Zbyszek part two

Sunlight filters through the flowers of the densely woven curtain, painting organic forms on Zbyszek's face, simultaneously emphasizing its careless shape. Zbyszek awakens, the flowers wilting. His body, previously comfortably nestled against the red sofa, begins to turn, followed by his head, tilting alternately to the right and left as if to escape the rays. Then his mouth opens wide, allowing his viscera to speak, which, in a chorus of unattractive and drawn-out melody, awakens the rest of his body. His pupils dilate slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. His hands fumble for the television remote control, finally finding it beneath the ample body to which they are involuntarily attached. Then his fingers impatiently search for the right button, exploring the entire surface of the remote with their fingertips, and finally, it's there. The screen brightens, the sun fades. Zbyszek's face begins to take on its natural, proper expression. His hands, now calm, fall to the bedclothes, slightly distorting them. His fingers, with a sense of duty well done, gently caress the edge of the remote control casing. Another day has begun, a day without time or place, without worries or responsibilities. Zbyszek lies awake, with no intention of washing, preparing breakfast, greeting his wife, going for a walk, visiting a neighbor, reading the newspaper, working, or living. The only activity he's capable of is a scream. A long, loud one, and one that carries the name Irenka. At that moment, his wife appears. An old woman, incredibly patient with Zbyszek's nagging. She's very short, with a head that's large relative to the rest of her body, deep eye sockets with small eyes, sagging cheeks, as if waiting to be filled with food, and between them, a remarkably fitting, thin mouth with a prominently protruding upper lip. She occupies herself mainly with cooking, cleaning, and shopping. Every morning, she fulfills her duty to her husband and does whatever she can for him. Sometimes too eagerly. And Zbyszek really doesn't like it when she forces him to choose between her and the television, when she comes into his room and asks him something, or when she just wants to sit and watch with him. And Zbyszek, instead of responding humanely, prefers to yell at his wife, tell her she farts all the time, and generally bothers him, starts a row, and finally throws her out the door, loudly expressing his displeasure. I think even the downstairs neighbors hear it. The old buildings make it impossible to hide domestic arguments and signs of dissatisfaction with life.

Sometimes Zbyszek is in such a bad mood, or conversely, so good (at least it reaches extremes), that he likes to splurge. He drinks in his incredibly childish disposition, which, spreading through his bloodstream to every part of his poisoned body, creates a euphoria that erases all his problems and ailments. The old, foolish woman who fussed over him and constantly farted becomes the beloved Irenka, cooking him a dinner he'd seen on some cooking show. She's then the woman Zbyszek himself invites to his room, where he becomes incredibly talkative, even cracking jokes. His repulsive face, despite his 180-degree mood swing, gains nothing from it. Irenka, even in such situations, impresses with her patience, and from indifferently caring, she becomes kindly and communicatively caring.

But, unable to defy nature, after a while Zbyszek will have to expel all his childishness and his ecstatic mood in the bathroom, which is so close to his red sofa. He'll pull the flush, watching his happiness swirl down the toilet bowl into the dark depths. The neighbors downstairs will hear it, as it flows down the thick, stoneware pipe, unenclosed in the wall, disappearing with a muffled echo in the sewer cobweb. Only on colder days will you be able to see a faint, steaming puff of smoke rising from the street drain, like a final farewell before a journey of no return. And Zbyszek will once again be alone in front of the TV, hungry and angry. And then there's the bullshit of his stupid wife and the constant arguments.