And I, searching for hidden meaning in the ashtray that Jarosław constantly used, condemning the rest of the company to secondhand smoke, wondered if I'd really been that bad yesterday. Perhaps she was interested in my philosophical side, which was generally incomprehensible to most people? After all, every reasonable person feels the need to ponder matters more ambitious than how much they've drunk, whether they'll have enough money until the end of the month, or when a boring lecture will end.
And occasionally speaking up, tuned out of Michał's old jokes and Jarek's fictional, "real-life" stories, I listened to Magda's story about the guy who came to the pub yesterday and spent several hours chatting with her about fantasy literature, with a particular emphasis on Tolkien's works. She avoided my gaze, and I feigned indifference, as if she were talking about someone I didn't even know by sight.
"Funny guy," Michał commented. I wanted to say something about the ridiculousness of his figure, which must have hindered him when boarding the bus. But I didn't, instead defending the "funny guy." "
There are all kinds of people. Maybe he had an extraordinary personality, don't you think?" "I said, jokingly, looking Magda straight in the eye.
"Very possible," she laughed.
"Hey, you know this," Michał began, "a guy walks into a bar and..."
I'd had enough. I decided to take a break and go get another beer. At the last minute, however, as I passed Magda, I changed my mind and asked her to dance. She agreed.
The music was calm, slow, pleasant to the ear, but I barely heard it. It seemed to be just a backdrop for Magda's gentle voice and the beating of my heart. The same voice that, like a red rose, lingered in my mind as a beautiful and painful memory. Colored lights flashed around the room. The image spun in all directions, allowing no respite. It spun this way and that, at varying speeds, moving closer and closer. The indistinct, blurred shapes of dancing figures appeared and disappeared around me, but I was only interested in the one whose delicate hands intertwined with mine in a dreamy dance.
"I made a fool of myself then, didn't I?
" "When?
" "Yesterday at the pub. Believe me, I don't usually go to sleazy bars and talk about Tolkien to beautiful barmaids," I said, emphasizing the word "beautiful," thinking the trite compliment would work. "And I don't usually fall asleep leaning against the bar," I added with a smile.
"Come on, it was quite interesting," she said seriously, ignoring either the worn-out epithet I'd used to describe her or the smile I'd given her. "I get so bored when I have to work beyond the weekend. It was nice talking to you. And I learned a few new things."
There was something in her voice that made even the most serious statement seem like a joke. If she were a TV presenter reading the news, I wouldn't have believed a single one of them. But I liked that hidden mirth. It was certainly much better than Michał's jokes, which I'd escaped from.
"So maybe we'll meet again?" I asked.
"Why not? You'll have to finish the story.
" "What story?
" "The one about finding happiness. You compared it nicely to a puzzle.
So it wasn't a dream after all. I wonder what else I told her then.
" "And the little boy playing with someone else's puzzle?
" "You didn't mention that.
" "Then I'll tell you another time. Maybe tomorrow, somewhere romantic?"
"If I let you invite me," she whispered, "we'd better go listen to Michał's jokes.
" "Don't tell me you like them."
"I don't, but don't tell him that," she said, pulling me toward the table where we'd been sitting earlier. I was happy to hear I wasn't the only one who thought Michał was a bad joker. It was like a little revenge for the "funny guy."
When our hands parted, I felt like I'd lost something precious, and at the same time, I was brought back to reality. The magical, intoxicating energy vanished, everything became clearer, the conversation in the dance seemed distant and unreal. The image spun slower, no longer changing directions, and I couldn't guess how much time had passed.
"You were gone for a long time," Jarek's powerful voice struck me like a hammer. It echoed in my head several times before fading away.
"Aha," Michał added, "you missed a few good jokes.
But not this one," I thought.
"I have to go now," Magda said.
"Did you leave the kettle on?" I asked, and she laughed softly in response.
"Maybe you'll stay a few more minutes?" Jarek suggested.
"No, I can't. I'll have to get up early.
" "So, see you tomorrow," Michał said.
"Will you walk me home?" I offered, hoping to talk to her for a while longer, that the magical aura surrounding her would take over me longer.
"As you wish," she said casually and headed for the exit.
"I told you you'd like her," Jarek smiled.
After a moment, I caught up with Magda before leaving. The autumn night air cooled my body and refreshed my mind. Memories from a few hours ago came flooding back. I realized I'd just left the student club at the journalism faculty dormitory. Literally a few minutes from a smoky room cluttered with junk.
"You took your time.
" "I was thinking about you.
" "You're a lousy poet.
" "But a good philosopher.
" "Ha, you wish. Are you always so cliché?
" "What do you mean?
" "Talking about a romantic place, offering an escort. That's some medieval nonsense. It's a shame you didn't kiss my hand when you met me.
" "Don't tell me you're a feminist."
"I'm not. Feminists are ugly, old women who have no luck with men." I completely disagreed with her on that point, but I ignored her stereotypical attitude. It's like believing all blondes are stupid—I'm just moving with the times and trying to be modern.
" "Modern... What do you mean?
" "We'll talk tomorrow, it's already here." Indeed, out of nowhere, we were standing in front of the dormitory entrance. A faint light was coming from inside.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?
" "And what else?" Perhaps I'll offer you some French wine, and then we'll make passionate love until dawn?
"Good idea..."
I grabbed her fingertips and pulled her body, light as a butterfly, toward me. Our lips met, and, as if terrified by the prospect of separation, they clung to each other in a passionate kiss. At first, gently, like a child trying to catch fluff carried by the wind, then more boldly, offering physical pleasure and elevating our minds to higher states of consciousness. From the magical power grew a plant with many flowers, which, winding through souls, avoiding dangerous corners and dark secrets, connected hearts and bound them together with an invisible thread. Reality vanished, an extraordinary aura descended, and with it a land of intoxication and fabulous feelings.
And the child continued running through the endless clearing, chasing the light feather. She almost had it in her small, pink hands, almost clutching it with her weak fingers, when a sudden gust of wind pushed the fluffy fugitive a few centimeters away. And this game continued for some time, and would probably have lasted even longer if the wind hadn't abated and allowed the delightful little creature to grasp the feather that had so exhausted her patience and yet given her so much joy. But now the young creature realizes that a feather brings pleasure not when held in the hand, but when unattainable, carried by the wind, free. So she releases it and watches it drift slowly across the clearing, rising higher and higher, all the way to the sky itself... Reality
returned, revealing the night sky, the chill of the autumn wind, and the faint light from inside the building.
"I'll come tomorrow," I whispered.
"Come..."
It's so good that Radek isn't here, I thought. It was one of the few mornings spent peacefully. Student mornings, because it was already after noon. I stood in front of the mirror, ready to leave, but I kept checking to make sure everything was in order. First, if my jeans were too baggy, then if my red and white shirt matched the rest of my clothes, then if the scent of my perfume was too faint and I should reapply it, and finally, I focused on the leather shoes, which seemed a little too elegant and forced. Relieved, however, I realized it wasn't so bad and left the building.
This time, as I descended the stairs, I didn't notice the black-and-white cat.
After the dozen or so minutes it always took to get from me to the boys, after passing several streets and the Stasiek pub, after entering the dormitory without identifying myself, without even visiting Jarek and Michał, I finally stood in front of door number 257 and knocked three times. A few seconds later, which felt like years of heart-pounding silence, Magda appeared in the doorway. She wore no makeup and ordinary everyday clothes—rolled-up jeans, revealing the same womanly feet in the same pink flip-flops I'd seen the day before, and a yellow blouse with a simple pattern.
"Hi," I said.
"Well, hey," she replied, eyeing me. Apparently interested in my outfit, she asked, "Is there an occasion today?
" "It's a chance I'm meeting you."
"Come in, romantic," she invited, leading me into the room.
It was remarkably reminiscent of Jarek and Michał's room, except that order reigned supreme, and the air, lightly scented with women's perfume and hairspray, was breathable. There were no beer cans, no candy wrappers, not even books. There were only clothes strewn here and there, creating an artistic mess. The sun, screened off by red curtains, illuminated only the table and part of the floor. A slightly overweight blonde sat on one of the two beds, finishing the last of her coffee.
"Hi," she said upon seeing me.
"Hello," I replied.
"Sit down, would you like something to drink?" Magda asked.
"Hmm, maybe some French wine?"
Meanwhile, the blonde finished her coffee and set her cup on the table.
"I'll... go to Karola's. Bye," she said, getting up and leaving the room. I've always liked a woman's sense of humor.
"French..." Magda said thoughtfully. "There's no French, only Polish." Then she opened the cabinet and took out two glasses and a bottle full of burgundy liquid. The bottle was labeled "cherry wine." There was something so distasteful and disgusting about it that I felt a shiver run down my spine, and memories of my first years of high school, when my classmates and I enjoyed this type of drink flashed through my mind. I didn't expect this from her—sorry for the glasses, but I don't have anything better." She looked at me and, as if reading my mind, laughed and explained. "Don't be afraid, it's good wine, homemade, but that bottle..."
"I was already starting to suspect you of bad taste," I said, feeling a palpable sense of relief. "Don't judge a book by its cover. Or wine by its label.
" "My father makes good wine. I always drank it with my friends," she began the conversation and filled both glasses halfway. "I took one bottle to kick off my studies."
"Just don't tell Michał about it, or he'll empty it in a moment." I laughed and tasted Magda's father's homemade wine. "It's really good," I said honestly.
"Okay, I won't tell him. After all, you've known him longer," she admitted, taking a sip of the burgundy liquid that I'd only just thought was piss. "How exactly did you meet?
" "It's a long story," I replied evasively, and I searched my memory, trying to recall what it was like.
"We have plenty of time." I sensed something in her voice that heated up the atmosphere and intimidated me. "And anyway, you can tell the short version."
"The short version? We met at a party.
" "Not very original. You met me in a more interesting way.
" "Because you're a modern woman, and modern women are met in unusual ways.
" "And you're modern?
" "I don't think so. I'd say rather old-fashioned.
" "But you came without flowers."
"Because I didn't know what the nature of our meeting would be, or whether I'd even find you there.
" "Exactly, you surprised me. I didn't even have time to get ready.
" "You look beautiful anyway."
"We've known each other for three days, and this is your first compliment. So you're not old-fashioned after all.
" "Well, maybe just a little."
I felt the wine awakening my senses, inducing a blissful state and confidence; the blood rushed to my head, bringing a pleasant warmth. Everything looked more colorful. I put down the glass and, after a moment's hesitation, said:
"Actually, I came to invite you on a little trip.
" "Sounds interesting. And what kind of trip is it?
" "I can't say that yet. It's a secret.
" "Okay, at least tell me what I should wear." I'd always dreaded such questions, perhaps sensing a hidden meaning.
"You'll look good in anything," I extricated myself from the situation.
"Then wait outside the dorm. You're not going to watch me change, are
you?" "Frankly, I'd love to. But you probably won't let me?"
"Of course not.
" "Then I'll leave," I replied humbly, "just so I don't have to wait for years."
"If you care, you'll wait," she said, smiling mischievously.
I went outside and, just like before, didn't stop by Michał and Jarek's. They probably weren't there anyway, I thought, "and besides, they'd be asking about me and Magda." In that respect, they weren't much different from Radek the gossiper. They liked to listen, just didn't share what they'd heard with everyone around them. They were like a triple-locked gossip vault.
Leaning against the stair railing, staring at the door, I mentally calculated how long it would take Magda to get ready. First in seconds, then in minutes, until I got lost in the rush of numbers and doubted she'd even come. But she did.
From her outfit, I guessed she wanted to look versatile and appropriate for any occasion, which was understandable, since she didn't know where we were going. She wore the same rolled-up jeans, low-heeled shoes, and a long blue blouse with a delicate neckline. Her hair was loose and fell gently around her shoulders. I was still a little tipsy from the wine, still feeling confident, and the warmth inside hadn't faded. She must have felt the same.
"Will you finally tell me where you're taking me?" she asked, approaching me. I was delighted to see her light makeup, no frills. She looked beautiful anyway.
"To the puppet theater.
" "Are you serious?
" "Yes. Have you ever been to a puppet theater?
" "Oh. Once, in elementary school.
" "Then it's worth seeing again.
" "Okay, what's the title of the play?
" "Little Red Riding Hood." Good, right?
"You're starting to scare me," she sighed and looked at me like I was crazy.
"Ha, I was joking... About that little red riding hood, of course. This will be something more ambitious. You'll see, you'll like it.
" "I'm still afraid of you..."
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