Desire

Cafes and bars, where customers are served with a certain kind of care and have the chance to feel important, are places that can lift one's spirits and allow one to be better, or rather, to belong to better people, at least for a moment. We're not talking about expensive establishments where you can be the boss, especially when your wallet is weighed down by banknotes, but ones that are always clean, affordable, and everything, though not necessarily the latest fashion, is aesthetically pleasing and simple.

Service is a slightly different matter—you don't want to be nice when you're earning four złoty for an hour of constant running and smiling. Knowing that someone spends as much on a single meal as you earn in a whole day is even more depressing.

A wide variety of people visit cafes and cheap restaurants, treating them as a place to eat or meet friends. They're usually not poor, or rather, not the poorest.

Dr. Bernard, a regular customer of restaurants, was the type of person who didn't waste time preparing meals, believing it was a waste of time. Therefore, he visited the café near the hospital daily, even twice a day. However, it often happened that he spent so much time there that, if he were home, he could have cooked himself a whole week's worth of dinner. He visited the café around 2 p.m., and also in the mornings or evenings. Sometimes, sitting at a table, he would read a book and take quick notes. He was a psychiatrist. Perhaps by sitting there, in a crowded place, he was trying to regain some sense of normalcy. He wasn't particularly talkative. He stayed longer in the evenings, which had been quite frequent lately; then he was more willing to talk than in the mornings or during the day. He ordered coffee or red wine, and never ate in the evening. He seemed pleasant and friendly, confident, yet disorganized. He had a few friends who, like him, would come to the café after work to relax, but Dr. Bernard was the most frequent of the four. When they all came together, which was quite rare, they always, without exception, ended the meeting completely unaware. Sometimes the employees had to call taxis or even escort the offenders away themselves, which they gladly did, because it was nice to get a tip with even just one zero at the end, and sometimes two.

The doctor, despite not being a gregarious person, enjoyed engaging in conversation and discussion, without revealing who he was or what he did, of course, and would share scant information about himself. Only when he felt the dialogue inexorably drawing to a close did he reveal the secrets—that he was a psychiatrist, and not just any psychiatrist at that. The ending was, or was intended to be, a shock for the interlocutor, who felt the honor of speaking with a doctor… a psychiatrist. The doctor himself incredibly boosted his ego with such exchanges about nothing. However, he saw a certain twist in this, and though he tried hard, he couldn't suppress an innate, yet incomprehensible and uncontrollable—despite numerous efforts—strange feeling of superiority, carried away by his position, his expertise in a given subject, or something else that didn't quite reflect reality. He absolutely hated being second; subconsciously, he always yearned to be the best. He tried to break free from this habit, but the constant battle with his thoughts yielded no results. This somewhat perverse conviction meant that the doctor searched for arguments to prove his point until he succeeded. It also manifested itself in a fondness for expensive shoes, sweaters, trousers, and even in the fact that Dr. Bernard would reach for the more expensive ketchup, the more expensive juice, or the more expensive bag of candy in the store. He fought this because he knew it was a sick and irrational feeling, that one couldn't have it all and be everything – it was impossible…

One February afternoon, ritually, as always, he descended the stairs. He was dressed simply – elegantly and classily, clutching a tightly clutched newspaper. He hung his coat on a coat rack and sat down at a rectangular table. The café was somewhat pub-style and also opened a bit later than other establishments of its kind. Inside, a friendly atmosphere prevailed, creating an atmosphere of safety and familiarity. Dr. Bernard ordered a coffee and spread the newspaper on the table.

The café was filling up with customers with every passing minute, and it was starting to feel quite crowded. Even though the days were getting longer and the sun was slowly but steadily stealing the day from the night's dominion, minute by minute. However, the recurring autumnal depression wouldn't let itself be forgotten. Places like this remained a refuge, a dancing meadow where laughter and music forced one to reject the outside—winter, mud, and slush, which, like quicksand, were a quagmire blocking feeling and desire. February, however, was the month that offered hope for spring, for joy and greenery; contrary to appearances, it was full of optimism.

At the very time when every seat, every free space, was at a premium, an inconspicuous-looking man entered the café. He was rather young, quite tall, around six feet tall. His face was sincere and pleasant. His entrance attracted no attention. Standing in the doorway, he surveyed almost the entire place. He was grateful that no one had noticed him, which made him feel at ease and slowly descended the stairs. Once at the bottom, he took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the entrance. He surveyed the room again. The only visible empty seat was next to Dr. Bernard. However, he didn't move like a bullet to take it, but turned and began... hanging his jacket from the first coat rack to the second, then the third, the second again, and the third again. Finally, he tossed it aside, as if to avoid the agonizing choice. It caught. Satisfied, he walked briskly to the table where the doctor was sitting.

"Excuse me, is it free?" he asked politely.

"Of course, please sit down," the equally polite doctor replied. In the evenings, he became so sociable and talkative that he looked nothing like the busy and somewhat aloof Bernard, who came here in the early afternoon.

The doctor's occasional companion showed no signs of particular interest in what was happening around him; he seemed absent.

"Do they have good coffee here?" he asked, sensing the silence stretching on.

"Coffee, they have excellent coffee. Besides, I'm a regular customer and have never been disappointed. Please don't be impatient, it's very busy, but someone will surely come over soon.

" "Thank you, I mean, I don't drink coffee often—it's… too strong, but I'm asking about the coffee because if the coffee is good, everything is good," the man said.

"I must admit, this is the first time I've encountered such a view, but who knows, maybe it's not actually very accurate," the doctor replied with satisfaction. He then grabbed his shirt collar, moved it slightly to the side, unbuttoned the button, and added, "It's getting hot, there are especially many customers here today. Besides, I'm not surprised; it's impossible to stay indoors in this weather.

" "Indeed, when night falls too quickly, the loneliness is unbearable.

" "Well, it's not December or November anymore, it's still spring," the doctor replied.

They sat in silence for a while. The stranger glanced at the counter and out the window, but these movements seemed less a sign of impatience than of embarrassment.

Finally, he fixed his gaze on the young waitress serving two tables away. He watched her step delicately toward the counter, then back to the table, then back to the counter again, then back to the table again. Watching her alluring, feminine, and subtle movements, he longed for her to ask him what he wanted. His gaze lingered on her thighs, watching them flex as she took each step, taking great pleasure in it. As he continued, almost hypnotically, he noticed them beginning to approach him, but he never for a moment considered that the waitress was approaching him, about to take what might be his hundredth order.

As she approached the table, he gazed at her with a fixed gaze, as if torn from a daze. She looked very young, perhaps twenty, twenty-three at most. Her brown, almost auburn hair, parted in the middle, fell to her shoulders. They were so healthy and shiny, their beautiful scent, surprisingly untainted by cigarette smoke, could only be compared to the scent that comes with the first gust of spring wind, so fresh, full of optimism and a strange sense of joy, it made it impossible to think of her as anything other than some nymph who had become a waitress to ruthlessly seduce, to inspire delight and desire. She had a sweet face, dreamy and charming, yet at the same time feisty and rebellious. Her dark, large, sparkling eyes, though smiling, seemed tired and staring into the distance.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, trying to tug at the corners of her mouth.

Her beauty made a visibly impression on the man. He felt embarrassed and sad.

"Can I get you anything?" the girl repeated.

"Yes,… but I haven't decided yet, maybe… coffee, coffee with milk, please."

"Please," the girl said, turning and heading towards the counter.

Her movements were captivating, the harmony of every gesture, her grace and overall order gave her a dignity and a sort of majesty, but this didn't fully capture the beauty of her body; there was a certain joy locked within it, arousing eternal desires.

He couldn't look at her; she was too beautiful and too inaccessible.

"I guess it's not hard to explain the success of this place," Bernard's companion remarked with a smile.

"Well, I think I know what you mean. She really is beautiful, no matter how you look at it, she has that something, that gift. Half the people who come here probably come for her," the doctor observed and laughed. "

She's beautiful..." the newcomer added.

"You know, I even know her a little, I help her, she has a four-year-old daughter. Sometimes I tip her a little more, I sometimes visit her house."

The newcomer looked at the doctor with contempt.

"Her mother lives with her, so I come there from time to time to check on them. Julia," the doctor continued, "is one of those wonderful creatures you can't help but love. Beautiful, smart, helpful... she interrupted her studies, had to take care of the little one."

The newcomer listened to the doctor, but at the same time, he was trying to solve a problem that was clearly bothering him. He couldn't decide whether his wallet should be on the table or in his pocket. He kept taking it out of his jacket and placing it on the table, then putting it back in his pocket and placing it back on the table. He hoped the doctor wouldn't notice, so he did it slowly and secretly.

"But don't think this is a package deal, I simply have some money and time... so I'm helping."

Julia approached the table—beautiful, sweet, and fragrant, with coffee, three beers, and a roast on a tray.

"I'm sorry you had to wait, but it's incredibly busy today." Her resonant, feminine voice hung in the air.

"Thank you, nothing's wrong," the man sheepishly placed his wallet on the table.

The girl quickly walked to a nearby table, and amid the din, a soft voice reached her: "I'm sorry you had to wait...". "

I know you were also touched by her beauty and delicacy, but it's no use. She won't commit to anyone, at least not now. Her husband, I believe, left her alone, without anything, to her own devices. Besides, she was expecting a child, which he knew perfectly well. He loves the little one too much; he doesn't want to expose her to any harm."

The newcomer listened, moved, put his wallet in his jacket pocket, and drank his coffee. The doctor noticed that his new acquaintance periodically lifted the cup to his lips, lowered it, and set it down on the saucer. He did this several times. "

They loved each other, but they married because of the child, that's all I know," the doctor announced.

"But how could anyone abandon a woman like that? I can't imagine it, it's stupid," Bernard's interlocutor remarked. "

Do you think I haven't thought about it?"

The stranger raised his cup to his lips.

"Well, I think you've thought

about it..." "Well, aren't you going to ask about

the consequences?" "Well, I can ask—so I'm asking: what are the consequences?

" "They are that this story is a complicated one, but he must have done something very unpleasant to her, because to this day, it seems to me, she can't find her balance. You know, if I were a woman abandoned by a man, I would seek happiness in a child. Maybe she's doing the same thing, maybe a child is simply enough for her for now.

" "Interesting theory... so you're suggesting that someone abandoned her?" asked the young man.

"That's what I think, but not entirely, because whatever happened—it was terribly difficult for her; he could just as easily have died leaving her and the child."

"Why don't you just ask?" asked the doctor's companion.

"I'm not asking, she's not answering, and anyway, I don't care," Bernard replied glumly. "But we'll end there – can you keep going on like this without any basis? Perhaps you'd be tempted by a glass of wine?"

"Well, I guess I shouldn't refuse, I'll gladly accept one."

It didn't end with just one glass, not even one bottle. When twelve o'clock struck, the place was still full of people, though it was slowly thinning out. Some were leaving the restaurant with unsteady steps, someone had tripped on the stairs – but after midnight, you don't remember any mishaps, you don't feel ashamed – someone was asleep on a table, someone else on the toilet sink.

The doctor and his new acquaintance were wandering somewhere under the sky, even though their consciousness was failing them, they were engaged in a heated conversation.

The doctor finally muttered, "Enough, let's go."

"Well, if it's over, it's over, doctor, I mean Bernard, it's over... we're going to sleep," the doctor's companion managed to choke out, and let his head fall limply onto the table.

"Waiter, we're going home... waiter!" the doctor muttered. "

Doctor, that coffee girl, she's here, standing in front of me, telling me to go."

"What?" the doctor asked. "Go what? " "

She's telling me to go... "

"Then go... what's the harm? We have to get out of here anyway...

" "But not from here, but to her..." he pointedly emphasized. "I can hear her whispering."

"No, that's impossible, but follow her," the doctor laughed. "Maybe she's waiting for you, so give her my regards."

"I'll go because she's waiting for me, and I'll kiss her because I know she can hear me too."

The doctor's companion braced himself on the back of the chair and lifted him up. The act of getting up seemed at least as difficult and impossible as swimming across the ocean relying solely on his own muscle power. With great effort, the man heaved his heavy body up – even though the chair hit the ground with a thud, he stood up and announced, "I'm going to her." "

She noticed – right here, at the table, that I felt something for her. Doctor, women feel something, they have a sixth sense, I know it, and now she wants me to come to her. Simple, right, Doctor.

" "Then go, I'm going too... to sleep," the doctor replied with obvious indifference. "Oh, you see, she's even standing there, maybe you're lucky, good luck," he added equally indifferently.

"I'm going, I would have gone anyway, I'll surprise her... women love to be surprised..."

Dr. Bernard's new acquaintance staggered and, utterly confident in his seductive powers, followed the waitress, who had just entered the restroom. The man opened the door and stepped inside with a confident, if unsteady, step. He glanced around as if searching for something that surely wasn't there, or wasn't supposed to be. He lowered his head—he was trying hard to decide on a strategy—and after a moment of apparent reflection, he raised it and looked the woman straight in the eyes, as if he knew she was standing before him. The look he gave her wasn't striking, but rather dull and hopelessly naive. The waitress turned away and immersed herself in her work; surely, her eyes had received a similar signal more than once, perhaps even more subtly. She was cleaning the dirty sinks and wanted to do it as quickly as possible so she could finally go home. The sight of a drunk man was as obvious to her as the sight of mountains to a native highlander.

He slowly approached Julia, his gait inconspicuous and unpredictable, seemingly completely inaudible. When the woman noticed someone approaching, she turned again and took a slight step back, but the man was sober enough to grab her firmly around the waist and pull her toward him.

"What are you doing?" she screamed.

Without a word, he pressed her even closer and kissed her on the mouth. It was a kiss full of abandon and violence, saturated with the stench of alcohol, capable of inspiring only revulsion and loathing.

"Leave me alone, help!" she screamed in despair.

The embarrassed man released the woman who, moments ago, had been supposed to be that special, and fully aware, being, a nymph from the Arcadian forest. Her protest and scream were like a deafening hammer, crashing down on him with the speed of a guillotine signaling the end. He didn't even have time to realize his head had been so suddenly disembodied when the beautiful waitress landed a slap across his face.

"Rude!" she screamed, and quickly ran from the bathroom.

It was as if she had concentrated all her strength in her hand, just to somehow compensate for the humiliation, to compensate for this brazen attack on his dignity.

The man, only moments earlier convinced he possessed a special gift for seduction and happiness, staggered and lost his balance, leaning against the wall and slumping to the ground, taking with him the great visions that vanish as quickly as they arise, and though they last so briefly, they sow the seeds of shame that can resurface for years, daily.