He awoke
, caked in sweat, to the stinking world of disturbing dreams to which he had been forced to subject his willless mind every night. He opened his eyes, swollen with the fear of dream illusions, conjuring visions that defy control. Visions that could neither be intimidated nor eliminated from his life through cunning, cynical means.
He abruptly rose to his elbows, digging his fingers into the soft, warm duvet, and gazing hungrily around. He longed to find himself in the real world as quickly as possible, a world of tangible objects, a world whose exhausting monotony liberated the illusion of security. The nausea of objects and actions evoked the mocking and sticky scent of power, which, when inhaled regularly, becomes addictive, reducing one to a mechanical, yet oh-so-conformist perception of the world.
Deprived of this power, he looked forward with a canine gaze, seeking support from his "subjects." Somewhere in the depths of the all-powerful night, a chandelier dangled, its drooping brass body, like that of a tormented hanged man, evoking the anguish of a nightmare, the bitter taste of divine mission spoiling the cake party of cunning reality.
Half asleep and half awake, human instinct told him to jump off the bed, hold his limp legs, cut the rope, and scream for help. Help not for the hanged man, but for his own trembling body, saturated with the irritating melody of sleep.
His senses lazily returned to the soft, heated reality, releasing intense, still visible images. He lay intently on the bed, staring at the chandelier's rope. Slowly, forcing himself to close his eyes, he tried to wipe away the remnants of the disturbing visions with his hands. He tilted his head to the right, gazing with childlike trust at the tangible objects on the nightstand.
A lamp, glasses, a watch. Lamp, glasses, watch. Lighthouse, binoculars, time. Again! Don't fall asleep! Lamp, glasses, watch. Lighthouse, glasses, time. Lighthouse, binoculars, time.
Sailing through the stormy sea, he searched for the bulging lighthouse that showed lost souls the way home. He held the horn-shaped binoculars to his eyes, whipped by the biting wind soaked in the salty, icy water, searching for signs of life in the darkness of night. He gazed at the great, tangible time that, minute by minute, brought closer the crisp dawn of morning, the almighty Sun God. Wake up! Don't dream!
He tilted his head to the left and roughly scratched his lower belly. He looked at her. Her silky hair, gentle eyes, and understanding mouth.
He wanted to hear a human voice. It didn't matter if it was her soft, heated words, it could just as easily have been the superficial, harsh voice of a newscaster, but a voice that would make him realize he was a primal, tangible human being made of bone and tissue, not a tattered imagination.
He scratched his lower abdomen again and said aloud to himself, "It's only her." Only her. Her.
II
They met in the first months of their fifth year of pedagogy, where they were students. Acquiring knowledge and university were no longer their substitute for freedom, a refuge from the ossified, crumbling system and the ossified, life-weary mentality of people. Their oasis was their hobbies, to which they devoted themselves with blind passion, and their parties, lightly infused with alcohol, dense with conversations about feelings, free from politics, pulsating with the music of rebellious bands like Mannam, Lady Pank, Republika, and, in that year of transformation, 1990, the fresh breeze of Western music, which was beginning to be available in stores or recorded from radio stations, primarily from Piotr Kaczkowski and Marek Niedźwiecki's "Trójka" shows. Suzanne Vega's "My Name is Luka" and Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" reigned supreme at parties during the period they met. What attracted them to Western bands was freedom, freedom from rigid, hypocritical rules and politics, and the uninhibited, open expression of feelings and desires that were forgotten or subjected to the harsh pillory of judgment in the family home.
Their daily lives, like those of the average fifth-year student, were filled with the bustle of café conversations, the indifference with which they approached lectures, and the emerging hedonism of private parties at home, liberated from the dictates and admonitions of adults. The gazes from coffee shops over their cups transformed into long-awaited, long-awaited loves. The one and only. The loves of their lives, which were to transform their fates, filled with the hypocrisy of parental dictates, into lives filled with love, warmth, and affection. In the fledgling capitalism of the first resourceful private entrepreneurs, knowledge and education seemed a superfluous addition to earning a living, to earning a living, something no one thought about, or even dreamed of. The burgeoning hedonism of private parties was limited to unsuccessful attempts to break the rules of her friends, who found solace in their sensitivity and freedom from problems in church oases and during walking pilgrimages to Jasna Góra.
Joanna and Andrzej, thanks to their education, were different. They knew a different world from books and lectures. They wanted to be different from their parents, but life forced its tight corset upon them as well. They wanted to change the world, but the world, over time, changed them. Observing the peaceful, bloodless revolutions in Poland, the Czech Republic, and the Baltic states, tears of joy came to their eyes. They, we, people like us, are capable of changing a fifty-year-old system of slavery that, behind a facade of freedom and the good of the nation, hid prisons, destroying or exterminating people who yearned for freedom and to rise above mediocrity, who wanted to change the world around them. They watched the peaceful demonstrations of young people like themselves, under whose pressure communist governments gave way, allowing for free elections, freedom of speech, and above all, freedom to choose one's life, but how perverse the reality turned out to be. Life had not changed enough to allow people to be free, free from their own constraints, inhibitions and the accretions of the system they so hated.
What attracted Joanna to Andrzej? Perhaps it was his exoticism. His originality. His emotional entanglement, which she believed she could straighten out. His difficult nature, which offered a semblance of strength. A strength of character she could rely on. Andrzej was one of those ambitious students. Although he was a loner, an outsider, he appeared at all the parties. Always sitting on the sidelines, hidden in the shadows of his own thoughts, he observed his classmates. Perhaps he needed to be warmed by their spontaneity? Perhaps he needed to feel part of a group? He was most often dressed in a navy blue suit, wearing ties his aunt sent him from Germany. When she first saw him, a caption appeared in her mind under his image – "Ice." Winter. Snow. Frost. That's how he was. Icy and ambitious, cold and self-absorbed. Frosty and dispassionate. The realization, which came only after several months of knowing him, made her realize that his icy expression and demeanor were a mask. Andrzej's mask of sensitive, delicate self-love, which he hid within himself, which he was afraid to accept. His ego prevented him from showing his true self. He was a lonely, selfish man with no one to lean on. And this gnawed at him, destroyed him, consumed him internally. He needed people, needed closeness, but he was afraid of it. He wanted to love, but he couldn't stop loving himself for a moment, devoting even a shred of attention to others. He wanted friends, but he couldn't commit to friendships. He was a lonely, self-centered man who tried at all costs to gain admiration in people's eyes to feel valued, but did he need this value? He knew his price, but he still needed it confirmed. His feelings terrified him. He was afraid to show his true self, the sensitive and delicate one. So he devoted all his attention to self-control, to creating the appearance of a strong, independent man, but in reality, everything inside him screamed: "Love. Love. Feel." He never grew up defending himself against love and friendship, afraid of getting hurt.
Joanna was an ordinary girl, unremarkable among other students, or perhaps that was what set her apart. She was simply ordinary. She enjoyed going to parties, laughing, dancing, and dressing up like other girls. When exams were due, she studied. She was determined to finish her studies. Why did she choose pedagogy? One summer, when she was traveling with her parents to Bulgaria, she saw abandoned, lonely, begging children—she burst into tears. She begged her parents for help, but they were adamant. They knew they couldn't be helped. Then she felt a pang in her heart, the pain of existence, and she understood that the world was unjust, but she also understood that individuals could change this world for the better. She decided to study pedagogy. After returning from her vacation, she became involved in helping poor, disadvantaged children. Together with her friends from the church oasis, she visited poor homes, families ravaged by alcohol and poverty, and taught the children. She helped them with their homework. She stole food from the house. She stole toys from her brother's room. Her parents looked on with a wink and were even pleased that their daughter would be a student. She would attend university, something they could never afford. They had to work to ensure that Joanna and her brother didn't end up like the children she helped.
When it was possible to afford to party, she caroused with others. She had average clothes, looks, and intelligence, and it was this averageness (or perhaps the inner warmth and kindness she exuded from within) that attracted admirers to her.
After defending their master's thesis, they married. Were they a good match? Habit overcame flaws. Routine over love. They were like two complementary halves. He was cold, calculating, focused on success and money. She was warm, emotional, focusing on the fleeting aspects of life. Joanna wanted a lavish wedding; such were the times. Back then, marriage meant a lifelong commitment. But Andrzej convinced her they could spend the money they had saved on an apartment and invest in their education and development. She agreed. Reluctantly. The first concession, of which there would be more over time. Both managed to stay at the university. Joanna took up pedagogy in challenging environments, and Andrzej took up business psychology. He climbed the academic ladder with his persistence and persistence, while Joanna focused on the students. She cared about them. She wanted to impart as much knowledge as possible. She wanted to give them herself. Warmth and faith in the future, but her future turned out to be difficult and dark – she became pregnant – and then miscarried in the seventh month. Andrzej, always cold and icy, repeated to her without hesitation or doubt, "We'll have another. Don't worry. We'll have another." But she knew, already knew, they would never have children. In pain and suffering, in the bitterness of womanhood's failure, in the face of human defeat, she left university to take care of the house.
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