The Story of an Ordinary Man

I remember that face very well. Yes...

sometimes it even seems too well.

Every time I close my eyes, I see everything,

I remember everything perfectly

. It was a special day...

please sit here on the bench,

look how the sun is warming...

The pale autumn sun was warming, but it was still very cold. A frozen, bluish sky with slightly frayed silver clouds.

From a distance, I could see my red bus stop. I liked it so red, so much, so mine... Along the sidewalk, paved with gray cobblestones, and a dozen colorful leaves, which the wind mercilessly tossed across the road. Autumn was already visible... I could feel it in the air, its scent... In the pale and sad faces of people. In everything. Everyone knew it was there, though no one wanted it, it stubbornly remained. Somehow, autumn has always been sad for me. The world then moves too slowly, step by step, the shadows of gray life.

The closer I got to it, the bigger it seemed. It seemed to me that it had been waiting for me forever. Minutes into hours, hours into days, days into years, years into eternity...

An elderly man sat at the bus stop. His gray hair was obscured by an old cap. He wasn't hunched over, nor was his head bowed—staring blankly at a single blind spot. He simply sat. It seemed he'd been waiting for someone for a long time, on some very important matter.

Throwing my backpack into the corner of the shelter, I sat down on one of the small red chairs. The elderly man turned to me and simply smiled. His soul was encapsulated in that smile. Full of joy, wide open, and probably happy. His eyes were bottomless, hazel-colored abysses. Shrouded in a distant mystery. I couldn't understand them; they were too complex. It seemed to me that I saw my own reflection in them, something beyond mere words...

"You know... listen, I'll tell you a story about life," he said, smiling even more broadly at me. "

I have one, I had a brother in England," he continued. "He died in October." I remember it so well. It was the beginning of a warm October. You know, I can't remember his face anymore. It was so recently, and yet it seems like an eternity to me... luckily, I still have my son... he's studying here in Przemyśl. I'm so happy for my grandchildren. Sometimes it seems like they're all I have left, but they're everything to me...

His voice was so joyful; he was as happy as a little child who'd just gotten an ice cream.

A moment later, a bus pulled up. Late as usual. It seemed to be a tradition. A strange collusion among all the drivers. Dozens of people got off the bus, each going their separate ways. As if nothing mattered. The only thing that mattered was the destination. The destination they had to pursue at all costs. An elderly gentleman boarded first, followed closely by me. I sat down next to him again. The bus moved off. And he, smiling again, finished his story; and it seemed like some distant past...

- yes... it was probably 1937... I was still living in England then. Two years later, the war broke out... I remember it so well... probably too well. It's impossible to forget. It was terrible. You know, I fought for Poland and England... strange, isn't it... but the English thanked us for our help... and I didn't want to die... I was so afraid of death. But one day during the war, I met my old lady...

He burst out laughing, shaking my head, and I joined him. After a moment, we became the only vantage point for the entire bus. We were approaching the last stop. An elderly gentleman stood up and, patting me on the shoulder, whispered, asked...

"Do you know how old I am?"

I shrugged silently...

"88 years old..."

The bus stopped and the metal doors flew open. So this was the end. This was my fairy tale about life. So true... beautiful, right? Hang in there and watch out for people... you never know.

Whatever that meant, it didn't matter to me at that moment. I saw his smile for the last time and his disappearing silhouette in the window. I watched him walk away with a broad smile... How much joy was draining from him...

All that remained were the petrified souls of buildings and roads stretching to nowhere. And above them, a steel sky and sieve-like clouds riddled with holes. Sleeping trees and a carpet of leaves - the avenue is covered with (...)

You've been here before... you remember me,

you came once for a moment

, please sit here on the bench,

look how the sun is warming

you will come again for a moment...