6

XV

He entered the Blue Parrot pub full of hope. Hope that fueled his actions and gave him the courage to finally find Asia, and if not her, then the people who would help him find her. He was already tired of the uncertainty about her fate and the several days of searching, full of adventures, which his monotonous life hardly contained. Prostitutes!? The mafia!? He couldn't believe his Asia had gotten herself entangled in such a mess, one that sucked in the unwary, permeating his mind with the dark side of life.

"How could she do this? Why? She always listened to me. She never contradicted me. And now, against all my principles, like a little girl blindly believing that people could be helped, she's involved in this dirty business." Blinded by hope, he didn't have time to examine the pub's interior. He immediately went to the counter. Only there, sitting on a high stool, did he realize he had to make some move toward finding Asia.

Before the bartender approached him, he had already surveyed the bar and the guests, whose loud laughter and conversations filled him with fear of the unknown. I liked the quiet of the university office, and socializing was limited to the professors' receptions, where classical music and a seriousness befitting academic degrees reigned supreme.

The pub's interior was illuminated by red lights, which, mixed with cigarette smoke and the scent of perfume, created a dense atmosphere permeated with eroticism that matched the timbre and laughter of the gathered patrons, as well as the purpose of the meetings. In the center of the pub was a stage illuminated by white spotlights, on which strippers danced, their gazes seductively sweeping over the gathered audience. The removal of each item of clothing and the blowing of kisses elicited delight from the audience, expressed through shouts and loud propositions directed at the stage. Most of the bar's patrons were well-built men with shaved or very short haircuts, and gold jewelry worn on their fingers, wrists, and necks, as well as very attractive women with "tired" eyes, aware of their attractiveness and sexual value. Among these patrons, he tried to find someone who looked like they might know something about Asia. Any of them could have been a pimp, and the women looked like they were working in the oldest of trades.

"What do you want, buddy?" the bartender's voice surprised him.

"Coffee, please." "This is someone who knows all the customers," he thought.

"Wouldn't you like something stronger, buddy? Don't worry about the police, one phone call is all it takes." He paused, trying with his experienced eye to guess who he was and, above all, what connections he had, and added, "For a small favor, of course."

"Coffee will do, but I'll tell you, I have a favor to ask you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-zloty bill, which he slipped under his slightly raised fingers.

"You can call me Sponge, and you know why, buddy?" He paused again and ran his fingers through his bald head. "Because no one has a stronger head than me." Anyone who competes with me has to undergo weeks of treatment afterwards, and it's not just Apap, cold beer, kefir, or krupniczek that's enough. I'm talking about a gigantic hangover that lasts for weeks, accompanied by dizziness and nausea, as if you were sitting on some super-secret American invention of the super-secret police. Do you understand? Tell me, what's your name, buddy?

- Andrzej.

He leaned his elbow on the counter, leaned closer, and asked seriously, but with a lightness in his voice. "So, how can I help you, Jędrusiu? Competition, debt, do you like the neighbor's car, or is it about a woman?

" "Yes, it's about a woman

." "I knew it, Jędrusiu. You look like one." He straightened up and, leaning back, laughed heartily. "Does she have a lover?" he asked, frowning.

"No, that's not it."

"I know, I know, you need a special girl. Yes, dear Jędrusiu, I like to have fun sometimes too.

" "No, that's not it." I'm looking for a specific woman.

"As they say, love knows no bounds. I was in love once, too, but she betrayed me. I came here and drank for a week. I drank and cried. I cried and drank. And I think it's because of those tears I shed for her that I can outdrink anyone.

" "I'm looking for Asia, the Angel," he said firmly, interrupting his irritating stories and familiarity.

"Looking for Asia?" the woman sitting next to him, unnoticed by him, said, "I'll help you, but it'll cost you."

He reached for the bill, but before he could even look at it, Sponge put it in his pocket and walked slowly toward the other end of the counter. I reached into my pocket again and pulled out a crumpled fifty-zloty bill, which the girl sitting next to me took before straightening her hand so no one would notice.

"Come on!" She ran her finger from her eye to her chin, then stood up and straightened it as if she were pulling it on a leash. "I'll take you to Alex."

They slowly made their way through the pub, heading for a dark corner where well-built men with shaved heads were sitting. The girl leading him showed him a chair and then walked up to what he assumed was Alex and whispered something in his ear, then handed him the thirty złoty. Alex patted her on the buttocks, gently caressed her face, and with a broad smile praised her, "You're a tough girl."

He was sitting across from Alex, but Alex didn't seem to be paying him any attention. He was chatting with his friends, sipping his beer, and glancing at the strippers. He noticed that while he was looking at Alex, the other two were watching him, and while he was looking at his friends, Alex was watching him.

"Want a beer?" he said, looking him straight in the eye.

"No, thank you."

Alex seemed slightly irritated. He pulled out a bag of white powder and slid it across the counter, saying calmly, but with a touch of authority in his voice.

"Get high.

" "I don't use drugs like that," he replied firmly, pushing the bag of white powder away from him.

For a split second, Alex could see irritation in his eye, but it quickly vanished as he reached for the gun, which he placed on the counter, the barrel pointed at him.

"And now?" he asked. And suddenly all three of them laughed, revealing their large, polished white teeth, and just as unexpectedly as they had laughed, they suddenly fell silent, their faces turning serious.

"Get high, you son of a bitch," Alex shouted as one of his companions poured some powder onto the counter and formed a line, while the other rolled a two-hundred-zloty bill.

"Get high," Alex repeated again, in the voice of a father speaking to a child—calm, light, jovial, but with conviction and authority.

He slowly leaned over the formed line of white powder and, reluctantly, inhaled as little as possible into his left nostril. Alex and his companions carefully observed how much powder had disappeared, and the gun aimed at him forced him to inhale another dose into his right nostril.

"Now, buddy, check out the girls. We'll wait for the silver dust to take effect."

He didn't know what he'd inhaled, and the name "silver dust" meant nothing to him. He didn't suspect Alex of literary flair. He was more likely thinking of some slang.

He watched the tall, slender blonde gyrating her hips, but he couldn't see her. His body was trembling with heat, and his mind was filled with flashes of images from which he could deduce nothing.

"So, buddy? Are you warm? Feeling a rush of adrenaline?" Alex turned him around, tugging on his arm. "So you're looking for that whore Asia." That bitch who wanted to ruin my small business… He interrupted him mid-sentence, saying firmly, "She's not a whore."

"She is, she is, but she doesn't know it yet. You see, buddy, women are divided into those who know they're whores, those who want to become one, or those to whom no one has yet told them. So which group do you think your whore, Asia, falls into?

" "She's not a whore," he repeated once more, gritting his teeth.

"See, Jędrusiu, that's probably your name, your Asia interfered with my business and now she has to pay for it. What else can you call her but a whore?

" "She's not a whore," he shouted, jumping up onto the table, reaching for the silver pistol lying in front of Alex. "She's not a whore," he repeated, and pressing the barrel to Alex's temple.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," he said in a calm voice. "As soon as you leave here, I'll call the guys with the baseball bats and they'll bruise you, but that's not the end of it." Later, I'll call the other guys with pliers and they'll give you a hard time, and then I'll take care of you myself, and then it'll really hurt you.

"Shut up!" he climbed down from the table, aiming chaotically alternately at Alex and the pub's patrons, heading for the exit. "She's not a whore," he shouted.

XVI

He left the pub on unsteady legs. Thousands of images, thousands of conflicting emotions swirled in his head. He couldn't control his mind, which he had trained to the limit. His mind worked like a machine, refusing to allow for doubt, defeat, the possibility of giving in, but also joy, love, and relief. Tense, he kept striving for a goal that receded like a golf ball. As soon as he caught it, he hit it as far as he could, never actually hitting it in the hole.

Carefully taking his steps, he tried to control this devilish torrent of unbridled thoughts. In vain, however. What many call freedom, freedom of thought, for him was a prison, a prison of addiction to instincts. He worked hard, including on himself, on his emotions, drives, instincts, to achieve what he had achieved. He admitted to himself that he felt relaxed, blissful, but this devilish, some called divine, flow of unfettered feelings, emotions, and thoughts prevented him from believing in this state. It prevented him from trusting the relaxation that had settled within his body.

He never took silver dust. He saw clips of many films on television, where the characters recalled their student days. Parties infused with gin and marijuana smoke. He recalled those times with tears in his eyes. But so few films depicted people who had fallen. How few films depicted rehab clinics and the degeneration of consciousness saturated with narcotic "relaxation." From time to time, Asia's gossip magazines or television programs would mention that this or that actor or musician had been forced to undergo rehab, but it seemed to scare no one; in fact, it incited their desires. Television promoting a problem-free life—colorful, sticky, and saccharine—acted on people like a drug.

He knew, he knew well, that a life without problems didn't exist, and only the hard, persistent pursuit of a goal, and above all, setting oneself a goal, led to success. He also knew that you couldn't rest for a moment, you couldn't stand face to face with life, looking it proudly and defiantly, American-style, in the eye. Like in one of those films about martial arts masters from the East. Constant work, constant struggle, and a hundred steps to climb so your master could drink water.

He knew that such a world was heading for destruction. The annihilation of his own minds, his own unbridled, unbridled emotions. 2012 was a transitional date. Would this happen, he didn't know? What was about to happen? Something terrible? He didn't know. He often wondered about it, vainly smiling at his thoughts, that God would wipe from the earth this unnecessary debris that often clung to his ankles, interfering with his life, whose stench of thoughts so disturbed his daily routine.

Taking one step at a time, he couldn't stop his thoughts. It was difficult to distinguish the healthy ones from the drugged ones. Perhaps they were intermingling, creating various hybrids. Perhaps they were all released emotions accumulated in his subconscious, all the feelings he had suppressed or suppressed in his head, but as it turned out, they were returning.

"Wait," the woman whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Impulsively, he turned, aiming the gun at her .

"Wait." She moved the barrel fearlessly in a different direction.

"Who are you? I have no money left. I can't pay you. I want..." he paused, burying his eyes in his hands. "I want... I just want to find Asia. I don't want anything anymore. I don't want prestige anymore, I don't want money anymore, I don't want anything anymore. I only want Asia. Will you help me?" he asked, staring at her with resigned eyes. "Help me, I'm begging you. Help me." The gun fell from his hand, and he embraced her. He cried. "Help me. Please." He suddenly pushed her away. "No, I won't cry. I'm a strong man. I have money. I'm respected. No, I won't cry. Fuck, I won't cry. "

She hugged him, stroking his head.

"Cry. I know you want it. Cry."

They sat on the curb. Andrzej snuggled against her, sobbing, and she stroked his head like a mother.

"Cry. You need it. Everyone cries.

" "You'll help me," he said through his tears. "You'll help me get her back." Without her, I'm worthless. Without her, I'll die. Help me, please.

"Get up. We have to leave here. This is a bad place. It's not for you. You are good. You are a good person, you just need warmth. Let it embrace you. Open yourself to love. Don't let bad people have access to you. You are a boy who needs love, so let it flow through your heart. You can't be an adult forever. Those who don't allow themselves to be a child always remain one. Come on, let's get away from here. This is a bad place.

" "Will you help me find her? Will you?" he nestled into her breasts. "Please, help me."

"Okay, Mr. Andrzej, I'll help you. You deserve it."

Fresh blood surged through his veins, pulsing in the synapses and labyrinths of his brain. They got into the car.

"Do you know where Konopnicka is? Joanna is there. Take the gun. It might be useful to us."

He started the car. He turned right onto Kazimierz Wielki, whose skyscrapers towered over this LSM district. Mechanically. Dispassionately. Empty inside, cleansed, he drove the car. He turned onto Gliniana Street, and after a few hundred meters, onto Nadbystrzycka Street. At the corner with Głęboka Street, they stopped at a traffic light. He stared at the red headlights.

"Why did she do that?" he said without looking at her. "Why? She had everything.

" "Maybe she felt like us. Maybe she knew she was just an insignificant toy to you. For the national team. For bed. For cooking, cleaning. Maybe she wanted to be important to someone. Maybe she wanted someone to respect her. Maybe she wanted us to be the woman she would never be. She didn't have the courage to leave you. Nor did she have the strength to fight you. She loved you, but she also loved being the woman you never saw in her.

They set off. Andrzej didn't say a word. They passed Narutowicz and turned left onto Konopnicka Street.

- It's here. Opposite Krucza Street.

Without slamming the door, they exited the car. They walked slowly, glancing around. They were looking for Alex's "boys," but how could he have known she would help him find Joanna? They were probably waiting for him at home, convinced he wouldn't find their hideout.

Like all the tenement houses in this part of the city center, this one was no different. Peeling plaster with graffiti at head level, and those small shops, built from basements, with steep steps leading down. It's thanks to them that a few people in our city support their entire families. They wake up early to deliver goods, believing that thanks to their work, thanks to the money, their children will have a better life. They will be able to study, study hard, without worrying about the next day. These small shopkeepers no longer dream of a different life for themselves, but for their offspring, who can live the lives of their peers. To study, to have fun at discos, to buy things that will arouse bitterness in their opponents.

They opened the door to the tenement house. It was old, rickety, and sloppily painted brown. She, he didn't even know her name, held his hand as he tried to turn on the light. Quietly, almost stealthily, they began to climb the stairs, which creaked with every step. The sound of music drifted from the first floor. He knew it had to be there. His drugged mind was returning to the reality of tangible objects, his thoughts becoming increasingly coherent.

She knocked.

"Who's there?" a voice answered from behind the door, shouting over the music.

"It's me. Joanna. Open up," she almost shouted, her voice rising to a whisper.

Andrzej stood to one side. Hidden so that whoever was guarding Joanna, his Joanna, wouldn't see him.

"And is that you? Come in." He quickly realized someone else was with her. "Oh, you have a lover for tonight. I only have a spare bed in the kitchen, but I think that should be enough for you."

"Where is she?" "Andrzej shouted, throwing himself at him. He couldn't take the pressure. "Where is she, you bandit?"

He jumped back, trying to slam the door, but Andrzej held it tight, preventing it from closing.

"Where's the gun? Where's it?" shouted Joanna the prostitute

. "In the car." Andrzej replied, forcing his way inside.

The man who opened the door had already reached for a knife. They stood there for a few seconds, gauging their opponent's strengths. His strength was his routine and composure in such situations, while Andrzej's was his faith in finding Joanna and his desperation. They glared at each other and simultaneously lunged at each other.

Andrzej held the hand that held the knife, while the other man's hand tightened around his neck. They fell. They struggled on the floor for several minutes when Joanna the prostitute ran into the apartment, holding a gun.

"Stop it. Stop it!" he shouted. "Darek, drop that knife or you know what I'll do. You've made my life miserable for so long." He stood in front of her, raising his hand to strike. "Don't even think about it. I'll shoot. I won't hesitate. You deserved a worse death. You deserved a different death. In the pain, suffering, and humiliation you caused us, so don't try your military tricks or I'll shoot.

" "Asia, don't be ridiculous. Honey. I've always been good to you. Maybe I was a little rough, maybe I didn't respect you, but you know, business is business. Asia, Asieńka, a girl like you can't shoot a guy like me, you know. Asieńka, give me back the gun, everything will work out. We'll be together again. You'll see. We'll go to the lake. We'll go to the cafe. We'll have children. Forget about that abortion I told you to do." You'll see, we'll have many children.

Joanna's eyes filled with tears. Her hands seemed to drop slightly. She grew sad. She understood that life couldn't be changed. You couldn't change the past, you could only carry it on your shoulders. Darek the pimp sensed her doubt and lunged at her. She fired. She fired, but the knife's blow would only reach her head.

Andrzej watched the scene on his knees. He wasn't interested in either Joanna the prostitute or the bandit. He looked around the room, searching for the door that would finally free him from the nightmare of the past few days. When she fired, and their bodies, soaked in blood, littered the floor, he rushed to the first door, which was the only one closed. He kicked it open and, in the darkness of the night, saw Joanna curled up on the bed. He untied her, ungagged her, looked into her eyes, tried to hug her, but she stopped him and said,

"Andrzej, I wasn't waiting for you, but here you are. You know I love you. You know I want to be with you. You know, too..." She fainted.