SIRENA MODEL 100

"A popular, time-saving means of transportation should be built for both work and leisure, intended for rationalizers, work leaders, activists, scientists, and leading representatives of the intelligentsia" –

Resolution of the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers' Party

and the Government Presidium of May 1953.

My name is Lubkiewicz, Marian Lubkiewicz. Life simply works out that I have it good. I have a good wife. She cooks at school. She always brings something. She doesn't have to wait in line like others. That's the most important thing. She's healthy. Maybe not the prettiest, but is that really so important? My children are good. Four of them. They learn well. They simply have such a God-given knack that everything comes easily to them. Another kid sweats and toils before solving a math problem, while mine can do the math in one or two steps. I don't have the best in-laws, but I'm lucky they live in Szczecin. My apartment is nice, not very big, but really very nice, I like it. The important thing is that we have a TV, and when Gagarin flew into space in April, about thirty people showed up. Everyone praised it. They said it was a beautiful apartment, how wonderful the TV was; you can just see everything. And the liverwurst sandwiches were delicious, and where did the pickles come from, at this hour? My mother was a bit upset that they got mud on her carpet, but whatever, I slapped her in the face and she calmed down. The house must be tidy, and everyone should know their place.

I have a good job, I won't reveal the name of the plant because it's a company secret, but I'll just say we produce Syrenas. A very good car. Modern. Apparently, in a few years, anyone will be able to come into the store, pay cash and say hello. Get in and drive. You can go to Częstochowa, for example. Your wife on the side, the kids in the back. A couch big enough for all four of you. Oh, that would be life. I'll tell you in secret, I don't really believe them. Because what if any scoundrel could just walk in off the street and buy a car? Some drunk or a thief. A car is for decent people. That's why I started saving up for a Syrenka. It's not about the money at all. I have connections. Simply put. And anyway, I'll tell you the story.

There's a certain Gienia who works at our plant. Gienia's real name is Gienek and she's in the factory guard. Gienia is an aunt, meaning a fag. She speaks with an effeminate voice, and worst of all, Gienia has had her eye on me for a long time. For months, I felt sick just thinking about it. How he took me for a search, how he supposedly felt my pockets and went after my jewelry. Disgusting. And he rolled his eyes and said to me, "You mustache (I've had it for 15 years), where's the screw?" I didn't give Gienia a hard time once. He says there's a rule to take your pants down to every hundredth person, because you lose spark plugs and even fan belts.

-And you will come – I say – you pervert, do you think I carry candles up my ass?

Gienia laughed, showed me some official paper, and it really happened, that candles and belts were missing, and that I should take them apart. So I let Gienia take them apart. After that, something happened to Gienia. He didn't do anything but cry at the sight of me. I asked him once what happened, because I felt sorry for him, and he just cried. A few weeks later, he gave me an envelope. I left the asylum and read. Gienia confessed her love to me, that she couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, that ever since she saw me in my underwear, it was only Marian and Marian, and that Gienia wanted to end it all because she saw no hope. I laughed until I cried. At home, however, I thought it over again. I mapped it out. The next day, I stole some chocolate from the bar, which my mother had been saving for Children's Day. I went in the morning to Gienia and brought him some chocolate on the table. I'm telling him, like, "Genia is a nice guy and that we can be friends, that we can go for a beer." Gienia looks at me and can't believe her luck. "

And you can't go for a glass of wine, because I prefer wine."

So, Gienia and I went for a glass of wine at a bar, only in the second district so my work buddies wouldn't see me. We sit and chat. Gienia regurgitates some English poems from memory, which he himself translated, saying he's supposedly so talented. I sit there as if I were listening to a Turkish sermon, thinking about how to convey my plan. Only after two or three hours does Gienia tell me that everything is for me, and I've started my own. "

Listen, Gienia," Gienia didn't like how to address her, "Listen, Gienia, you're a good guy and I'm a good guy, we'll come to an understanding somehow, right?"

Gienia nods, though she has no idea what she's talking about.

"Genia, my dear...

" Gienia blushed at that moment.

"There's a point where you turn a blind eye to my outings.

" "What? Can't I look at you?"

"That's not the point. You can look at me. How can I tell you..."

"Go ahead, Marianek, don't be afraid of me." "

I've decided to save up for the Syrena.

" "Oh, how wonderful, will you take me for a ride?"

"Sure. Just don't let Gienia make it difficult.

" "Should I make it difficult, I'll help, whatever's needed?"

"I say, let Gienia turn a blind eye. Because I plan to carry this Syrena out of the plant, piece by piece..." "

Oh Jesus!"

"Yeah."

"Marian, are you willing to sacrifice yourself for me like that? "

"Sure. So what will you help?

" "Marian, and where will you hide the wheels, the wheels?" Gienia asked worriedly.

I showed him the whole plan.

"Simply. I'll carry out the smaller parts as usual, after work." I'll have to carry the wheels, bodywork, doors, windows, and everything else that won't fit at night.

-At night?

-What?

-Because I'm afraid of the dark.

-But do you have night shifts?

-I do, but I don't go anywhere. I'm in the storage unit.

"Gienia, I'll be with you, don't be afraid."

Gienia, his dreamy gaze drifting somewhere near the ceiling. I don't know if he was thinking about nightly trysts or a ride with me, our shared Syrena 100.

Everything was going smoothly. I'd leave work with a briefcase full of parts, screws in my pockets, washers in my underwear, springs behind my shirt. I felt like a knight. Luckily, the noise in the engine room was so loud that my ringing couldn't be heard. When I left the gate, instead of heading to the bus stop, I'd head straight through the park to the allotment. One day, a mother passed me with a little stink, about five years old. The little one looked at me, listened, tilted her head, and said to her, "Mommy, is that man Santa Claus?" The mother explained to the child that there was no Santa Claus, only Father Frost, but he came in the winter, and that man was just a common scrap dealer. I swallowed the insult. After that, I tried to avoid people, and if I did happen to see anyone, I'd lie down on the ground and pretend to be drunk. With each passing day, the mountain of parts grew in the shed on the plot. I got an issue of "Młody Technik" (Young Technician) from a friend, which had a diagram of the Syrena engine, and screw by screw, I started assembling it.

After three months, the engine was ready. I didn't start it so as not to upset the neighbors; they'd all come running. Isn't there enough envy in the world? People bought TVs and are sitting around their apartments because of this envy. Talking to someone in the evening is out of the question – they have to watch the newspaper, or it's a war movie.

Gienia keeps writing letters to me. I explain to him that we can't meet for now until the whole thing is sorted out, or rather, removed. Gienia writes that once I get this car back together, we'll go to the German Federal Republic because there's freedom there, and people like him can walk the streets normally, hold hands, and even kiss, which doesn't surprise anyone, because if someone loves you, why shouldn't they kiss?

When I read these letters, I think there might be problems with Gienia. What's he thinking? Sure, he's doing me a favor as a friend, turning a blind eye when I asked him, but he shouldn't think I'm with him and all. He's a lunatic, and something will have to be done to silence him after all. Even though he's as involved in this as I am, he won't tell anyone anything because he'll go to jail himself. Or maybe he'll get 25 or worse. After all, it wasn't. It's economic espionage. So what if it's on a small scale? An American spy like him doesn't need much. He'll pull out a tiny device, click, click, open the hood, click, click, and soon they'll be driving Mustangs or other Fords in their New York, every bit as good as our Sirens. And shouldn't they hang someone like that? After all, the People's Republic of Poland could get millions of dollars for a license, and without a single green card, white exploiters will be driving our cars for free.

That night I rolled the dice. First for the bet, then one for the plot. I sweated like a mouse. Gienia overdid it. He was lashing out at me. That he was sacrificing himself so much for me and I wasn't giving him anything in return.

"I told you I'd take you on a trip, did I?"

Gienia, that wasn't enough. He wrapped his arms around my neck and started kissing me. If I didn't blow him a bubble. I thought he'd given up the ghost.

"Genio, get up, get up, what's wrong with you, are you still alive?"

Blood was pouring from his mouth. He was shaking and crying.

"You hit me, you hit me," he kept repeating. "I just wanted to kiss you."

I tried to explain myself somehow.

"I'm not ordinary. I should have told you, but it was a surprise. Next time, tell me, damn it, wipe that blood off.

" "Go away."

So I went. The next day I gave Gienia a heart-shaped box of chocolates. She didn't want to. He pretended to be offended.

Come on, Gienia, don't be angry, you chose the wheels very nicely, they fit perfectly.

"We're done," he said, pushing the chocolates aside. "

How's that for an end?

" "Yes, you are. You don't love me."

I wanted to say yes, but somehow I couldn't. Several people were passing through the gate. I waited a moment.

"We agreed, you'll help me, and I'll help you... come on, Gienia, what about you?"

"Fine," Gienia perked up. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "You'll come to me for the night."

I grabbed the doorknob. I was about to leave when I saw Engineer Makowski entering the factory. The cream-colored Syrena gleamed in the morning sun like an angel.

"For the night? Why?"

Gienia smiled mischievously.

"You'll see.

" "And what will I tell my wife?"

"Think of it, you mustache-wearing brat.

Oh, that Syrena cost me, I won't tell. That's just how life has turned out for me." What happened to Gienia at night, oh no, it's not worth talking about. The most important thing is that a month later I sat behind the wheel of my own, hard-earned car. I can't describe the joy. I felt like God. I pressed the accelerator and the world moved forward. I opened the window, the pleasantly cool air brushed my face. I saw all those envious glances; if they could, they would have torn me to pieces on the spot. Look at this rich man who bought a Syrena, some thief, probably a greengrocer, or a money changer. Son of a bitch, a man can't get enough of the first, and this one... he slouched like a king, puffed up like a king, he doesn't even say hello. I was just so absorbed in my gaze that I didn't notice that one corner. Not much was left of the Syrena. For that, I got a pension, a small one, but still. The important thing is that my wife is still good, she takes me for walks, my colleagues made me a wheelchair at the factory, Gienia drops by after work, says she'll soon escape to the German Federal Republic, with a guy like Władek from the tool shop. Last night they were carrying out the wheels.