What is happiness, David?

For you, baby.

What is happiness, David?

"One hour, three Liptons, ten Golden Retrievers..." he counted aloud, staring listlessly at the cardboard boxes waiting for him by the window.

He was almost forty years old, and yet everything he owned was in those three unfortunate boxes, one of which would never be opened again. He ran his gaze over the dingy walls of the crumbling apartment.

"My God," he moaned in a strangled voice and buried his face in his hands. "I know what you want... You want me to fall to my knees before you again and claw at the walls. You want me to search desperately for your words again, don't you? Words you never told me? Tell me?! You make me live on a day you created and a hope that means nothing to me? God, how you are... How cruel you are! And yet I'm not asking for much! Please, I just want to forget!"

He slammed his fist against the wall. He regretted that he no longer knew how to believe or control himself. He regretted everything, but most of all, that he no longer knew how to live. The window was open, but despite this, he could feel the stench surrounding him. A disgusting, claustrophobic stench he never wanted to remember again.

With a brisk step, he approached the windowsill and began to greedily inhale the damp air. And it held everything he needed at that moment. Freedom, peace, cleanliness, and the memory of all those lost autumn days. But now he didn't want to reminisce; he wanted to think about the walk. About the beautiful maple alley, about the playground from which the joyful cries of children echoed, and about the straw-colored sun.

He left the apartment without regret, leaving behind a few pieces of furniture, a few lonely boxes, and an air mattress. He had moved into the building yesterday, but all he had managed to do in those twenty-four hours was make potato soup and eat it. He couldn't get his bearings. The second day of his stay passed, and he still couldn't gather his thoughts. He only knew he was afraid. He had once believed that fear was a sign of weakness, and clutching a fragment of a broken mirror, he had said to the shard of his face, "I'm not afraid." But now... Now he knew that only fools didn't feel fear, and he wasn't foolish. He was merely a reclaimed element of society, free, and therefore so terrified.

He walked slowly down the aisle, his gaze touching the steely sky. It radiated a peace that, after a short while, began to spread to him. Oh, how he missed it! How he longed for solace, for something that would so easily soothe his pain and grief.

"Good morning," a soft, female voice suddenly reached him.

Startled by the presence of someone else, he turned and looked straight into the large, brown eyes.

"Good morning," he replied in panic, and was about to leave when a woman sitting on a bench stopped him with a question.

"You're new here, aren't you?" She hid her frozen hands in the pockets of her worn coat and smiled kindly. "I saw you move in yesterday."

He stood still for a moment, as if wondering if he should answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk at all, but he hadn't been sure about anything for a while now.

"Yes, I moved in yesterday," he confirmed, looking at her more closely.

"We live next door, in apartment number twenty," she said, leaning forward to look over his left shoulder.

He followed her gaze. Among the raked leaves, near the rusty swing, sat a girl in a navy blue coat. Her back was turned, but he could clearly hear her cheerful singing.

"Is that your daughter?" he asked, surprised by his sudden curiosity.

The woman responded with a pleasant smile. She had kind, gentle eyes. And finally, he understood why he had decided to talk to her. Her eyes were like... An invisible force tightened his throat, and a wave of nausea took over his body. He felt faint. He cursed himself and God in his mind. He hated him. He hated him more than himself now... HATED! "

Is something wrong?" the woman asked with genuine concern in her voice, rising to support him, but he jerked away from her, raising his hands in silent protest.

He knew her touch would hurt more than her gaze.

"Are you feeling faint? What's wrong?

" "I'm fine..." he muttered groggily. "I have to go...

" "But..."

"Goodbye!" he said in a choked voice and began to walk quickly down the maple avenue. "

Did I offend you in any way!?" she called after him, frightened, but he didn't even look back.

He had to escape her gaze, her kindness, and the questions she would surely ask. When he was far enough away that she couldn't hear him, he leaned his forehead against the damp bark of the nearest tree.

"You don't even know how much..." he whispered, his voice changing.

The wind and leaves sang a melody that muffled his remaining, bitter words.

He

dipped his hands into the crimson puddle, waving a sad farewell to the sleeping sky. He was sorry to part with the day. He rose with a sigh and walked toward Parkowa Street, through a rustling flood of colors.

Everything looked the same here. As far as the eye could see, square, cream-colored buildings with shuttered windows stretched, fenced off from the world by the black teeth of grates. A monotonous landscape, woven with the gangrene of indifference. A degenerate world of decent people, clean rooms, and barren hearts. He shuddered and quickened his pace, staring into the fading crimson glow.

He didn't like this neighborhood. He much preferred his drab tenement building, the alley, and the small square with the playground. The cream-colored houses reminded him too much of his former life—the one he'd lost and to which he never wanted to return.

When he finally turned onto Parkowa Street, he felt an indescribable sense of relief. He could slow his pace, straighten his shoulders, look around, and breathe deeply. His walk was over, and he seemed glad of it.

The dingy gray tenement building was already bathed in the orange light of the streetlamps, and he eagerly dove inside. He energetically climbed the stairs, lit by a dirty bulb, and... Then he spotted her. She was sitting motionless by the window. Concentrated, silent, or perhaps lost in thought? The girl in the navy blue coat.

Before he could approach and open his mouth, she turned to look at him.

"Hi," she said cheerfully, her wide eyes fixed on his.

"Hello...

" "Hania," she introduced herself hastily.

"Hello Hania," he corrected himself, feeling a growing embarrassment.

"You're our neighbor, right?

" "Yes," he confirmed, his gaze averting.

Incidentally, it struck him as odd that the gaze of such a small creature could make him feel uneasy. Or perhaps it wasn't her gaze that bothered him, but his ugly coat, worn sneakers, and wind-blown hair? He glanced discreetly at his legs, then at his neglected nails and worn-out hands. He hadn't looked like this before. He had been different before. He smiled faintly, clenching his fists.

He was ashamed of himself.

"What's your name?" the girl asked suddenly.

Name? What did others say of him?

Icicle, Freak, Freak, Changeling, Silent...

MURDERER.

"David."

In the dim light of the bulb, he caught the girl's smile.

"My hamster's name is Dawid. I'd like to buy him a wheel. Hamsters like wheels, you know that?"

He didn't have time to reply that he knew, because the girl took another deep breath and another torrent of words flowed from her lips: "

They also like chicory and apples. Do you like chicory? Mom always gives it to me because she says it's healthy, but it's bitter and disgusting."

He thought for a moment. Did he like chicory?

"I don't think I've ever tried it..." he admitted openly.

His vegetable intake was usually limited to tomatoes, pickled cucumbers, and carrots, but lately he hadn't even eaten those. Almost all his meals consisted of unsophisticated soups and sandwiches with pâté and luncheon meat.

The door to room twenty creaked open and swung wide, flooding the stairs with a wave of light. He felt a sickness creep up on him at the sight of those now-familiar, gentle eyes. He longed to become invisible. No! It wasn't like that... He was already invisible. After all, his friends no longer recognized him, God had forgotten him, and his family had forgotten his existence.

So why was she looking at him?

Why did SHE see him?

"Hello again," the woman with brown eyes said friendly. "You just got back from your walk? I hope... I mean... I hope I didn't offend you? You left so quickly that..." She spoke in a slightly embarrassed voice, as if unsure how to choose the right words.

He wanted to scream: Yes, you hurt me. You hurt me terribly, with those eyes of yours, with that damned kindness... You don't know what you're doing. You don't know who you're talking to... You know nothing!

"No, I'm sorry..." he reassured her after a short moment, then lied quickly. "...It's nothing, I just felt a little bad..."

The woman smiled sheepishly and looked toward the window, and he felt relief.

"Hania, come quickly to dinner.

" The girl started slowly up the stairs, and he was speechless with astonishment. Only now did he notice what he should have noticed long ago. He watched the girl's small hand as it moved carefully along the dirty banister. The child was not looking.

"Won't you come in for tea and warm pancakes? I made so many, we probably won't eat them alone," she laughed heartily.

"Your name is like our hamster," the girl interjected, stopping next to her mother.

Her glassy, ​​wide eyes, completely at odds with the child's cheerful face, were staring somewhere over his shoulder. Only now did he realize she must be older than he had initially thought. She looked about six.

"Hania," her mother admonished, placing her hand on her head, which was full of short, dark, and strangely spiky hair.

"It doesn't matter... Dawid is a pretty name, why shouldn't hamsters have it too?"

The girl giggled, and he felt pleased. He was glad his words sounded funny. He even wanted to smile, but he couldn't... It was as if his face were numb or part of a large stone boulder.

"Go wash your hands, darling..." the woman said, then turned to him again. "Well, don't stand there. I'm inviting a neighbor over for dinner... And don't look so terrified, I assure you, I didn't stuff the pancakes with toadstools."

Dawid swallowed silently and, trembling, climbed the stairs.

*

Gordon Haskell and the smell of pancakes with jam filled the kitchen. It was a small, elongated room with a huge window adorned with yellow curtains.

The walls were golden, the cabinets the color of coffee with milk, and he...

admired.

"You have a beautiful kitchen," he said with a delight he couldn't and didn't want to hide.

The woman smiled broadly.

"My name is Helena, maybe we can call each other first names? We're neighbors after all..." Her teaspoon hung in the air, halfway to the sugar bowl. "Did I say something wrong? Of course, if you don't mind?"

"No, of course..." He tried to smile again, but instead his face contorted into something that could be called a grimace of pain. "Call me Dawid."

"So, Dawid, where did you live before?"

David frowned unconsciously, his eyes fixed on the last pancake. Helena looked at him more intently, waiting for an answer, but he buried his lips in his mug of tea.

"Sorry, I don't mean to pry..." she explained hastily. "I just asked..."

"It doesn't matter... It's just that I don't know if I want to talk about it..."

"I understand." Her face was filled with calm.

"I doubt it..." he said dryly, but kind, brown eyes made him add in a slightly softer tone. "I don't know if I even want to talk about it..."

Helena nodded thoughtfully, but he read nothing in her eyes but understanding. And yet she couldn't understand anything, and yet... She understood. Why?

"Mommy!" came a cry from the room. "Mommy! David's run away under the sofa again!"

Helena laughed. She had a beautiful smile, and he was surprised that he'd only just noticed it now.

She wasn't a very pretty woman, but her smile was like the touch of the sun, and her eyes were like stars burning in the night sky... Those eyes...

He felt like he was suffocating.

"Maybe we should look for him, or he'll chew the wallpaper again." She laughed even more cheerfully and headed for the living room, tossing him over her shoulder, "So, Dawid? Do you want to be a catcher?"

He rose briskly from the chair and plunged into the orange light of the hallway with her. The prospect of his newly entrusted position seemed rather amusing to him.

The living room was quite large and very cozy. In the corner of the yellow room stood a cream-colored sofa, and next to it was its twin, an armchair. There was also a large bookcase with books and a television, a small table, and a few chairs.

"Don't just stand there, Dawid... You're a catcher!" Helena shouted, somewhere into the crack between the floor and the sofa.

Dawid knelt at the other end of the sofa and peered under it.

"It's there. I can see his head."

"Head!" Hania corrected him, settling comfortably in the armchair. "Hamsters don't have heads."

"Don't bother me, honey... Try to get him out, and I'll make sure he doesn't run off under the shelf," Helena's voice held the determination and experience of an old hamster tamer.

Dawid reached deep into his hand and pulled out the hamster.

"It's just a doll's shoe," he stated with disappointment, staring at the strange shoe with pompoms.

"It's Cinderella's!" Hania exclaimed, adding in a voice full of enthusiasm, "Put it back in there!" Cinderella lost that shoe under the sofa on her way home from the ball.

"I always thought he lost them on the stairs," he muttered under his breath, stuffing the shoe under the sofa again.

Helena giggled.

"I have it."

Helena straightened. She held the hamster in a gentle embrace.

Dawid rose from his knees and looked sideways at the animal, whose eyes were filled with terror. The hamster twitched its whiskers nervously, squeaking softly.

"Hania, remember not to take David out of the cage when I'm not in the room," her mother admonished her gently, placing the animal in her arms. "Put it down and go wash it. Time for bed."

Hania smiled and slid down from the armchair without protest. She walked over to the bookshelf and placed the hamster in the glass aquarium on the lowest shelf.

"Goodnight, Dawid," she said, leaving the room.

Dawid wasn't sure if the farewell was directed at him, but just in case, he replied quietly, "Goodnight."

Hania's small hand guided her to the bathroom, leaving an invisible mark on the coffee tabletop and the yellow tablecloth, patterned with large wildflowers.

"She's very independent for..." he cursed silently, seeing Helena's saddened look.

The sadness in her eyes, in her kind eyes...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"For a blind child. Don't be afraid to call a spade a spade, Dawid," she said, her voice a bit hollow. "Yes, for a blind child, Hania is very independent. She's more independent than many healthy children I know." But you must know, Dawid, that she wasn't always blind... Four years ago, that accident happened... My husband died, and Hania...

The silence that fell in the room was saturated with her sadness and his confusion. And suddenly he wanted to apologize, to hug her, to kiss her forehead, and lose himself in her eyes... But he knew it wasn't possible.

"I'm sorry... I... I'd better go. I have to get up very early tomorrow. Thank you for dinner, it was really delicious," he blurted out in one breath and headed for the door.

She accompanied him in silence, and only as he grabbed the doorknob did she speak in a hushed voice:

"See you then, Dawid."

He grew sad, wondering if she would say the same if she knew everything.

"See you. "

He closed the door behind him.