The Dane continued to sob in the kitchen over the checkered oilcloth. She sobbed and sobbed for two whole hours, when Marian still hadn't returned. She sobbed and sobbed until she was hoarse and unable to utter a single word. Her eyes grew hot with tears and swollen slightly from rubbing them uncontrollably with the back of her hand. She looked sadly at the tiny hallway, swept clean by her own hands. (In moments of breakdown, she undoubtedly became one of those people whose gaze makes you involuntarily lisp and shorten your speech.) She stared with unseeing eyes, as if trying to penetrate the walls and see Marian somewhere in the city, returning to her with a large bouquet of flowers. Marian with a huge, heartfelt smile, gasping for air, panting from running, for he was rushing so fast, for he was rushing so fast towards her, towards their great, eternal love!
Imagine Dunya's astonishment when the door suddenly flew open, almost falling off its hinges! Marian stood there, and everything was as it should be, except for the huge, blue lump Dunya couldn't have predicted. Marian stood there, panting, his face gleeful. His lips were smiling, his eyes were smiling, and the purple plum on his forehead was smiling most of all. Dunya's astonished eyes stopped shedding tears for a moment, observing the unusual situation intently. After all, it wasn't every day that Dunya was asked to marry him! A moment later, Marian was kneeling at her knees with a beautiful gold ring in one hand and a bouquet of violets in the other, still panting, still breathing incredibly hard, as he spat out those beautiful words: "Marry me, marry me, marry me!" Oh, how could she not!
Dunya's lips quivered, and her eyes filled to the brim again. She wept with joy, he panted with happiness, and they both laughed heartily. Soon, a wedding the likes of which the world had never seen before, and certainly not in Warsaw! Marian was already planning everything. On his knees, nestled against his Dunya's ample and firm breasts, he was planning a white, joyful wedding, with hundreds of guests! He could already picture all his colleagues from the lab in tailcoats and tuxedos at Wlazł's wedding! He suddenly burst into tears and sobbed loudly when he thought of returning to the good graces of his great, beautiful family with its traditions! He longed to confide in his beloved about the history of his surname at that moment. He told Dunya (or rather, to her breasts) everything, one by one, and when he reached the moment of peasant Maciej's great drunken march, he was so moved that, having barely reached the end of the story, he could no longer speak. Dunia didn't say anything either, as her hoarse voice refused to subside. But nothing needed to be said, because love, being a highly creative creature, invents millions of other, more beautiful and effective means of expression. They wept together with joy over the checkered kitchen table.
After tenderly and lovingly tending Marian's plum tree, Dunia decided that they would first visit her parents, who lived in a small town near Warsaw. A beautiful couple in the autumn of their lives, people full of peace and tranquility, happy with the happiness of someone who had already put all the ups and downs behind them. They enjoyed walks in the nearby forests of Podkowa Leśna and Międzyborów, drawing joy and vitality from the nature around them. They had a small family cottage with a beautifully kept garden and an old, lazy Rottweiler, whom they had long ago named Obrońca. The dog was never aggressive, nor did it even bark very loudly; it was enough that it simply existed, that it was large, and that it was a Rottweiler. People were generally afraid of it, and therefore no one dared to approach the two elderly couple on their morning or evening walks. Because who would have thought that if it weren't for these mandatory walks, the dog would likely have spent the rest of its life lying flat on the elderly couple's balcony, too lazy to scratch the fleas off itself? Out of necessity, the Defender learned to ignore the itching, which was easier than waving his paw. Everything pointed to the dog having already passed the autumn of its life and was entering the winter hibernation phase of the righteous, which didn't stop Dunya's parents from loving it most deeply, right after their only daughter.
Marian and Dunia didn't find the Kowalskis (oh, what luck with a surname like that! Marian would have probably thought just two months ago) in their family home with its beautiful garden. It was clear, then, that the old couple had gone for a walk. The young engaged couple, their faces beaming with laughter and holding hands, decided to go for a stroll as well. They walked the quiet, peaceful streets of this beautiful town, gazing at the colorful, family-run houses with red-tiled roofs. They listened to the laughter of children and the whir of cake mixers. They felt the small-town atmosphere.
As they walked through the entire town and returned to the street gracefully named Ogrodowa Street, number eighteen, Dunia smiled brightly, her heart beat with joy, and she sighed, feeling a surge of nervousness creeping up on her. A black and tan dog's paw dangled from between the wooden rails of the balcony. The defender returned to his seat, his parents returning from their walk. Marian rang the bell at the gate.
The interior of the Dunia family cottage was even more beautifully manicured than the garden, and even more cozy. The hallway, entirely paneled, gave a feeling of warmth that one would hardly find in modern interiors. The Kowalskis' cottage had nothing in common with modernity, except that less than a month before the happy daughter and her fiancée's arrival, they had purchased a new cistern with a flush valve built into the wall. Apart from this small touch of contemporary décor, everything here was a dream come true for any non-native Varsovian. Marian, after all, was a country man, and now he felt more of one than ever. Euphoric, he absorbed the clean air and the incredible aura of blissful peace that enveloped him in this small house, a full (suddenly, it seemed like a lot) thirty kilometers from the capital.
The Kowalskis welcomed their only daughter with love, and they shook Marian's hand with appreciation. Their future son-in-law was immediately accepted ("He has kind, cheerful eyes," Dunya's mother said to him, as they, in the womanly fashion, went to the kitchen, leaving the men to their manly conversations) and treated to delicious raspberry tea with hibiscus flowers.
How different the conversations with these people were from the empty banquet dialogues about Marynia's fourth-year ass, who, if she passed the subject, would certainly pass the professor! At Warsaw parties, Marian had learned to smile foolishly and sense the right moment to laugh. At the same time, he had practiced his own empty laughter, so that it didn't draw attention but was politely noticeable. Now, hearing Dunya's parents' casual conversation, hearing Dunya herself talk heartily about everything and nothing, the things that are usually most pleasant to talk about in a family circle: "What's going on in the capital?" "How are the flowers growing?" "Why do you come so rarely?"… Marian just sat there with a stupid smile, but slowly got used to the new situation. He was learning all over again, this time—to speak, and to speak honestly, at that. In the small, cozy house in the quiet little town, Marian was slowly learning sincerity and a relaxed manner. It was a pity he wasn't meant to learn, after all.
The guests stayed up late into the night, discussing the strangest things, avoiding political and religious topics entirely. Marian's religion meant nothing to the Duni parents, who considered unlimited hedonism the only true way of life. They had no knowledge of politics at all since their otherwise well-deserved television broke down. They hadn't bought a new one, and thanks to this wise and wise decision, they had lived for over ten years free from the manipulative influence of all mass media, including radio and newspapers. They lived for walks and for each other, with the small help of their perfectly adequate pensions. Marian sipped raspberry tea with hibiscus flowers and wondered why people feared old age.
Time passed so quickly and so lavishly that soon the old wooden cuckoo clock above the exquisitely decorated Art Nouveau sideboard announced midnight. Dunya was worried that the last train to the capital had surely left long ago, and she didn't know what to do. Poor, sensitive Dunya, always ready to find reasons to worry. Her parents only laughed at her worries. Gladly accepting their hosts' invitation, the engaged couple spent that night blissfully in the beautiful Dunya's maiden bed, making love very carefully, not wanting to disturb the peace of Dunya's parents or the little offspring growing in her belly.
Marian laughed heartily at the thought of meeting his own family. He and Dunya boarded the train eastward. They rode smiling, holding hands. Fellow passengers watched with delight, admiration, and then with disgust and obsessive jealousy. It's just how it is that not everyone is blessed with happiness and a foolishly joyful smile, and that these are the most common reasons for envy.
Upon reaching his home village, Marian burst into tears. The call, the constant call, the call of family resonated even more strongly in his heart the closer he got to the fields and the farmyard. As they walked toward the Wlazło family home, wheat lay on their right, rye on their left, and farther ahead stretched beautiful, sun-yellow rapeseed fields. Everything around them swayed with the caressing gusts of the summer wind, gilded by the beautiful, warm morning light. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of summer and the village pond. Marian walked and cried, tightly clutching the small hand of his beloved, and when they reached their destination, he threw himself on one of his brothers' necks, sobbing so loudly that he drew the rest of the family from the house to the porch. Dunia, always sensitive to all kinds of emotion, also cried.They were greeted hospitably, though not overly effusive. A strange distance was maintained towards them. The Wlazłos were always reserved with strangers (and Marian was a stranger), but the newcomers weren't about to be put off by such a trivial matter. They had come to announce their happiness! With smiles on their faces, they ate a hearty dinner with Marian's family and explored the entire estate. The family had accepted Dunia, and everyone seemed pleased with Marian's conversion to the right path in life, but they still weren't entirely convinced of his change; they were still wary of Marian's idea of starting a family and continuing the family (though they were getting closer with each passing minute). However, any fears that the young couple would want to stay in Warsaw and continue their unscrupulous pursuit of knowledge and education were quickly dispelled. Marian longed to return to the village he had abandoned years ago, and Dunia was eager to support him in this idea (as in every other). Who knows how his family would have reacted if he had made a groundbreaking discovery in biology and, willy-nilly, been forced to stay in the capital? What a cunning fellow, Marian! What providence watched over his fate when he flushed the mysterious phenomenon down the toilet! As they say, fortune favors fools, and as it turns out, even larks have no influence on that.
It turned out that the Wlazło family no longer focused solely on wheat, rye, and rapeseed. Due to EU subsidies, the eldest member of the family decided to invest in modern barns and the best English breed of beef cows. He refused to listen to anyone's advice that American cows might be better for breeding and that they were, in fact, one of the leading beef breeds in the world. Albert didn't want to hear about American cows; Albert hated Americans. The family ultimately expressed understanding and accepted the idea of breeding English beef cows, of which five hundred were purchased. A large, modern barn was built, complete with tiles, waterers, a waste disposal system, and humidifiers with the scent of a sea breeze and a gentle breeze of zephyr. Staff were hired to knock down the ever-growing swallow nests. In short, all European Union requirements were met and the subsidy received. With this donation, the women of the great Wlazło family could buy new dresses and pearl earrings, because the income from the previous wheat, rye, and rapeseed crops, which had allowed for the construction of a gigantic, state-of-the-art barn, also easily covered its decent upkeep, with plenty left over.
Marian was filled with admiration and wept in the state-of-the-art barn until his sobs were answered by the lowing of all the English cows. Dunia hugged Marian to her chest and rejoiced greatly. What a wonderful life awaited her in this family! The smell of the barn (a sea breeze with a gentle breeze of zephyr) symbolized a beautifully prosperous life in the bosom of Mother Nature, and what else had she dreamed of but the life of a country lady on an estate?! Dunia was certain she had found her place on Earth and that now nothing would disturb her blissful happiness and peace. That there would be no more backroom romances in the lab with the University of Warsaw biology students, that the visits to the boss's desk were over, that all bosses were over! That now there was only Marian and his love, his fields, and his magnificent English cows. Now only peace! Oh, what beautiful dreams they had, how sorry for poor Dunya that her fate had to change so dramatically...
In the evening, the whole family sat down at the table, and almost everyone, almost completely, had warmed up to their once-hated brother. They were even smiling, looking into his eyes with appreciation. What a shame that when a person grows wise, a whole heap of misfortune immediately descends on their head, swollen with wisdom, and happiness and bliss prove only momentary. They were eating dinner quietly in the guest room of the large Wlazło house, chatting heartily and laughing from time to time, when suddenly one of the younger brothers of the eldest son of Marian's third-born brother burst into the room and yelled, "The cows are dead!" All conversation ceased, and the brat stood on the threshold of the room and bleated, "The cows are dead, the cows are dead!"
The cows had indeed died. Several had fallen, and then all the others followed. They bellowed shrilly, kicked their stalls, and darted their frantic eyes across the ceiling of the state-of-the-art barn, with its tiled floors and water troughs, frantically scented with the sea breeze. The roaring in the barn was incredible, and when the entire Wlazł family rushed in like one giant man, it intensified considerably. It was all the Wlazł women and children who were bleating. They lamented the cruel misfortune, because not only were all five hundred beef cows apparently going to hell one by one, but their ultra-modern barn was also going to hell, as the animals, whether in panic or in frenzy, thrashed blindly with their hooves, smashing the beautiful, panty-pink tiles, ripping the waterers off the walls, and shitting nonstop, clogging the purification system, as if deliberately killing the beautiful sea breeze with its zephyr, relegating EU perfection to the pages of history.
Tragedy. The plague lasted the rest of the day, all night, and then some. The veterinarian called in to the disaster, without a shadow of a doubt or a moment's hesitation, made a diagnosis that none of Wlazło, except Marian, fully understood: BSE. Albert hated the English on sight. However, since they were too far away to blame them for the misfortune, at least until the trial (because the Wlazło family had no intention of letting anyone get away with such a wrong, oh no!), Wlazło's mentality, shaped in this direction for centuries, compelled him to look for a scapegoat. This was another characteristic feature of this family, which had not yet had a chance to surface in the story. The Wlazłos always looked for the guilty. The Wlazłos always found them.
Marian arrived in the village that day with his city bride (no one wanted to hear that Dunia, God forbid, wasn't from Warsaw!) and disturbed the peace that had previously reigned in the village. Marian was guilty of the tragedy, Marian the disgrace of the Wlazło family, Marian the traitor of the Wlazło family, Marian the failure of life, the bearer of a life curse, who infected the English cows with it, and the cows died in madness. Marian – the leper and his chosen one – the plague! One angry glance from Albert at his unlucky brother was enough for the entire family to turn against him again. The oldest women were already burning the tablecloths on which they had shared dinner in a large furnace and were about to chop up the chairs on which Marian and Dunia were sitting, until one of the brothers pointed out how much the chairs cost and that the set had been custom-carved. "We'll disinfect them," he whispered in the women's ears, trying to keep his lips still and appear as unsuspicious as possible. The engaged couple was unanimously expelled from the small, now desperate village in the east of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, with a categorical ban on returning. Never!
Grief and bitterness greater than ever filled Marian's eyes. Despite pleas and explanations—BSE, illness, the English!—his family would never again acknowledge him as one of their own. Marian's heart was beating wildly; for the first time in his life, he yearned to belong, and for the first time in his life, he was ruthlessly rejected. Even the dounia breasts couldn't soothe his sadness anymore. She explained that it didn't matter, that she loved him and that they would always be together, that her parents accepted their union, and that they could live in endless happiness in their family home in a small town near Warsaw, and that everything would be as beautiful as it was meant to be! But Marian wouldn't listen. Despite exile, the call in his heart didn't immediately cease, and with a fresh wound, it tore at his heart with incredible force.
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