4

And you know what else?

- Well? -

I still have this unexplainable feeling that it's not just about that. There's... I mean, there has to be something more.

- More?

- Yes, something definitely mysterious, something that gives it all meaning. Meaning and purpose, you know?

- I'm not sure.

- Have I ever felt remorse after giving someone a ticket?

- I don't think so...

- So you see. Why now? And why was I sick until I found him? You understand, I didn't do it on my own whim, but by order from above. I even suspect that if I hadn't found him, I would have died of exhaustion or something.

Anna rose and straddled Olek's hips, lowering her head toward him and covering him with her blond hair.

"Bring him here. I'll make dinner, why do you need to go anywhere?"

"Are you serious?"

"Quite seriously. If it's something more, I'd like to meet him too.

" "But, won't it hurt the pregnancy? You'll get tired..."

"Shhh..." he kisses. "I love you."

"Gotfryd, get up. Get up, damn it."

Gotfryd, opening his glued eyelids, saw Aleksander leaning over him in a puke-stained undershirt. They were both asleep on the floor of the guest room.

"Oh fuck, six o'clock."

Gotfryd didn't need more. He ran out of Olek's house immediately, and that was all they saw of him, while the disoriented Aleksander crawled on all fours toward the bedroom where Anna was sleeping and crawled onto the bed next to her.

In a puke-stained undershirt.

"Olek, get off me."

His wife's blissful voice sounded metallic in his ears at seven in the morning.

"Olek, I have to go to work... oh Jesus, you're covered in puke."

"Anna, I haven't had this much to drink in ages...

" "Okay, okay, lie there if you want. I have to go to work.

Work. "

Aleksander began to remember the drunken evening and the conversations with Godfryd, and how:

"Anna!" he called to her into the bathroom.

"Well?

" "You know he's a surgeon and went on duty an hour ago?

" "Yeah? So what?

" "What, he's responsible for other people's lives, and he went there drunk, too. Would you put your health in his hands?"

"I have a feeling you're probably getting a little too excited about him. I didn't notice anything special about him, on the contrary, he seemed more normal than possible."

"Anna, you know I don't like it when you talk to me and put on makeup."

Indeed, Anna was standing in the bathroom in front of the mirror, making strange movements with her hand, her eyelids, and even her mouth. These movements were abstract and impossible to assign to any previously known system, nor to divine the underlying rationale. And yet, minute by minute, movement by movement, Anna became more and more beautiful, especially since there was still almost nothing to indicate that she was in her third month. And all the while, she spoke of Godfryd's remarkable unattractiveness, while her own beauty slowly began to exceed the limits of her ordinary beauty, until it reached truly exorbitant levels, culminating in the words:

"And yet you can't deny that he was rather boring."

"Never mind, everyone can have their own opinion, and you can't forbid me from seeing him anyway."

"But Olek, what are you talking about?" "

I'm quitting my job."

"What?"

"I'm not going back to the trams."

Anna appeared in the bedroom, and with her entered the aura of a forgotten world and the scent of pure feminine purity, mingled with angelic beauty dressed in invisible makeup and draped in golden, fluffy hair that fell to her shoulders. Oh, but what shoulders they were.

And so she stood in all her glory, facing the prone Olek, who still wore a puke-stained T-shirt, dirty stubble, and enormous bags under his eyes.

The confrontation ended with a curt "Bye!" and Aleksander was left alone with the cat-eater. With the cat-eater and with the thought of the great love that was the mother of their marriage.

Lying there for an hour straight, he felt petals of blissful peace and happiness land on his face along with the air. Aleksander had done everything, the rest now belonged to Gotfryd. It was up to him whether they would become friends, whether their fates would be linked for the long term, whether anything significant would even happen. And Olek would now lie belly up, waiting and watching. And he would stare into the distant horizon of events that would soon arrive and, perhaps, bring purpose and reason to this whole story.

And as for abandoning the trams, he had, of course, made that decision under the influence of alcohol. Ha! This doesn't mean, however, that he did it rashly or irresponsibly. He simply sobered up, which means those two words took on a completely different meaning. However, he didn't want to be a mere straw man, so he decided to reach a compromise that would somehow attempt to reconcile the warring parts of the Olek's soul: the sober and the drunk.

VACATION! – a solution worthy of Solomon's head.

Mr. Józef was already making final preparations in front of the mirror. He adjusted his tie. He straightened his back and examined both his profiles in turn, flexing manfully at each one.

He was clearly pleased with himself: his face was clean-shaven, his thick eyebrows added a touch of dignity and majesty, and each gray hair – everything was in its place.

But that wasn't all; this puzzle required one more piece, without which the rest would be simply ridiculous, especially in the place he was about to go. The place that would change his life and make it better (if everything worked out). In a place that would finally make his seventy-year-old hand, reaching for the missing item – the jacket hanging on the back of the chair – stop shaking, or if not, at least it would be able to shake in the embrace of two other warm hands.

"Well, if you're going on a journey, it's time."

With these words, Mr. Józef left the apartment and set out to conquer the world, perhaps for the last adventure of his life.

Gotfryd was exhausted. If his shift had been even an ounce heavier, he would surely have vomited. Fortunately, there wasn't much work to do, so he could afford small doses of sleep in fits and starts. That didn't change the fact, however, that the only thought that accompanied him on the way home was his bed. Lately, it had been happening so often that it was slowly starting to worry him. Nothing was happening, and all he could think about was sleep. And about making sure his personal Morpheus Under the Ceiling didn't get the urge to try some idiotic experiment.

Before entering the apartment, he managed to think only about the last party and about Alexander and how great it had been, and how it hadn't been this good in a long time, and that some thanks were due, maybe a return visit or something, because it would be foolish to stop at just a thank-you call; it was too nice to give up.

Despite everything, no matter how he wanted to resolve this, he still had to call, and he absolutely had to do it before bed. His plan was dashed, however, when, sitting with the receiver to his ear, he realized he had no idea which number to dial. Oh, how stupid I am, now I have to rely on chance again. But why didn't I start by checking the number in my notebook, and instead immediately want to call, as if I'd done it a million times before? Indeed, this behavior stemmed directly from some secret reflex, rooted somewhere deep within Gottfried's skull. Although, on the other hand, it could certainly be blamed on the extreme physical exhaustion that Gottfried was displaying that evening.

So he fell headfirst into the dustbin and lowered the iron curtains over his eyes, shutting himself out from everything and everyone. Nothing could be done about such a state.

…what he saw could not be called a couch or anything like that; it was a bed, a large, antique double bed. With a canopy and immense disorder, and in this disorder writhed a woman with an unusually large belly, testifying to the advanced stage of her pregnancy, which added a calculated piquancy. He stood in the doorway, observing her tempting movements, which were, after all, directed solely at him. At him himself. Why him? Where had this sudden distinction come from? How had he earned such heavenly favor? These questions seemed utterly irrelevant to him at that moment, and the only important truth was that any longer shortening of his tether, far enough away to even touch that charm and sweetness (and spice), would result in some unpleasant accident that could have a detrimental effect on his psyche. So, a few more moments of delight in the writhing pregnant passion, and the leash let go. Let go at his own request, for he was already in bed and had begun to tame this personified untamedness…

Another night during which Godfrey had to jump up because sick dreams, hard to admit to, kept him awake and caused inhumanly intense headaches, and, as for the mechanical effects, unpleasant stains on the not-so-sparkling sheets.

He was completely resigned, completely powerless to resume the fight for sleep. All he could muster was a clenched fist at the hidden Morpheus, who was proving increasingly malicious. Godfrey's gesture, combined with his exhaustion and resignation, seemed pathetic, to say the least, all the more so because it was directed against a completely unknown and unproven force; he might as well have threatened his wardrobe, or the blue Escort, or any other vehicle that happened to pass by his apartment building.

Closing his eyes again and feigning unconsciousness yielded no results. A mad race of thoughts began, coming out of nowhere, or, worse yet, justified. And how could he turn it off now? What the hell should I do to make everything okay? How do I get rid of this burden?

Tea?

Is that even a good solution?

In the middle of the night? No, I won't be able to sleep at all after that.

Unless it's mint?!

Mint, right? Fine, let's just have that damn mint.

Feeling the calming warmth filling his entire being and the scent soothing his aching head, Gottfried knew this was one of the best ideas he'd had recently. And just as he was thinking about the word "better," it suddenly occurred to him that if he was at Alexander's, it meant he knew where he lived. He might not know the address, true, but he could definitely find his way there. Yes, certainly, but a retort had already come from his head, causing another collapse: that it was on the other side of town, and lazybones like him never made such an effort. Not even on the bus.

After that retort, balance could only be restored with another sip of hot mint. And so it was, time passed slowly, the mint disappeared, Gotfryd calmed down, and finally, without even realizing it, he fell asleep.