised her head and tilted it. in such a comical way and looked at me. I'm not afraid to call her look questioning, and I gave her the same look, because, indeed, the prints were strange.

Not in the sense that they were left by a UFO, a dinosaur, or some other unidentified creature. On the contrary, they were visible human footprints. Only barefoot ones! And... they led to the river. Not "towards the river," but straight into the water. They disappeared into it.

Yes, I thought that was puzzling too. Maybe, for example, someone's four-legged friend wasn't cowardly and went into the water, and the owner got scared (I would be, it's very deep here), wanted to pull him out, so, naturally, he took off his shoes. Maybe someone was fishing, or maybe he's a walrus and likes to soak his feet, even in October. But we couldn't find the spot where this person had emerged from the river. We walked in one direction, probably two kilometers—no walrus would wade that far, after all—then in the other, to the footbridge, and then we checked the other bank, if this person was a river swimmer. Nothing.

I know what you're thinking now – either this is a ridiculous joke, or it's lucky there wasn't anything. Because if these were traces of some desperate drowned person, it's good we didn't stumble upon a body. I thought the same. I don't know, maybe I was too hasty, but I called the police. They arrived very quickly, and people complain about law enforcement's inaction. They were preoccupied because they'd just received a missing person's report about an old woman, and her family had mentioned that her grandmother liked to go to the river.

They were small footprints, size 36, and the moment they saw them, they immediately thought of that woman. They spent several hours searching the banks, all the way to the weir, where the body would have stopped. They called out, probably not believing they'd be answered, "Mrs. Zagórowska, Mrs. Zagórowska!" But their search was futile. Finally, it got dark, and they announced they'd examine the riverbed tomorrow. Of course, I stood there the entire time, waiting for the results. If I learn anything new, I'll definitely write to you!

I can't sleep a wink now; I keep thinking about those tracks and that poor, unfortunate old woman. Apparently, she had Alzheimer's. She probably didn't even realize she was slowly sinking into the icy water.

Netka is restless too. She's asleep, but in her sleep she tosses and turns constantly, as if she were having nightmares. She was a bit lethargic all evening, refusing to eat, until I tempted her with pâté. She'll never resist Mrs. Halinka's rabbit pâté.

But it's late, even the moon has set, and I have to be at work tomorrow before seven, so I'll try to get to bed. So, take care, little sister, say hello to everyone, and give my little goddaughter a big kiss from me.

Your beloved (and only) brother, Jakub (and Netka)."

The matter had apparently died down, or at least it no longer bothered my brother, because he didn't mention it in subsequent letters. They were devoted to criticism of contemporary literature, admiration for bare tree branches against the autumn sky, or Netka's enthusiastic welcome to the first snow (two and a half pages of office space...).

I'd forgotten about it too, so much so that when I read the article in the newspaper, I didn't pay much attention to it. I only kept the issue because it featured my daughter's drawing, which won her third prize in the "My Dream Class" competition. The newspaper article was accompanied by a blurry photo of a person of unknown gender and age:

"MIRACLE FOUND.

An 82-year-old woman, who left her son's house in B. a month ago, was unexpectedly found the day before yesterday in Wrocław.

The family reported Leokadia Z. missing a month ago. Despite police from all over the area being involved in the search, the old woman was never found. When everyone had given up hope, she was found safe and sound a hundred kilometers from her home. A

municipal police patrol found Mrs. Leokadia near the Osobowice Cemetery the day before yesterday around 8:30 p.m. The old woman was shivering with cold, because despite the two-degree frost, she was only lightly dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing on the day she disappeared. The guards offered to take the old woman home. She did not react to what was said to her, but she willingly allowed herself to be taken to the police station. Although she had no documents with her, she was found safe and sound. and she didn't answer questions, the police managed to establish her identity. The next day, she returned to her family.

Mrs. Z. had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease four years ago. According to her family, the elderly woman had completely lost touch with her surroundings. It's therefore unlikely that we'll ever find out how she got to Wrocław. Unless one of you witnessed her mysterious journey."

At the time, it never occurred to me that these two events were somehow connected. Perhaps I'm wrong, and they have nothing in common, just as they don't connect with the photo I saw at a friend's the following spring.

This friend has two passions: he's an avid skier and an amateur photographer. He practically never leaves his camera, terrified of seeing something truly interesting when it's not with him.

He showed me photos he'd taken during a trip to the Alps. Among them were others. One thing struck me.

- It's good, isn't it? - laughed my friend. - I made it in November, near us, on the Oder...

The photo was, as they say, "artistic." The frame encompassed a section of the river, a section of the bridge, and a section of the bank. Snow lay in patches on the bank, but it hadn't melted yet near the bridge. Barefoot footprints were clearly visible; it looked as if someone was emerging from the water.

Naturally, it reminded me of my brother's story. So I asked a friend for a print and sent the photo to Kuba. I wrote that mysterious footprints had appeared here too, so it was probably some new, silly prank by young pranksters. He promised not to worry so much in the future and not to bother the police unnecessarily, and he shared with me a "hilarious anecdote" about Netka hunting a butterfly. It took him half a letter and brought a smile of... pity to my face.

What made me remember the newspaper article and connect it with the footprints in the mud and snow, though I'm still not sure it was anything more than a funny coincidence?

One day, as she did every week, my daughter lugged a backpack of books from the library. She was six years old then, considered herself an adult, and of course, had long since been able to read fluently, but sometimes she liked to lie down on the rug, close her eyes, and listen to her mom or dad read. So she pulled out all the books, picked one at random, gave it to me, and then settled comfortably on the floor.

The book was quite old, but unread. Perhaps that's because it didn't have a colorful cover and didn't attract attention on the fairy tale shelf. It was titled "Aquarius's Daughter." It was written by a certain Leokadia Zagórowska...