The Lullaby of Polish Girls (26 page)

Filip takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“She loves me. She’s like him.” Filip points to the foyer, toward Rambo, her mother’s dog. “You kick ’em and they still come back for more.”

Justyna wishes she could walk over to his self-satisfied mug and whack him across it. But she doesn’t, because this guy would whack her right back. You can tell just by looking at Filip that he would have no qualms about hitting women. Justyna is sure of it.

“Don’t you have to go stand on some fucking unemployment line,
kretynie
? Get the hell out of my house.” She hears his rasping laughter behind her as she walks out and sits down on the porch steps, where Damian is already building pyramids out of pebbles and rocks, and apparently chewing on one.

“Damian, take that crap out of your mouth, right now,
jasna cholera
! It’s probably covered in Rambo’s piss! You wanna eat doggie’s pee pee?!”

Damian spits out the stone and laughs. “Doggie’s pee pee!” And then in an instant, he gets to his feet and commands belligerently,
“Do parku!”
He runs to their picket fence, rattling the slats with impressive force, like a monkey in a cage.

Justyna sighs.
Do parku
again. Sitting in a park watching him slide down the rusty slide eight hundred times in a row does not sound appealing. “No, thanks,” Justyna murmurs. She closes her eyes and enjoys the sun against her skin, warming her face. “Let’s just bake in the sun, till we’re two brown loaves, how about that? ’Cause
Mamuśka
just doesn’t feel like doing fucking anything.”

Damian smiles at the sound of a cuss word. “I’m the bread. You eat me!”

“Sure, I’ll slice ya, and butter ya, and eat ya up, all right? Good idea, because I’ve got nothing but a tomato for lunch. So, Damian and
pomidory
sandwiches it is.” Damian laughs, raking his small fingers through the lawn, ripping up fistfuls of grass and hurling them into the air, where they fall on his face like raindrops.

“Mama jest smieszna.”
Mama is funny. There’s still plenty of time on earth, she reminds herself, and one day Damian will be fifteen and she’ll get her life back.

After she drops Damian off with
Babcia
Kazia, Justyna returns home to find Paweł there. “I decided to play hooky.” Justyna claps her hands in delight and pounces on him. Their lovemaking is invigorating and quick, like getting doused with cold water. That night they take a cab to Desperados. Paweł sits behind a banquette, sipping on a beer, ogling his wife with fire in his eyes. Justyna twirls, undulating to the music. When the song is over, she points toward the bathrooms and motions at him with her index finger. They used to fuck in bathroom stalls all the time. Paweł raises his eyebrows and nods, and Justyna knows that he’ll follow a few minutes behind her.

In the bathroom, Justyna glances at herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner is smudged, her hair is sopping wet, and her tank top clings to her braless chest like a Band-Aid. And just then a face appears next to hers. Black bob, jutting collarbones, and small gray eyes made up with frosted white shadow.

“Holy fuck!
Marchewska?
”

It’s Kamila. Or is it? Something is different about her—but when was the last time they saw each other? Has it been months or years? Justyna can’t recall. She turns from the mirror and then it hits her.

“You got a fucking nose job!”

“I did. I did get a fucking nose job,” Kamila says, eyes scanning the floor. “Hi. How are you?”

“I’m fucking awesome. My kid’s away for the weekend, I get to sleep in tomorrow. And right now, Paweł and I are gonna screw in the stall right there. But afterward, come to our table. Let’s catch up. You look so good! You here with Emil?” Justyna doesn’t mean half of what she
says. The sight of her old friend undoes her momentarily, brings with it a thousand memories that for some reason she wants no part of. When Justyna had Damian and when her mother died, Kamila dropped her, as if birth and death had so altered Justyna that she was no longer the same person. Justyna never quite forgave Kamila. Not so much for the distance, but for the assumption that Justyna had become a sad and broken thing.

“No. I came with some girlfriends. Emil asked me to marry him,” Kamila blurts out.

“Fucking finally!” Justyna laughs. “Congrats.”

“Thanks. My nose, it’s just a subtle change, right? It’s still swollen and stuff. I, like, just had it done. The doctor says it won’t take on its true shape for another year or so.” Kamila is wearing expensive clothes, not anything she could have bought in one of Kielce’s boutiques.

“Subtle? Are you on drugs? I mean good for you,
dziewczyno
, but you’re, like, unrecognizable.” Justyna says it like it’s not a compliment and that’s how she means it. Kamila flushes bright pink.

“Did you see Anna Baran when she was in Kielce?”

“Nah. We were supposed to get together but I was busy. You know how it is. We moan about those fucking summers, we plan on getting together, and it’s all kind of bullshit isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” Kamila counters halfheartedly.

“Really, Kamila …?” Justyna is no longer smiling. Kamila retreats without another word.

A minute later, Paweł joins Justyna in the last stall, where they go at it against the wall, but somehow Justyna’s heart is no longer in it. When she and Paweł leave the club later, Justyna doesn’t bother looking for Kamila. A few days after their awkward run-in, Justyna gets out her address book, and thumbs through it until she spies the old entry.
Kamila Marchewska 33-97-18
. She stares at the page before tearing it out and crumpling it.

Anna Kielce, Poland

Anna can’t get used to it. Can’t get used to the sun that sets at four
P.M.
, the snowy sidewalks, and the goddamn cold.

She arrived in Kielce two days ago on a train from Warsaw that stopped and stalled at every village they passed. She dozed, and when she woke, she spent her time staring out the window. The green fields she used to pass on her way to Kielce were now covered in white and it unsettled her.

When her cab turned down Jesionowa Street, the old neighborhood came into view and Anna’s heart sank. Szydłówek was empty and covered in snow, and the thought of
Babcia
in her dark apartment was too much. If her mother had told
Babcia
that Anna was flying to Poland,
Babcia
would have to wait.

“Actually, I changed my mind,” she informed the cabbie as he made a right onto Toporowskiego Street.

“About what?” The cab driver exhaled loudly.

“I want to go to a hotel.”

“Which one, lady?”

“I don’t know,
proszę pana
.” She smiled meekly. “The nicest one.”

He made an abrupt U-turn, wheels skidding in the slush. Ten minutes later the cab was parked at Moniuszki 7, under the black copper awning of the Hotel Pod Różą. Two decorated Christmas trees flanked the entrance. A few steps away, Anna could make out the steeples of the
katedra
and a little farther down, the beginning of Sienkiewicza Street.

“This is perfect, thanks,” she said and handed him a generous tip. He sped off without a thank-you, and Anna smiled, finally finding something familiar about Poland.

From the main entrance, she walked up one small flight of stairs, following the signs to
Recepcja
, and at the small front desk Anna rang
the chrome bell. A minute later a young Polish girl appeared. Her nameplate read Wiola.

“Słucham Panią?”

“Yes, hello, Why-ola. I was wondering if you had a room available?” Anna surprised herself by speaking in English, not knowing why she did it, but knowing it felt right. The girl at reception stared at her in surprise.

“You have the reserve?” Her phrasing was awkward and she had a slight British accent.

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t have a reservation. I’ll need a room for a few nights, any room you have will do.”

“Yes, we have the rooms. Smoke?”

“Yes, please, with pleasure, smoke.”

“I please just need the identification from you.”

Anna pulled out her American passport and slid it across the marble slab.

“Is this you first time in Kielce, miss?” Wiola asked, as she tapped a keyboard and printed out a sheet of paper for Anna to sign.

“It is.” Anna smiled.

The key to room 217 was copper and dangled from a wooden handle, like a key from a children’s book. She got in the small elevator where there were only three buttons to choose from. Her room was narrow and neat, although it smelled a little musty from cigarette smoke that had embedded itself in the velvet curtains. It smelled like her aunt Ula’s house, like her father’s room back in New York, and like her own apartment on Lorimer Street. The walls were painted a burnt orange and there was a small television, which sat precariously on the windowsill. The bathroom was tiny but immaculate and there were ashtrays set out everywhere, even one on the back of the toilet. Anna plopped down on the twin bed, held her face in her hands, and felt a profound relief wash over her.

That night more snow fell. She watched it settle on the bare tree branches outside the hotel room while she called her mother to let her know she had arrived safe, if not entirely sound.

“I can’t even believe you’re at a hotel. When
Babcia
finds out she’ll be devastated! Anna, you have to at least call her and tell her you’re in
Kielce,” her mother reprimanded. Anna promised that she would call, and that the hotel was just for a few nights, until she slept off her jet lag.

“What’s Poland like in the winter, Anna? Is it the same like when we left? Is it snowing? God, I remember how beautiful everything was in
zima
.”

“It still is,
Mamo
.”

That night Anna tossed and turned, falling victim to jet lag. She finally gave up and showered at four
A.M.
She was out the door by six.

Anna walked up and down Sienkiewicza Street all day. It was still so strange to see people in hats and furs. She popped into pubs for fries and warm spiced beer. She bought books at the
ksiegarnia
and looked at pricey furs in fancy new boutiques. And for a long time, she stood in front of the Teatr Żeromskiego. Like every summer, the theater was on hiatus for the holiday. She had always dreamed of one day standing on its stage, in the footsteps of the great Kielczan actress Violetta Arlak. But that seemed silly now. Later, she sat on a bench across from the Puchatek mall and stared at the bustling crowd, full of faces that were so Polish—set in frowns, wrinkled, and moon-shaped. She felt separate from them, but her heart swelled with something akin to pride; these were
her
people. Back at the
hotelik
, she hung the Do Not Disturb sign on her doorknob, and went to bed early.

Anna wakes up when it’s still dark outside. Today she plans to simply show up and knock on Justyna’s door. “I just flew here, and, boy, are my arms tired.” It would be good to start with a joke, because Justyna was always laughing at the unlaughable. Besides, things tended to happen when one just showed up, and she desperately wanted things to happen.

When the sun comes up, Anna orders a cup of coffee from room service and finally calls her grandmother.

“
Babciu? To ja
, Ania.”

“
Słonce, moje!
How are you,
córeczko
?”

“I’m good,
Babciu
. I’m in Poland.”

“
O, Jezus Maria!
Ania!
Naprawde?
”

“Yes,
Babciu
, really. I’m in Warsaw for a few days and then I’m coming to Kielce.”

“A few days? That’s not enough time!
O, mój Bo
ż
e
, I have to cook and clean. I have to call Ula so she can—”

“
Babcia
, calm down,
Babcia
.” Anna smiles, feeling a slight pang of guilt for lying.

“How can I calm down,
córeczko
? You’ve just given me a heart attack.”

Anna hangs up and showers. The water is cold and smells like sulfur. An hour later, she turns the key and locks her hotel room behind her.