RANDOM PASSERS-BY

 

I

He woke up drenched in sweat. What he'd dreamed was more than a nightmare. It woke Heniek too—"I must have screamed," he thought.

"Did you have a bad dream?

" "No!" Mietek cut him off curtly. "Just some old story about spiders.

" "Will you make it till tonight?"

"I don't know. I guess not.

" "Because, you know, maybe tonight... And anyway, I'll sell the bottles and figure something out." Heniek got up and went to the kitchen. He could hear the clinking of glass.

It had been like this every day for some time. Since when? He couldn't remember. A year, maybe longer. It probably started when his child died, or maybe even earlier, when his wife died—just like that, in a car accident. Heniek was driving, but it wasn't his fault; he didn't hold a grudge against him. And the child? Just like that—some drug addict had pricked it with a needle because Mietek wouldn't let him have it for his allotment. It lived for another two years, strong. It was a boy, six years old.

He heard footsteps on the stairs—it was Heniek. He walked briskly, which meant he had—"Christ, I'm saved," he thought. He was going to end it, thinking maybe he'd go to the clinic next week.

He didn't. He drank for another three months, until he ended up in the hospital.

"That wasn't a good move," the doctor said. "You'll have a disabled left hand.

" "That's nothing. My right hand is enough for vodka," Mietek smiled, "or maybe..." The scars on his wrists hurt.

A month ago, he'd met a pretty girl. He was captivated by her purity, her virginity. He'd made an appointment with her, but he was late—she was already gone. He tried again, but they argued over something stupid. He'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have met her sober—he was always irritable then. He called her, she liked him, he knew it—she set a condition: he had to stop.

He endured three days, three long, hard days. On the fourth day, he cut himself. He wanted to kill everything this way: conscience, love, addiction, and God. Now he wasn't sure if it was worth it. He'd be here for another month, because to succeed, he'd have to jump from the fourth floor.

"This is going to be a rehab," he thought, legs in casts, broken ribs, a fractured skull, and a liver that wouldn't digest anything. He forbade the doctors to let anyone in.

It worked, he lay here for a month, hands down. It was the worst month of his life. Constant sweats, pain, a high fever, and those nightmares. But he didn't escape. The doctors helped, the nurses too, especially this one tall, brunette girl. She wanted to meet him afterward, but he refused because he still remembered the girl he'd jumped because of... or maybe for whom he'd jumped... or maybe he'd jumped for himself? He didn't know that yet. He only remembered one thing: her name was Basia, and he also knew only one thing: to meet her as soon as possible.

When he left the hospital, it was the first day of spring. Birds, grass, trees—everything pointed to it. He hadn't noticed it before, perhaps he hadn't had the time. He wanted to go to Heniek's, but it was risky; he might have been tempted and given up. He crossed himself and drove to the cemetery.

"You know, I met a pretty girl. I think you won't mind." He laid the flowers and walked away—the cross the only witness to that promise. Large, lonely, and yet some incomprehensible power radiated from it. And it entered him too; he felt it within him, like purification, like the forgiveness of sins. No!—he decided—he wouldn't try to live again, he would do it. He would do it, he would succeed, he was sure of it.

He went to her, to Basia. She welcomed him with a smile, offered him tea, and they sat in the garden.

"I wanted to visit you, but the doctors—"

"I know," he interrupted. "I forbade them from letting anyone in because I was afraid some guy would come." You know, just hanging out with a guy, that's not going to work..." He wanted to say something more, but he just smiled bitterly.

"I understand, and I'm glad. You lasted a month, so maybe you'll stop altogether.

" "Definitely! I plan to revive myself, you know, do something with my life again.

" "Then maybe you'll visit me again sometime," she said with a smile.

He smiled back. What he'd just heard meant that she wanted to see him again. So there was some hope. He smiled at the thought. They talked for another hour, about everything and nothing.

Mietek said goodbye to her and promised to call her. It was well after ten, and he didn't know where to go, what to do with himself. He decided to spend the night at Heniek's and look for a job the next day; after all, he had once been a good engineer, the best in his year. "But if I go to Heniek's," he thought, "it might turn out I can't stand it anymore and do something stupid." He decided this had to be a test, a test to see if he could ever see Baśka again. He thought he'd fallen in love.

As he climbed the stairs, he could already hear that everything in the apartment was as usual. The door was open, and thick cigarette smoke was billowing out. Inside was a crowd: Heniek, Adam, Jurek, his girlfriend Danka, some girls who were surprisingly still dressed, and a number of other people he didn't know or only knew by sight.

"Mietek!" Adam shouted. "Where have you been, man? No one's heard of you for a week?

" "Oh my God, what happened to you?" someone asked, looking at his crutches.

"Come on," another said.

"Leave him alone." Heniek stifled his questions. "Don't you see how he looks?"

He didn't look his best, pale and seemingly frightened. They went out to the kitchen together. It turned out Heniek hadn't told anyone about his suicide attempt. He only said that Mietek had broken his legs somewhere on his bike, which surprised everyone, because the others had long since sold their bikes, along with many other valuables.

"How are you?" Heniek asked.

"Normal, or abnormal, whichever you prefer. You know, tea and crackers all month long.

" "Want some?" Heniek pulled a bottle of vodka from the cupboard. "It was waiting for you.

" "No!" Mietek said, terrified, because he felt deep down that he wanted to. "I'll come back a little later, after everyone had left."

"Okay, I understand," his best friend said. Then he turned and staggered back to the room.

Mietek sat in the kitchen for a while. He opened the window and lit a cigarette. He looked at the river. "She's so beautiful," he thought, "almost like Baśka's hair." He found himself thinking about her. He liked it, but there was also a thought of something entirely different. He was afraid—"God, how easy it is to forget everything." He went out, wandered around a bit, and returned home after midnight. Heniek was already asleep, so he ate something himself and lay down in the kitchen with the window open.

A nightmare woke him. He saw in his face a black figure gouging out the eyes of hundreds of birds, who nevertheless clung to it, like a child clings to its mother after a long separation. He didn't know why it frightened him so much; after all, he'd seen worse scenes in movies. But he couldn't fall asleep again and lay thinking about the figure in the black hood.

At six in the morning, the alarm clock rang, stubbornly invading the morning silence. Heniek got up with a curse on his lips and kicked it, and it stopped ringing, as if fearing for its fate. He walked into the kitchen and saw Mietek sitting by the window, smoking a cigarette.

"What, you're not sleeping? I understand that, I have to get up for work, but you...

" "Work?" Mietek said in surprise. "Don't tell me you're working!

" "Well, if you can't drink, I guess I can work a little. I combine business with pleasure, I work at a construction site," Heniek replied, downing what was left in the bottle from the previous evening.

"I'll look for a job too, but a less harmful one."

He couldn't find any. Currently, no one needed engineers, no one was needed at all. The job market was overcrowded, and they'd gladly lay off half the city's workers. Only councilors and the like were paid enough. He hadn't noticed it before, complained about it, but he complained about everything else too, even though he wasn't worried about anything. He had to find a job, if not today, then tomorrow. For now, he'd go to Basia's

.

A hooded figure casually moved across the square toward the fountain. Accompanying her were birds, which were as much his as he was theirs. He couldn't move around the city without them, couldn't go anywhere without them. He lost his sight at three, now he's thirty-six, and he can't remember any colors or shapes. He grew up with a parrot, and it helped him orient himself.

I tell them the story of my life.

A week later, Mietek managed to find a job. He wasn't happy with it, because as an electrician after college, he transported toys in a small truck. However, it was enough to rent a studio apartment and he could invite Basia over. Which he soon did.

"Listen, maybe we could have dinner, you know, with candles and all, huh?" he suggested a little hesitantly, but she seemed to understand.

"Well, then you can go to my place and propose to my mother, okay!"

He couldn't believe his luck. They hadn't even kissed.

They'd made up for it that evening. The wedding was in a month.

And absolution will come

. He had that nightmare again. The hooded figure was telling him more and more about herself. He learned that she had once been a bird, but it was a hazy memory for her. Perhaps she had only once been in the air and flown, and now she wanted to fly again. She hated birds, and they were drawn to her. In her dream, she saw herself as the embodiment of freedom, and so she gouged out their eyes so as not to lose it.

Mietek wasn't sure if he was dreaming his own dreams or the person he dreamed of. He didn't feel good about it, but he didn't tell Basia.

When there was nothing left to add.

Two weeks after the wedding, Heniek drank himself to death. In this way, Mietek lost his best friend. All he had left was his wife and the myth of happiness. He wasn't sure if he wanted children with her, even though she dreamed of it. He was afraid for himself and for Basia. Until now, he had been losing everything he cared about. He had never loved anything or anyone as much as he loved her. Every love of his had the flavor of that first, ephemeral teenage rose that so many people wrote about.

And if the price for my eccentricity

is gibberish

, I'll accept this:

"Mieczysław W.'s body was found after his mysterious disappearance two months ago, near the K. Bridge. It was most likely a suicide. The body washed up in the river 15 meters from the bridge. A bottle of alcohol filled with animal eyes was found in his jacket pocket. As it later turned out, they were bird eyes."