A short story of a certain love

He was heading towards the hospital. Michał. Thirty years old, with short, black hair, green eyes framed by thick eyebrows, a long, clean-shaven face, a body neither thin nor fat, hidden beneath a new, black suit. He was a man like many others in the world, nothing special—neither in appearance nor intelligence. Sure, he might have been well-read, but he hadn't picked up a book in years—he had read extensively in his youth, but his job now prevented him from doing so. Michał was a truck driver, driving east and west with various goods. The day before, his wife, Magalena, had given birth to a child. A son! Many men dream of a male heir, one who would not let the family name die, one who would be a reflection of his father, one whose task would be to fulfill his father's ambitions, to accomplish what he himself had failed to accomplish. Michał was now on his way to the so-called maternity ward to see his child, to visit his wife. They met back in high school – he was finishing his senior year, she had another year of school ahead of her. Shy glances at each other, their first conversation, their first dance, their prom: his and hers, their first kisses, their first night… So many memories, moments shared, the good and bad moments that every marriage has. Michał's love for Magdalena was eternally vivid; despite the passing of the years, he still loved her as much as he did in the early years of their relationship. He never cheated on her, despite having many opportunities to do so – isn't that obvious, considering he was a truck driver? Ukrainian, Bulgarian, Polish – so many women smiled at him as he drove around with his goods. Through the window, he saw their smiles, their inviting gestures, their skimpy clothes – what man, exposed to so many temptations for so many years, wouldn't eventually be tempted by "a little something"? Probably not many, and Michał was one of those few. Not only had he never had any other woman but Magda, but the thought of cheating on her never even crossed his mind! Magdalena was a good wife; it's surprising she didn't divorce Michał because of his frequent and often lengthy trips. She always waited for him, greeted him with a smile of joy, and devoted herself to him with great enthusiasm. A few months ago, she went to Germany to work on a farm with several dozen women from her town – she hadn't been away for quite a while. During this time, they exchanged letters. Michał usually wrote after returning from his trips, she after work. They rarely spoke on the phone; after all, international calls are very expensive; there would be no point in spending money when Magdalena had just gone to pick it up. April 13, 2004 Hello, Michal! I haven't seen you for just a few days, and I already feel an inexpressible longing in my heart. To think that this is only the beginning of our separation! I'm sitting here writing, and I can see your face in my mind's eye. Writing these words, I feel as if I were simply telling you how I'm doing, as if you were with me, because you are indeed very close—you are in my heart. And around me? The stable, the fields, the house of the man I work for, and the building where we're housed. There are about forty of us here—twenty Polish women, a few Russians, Ukrainians, and a few men from strange parts of the world—Georgia, Turkey, a few from Africa... This entire farm, holding, or whatever you call it, is located in the middle of nowhere—the nearest shop is a few kilometers away, in a tiny town that, no matter how you look at it, is quite pretty and, to some extent, even charming. But are you interested in these details? There are so many of them, if I wanted to write you everything, I probably would never finish... The work isn't easy, but I hope I'll get used to it quickly, because so far I finish work terribly tired, with a pain in my back, and only thinking about falling asleep. I'm afraid I won't be able to get used to it... As I fall asleep, I think about you and what it will be like when we finally meet. I also think about how wonderful our nest will be, how wonderfully we'll arrange it – new furniture, a new kitchen, a bathroom. Now, at this moment, I'm also overcome by an overwhelming desire to sleep, so I'll finish now. I know this letter isn't very long, but it doesn't take much to express the most important thing: that I LOVE YOU AND I'M THINKING OF YOU. Your Magda. April 20, 2004 Hello, dear wife! I think of you too, very often. While we're apart, I stuck your photo in the bottom corner of my window. Sometimes I glance at it while driving, but I constantly look at it during stops, while I eat. I just drove back from Ukraine – God, the corruption there is so rampant. Customs officers need to be given some hryvnias, and the police too, because they're standing almost every few kilometers, catching anyone who drives past them. As you can see, corruption is rife there, and is it any different in Poland? You know it yourself – the only difference is that in Poland no one flaunts it so much, no one asks for money so brazenly. After all, corruption is corruption, and nothing justifies bribe-taking. Oh, back to work – I try not to bring it home with me, you know that very well. And the house is empty without you, cold, downright deadly! Just a few more months and we'll see each other again. I tried to get a ride through Germany, then I could have dropped in on you for a moment, seen your beautiful eyes, the face I love so much, but "the lord and master" sent me to Norway – I'm leaving tomorrow. Maybe that's even better; I can't stand the atmosphere of home without you. I received your letter, and it made me very happy, but also sad at the same time. You're probably asking why. Maybe your trip wasn't the best idea? You'll still get sick; women aren't made for hard physical labor, after all. I also hope you'll get used to it and say, with Stendhal, "Wait a minute, there's his "Parma Hermitage" somewhere..." "It's safe to say that fear was a hundred times worse than misfortune." But know that if things get difficult, you can come back at any time – money isn't the most important thing, as the saying goes, "money doesn't buy happiness." We don't have to renovate the apartment as soon as possible. It's beautiful when you're in it anyway! Tell me how you're doing, I'm waiting for your letter. I'll be back in about five days, at least I should be able to finish in time. Sending you warm kisses! Yours, Michał. May 5, 2004 Hi! You might be happy to hear that I'm starting to get used to work – I don't come in as tired as I was at the beginning. I have more time for myself – I'm meeting people with whom I share my increasingly better fortune on this farm. Almost everyone is friendly, we're forming friendships, and we've even arranged to meet up when we return to Poland. People from other countries stick with their own people, but they're by no means avoiding us. You can communicate with them by sign language or speaking your own language – you know, Slavic languages ​​are very similar, and you can understand each other somewhat. Of course, there's no question of long conversations, but it's still something, right? I also met a German; he gave me a ride a few times to that tiny village I mentioned in my previous letter. His wife, it turned out, had Polish grandparents and understood a little Polish, but not enough to talk about the proverbial everything and nothing. She translates, albeit a bit clumsily, what Stefan (her husband) is saying, and she also translates what I'm saying for him. I listen to their conversations and their translations, and I'm slowly starting to speak German. Of course, I mostly memorize words, but I hope I'll be able to construct some sentences in a few months. I also met Ahmed, a Turk – he speaks Polish better now, having worked as a cook in a Polish hotel a few years ago. He hopes to open a restaurant in Berlin, where his family recently moved. One of the Africans also speaks Polish – he used to study in Krakow. While the cultural differences are noticeable, it's nice to talk to people of other nationalities for a reasonable length of time. Despite everything, I spend most of my time either at work or with Polish women – even though there are no luxuries here, I'm not complaining. Love and thinking of you, Magda. May 13, 2004 Hello, Madzia! It's been a long time since I've waited for a letter from you, because for me, these two weeks without a word from you have felt like an eternity, and even longer! Right now, as you've probably guessed from the stamp, I'm in Austria, south of Vienna. I was passing through this charming city, couldn't resist a quick stop on the Ringstrasse, couldn't resist a quick sightseeing tour. St. Stephen's Church, a charming pub on Backerstasse, and—what was the most important reason for this little trip for me—the house where Mozart himself lived (while also asking the pub owners, I even came across the building where the maestro died, although the building was demolished some time ago and a new building was built in its place...). You know how much I like Mr. Wolfgang, right? Perhaps someday we'll go to this wonderful city together to visit, for example, Schonbrunn Palace, which I read about in some guidebook I bought for a few cents? I'm driving south to Ljubljana—in the car, you look at me from a photo, I hear your voice, and when I fall asleep, I remember you, all the most beautiful moments spent with you. Once, when I was very young, I read about meetings in dreams, completely conscious—if only we could meet like that, you and I, connect our souls in a dream... It's been a month since I last saw you, smelled your skin, felt its silky softness, and most importantly, felt your warmth... I'm so, so glad that work isn't difficult for you anymore, that you're not bothered by the fact that you've gotten used to it. I just hope you don't stay in Germany too long... That was a joke, of course, although I really would love to meet you, or at least talk on the phone. I should be home on May 28th. I'll be back from Slovenia in a few days, then I'll do a few short courses in Poland and spend a few days in this empty, creepy house (yes, that's what it's like without you!)... Your loving husband. On May 28th, he woke up early in the morning. She could have called at any moment; before work, perhaps she'd found a break, perhaps later. Coffee after coffee, a racing heart, and the ever-recurring question—"Will she call? Will she make it?" Flipping through channels, staring at the screen with a vacant gaze—the TV image obscured her face. It had been almost five weeks since he'd last seen her, his longing for her growing with each passing day, and while work had somewhat drowned out her absence, now sitting in his empty apartment, it resonated within him with redoubled force. Finally, he waited, waited for the long-awaited sound of the phone ringing... They spoke briefly. She seemed ill, she didn't say much, there was no trace of enthusiasm in her voice at hearing him, at talking to him. It worried him, but he said nothing. He thought that, contrary to what he wrote, it was probably hard for her, but I didn't want to worry him....June 7, 2004 Hello, husband. I know that during our conversation you probably didn't sense the joy in my voice, the joy at hearing your voice. I was very happy, I really was! I just didn't feel very well, I was a little weak. I think you'll be happy when you know the reason for my feeling. Well, dear Michael, now I know for sure, we're having a baby! Reading those words, he froze, stunned. Although I think the word "surprised" would better describe his state. A baby... He'd dreamed of one for a long time! They'd been trying for one for several years, unsuccessfully. They had tests, and they showed no contraindications for either her or him. A baby... Finally! Do you remember our last night together before I left? It was that night, without a doubt, that we gave life to this little being who is slowly developing inside me. I think I'll stay here a few more months; it won't be harmful to the baby, not at this stage. What more can I say? I think that with this news, everything else will seem irrelevant, right? Kisses, Magda. He felt happier than ever. The child he dreamed of for so many years had finally arrived, developing in Magda's belly. A son or a daughter? It doesn't matter at all! The important thing is that it's here, that it will arrive in a few months. Then he'll give up his long-distance travel, who knows? Maybe he'll quit his job and find something local. He'd already seen his first steps, the way he says "daddy," the way he laughs, revealing for the world to admire, his first tiny tooth. What should he name him, or her? It doesn't matter, it's the least important! June 14, 2004 Hello! You have no idea how happy the news about the baby made me! I'm so happy! I don't think any event or news has ever filled me with such immense joy! Yesterday I was shopping for a while – beautiful strollers, clothes, and cribs flashed before my eyes! We'll go shopping together someday and buy our baby all these wonderful things. Come back soon – it's not worth risking something you can't even count for money! Do it for me and for our baby – after all, we've been waiting for them for so long... They exchanged two more short letters, in which he tried to convince her to come back, and she tried to convince him there was no need. Finally, she returned, in mid-July. Michał's joy was marred by her behavior. He was happy, indeed, to see her belly growing, becoming bigger and rounder, but whenever he returned home, he found Magda in a bad mood. She didn't say much, she was sad, as if the flame that had once burned so brightly and joyfully within her had diminished, as if it were barely smoldering. Michał was worried about his wife. He told her what he'd observed, of course, but she blamed it on the pregnancy, which can have a negative impact on a woman's well-being. In the final weeks of her pregnancy, she became very nervous, as if she were anxious about something, as if some worry were consuming her mind. Michał spent this period by his wife's side, helping her in every way he could, caring for her as best he could, comforting her, trying to make her laugh. However, his efforts had no effect on her. "Once she gives birth, she'll definitely feel better," he repeated to himself. Until finally, that day arrived, January of the new year. Unfortunately, Michał had to go on a trip, albeit a short one, but that was when the baby was born... He returned two days later. The day was cold, and a light snow was falling. A faint puff of smoke escaped Michał's mouth, the frozen snow crunching under his feet. He walked as fast as he could, clutching a bouquet of roses. He couldn't wait to see his child. He crossed the hospital threshold, warmth hitting his face. His frozen body began to regain color. He removed his hat and approached the receptionist. She informed him where his wife was, and he went there as quickly as he could, rushing like Hermes. She was asleep. She looked beautiful—"It's all over now," flashed through Michał's mind. He stood in the doorway, gazing tenderly at his wife's sleeping face. He asked a nurse passing by in the hallway where his child was. She led him to the maternity ward, pointing to one of the sleeping children... "There must be a mistake," Michał said, surprised, staring blankly at the nurse, who looked perplexed. "No, there can be no mistake." This child was born to your wife. Marek looked at the little one wrapped in a white swaddle. He stared into that chocolate face, that... mulatto. He dropped the roses on the floor and ran out of the hospital.