The fact that he was so fiercely popular resulted in his being invited to many distinguished societies, to many distinguished banquets and receptions celebrating the completion of research projects and similar trivialities. His lab colleagues always enjoyed having him around on such occasions. While Marian never had a clue about the current happenings in local or national politics, let alone global ones, he was always on the cutting edge when it came to bacteria and fungi. This, in turn, was a frequent problem for the average Warsaw biologist. Who in their right mind would think about tomato fungus when they found themselves on the grand stage of local politics in the Warsaw scientific world? It's undeniable that sitting in a leather swivel chair at a desk often polished by the velvet skirts of secretaries earns incomparably more than sitting on a cold, metal stool at a microscope, and the skirts here take on more attractive shapes and more pleasant textures. There was much to fight for in the political rat race, and the more astute scientists knew this perfectly well. Marian was, one might say, a man of bacteria and fungi. Marian saved Warsaw bacteriology from embarrassment by providing more than comprehensive answers when a piercing silence fell over the words "streptococcus faecalis," and it's clear that this was the situation in which he had the most to say.
Marian knew everything about bacteria and fungi, and perhaps even a little fascinated by them (if anything could be said to fascinate Marian). Therefore, whenever one of the more professionally competent foreign guests at the banquet wanted to consult their research, he was invariably referred to "my assistant, the guy's young, let him demonstrate his knowledge, let the kid show off," and at such moments Marian would deliver endless monologues (and this is no exaggeration: if at any point a colleague hadn't interrupted Marian, he might have continued talking for the rest of the evening, or perhaps even never). The greatest advantage of having such an assistant on hand was that it carried no risk. Even if someone had accidentally offered him a cushy position at the very front of the line for a director's chair, he would most likely have declined in utter astonishment with words like, "An office? What about the lab? Bacteria need me more than a secretary."
So he socialized, drank champagne, and ate his fill, treating banquets as the perfect opportunity to stuff himself with "high-class" food, as he himself called them. The contrast between a glass of champagne and a slice of smoked salmon and a glass of beer and a can of luncheon meat was immense, so Marian loved parties, and as he claimed, they constantly surprised him. It was enough for the salmon to be placed flat on a plate with half a lemon slice, and then rolled into a cork and pierced with a toothpick, to surprise and amaze Marian. Luncheon meat was simply luncheon meat…
However, aside from such occasional visits to parties and banquets, Marian's life moved along as calmly and lazily as a steamroller. Whatever happened, it happened outside. In Marian's inner world, eternal order and harmony reigned. Nothing could disturb his physical and mental equilibrium, not even something as exciting as a world-class biological discovery! One might assume that some supernatural forces ruling Marian's inner world pushed this improbable possibility away from him.
One rather inconspicuous day, when he'd been enjoying a luncheon sandwich as usual, Marian went to the lab as usual. But the skylarks already knew something was about to happen. The skylarks sang exceptionally beautifully that day, and in the center of the capital! Where they came from—no one knows why they sang—God knows, and whether they sang at all—the average Varsovian wouldn't be able to tell either, because the average person's mind always ignores such irrational signs. And wrongly! Because if even one person had heard the birdsong that morning, they would have already known to be extremely vigilant and cautious—because this could be a breakthrough day. It is enough that birds are always relegated to the gutters of urban life (of which pigeons themselves are undoubtedly the best example) and that the biological revolution did not bother anyone in Warsaw.
Marian entered the lab and, as usual, sat at his workspace. He had his microscope and his organic samples, his notes, and his birthday cards. He loved birthday cards, and since he never received them from anyone, he bought them and wrote them out himself. To make matters even more amusing, he wrote them out not only for his own birthday. He wished himself health and prosperity on the birthdays of his grandmother, aunt, cousin, boss, and every lab collaborator. Marian's postcards took up three times the space in his drawer as his research notes. The folders with his notes, while certainly large and admirable, also took up an enormous amount of space, but this space was distributed relatively evenly among his colleagues' drawers. They borrowed them, never returned them, but Marian was characterized not only by a kind heart but also by an embarrassing ignorance and a vague trust in his lab colleagues. As mentioned, everyone liked Marian.
It started prosaically: Marian was looking for his notes. He wanted to refresh his memory on an older study of some particularly uninteresting bacteria that caused some even more uninteresting and particularly disgusting disease in grasshoppers. Marian searched but couldn't find it, so he assumed someone had borrowed it. It happens—human memory is fallible—that they forget to return it. Marian reached this conclusion only after emptying the drawer's contents, when it was already in disarray on his desk next to a microscope and a container of various strange organic samples (if asked what samples he had examined that morning, he could have elaborated on the length of a two-year university lecture series, so it would be better for all of us if they simply remained organic samples). While trying to stuff the papers back into the drawer, Marian knocked over a bottle of horribly contaminated liquid full of a white suspension, which, in turn, knocked over the container containing the samples, and fell to the floor. In his fright, our hero dropped all the postcards he had been holding, which also landed on the floor, in a pool of spilled liquid among the broken glass and organic samples.
Something strange began to happen. Marian—a born scientist—froze momentarily, observing the situation intently. Bacterial cells from the white suspension were multiplying at an astonishing rate on a nutrient medium of postcard cellulose, ink, and organic substances. Marian—a born idiot—quickly grabbed the entire mess, and before his more intelligent brain cells could intervene, he flushed it all down the toilet. He was doubly stupid, for not only did he erase what was perhaps the greatest discovery made by Warsaw scientists in biology to date, but he also contributed to the complete clogging of his laboratory's entire sewage system. Soon, in other research rooms, beakers flushed down toilets and sinks, gurgling beautifully, pink, green, and purple, were faithfully returning to the scientists trying to liquefy them. Marian—a born unlucky man—was immediately exposed as the perpetrator of the disaster and forced to fork out two of his next salaries to unclog the laboratory's sewage system. And the skylarks warned – this wouldn't be an ordinary day. Because much still had to happen.
It was only twelve noon when Marian sat despondently at his microscope, observing the ecoli bacteria multiplying in a lactose medium. He stared at them blankly, resting his head lazily on his hand so that the skin of his cheek wrinkled sadly beneath his eye, which he closed three-quarters of the way. It was an incredibly sad and pathetic sight, especially since Marian wasn't one to give in to any emotion, even in the most difficult situations. Take Sylwia Z., who tragically died before his eyes after a tempestuous relationship with him. He hadn't even considered how the accident had happened, nor had he bothered to ask, and his first words after the police arrived were: "Excuse me, could you please turn off that horn? It's not particularly bothering me, but it's nighttime, and people live here. My nose hurts." And even if the police psychologist dismissed Marian's statement as post-accident shock, it's safe to call him simply an insensitive beast. After that day, he never bothered to find out where the beautiful and sexy Sylwia Z. had gone.
Now, however, gazing mournfully at the delightfully multiplying bacteria, Marian allowed himself to be captivated by existential philosophy and felt an undeniable sadness. In an instant, he longed to become a bacteria. Overcome by a sudden, uncontrollable melancholy, he gazed at the tiny creatures and pondered himself, his life, his family, and his name. The fact is, such sentiments come to us all at the most unexpected moments, and then we are completely alone, unprepared to battle the wisdom of the universe. "If it hadn't gotten in, everything would be different!" thought the unhappy Marian, barely holding back tears. "What kind of life is this?! Who am I, what am I anyway?!" A moment later, he was sobbing like a child, his tears streaming down onto the microscope, the tabletop, and the innocent ecoli bacteria. Marian broke down for the first time in his life, for the first time in his life, he felt that everything was wrong and that life should be something more, whatever that meant. The first blues in Marian's life, at the age of twenty-seven, proved profound and irrational. He sat at a microscope in a low-class Warsaw laboratory and wept.
This blues proved simultaneously profoundly significant, not only for his own bizarre life but also for the heart and soul of another innocent and sweet creature. The moment was, after all, a remarkable one for Miss Dunya's grand and unique entrance! Miss Dunya, a wise woman, though not entirely beautiful, quite ordinary even, and one of the many local lab technicians, was secretly in love with Marian. She swallowed her tears when he passed her in the hallway without reacting, when he remained silent as she brought her coffee (only loose powder, two and a half teaspoons of sugar, always cream, heaven forbid! She would recite those instructions if woken in the middle of the night!). She sighed quietly in her small room, by the large gray microscope. Miss Dunya was a tiny woman, and all the laboratory equipment was immense compared to her. She remained unnoticed and ignored by the entire laboratory staff, but this did not in any way diminish her sad, unrequited love for Marian Wlazło.
In Duni's eyes, Marian had become the ideal from the moment he arrived. Dunia had joined the laboratory six months earlier and was generally familiar with the rules that governed it. She knew where to make coffee, where to pick up laundered aprons, where to wash cups, and even where the senior lab technicians conducting internships at the Biology Department with the most beautiful University of Warsaw students went to "sign off" their grades. She often bade them farewell with a contemptuous snort and, with a furious look, led them to the tiny cubicle of the old, senile lab technician, who always had Mondays off. It should be added that Dunia had passed all her classes honestly, and openly despised girls working for grades using lower body parts than their heads. Something far more sublime, of course, was supposed to be trysts with students for pure pleasure and visits to the boss's office, since, after all, she was his employee... but Dunia didn't like to talk about it.
In any case, Marian's momentary breakdown was now a defining moment, and Miss Dunya ran into the room, alerted by his broken sobs. Her heart quivered with anxiety. What had caused the man in her life such despair?! She ran in, stopped dead in her tracks, and placed her tiny hands on the frightened face. She summoned the courage to do what had to be done to complete her studies, only occasionally opening her textbooks. A moment later, she was cradling Marian, which temporarily soothed his crying. Marian, being Marian, only after a moment, as the resentment slowly left his mind, realized that someone was cradling him. He looked up to see Miss Dunya's sharp, brown eyes. He gave her a half-smile, a goofy half-smile, which was supposed to be enough of a thank you, because he immediately pushed her away without a word and returned to his microscope. However, the idiotic half-smile lingered on his face, and Miss Dunya considered her spontaneous "save her beloved" operation a success and returned to her work, satisfied. She was smart, so she knew that the eccentric Marian would belong to her from that moment on.
Marian, however, thanks to the quick and efficient intervention of Dunya's breasts on his cheeks, was able to work normally for the rest of the day, and the idiotic smile soon transformed into the goofy expression that always followed Marian, announcing to the world that he didn't know why he was working, but knew it was the right thing to do. Chandra, however, continued to linger for some time, and despite his generally improved mood, there was something strange and unsettling about the boy.
In such a situation, Marian didn't return home that evening. Miss Dunia wouldn't have dared miss such an opportunity for an all-night communion with the love of her life! Miss Dunia, perhaps the only one who heard the echo of the larks that morning and was prepared. Incidentally, Miss Dunia had always been ready to intervene in Marian's case, perhaps even from her previous incarnation, and she knew exactly what had to be done. A man in distress needs nothing more than a piece of a warm woman's breast and a glass of whiskey on ice! Miss Dunia knew men. At least men like Marian Wlazł.
Finding himself in Dunia's apartment, or rather, having been led there by her hand (with absolutely no protest, Marian never did), he, in all his resignation, guzzled half a bottle of the whiskey she offered, which instantly lifted his spirits again, almost as much as the affectionate embrace in the laboratory. He no longer cried or sobbed; even dark thoughts slowly left his mind. And when he made love to Miss Dunya on her generously sized, flowered couch, which was, of course, inevitable, he also felt somehow more at ease than before in matters of men and women. At one point, he even felt like he was the man in the bed… and he even liked it. He fucked Miss Dunya several times that night, to her immense joy, and the positions they both improvised would have been worthy of the oldest editions of the Kama Sutra. In all his rapture, he couldn't think of anything—life, the future, his shameful surname, and his equally shameful family history, completely devoid of anything as mundane as protection. They made love long and hard, Dunya screaming, and Marian screaming, something he had never done before. That intoxicating night, something snapped inside Marian. He seemed to understand sex. He seemed to like women.
A few months after that unforgettable night, Marian's life had undergone a dramatic transformation. Those two neat little words, joined by the humble "w," were to usher in a new era in Marian Wlazło's life. Whereas until then he had been a mere social outcast, never finding his so-called place, now it seemed he would gradually begin to sprout roots and slowly settle into the soil of life.
Dunia once came to the laboratory with a broad smile on her chubby face, unceremoniously entered Marian's room, and exclaimed, "I'm pregnant!" A long silence followed. Dunia remained silent because she had already announced everything she wanted to. Marian remained silent because, with his irritating habit, he hadn't grasped what she meant. So she repeated her announcement three more times, but he still wasn't sure he'd gotten it. Had the rebellious and cursed Wlazło fathered his first offspring?
Yes, yes. Due to this unexpected twist in the story of his life, Marian now spent his days at work at his microscope, but he no longer thought about bacteria. He spent his evenings over a glass of treacherous whisky, but he didn't think about the ice cubes slowly dissolving into it, nor about its golden-brown color, which had once reminded him of Marian's urine. Marian wasn't thinking; Marian was brooding, staring into the void. He was immersed in a deep reverie unlike any he'd ever experienced in his life. He hadn't pondered anyone's death so much, but he was pondering future births. After all, not just anyone was about to be born; a new Vlazło was about to be born!
Dunia bustled around the apartment with a slightly enlarged belly. Not in her own apartment, but in Marian's studio apartment. She was cleaning his tiny room, his tiny bathroom, and his kitchen. With innate grace, she tossed his dirty panties and socks into the laundry basket (she'd bought it for Marian; he himself probably didn't even know such a thing existed). Dunia beamed with unmistakable happiness, while Marian felt closer and closer, stronger and stronger... Marian sensed the call of family, of golden wheat fields swaying in the wind somewhere in eastern Poland, far from the hustle and bustle of the capital. Over a glass of whisky, watered down with melted ice, he pondered the rapeseed oil he'd been fixated on for a while. Dunia had brought it with her and fried beautiful, brown, freckled pancakes in it. "Rapeseed," Marian thought, dinner and Dunia pointedly ignoring him. "Rapeseed."
Then he made his decision. He slammed the glass of alcohol down on the table, grabbed his wallet, and ran out of the apartment. Dunya stopped cleaning in horror and, in her shock, even dropped Marian's toothbrush cup, which she had just been cleaning off an ugly yellow stone. The blue plastic cup clattered hollowly against the bathroom tile, and tears glistened in Dunya's large eyes—dark and deep as a well—. Was he leaving? Leaving her like this? Poor and lonely, in her own apartment? A million strange thoughts swirled in Dunya's black mane. She couldn't clean anymore, couldn't do anything else but sit on the chair Marian had just abandoned, wring her hands, and cry. Dunya was such a cruelly sensitive little girl that she would wring her hands many, many more times in her life in the most inappropriate situations, for even the most trivial reasons.
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