3

P.S. (your birthday is coming soon)

What could I give you? I'd give you my hand, wrap you in warmth, hug your face.

I wish you a soft bed beneath your dreams, things you think about but don't say, sounds pleasant to you, a secret place for purring, so you can sink into your heart as deeply as I am within it, as if asleep, completely saturated, safe.

Goodnight."

Anatole fainted.

He was afraid that the overabundance of beauty would kill him.

Couldn't one fatally overdose on beauty?

The only release then were sweet tears of happiness. Discreet. Inaccessible to fools.

Exalted. Exalted.

His parents didn't know, weren't sure whether they preferred Tolkien's esotericism or simple apathy. Both were unbearable.

And so it went on for some time. Three weeks. During that time, Anatol sat almost constantly on the same bench with Zosia, constantly recalling completely new events. But they also had their favorites (their first kiss at night by the Emerald Lake), to which they returned daily. After those three weeks of paradise on earth, Tolka began to worry that there was another letter missing from his mailbox. So much time had passed, and she, intoxicated by love, hadn't written. And so the happy existence of the loving couple was once again put to the test. And this time, she couldn't bear it. Anatol became very suspicious. No wonder; after all, he might be a young boy, but he had a strong feeling that he had never gotten, and never would get, anything from life except a few new kicks. He was disappointed. Disappointed in everything. Everything except music. Onanism bred frustration, and that, in turn, gave rise to hatred. Hatred for himself and for the whole damned world. It's around this point that Anatol meets Zosia. In short, he gets everything. The whole world. The universe. That's why he becomes suspicious; he can't even imagine what would happen to him if he were to lose it now. For nothing in the world. And yet, everyone around him is a potential thief. You have to be vigilant and not let her get away with too much. Anatol started making a fuss with her on the bench. He screamed, raged, until he finally couldn't take it anymore and tied her up in his room. Now he would keep her here. Only then would he be sure of her love. His parents, hearing monologues in their son's room, uttered for some unknown reason, became very concerned and decided to talk to their son, who seemed completely unaware of what was going on.

"Tolek.

" "Oh, leave me alone.

" "Tolek! Come here! We need to talk.

" "What now? "

"Who is Zosia?

" "Oh, normal."

"How normal? There's no one there!"

"Oh, Jesus, what do you want from me again?" – and went back to his room. And his parents listened:

"I don't know why, but they don't like you."

-

"It's normal, they pick on you, that's all."

-

"No, no, don't worry about it at all.

How long can you listen to your own child constantly talking to himself?" The father's nerves finally gave way, and he violently burst into the room: "Tolek, damn it!!!! There's no one here!!!!!"

- "What are you doing?

" - "Don't you understand you're alone in the room?" He grabbed his son by the shoulders and shook him hard, fury in his voice. "Shut up!!!! Do you understand?"

Tolek, not quite grasping the situation, stopped asking about the meaning of his father's actions and, for the sake of peace, started nodding. This tactic, of course, worked; his parents left him alone in the room again, but after a short consultation, they made the firm decision to contact a doctor immediately.

The worst part was that during all this scuffle, Zosia managed to escape. Anatol didn't know how, but he was devastated.

"It's because of you that she ran away!!!!! Do you hear that?"

"Where did she run away? Who ran away?"

"She's coming from Szczecin on purpose, and you... you're throwing her out.

I have to write a letter. Quickly. I'll apologize to her for everything I've done wrong." He poured out all his bitterness on the paper, but despite that, he was very dissatisfied with the letter: it came out bland. However, he couldn't afford a different one, and he wanted a quick response. He got it again three days later:

"Hey!

As usual, I'm out of the mail. I know it's cruel not to write for so long, and I'm terribly sorry for that, but I have a ton of studying (I started summer courses) and I don't even have time for holiday contacts. Still, when I think about those days, I feel like crying because I regret that they're over.

You know, I missed you terribly. I think that next summer we could go camping somewhere and make up for lost time. I'd like to tell you so many things, but I can't express them in words. I would love to feel the warmth of your hands and breath on me again. For now, however, it's impossible, and that's why I feel bad.

Today, however, I feel a little better, because Kornel, my friend, is coming tomorrow. It will be a feast for my soul. He knows me inside and out, he knows when I'm sad and when I'm happy. He loves me like a brother loves a sister, he takes care of me and doesn't let me break down in difficult times. This man makes me believe that friendship between a woman and a man is possible - ours has lasted a year now, and none of them have changed. We haven't tried to make any moves in the bedroom.

Tolek, I think there's no point in writing to you anymore, because I've already told you everything that's most important, and even what's even more important: I love you.

P.S.

Smell this letter. I've been carrying it in my panties for you all day."

Anatol fainted.

What a load of shit.

And then there's that fucking Kornel.

The doctor couldn't pay Tolek a home visit anytime soon. We have to wait at least a week, well: a lot of work, a tight schedule—in short, despite our best intentions, there's absolutely nothing we can do. For now. We just have to wait, because Anatol definitely won't agree to an office visit (how the hell did they know that?). Indeed, Anatol scolded them. You couldn't expect a different reaction from someone who has absolutely no idea what these people are talking about: what kind of doctor? Am I supposed to be feeling bad? What are they up to? They probably see I'm in love and don't want me to suffer, but that's precisely the point. About suffering. I can't, under any circumstances, enter into any closer contact with them.

Fortunately, Anatol calmed down somewhat in the three days following Zosia's escape. He no longer spoke to himself, to no one at all, and gave the impression of a general return to normality. This gave his parents a moment of respite and hope that everything would somehow resolve itself, that medical help would never be needed, moreover, it had never been. And they tended to him discreetly. Quietly, so he wouldn't sense an atmosphere of imposition, pity, or unnecessary sympathy. The overexposure of these feelings is dangerous in an ordinary person, let alone one with a hypersensitive nature. The help they offered their son gave them a sense of fulfillment and fulfillment of all their responsibilities. They knew that only in this way could they, in a small way, participate in their child's personal life. A life they probably couldn't understand even if they were initiated into it, which, however, would never happen, because Anatol didn't consider them sufficiently worthy of this ennoblement. And they were aware of this. And that weighed on them, but what? Helplessness, that's all they had left. Until now, when Anatol had fallen on hard times, now they could prove themselves and live in peace. Until death.

And Anatol seemed to have calmed down. Zosia had run away, he was left alone, and in his parents' opinion, it was a good thing. Only his barely perceptible, subcutaneous impatience worried them. Tolek constantly seemed to be waiting for something. They both thought it was this Zosia, this supposedly Szczecin woman, but after a moment's reflection, they concluded that he had never had a friend like her in his life. Yes, it was true, they didn't know his friends, but surely if she were someone truly so close to him, he would have somehow managed to get at least a little information about her. But nothing. Zero. So why had he imagined her in his head? Or maybe she didn't exist at all? No, it couldn't be anything like that; it teetered on the edge of schizophrenia. No, Anatol is our son after all, so he's not sick. Besides, you see for yourself that he's calmed down now. Yes, it's true, he had a little problem, but we've ALL dealt with it. And the fact that you think he's impatient is just plain old womanly talk. Every boy his age is impatient about something. Just think back to your youth, weren't you impatient? Ah, see? And what, did they call a doctor right away? Well. Life is simpler than you think, and you can't clutter it with nonsense: impatient, in love? Or maybe you could say unhappy? Phhh. In my opinion, the problem is long gone. And besides, what problem is it anyway? Did he ever cause any problems? Oh, you're all oversensitive.

After three days, they found him unconscious on the floor in his room.

His mother was in shock:

"Tolek…………. Jesus, Mary…………"

She grabbed him tightly in her arms and pulled him towards the bed, but she couldn't manage any more. "Wojciech!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Only now did she realize she'd been waiting all this time, expecting something like this.

Finally, with Wojciech's help, they laid him on the bed.

"Don't panic. He just fainted, oh, he's opening his eyes now.

" Anatol did indeed slowly open his eyelids, but the sight that met his eyes seemed unconvincing, because he immediately closed them.

"Tolek. Tolek. Wake up at last."

Persuasion and vigorous shaking of his limp body proved insufficient encouragement. I think we'll have to call a doctor. This time he has to come.

"Look, Wojtek, something's lying here."

Only now did they notice the letter from Zosia lying on the floor, after reading which Anatol had behaved as he did.

"It's from Zosia.

" "But it's his own handwriting.

" "What do you know about his handwriting?" When was the last time we saw any of his notes?

"Yes, you're right. Show it."

Father took it in his manly hands and began reading aloud.

"Jesus, what nonsense is this!?"

Mother, without waiting any longer, opened a drawer in Anatol's desk with trembling hands and found a second letter. Also from Zosia, and it also seemed to be written in Tolek's handwriting. Beside it lay a notebook of their son, and a quick comparison provided irrefutable evidence that neither the father's cold rationality nor the mother's fear could deny. Reading this second letter left them deeply shaken. Is this really our son?

"Genius, is this really OUR (MY) son?"

Father was terrified: how can this be? I'm the father… "

Call the doctor," he ordered. "Quickly! Just don't tell him anything about these stupid letters."

If he could, Wojciech would turn into a dog and start growling at everyone nearby and barking: it's not true, it's not true, grrrr. My mother was too scared to make decisions on her own, so she easily submitted to her husband's will, even though she saw no point in calling a doctor and not telling him the whole truth. It's obvious what's causing this condition; the only question is where it came from and whether it might happen again. But Wojciech certainly wouldn't understand. He's basically an idiot. Oh Jesus, what am I saying? I swear to everyone I've never truly thought about this in my life.