Gotfryd often felt the need to escape from his apartment, which didn't exude a particularly pleasant atmosphere. He would then grab a book and wander around the city. When this activity began to bore and depress him, he would find a bench, sit down, and read. He did this quite often, so the town wasn't surprised or wonder why he had chosen this particular moment. It was a common sight.
As already mentioned, the town welcomed him warmly, offering hospitality in the numerous shops that appeared along his path. Gotfryd took full advantage of this kindness. He poked into every shop, visited every stall, and did everything just to kill the wait, because he had absolutely no intention of making any purchases. Besides, shopping was one of his hated, yet necessary (and therefore even more hated) activities. Firstly, because he always had to choose something, and he couldn't do it, and secondly, it involved spending what he always wanted to have with him—maybe not a whole lot, but certainly a significant amount. So, ordinary shopping consisted of two activities he truly hated. So, wandering around the shops and buying nothing cheered him up, knowing that he'd just walked in, that he didn't care about them all, and that he'd be leaving soon. He felt like their master. And every man needs a little power.
In the long run, however, it was a tedious and utterly exhausting activity. These wanderings usually lasted about an hour, the optimal time after which his thoughts would begin to wander around some secluded bench where he could relax with a book. And so it was now. He had even found a suitable bench, but suddenly he realized: milk. Milk, or rather the lack thereof, which had been sitting in his fridge. He was extremely fond of milk and often used to add it to his tea, which in turn created a whole new quality, called "Bavarian milk." When he realized this, he immediately decided to change his mind, deviating from his previously chosen course towards the bench and heading towards the nearest grocery store, which was nearby. At least, not from the bench.
He didn't appear at the store, however, because on the way, he noticed Anna leaving. It didn't surprise him at all; in fact, he felt as if he knew perfectly well she would be there at this time and place. The only thought that crossed his mind was that he had to go up to her, say hello and how were things, and finally get her phone number, because it still wasn't there, and it had been a while since they'd last seen each other. But he remembered his resolution not to show up again because of the mysterious phosphorus in the atmosphere of these meetings, and so he hit on a better idea: he'd follow her, at least he'd have some fun, and maybe, who knows, he'd even learn something interesting. No, no, not that he wanted to catch her in any dirty deeds. Nothing of the sort. He hadn't even thought about them. Really.
He decided and set off. It had happened to him for the first time in his life—that was probably where his excitement began, which was starting to bring him more and more wild pleasure, something a bit perverse. Apart from that, he simply walked. And he didn't stand out from those walking—sometimes from the opposite direction, sometimes arm in arm—which made him wonder if each of them was following someone else. Checking this fact might have made him a little paranoid, so he abandoned the promising project and focused on Anna again. And Anna, too, kept going, and going, and going…
She did this with such a confident step that Godfrey never doubted for a moment that he had to get somewhere soon. But that somewhere was becoming increasingly distant. At first, it wasn't obvious, but the longer they walked, the more certain it became. The buildings were becoming more and more sparse, the people fewer and fewer, now only a few solitary houses appeared here and there, and the place they were in could be deliberately called a grand prologue to the desolation that would soon unfold before their eyes. Godfrey had never been here before, and he didn't even know what part of the city he was in, or, above all, whether it was even a city at all. To his left, a vast construction site now appeared, with a yellow excavator that seemed abandoned. Despite this desolation, the sight reassured Godfrey somewhat: if they were building, then it was still a city.
And then he understood.
Illumination. Suddenly and instantly.
He understood, because he felt it too. And when he felt it, he realized that this was it, that this was what had been hanging there in the air back home. Yes, indeed, this was what he had been waiting for.
Everything became clear, and he no longer had even the slightest doubt. Anna, of course, had sensed his presence behind her from the very beginning, moving in her wake, and from the very beginning she knew what she had to do to end the waiting. She could no longer pretend it didn't exist; it had to disappear on its own, which was why Godfrey appeared behind her.
To her right appeared a forest, or rather a large park, a complete squatter's yard. And Godfrey knew Anna would head in that direction. She was waiting for him by a tree in turn. They joined hands, which only heightened their mutual certainty that what they were doing was not wrong, but essential, absolutely necessary for their continued existence. Neither waited for the other to make a move, for the sudden passion that had erupted within them was bursting their very beings, causing almost palpable pain. Throughout the time they were intertwined and interwoven (tangled, disorganized—mad!), purity and beauty of the finest quality hovered over them, and nature had made their squatters a haven worthy of royal families, and they, as if to show their gratitude, offered her everything that was most true within them: a unity of souls and senses that until then had not known they could exist so profoundly. And the trees, witnessing this, began from that moment to look more favorably upon this primitive human species.
What if Godfrey hadn't remembered the milk at that very moment? No, that's an idiotic thought; it's impossible to contemplate, for terror grips all around.
They didn't exchange a single word, and as they rested in each other's arms, sprawled on the welcoming forest floor, they knew each other to a degree that knowing another person seems impossible. And their tiny size contained such a vastness of pure life that they could easily compete with the woman who had taken them under her wing. They didn't need slippers or a home; it turned out that the most important thing was the squatter's yard. The compassionate squatter's yard, whose trees creaked to the rhythm of their hearts.
Suddenly, Anna rose, dressed, and left. She walked in the direction they had been walking until now, moving even further from the city. Gotfryd did the same a moment later. In the opposite direction. He found a bus stop and somehow found his way home.
And nothing in the world was the same.
What would happen now? What should he do? Perhaps try contact? Talk about it? Such thoughts never crossed Gotfryd's mind, because he knew that, ultimately, nothing had changed. They wouldn't see each other anymore, and seemingly they'd be strangers, and only if their eyes happened to meet somewhere would the inevitable happen again. For now, however, he wasn't thinking about it at all. He returned home as if nothing had happened, and only the people's faces, smiling more than usual, the buildings that had taken on a more beautiful color, the asphalt from which all the holes had disappeared, and the flowers that suddenly began to sprout everywhere told him that today he had experienced something not everyone gets to experience.Grzegorz was on the verge of nervous exhaustion. Mr. Józef wasn't the only one who had become aware of the shufflers. Grzegorz also heard them every night. Worse still, it sent him into states of anxiety and depression. At first, he tried to combat it with the traditional Polish custom of increasing his alcohol intake before bed, because he began to suspect that his alcoholism had reached the point where he couldn't avoid exceeding a certain exorbitant amount of alcohol. As the treatment continued, he increasingly lost confidence in her—it got worse day by day. The opposite of what he'd hoped for was happening: larger doses of alcohol increased the intensity of the shufflers' sounds. And losing consciousness quickly didn't help—they restored it instantly. So the only remaining option was to stop drinking altogether. At first, the idea seemed utterly idiotic, unrealistic, and inappropriate, as if someone inside him who dared to suggest such a thing had committed a profound blunder. After long deliberation over the pros and cons, he was finally forced to give in and agree to this ill-conceived plan. Bitterness filled him to the brim, from head to toe. But all this was in vain, because the motivation and hope of evicting the undesirable tenants (he wasn't yet sure if it was from the house or just from his mind) proved so strong that he had no trouble putting down his glass.
Imagine his disappointment when the shuffling didn't go away with the addiction.
But he didn't start drinking again, no. He had, however, discovered a third solution, one that required fulfilling the second solution. He had to be sober. So that there would be no doubts later. The third solution was simple: get up and check.
And fear? Fear had to be overcome.
Making decisions, just as he liked it. Every decision he made brought him considerable pleasure and raised his self-esteem. And it didn't matter at all whether the decisions were implemented or not, the most important thing was making them, even with the prior assumption that it was only a matter of time, without any significant consequences, just to feel like a man.
Grzegorz had always wanted to be a man.
But he'd gotten drunk and was limp.
Now he had another chance.
His first attempts involved jerking awake after hearing a distinctive sound and immediately hunting down the vile creatures.
Nothing happened. The shufflers immediately heard his sudden movements and... seemed to simply disappear. Who knows, anyway?
Fine. So, after a few unsavory defeats, which Grzegorz tried to endure with a dignity worthy of perhaps someone better, we'll change tactics and pretend to be asleep. Of course, we won't sleep. We'll keep watch. Clever, right? Shurs
...
And then there was hope. Hope that something would finally change. Indeed, he hadn't thought about it before, after all, this event could really change something. He didn't know what yet, but the thought invaded him in such a way that he froze, and the anticipation began. And even greater fear.
And then fear came. What if there was nothing there? And he wouldn't see anything? What if he just imagined it, to find some meaning? Maybe he'd invented it because he felt a deep-seated need for motivation to sober up? On the other hand, if this subconscious desire was so strong, then this motivation should materialize. So it's there. It is there? It has to be there.
Okay... if it's there, we're going in.
Now! But hush...
He left the room… and nothing. Nothing in sight. Fuck, don't do this to me. Please exist… They have to be somewhere. They have to. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He started cursing in his head, his nerves slowly breaking, and he realized he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer. He wouldn't be able to stand it, and he'd destroy something. He'd burn and destroy it.
The hallway—empty.
The room—empty. After all, he'd slept (kept watch) there, and the very fact of sleeping (keeping watch) there had tested him first.
The bathroom? No—locked door.
Well, the kitchen! The last chance for the weary seeker of happiness and meaning. If not—he'd give up, finally. He'd politely lay down his weapons and leave humbly, full of pride, without a moment's hesitation. He wouldn't impose. Like an Eskimo. Eskimo? Eskimo? Right now… yeah, the refrigerator door ajar. What an oversight. But what if it were in the fridge?...
He approached even more cautiously (was that even possible?)...on tiptoe...shh...and...and...already...hand...fridge...shh... He opened it! And he was no longer afraid they would escape; it was too bright in there, he let out a sharp cry of delight and... breathed a sigh of relief. It worked.
It worked, because an unusual sight met his eyes. Namely, the shufflers themselves. Small, extremely small, but not so small that you couldn't notice them, especially in such numbers. They had everything you'd normally have: heads (one each), arms, necks, bodies, legs, feet, clothes. Just ordinary people, only tiny. There were about two hundred and fifty of them (and how the hell am I supposed to know anyway!), and they were devouring Grzegorz's fridge. They did it hilariously, because their mouths were so small that if they'd eaten for an hour, they wouldn't have eaten anything further. They were absolutely adorable. Grzegorz felt so stupid, because they all froze at the sight of him. How could he have interrupted them? He felt like the ultimate boor. And it must have been the shurats themselves who took him for a terrible boor, because they made such terrible faces.
And again, something unexpected happened. What a night! Truly, it was all unbelievable. As if at a single signal, given out of nowhere, all mouths opened as wide as they could, and Gottfried's ears heard a whisper of two hundred and fifty voices, freezing his body to the marrow. He was so icy that he felt a slight frost on his skin. At first, he didn't understand what they were saying, only later did he distinguish that word, repeated painfully: "Kill, kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill the son of a bitch."
And then: "Let him die – the son of a bitch!!!!!"
It must have been some kind of hypnosis, because Grzegorz lost himself completely. In an instant, everything vanished. There was no more drinking, no more problems, no more shufflers, no more refrigerator, no more night, no more pajamas. There was only the knife, taken from the kitchen table, the sinewy hand gripping the handle, fury, boiling blood, a cold gaze, and Gotfryd, sleeping on the floor below.
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