Absolute Sunset (3 page)

In the past, when the miners’ position had been better, he’d been satisfied at his job. No risk, reliable profits, and access to the mining shops! But now? He did mundane chores: stamping bills, printing chits. Waiting for retirement. Thank God he could retire early! Then he would start his own accounting office and take his work home. Or he’d simply work from home! He’d buy the neatest school bag ever for Hanka, and some coloured felt-tip pens. He’d be able to save a little money for her university!

Janusz, his mind fixed on his glowing future, realized that he’d already reached the gate. He kicked it, but without much force.

“I’m coming, sir, I’m coming!” a bumbling voice answered on the other side.

After a moment, the gate opened. Not proudly, not wide open, but timidly, as if it were the gate of a beleaguered fortress. Janusz slipped inside. Behind him the metal wing thumped loudly shut.

Hanka—A Torrent

A few days later, Hanka woke very early. She felt well-rested and alert. The raven hadn’t come to her that night. She’d told him she wouldn’t be able to meet him because of the fishing trip with Dad. The raven had promised not to appear so that Hanka could get enough sleep, and he’d kept his word. He wasn’t that bad.

The leaves of the rowan tree rustled outside the window. It was really something, the rowan. In an urban estate like
Tysiąclecie
, which had once been fancy but which hadn’t aged well, nobody really cared about trees. But Hanka had her own rowan, right outside her window. In autumn the tree’s branches were covered in orange fruit, and Hanka was the first one to see them. They actually kind of belonged to her. She was the one to decide who might pick them and how many—there were always more children who wanted to pick the fruit than there was fruit to go around.

She sat down on the bed and stuck her head out the window—just a little bit, but enough to take a look outside. The rowan’s fruit had already begun to appear, but they were still pale. It was only July—there was time. She lay down again and waited for the sun to climb above the roofs and heat up the asphalt paths. Only then, feeling the oppressive summer atmosphere, did she get up.

She headed to the kitchen. The tabletop, covered with greenish tiles, was pleasantly cool. The kitchen, facing west, hadn’t yet been heated up to the point where it felt like an oven. Hanka took a knife out of the drawer, sat down on a chair, and started digging dirt out from between the tiles—as usual. She waited for her parents to get up.

Janusz was the first to appear. He drank a glass of water in a hurry and disappeared into the bathroom. Soon after, she learned why. Her mother, looking battered, leaned out of the bedroom.

Hanka remembered when Sabina had been pretty. Even fairly recently her mother had been beautiful. Her red, shiny hair would be tied in a braided bun, or she’d curl it, or just let it fall loose to her waist. Two pairs of high heels had stood in the wardrobe, one black and one silver, ready to go for a walk at any moment. Where were they now? What had happened to those shoes? All that remained was a pair of worn, ugly carpet slippers. Hanka was pretty sure that Sabina had worn green and blue eye shadow once upon a time. Even purple. It wasn’t that long ago, maybe two years back. Or three. Back when Sabina had still made an effort, when she still cared, if only about her own appearance.

Today’s Sabina had nothing in common with that earlier incarnation. Sometimes it was hard to believe that this woman, with a cigarette always dangling between her lips, was the same person as the one in the old photographs with the serrated edges. Hanka sometimes looked through them, taking care not to be caught. Sabina didn’t like the photos. Once, when she’d caught her daughter going through the albums, she’d torn several of the photos into pieces, then cried, howling into her pillow. So secrecy was essential, or else soon there wouldn’t be a single souvenir of Sabina’s beauty! Her mother’s fury would turn them into dust.

Impossible
, the girl thought, comparing today’s Sabina with the younger one. Where did the bits of clumped lipstick at the corners of her lips come from? And the fierce expression? Hanka couldn’t accept that the mother in the photos was gone, the one with the cream-coloured retro dress and shining, polished nails. Hanka missed her. And sometimes she was simply ashamed of what she had become.

While Hanka sat wondering whether a
bebok
hadn’t perhaps kidnapped that long-ago version of her mother and put today’s Sabina here in her place—something that every child knows the Silesian devils sometimes do—Sabina was struggling with breakfast. The bread kept moving on the cutting board. She tried to cut it into slices with shaking hands, but the pieces looked as if they’d been made with a chainsaw. It was better not to say anything, though. In the end Sabina hurled some sandwiches onto the table. They were nothing like the ones in the magazines, with cucumber, tomato and radish. Hanka would have really loved a sandwich like that, but her mother never made anything of the kind. Bread, butter, cold meat, jam, or cheese curds—nothing sophisticated.

“You must have lost your fucking ass!” Sabina said harshly when Hanka asked her to sprinkle the cheese curds with chives. Hanka had eaten sandwiches like that next door, at her friend Agata’s, and they tasted really good.

Hanka chewed slowly, trying to swallow the pieces without the benefit of tea since Sabina hadn’t served anything to drink today. She could hardly get the bread down, but it was better not to complain.

“I’m not your housemaid!” Sabina would hiss at her in response to even a minor request. Better to say nothing.

Fortunately, Janusz appeared a moment later. He came out of the bathroom dressed in old track pants and a T-shirt. He smelled of Nivea cream and some kind of aftershave. He didn’t actually shave, but he used it as a perfume because he knew that Hanka liked the smell.

“Oh, you have nothing to drink!” He came over to Hanka and put the kettle on the gas. “Coffee?” he turned to Sabina, but she just snorted. He shrugged his shoulders and prepared two teas. His wife, perhaps offended by the sight of them, left for the living room.

“Thanks!” Hanka muttered to her father, and he smiled in response.

“Drink up and we’ll go. Mum probably didn’t get enough sleep,” he laughed and wiggled his eyebrows. Hanka snorted, but immediately went quiet, stopped by a warning gesture from her father. It wasn’t wise to provoke Sabina—she hated being mocked. They quickly packed a bottle of water and two apples into a plastic bag. The fishing tackle was waiting in the hall, where Janusz had put it the previous evening. They put their sneakers on and left. Sabina didn’t bother to say goodbye.

As soon as they were downstairs, Hanka started to chatter. She felt better as she disappeared from Sabina’s view.
Sorry, from mum’s view
. Being with her father was good. Hanka laughed and told him incredible stories. She didn’t even notice where they were going—after all, he was leading the way. Sitting on the bus, she realised that she didn’t remember the walk to the bus stop or the moment when they’d boarded.

The trip wasn’t long. On the way they passed meadows that were as flat and featureless as a pancake, here and there decorated with a single tree. Just like on postcards from Jura. Hanka wanted to stop by one of these solitary trees someday, spread a blanket and fall asleep. Dream of nothing. Or eat breakfast there. Maybe eventually she’d be able to talk her father into it.

“We’re getting off soon,” Janusz said, interrupting her thoughts as he started gathering their things. As always, he checked that they hadn’t left anything on the bus. Hanka found it funny, given that all they had was one net and a fishing rod. She snorted quietly, then politely waited by the door.

As soon as the bus stopped, she jumped out into the roadside dust, which billowed up around her knees and settled on her socks. She glanced at her father. Nothing. He hadn’t even noticed—he’d never been bothered by such things. Sabina would probably have whacked Hanka in the head.

They made their way through a forest. A few isolated clumps of wild strawberries grew near the path. Hanka raced from one to another, picking the red fruit cautiously and then savouring it. Nothing could equal fresh wild strawberries. Even the smell couldn’t be imitated. Sabina had bought wild strawberry cream once and it stank.

“You want some, daddy?” Hanka shouted to Janusz, who was trailing a little bit behind.

“No, thanks. Wait by the turn because I’m not keeping up!” he laughed and adjusted the bag with the fishing rod, jumping from side to side in a funny way.

The river appeared as soon as they took the turn. Hanka rushed through the waterside meadow, jumping over cowpats. From time to time she stopped to pick a handful of sorrel and put it into her mouth. Sabina forbid her to eat unwashed leaves, afraid of tapeworms. But Sabina wasn’t here.

Hanka actually felt a bit sorry that her mother had never come with her and her father. She didn’t know what she was missing, never seeing the spot where they came to fish. It was near the bus stop, on a low, sandy bank. A very deep bight was hidden under a tree that grew out over the water. Janusz said it was two, or even three metres deep. Amongst the sunken roots, the fish drowsed. They glistened between the mossy boughs, as crooked as the fingers of the old ladies at church. It was enough to tempt the fish with good bait—they’d open their eyes and immediately take the hook.

Later, Janusz and Hanka would clean them and prepare them for cooking at home. They’d cover them with breadcrumbs, fry them, and finally eat them. Her mother had never even tried one of the barbel they caught! “They’re toxic, stuffed with rubbish from the river. Everything is contaminated here!” she would complain, refusing to take a bite. It made Hanka sad. Probably Janusz too.

In the end, they reached the spot. Hanka lay down on the grass, and Janusz peeked at the bottom of the bank, unfolding the equipment and casting with the fishing rod.

“Can I have something to drink?” Hanka asked. She was thirsty after running crazily. She swallowed some water, then lay down again. Crickets chirped around her—she stayed quiet so as not to startle the fish.

She was almost asleep when her father jumped to his feet.

“Got a bite!” he whispered and pulled on the rod. Hanka sat up straight. “Strong one!” He looked happy, pulling back on the rod once more.

The fish tumbled over and came up to the surface. Hanka saw it had green sides and a bright belly.

“Pike! Dad, it’s a pike!” She smiled broadly. Pikes were rare. And tasty. Hanka especially liked them with onion. But they left their secret hiding spots, covered with calamus, reluctantly. And they were fast and careful. “Like every predator,” Janusz had explained to Hanka.

Janusz concentrated on the fish and Hanka, nervous and suddenly hungry, took a walk along the shore. Her father would bring the pike in just fine, so long as the line didn’t get jammed.

“Goddamn!” he muttered annoyed. “It’s caught between the roots,” he put the fishing rod back on its stand and took his shirt off. “I’ll get in and get it out—maybe I’ll catch the fish, too.”

He took off his shoes and unzipped his trousers. He placed them together in a neat little pile, then stood up, bent into a bow, his hands forming an arrow, about to dive.

“No!” Hanka suddenly shouted, grabbing him by the elbow. “Don’t dive!”

Janusz smiled indulgently, patiently trying to explain.

“Hania,” he explained. “Wait here and I’ll get the fly line out, it’s expensive.”

But Hanka wasn’t giving up.

“Don’t dive!” she howled and pulled back on her father’s shoulder. “No, no, don’t dive, don’t jump, do whatever, but don’t jump in here!” she yowled.

“Hania, calm down. How am I going to get there otherwise? It’s too high and too steep to walk.” Janusz took his daughter by the shoulders and tried but failed to push her aside—Hanka put up a fierce resistance. “Don’t jump into water you don’t know!” That was the rule. She’d been told the same thing many times, and she could still remember the litany of possible disasters: spinal injury, paralysis, cuts. She held onto her father and screamed.

“Hanka!” Janusz was starting to get angry now. “Stop it!” his tone brought the girl around a bit. “I’m going to dive!” he said, then sat Hanka on the grass and walked to the edge.

“No!” Hanka whispered and leapt towards him. She pushed her father with her small hands, sweeping him off his feet and knocking him down. As he fell, he knocked the stand and the fishing rod trembled and fell from the bank into the water. It stuck into the sludgy bottom far from the edge.

“Are you crazy?” Janusz demanded, slowly standing. Hanka felt terribly stupid.