Polychrome (16 page)

‘A balanced woman,’ replied Lentz confidently.
‘Yes, and with a heart – kind-hearted! A woman with scales
and a sword personifies Justice. You’d better not think, just
listen.’ She sighed deeply. ‘Right, let’s take it slowly. Hope, in
paintings or sculpture, for example, is represented by a woman
with an anchor against the background of a seascape. I’ll tell
you how well it’s been explained.’ Again she glanced at her
notes. ‘I won’t read to you about the anchor because that surely
is a simple association, safe harbour and so on, but he wrote
well about the seascape, too: “Sailing on a dancing, surging
sea is not easy because man crosses the boundaries assigned
to him; yet, armed with trust, he can behold the Kingdom of
Heaven” – that’s how Cesare Ripa explained it, among other
things. So that when someone painted a young woman with
an anchor and a seething sea in the background, someone who
was illiterate, for example, understood perfectly well what he
saw – you have to hope and trust in God that you’ll return
home, for example. That’s why for someone who knew how
to read and was a more sophisticated client, it was enough to
have one symbol like, for example, those sunflowers, and a note
which broadened the idea. When reading
Expecto donec veniat
,
he could have recalled the story of Job who lost everything,
asked himself why it was happening to him and so on but
trusted in God and everything ended well. I don’t intend to
play the smart alec or try to convince you that it’s interesting,
but the man you’re looking for seems to know all this. And as I
was saying… aha, he’s addressing a sophisticated client who’s
going to understand – unless he’s doing it only for himself and
doesn’t care whether anybody reads it or not. But I don’t think
so. Why bother? I think he’s concocting an ideology and the
recipient of his work, if I can put it that way, is important. I’ve
no clue what his principle idea is, but he does want to depict
some sort of idea.’ She broke off.
‘And what’s a locust got to do with it?’ asked Bartol
unintentionally.
‘The bug’s pestering you. It’s got nothing to do with it. The
same words and sunflowers are bound to be somewhere in
another book. It rings a bell, but I haven’t found it yet. The
meaning’s much the same: with time the locust will fly away
and the earth will give birth anew, in the same way as sunflowers
bow to the sun in farewell, but you have to have hope that dawn
is finally going to break and they’ll raise their heads in greeting.
That’s why I think it’s a question of hope here. Besides, that’s
what the dictum
Dum spiro spero
says. A naked body and the
caption "While there’s life there’s hope", although in our case
the context is grotesque. Here, I’ve no doubt whatsoever. It’s
harder with the other body. There, I’m finding it more difficult,
glasses are…’
She stopped. They weren’t the only ones to turn their heads.
Two girls had entered the bar, laughing exceptionally loudly.
They must have made a mistake; they didn’t suit the place. After
a quick inspection and a giggled and gabbled appraisal of the
situation, just as they’d made an abrupt entry so they made
a loud decision to leave. A couple of people smiled pitifully.
‘Well, you know how the virtue of Moderation is represented,
don’t you?’ asked Magda. ‘A woman adds water to wine with no
implied meaning, simply to dilute it and temper the strength
of the drink. A drink. It couldn’t be any simpler. The symbol
might well have been more widespread. The girls were a bit
tipsy, weren’t they?’
‘They certainly were. Is there something about wine and
drinking in the Bible, too?’ asked Lentz.
‘There certainly is! In numerous instances. Besides,
practically everything’s there. I even remember a sentence
from Sirach’s Book of Wisdom: “what life is then to a man that
is without wine? For it was made to make men glad.” Drunk
in moderation, of course. Times change but problems don’t.
But let’s get back to the spectacles and their writing:
Speculator
adstad de sui
. I didn’t find the maxim anywhere. I asked a couple
of people but with no results as yet. I’m also finding it difficult
to translate unambiguously. Literally, it could be taken to mean
"the observer stands next to his own men", but could also be
with his own, perhaps not stands but supports. I’m not sure.
Spectacles represent the sense of sight so it can only refer to
sight; but it could also mean the eye, for example, the Eye of
Providence, God. Do you have any more details, some sort of
context perhaps?’
Lentz spoke first.
‘Maciej hasn’t got the photographs, as you may have
gathered. The second victim was sitting at a small table with
his hand on a Bible. Next to it stood a cross. He was also the
owner of the dog with a fresh tattoo on its ear. Part of the writing
goes
quam oportet
. We don’t have any more at the moment.’
‘Don’t have any more,’ repeated Magda. Without waiting
for an answer, she spoke to herself. ‘Don’t have any more,’ she
repeated again, frowning.
‘Don’t have any more at the moment,’ Lentz said in a slightly
irritated voice, looking at Maciej. ‘Let’s give the vet time. It
hasn’t healed that quickly, the wounds need to be cleaned!’
‘Sorry, Piotr, that’s not the point. Of course I’ll wait. "Don’t
have any more" rings a bell but I’ve no idea why. You go on
celebrating, I’ll go home,’ she added, quite unexpectedly, and
got up from the table.
Both men were so astonished by her sudden decision they
didn’t have time to react appropriately. Paying no attention to
them, Magda approached the coat rack and took her jacket.
‘Please phone me in the morning, Maciej, when you find out
some more. I’ll carry on looking. Remember the photographs,’
she said, wrapping the long scarf tightly around her neck and
taking a hat from her bag.
‘Wait, we’ll order you a taxi, it’s late,’ Lentz declared.
‘No need. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. The whole way’s
brightly lit, so no fears. I think best when I walk and I’ve got a bit
of thinking to do, but thanks for the concern. And happy birthday
again.’ She walked up to Lentz and kissed him on the cheek,
clearly embarrassing him. She extended her hand to Maciej.
‘Call when you can.’
‘Pick up when you can,’ Bartol concluded in an offended
tone. She was supposed to have dropped in for a moment but
he guessed the moment had long passed.
‘Okay,’ she agreed, laughing. ‘See you tomorrow, probably.
Maybe I’ll find something. I’ve confused you enough for one
day.’
‘Sort of, but it was still nice meeting you,’ said Lentz.
‘Bye.’ Maciej didn’t add anything; they already knew each
other.
She turned as she opened the main door. Maybe she knew
they were staring at her. She waved goodbye. Her hair looked
radiantly red in the street light, so much so that Bartol almost
saw sparks fly. At least that’s what it seemed to him.
They didn’t say anything at first; then, after a while, the
conversation was still heavy going. They didn’t even mention
Polek, as though nobody had seen anything. They merely
exchanged a few observations and both agreed that somebody
like Magda could prove useful.
They didn’t quite understand what she’d said even, though
both admitted they enjoyed listening to her. Perhaps it would
lead to something, and that was that.
They ordered one more drink, downed it quickly and left.
Nothing came of further celebrations.
Bartol got home, washed, went to bed but couldn’t, for a change,
fall asleep. The day seemed horribly long. He felt exhausted
yet sleep eluded him.
All sorts of thoughts ran through his head, bouncing off
each other with fatigue and helplessness.
The woman from Staszic Street, Lalek who had another life
– a pity it wasn’t his own – spotty Franciszek, the small lettering
on Magda’s t-shirt which he never managed to put together
to form words. For some unknown reason he added his own
eventual presence at the baby’s delivery and completely lost
the desire to lie there with eyes closed.
He got up, poured himself some vodka again, and again
there was nothing but water. This time he downed it quickly. It
helped a little. On the way back to bed, he glanced at the phone.
There was a message. He read it several times: ‘It’ll be
non plus
on the ear. Goodnight.’
It took him a while to figure out the message was from Magda
and referred to the mongrel’s ear, but still he couldn’t understand
anything. The only thing he managed to work out was that he
wasn’t going to work anything out. Trivial, stupefying thoughts,
such as whether or not to wear the blue sweater the following
day, encouraged sleep to come – not instantly but at a slow crawl
Because it had to come in the end.

As it was he woke up a couple of times in the night and between
four and five didn’t sleep at all. When he’d almost decided to
get up for good and have an early start, he was overcome with
drowsiness. He laid his head on the pillow and thought he didn’t
sleep. The alarm went off but a drowsy thought that he shouldn’t
worry, that it would ring again, flashed through his mind.

Something rang but it wasn’t the alarm; it was the phone,
and it didn’t give up easily. It rang three times in a row. In the
end it stood him on his feet.

‘Yes, hello.’ He tried to sound alert but didn’t manage to
deceive her.
‘Well, well. I thought you’d grown out of it. I still can’t
understand how you got through primary school when it
started at eight. I hope you’re grateful to me for waking you up.’
‘Yes, very. I was lucky to be part of the baby boom and – just
for the record – often started at eleven as far as I remember. I’m
in a bit of a hurry right now, mum. Did you want anything?’
‘Me, no, I’m just your wake-up call!’
‘Mum…’
‘Listen, I can’t visit your girlfriend today so please phone and
see if she needs anything. She’s on leave and mustn’t tire herself.
Do some shopping or whatever, but get yourself involved!’
‘All right, but can’t we go together? You somehow manage
to communicate with each other while I… You go.’ The minute
he said it, he regretted it.
‘I’m phoning to tell you I can’t.’ The tone of his mother’s
voice now shook him awake, which didn’t stop him from asking
foolishly:
‘But why?’
‘Come on, are you really still in primary school? I can’t and
that’s that. Women’s business.’
‘What?’ He still wasn’t in control of what he was saying.
‘Which version do you want to hear? The one which will
put you off your breakfast or the detailed one so you won’t be
able to look at food until supper?’
‘All right, mum, I’ll phone, but today I might have a lot of…’
‘Try. And call me in the evening to tell me how hard you
tried. Get up and don’t sulk. Go and look how beautiful it’s
outside. Bye.’
‘Bye,’ he said to the phone, then to himself: ‘Of course it’s
beautiful, from the very morning.’
He muttered under his breath: ‘Women’s business, end of
conversation.’ When he’d once told her he was going out with
his friends and it was men’s business, what did he hear? 'Since
when has drinking and boasting been business?’
He looked out of the window. Nothing really had changed;
the trees were bare, the grass was the colour of rotting grass,
but the sun was indeed shining and that changed a great deal.
Maybe that’s why he got himself together with exceptional
speed. Once he was in the car, the phone rang again. Fortunately,
it was Lentz this time.
‘Hi, I’ve got everything that’s written there. Can you call
Magda? You know what it says?’
‘
Non plus
. Am I right?’
‘How do you know?’ asked Lentz, completely baffled.
‘I’ll be at the firm in half an hour. I’ll tell you then.’
‘Ok. See you.’
‘See you.’
He phoned Magda, or rather tried phoning her again; she
didn’t pick up. He wasn’t even surprised or very annoyed.
He’d obviously have to get used to it. But a moment later he
couldn’t help but be surprised. She didn’t call back; instead
she sent a message: ‘Was I right?’ He wrote back that she was.
Silence at her end; that was all. He merely nodded in disbelief.
Surely she wasn’t counting her pennies? Yet if this wasn’t thrift,
what was it?
He decided not to give it too much thought, at least not for
the time being; the weather was fine and set both humans and
traffic in a good mood. The traffic jams were the same as the
day before but everybody was driving as if more smoothly and
politely. He arrived at headquarters in relatively good time, and
the moment he entered was taken aback. He wasn’t so late as
to deserve a thunderous: ‘Finally!’ from Polek, and expectant
looks from the rest of th team.
‘It’s a good thing you’re here. We’ve some interesting stuff.
We need to plan the day because there’s going to be a lot of
work,’ Maćkowiak joined in.
‘All right, I’m sorry. I overslept a bit but let’s not exaggerate.
So what’s all this interesting stuff you’ve got?’
‘Hyper-interesting stuff. We were both right. One: one,’
said Polek excitedly. ‘That saint of ours wasn’t so saintly. We
received information yesterday that our Lalek disappeared
about ten years ago, hardly anyone remembered him in
Warszawa. He was collecting empty bottles and cans in train
compartments and didn’t get off on time – which happened
often enough apparently – then disappeared somewhere along
the Warszawa-Rzeszów line. Nobody looked for him nor did
he turn up of his own accord, the poor guy. As you can guess,
he didn’t report his documents missing. We can’t exclude his
having sold them for a bottle. But there’s more. We’re leaving
the best to the end, Sleeping Beauty.’
‘Olaf!’
‘All right, all right, listen to this. We now know who our
Mother Theresa of Poznań was. And this is where you were
right.’
‘What? He had a record?’ asked Bartol.
‘And whow. Not just any felony. You’re in for quite a surprise.
Murder, sir.’
‘I wasn’t expecting anything as big as that despite everything!’
He was thrown – completely.
‘And that’s still not all. He’d already previously wanted to
outsmart ordinary mortals and be nearer to God,’ said Polek
with undisguised irony, and paused meaningfully.
‘What do you mean?’ Bartol had never liked being kept on
edge, and even less so of late.
‘Maciej, he used to be a priest and went by the name of
Father Jan Maria Gawlicki.’ Lentz, who probably didn’t feel
like dramatic pauses at that moment either, anticipated Polek.
‘What!’ Bartol was truly worked up. The rest must have
already cooled down because they seemed unimpressed. ‘What
did he do?’ he asked.
‘You’ve been sleeping for a week!’ Polek spoke again. ‘The
information’s already ten minutes old.’
‘All right, so what’s there in your papers?’ Bartol wanted to
sort out the confusion mounting in his head as soon as possible.
Something like this he had not expected.
‘Not much as it is,’ began Maćkowiak. ‘He did sixteen years,
that’s all, was released and that’s the last that was heard of him.
Until now, of course. Maciej, this was the end of the sixties, the
beginning of the seventies. The authorities had loosened things
up a bit but let’s not blow things out of proportion. Militia weren’t
the only ones involved in a case like this. Special services must
have taken it over straight away. That’s probably why we didn’t
come across him right away but had to dig around a bit, and
that’s probably why his files aren’t up front. Maybe we’ll find
them, maybe we won’t. Maybe he started to collaborate. Maybe
he had some sort of information. Who knows, and who’s going
to tell you now?’ he concluded in a resigned voice.
‘We’ll try, but we mustn’t expect miracles. What we’ve got to
do now is check whether Father Gawlicki had any family. That
way we’ll be all the quicker to discover his sins,’ said Lentz.
‘You’re right, that’s where we need to start,’ agreed Bartol.
‘One thing’s for certain: he knew his Latin,’ he said to himself.