The Lullaby of Polish Girls (28 page)

“I was about to leave.”

“Hi. I was upstairs, napping.… Hi.”

And then Justyna pulls Anna in for a hug, a messy, jubilant hug.

With her arms still wrapped around Anna’s neck, Justyna laughs. “What the fuck is that perfume? You smell like a grandma, Baran.”

“Patchouli,” Anna says, twisting herself free. “Let me look at you, Strawicz. But let me in first, it’s cold as hell out here.” Justyna leads Anna into the house, and locks the front door. She quickly ushers Anna into the kitchen, runs to the kettle. “Tea? Holy hell, I wasn’t expecting a movie star to visit me tonight. I would have cleaned up a bit,” she says, referring to the kitchen and to herself.

“
Dobra, dobra
. Movie stars don’t weigh 140 pounds.”

“It suits you. Bitch.” Justyna laughs again and Anna smiles. “Anyway, you can lose the weight. But you can’t lose the face.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Baran, you’re
śliczna
and you know it. Fuck the tea, right? You want a shot?”

“Yes, please.”

Justyna watches Anna take off her leather jacket, watches as she unwraps the silky blue scarf from around her neck, until it hangs from her hand in cascading sheaves, like a waterfall.

“That’s some scarf.”

“Ralph Lauren.”

“
Rafloren?
What’s that?”

Anna doesn’t answer. She looks at Justyna, looks her up and down. There’s not much to look at, but Anna takes her time and Justyna stands her ground in her rumpled Nike tracksuit, her dirty crew socks, her unwashed hair sticking up in short tufts around her face. She knows she looks like shit, but there’s good reason for that.

“Did you sew those shoulder pads into your shirt?”

“I did.”

“Still? Still with the shoulder pads?” Anna smiles sadly.

“Always.” Justyna takes a cigarette from her pack on the kitchen table. “All right, enough. You might be used to people ogling you, but I’m not.” Because Justyna knows it’s not just her outer layer that Anna’s taking in—she’s trying to get at something deeper.

“Are you kidding? Who used to lay out on the Tęcza benches, one hand in the air,
begging
for someone to walk by and whistle?”

“I didn’t have to beg.” Justyna grins. And then the grin fades, but just a little. “Anyway,
dziewczyno
, that was a long ass time ago. I look like shit now.”

“Well, who can blame you …” Anna’s voice trails off and she looks around the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. “Where’s that shot?”

“We’re still waiting for one more guest.” Justyna winks.

“Who?” Anna asks guardedly.

“Who else?”

Anna’s mouth drops open. Justyna sits at the table and lights a second cigarette off the dying embers of her first one. “Weird, right? When was the last time all three of us were together?”

“Seven years ago,” Anna answers quietly.

“Right. I remember a bottle of
wódka
. And that’s about all I remember.” Justyna grins.

“And your mom. Your mom died that night.”

“Oh, yeah. Riiiiight.” Justyna smiles and stands up. She never heard a word from Anna regarding her mother’s death back then and she sure as hell doesn’t want to hear one now. She starts walking into the living room.

“Bring some shot glasses, okay? And I think there’s some Pepsi-Cola on the counter. And ice!”

They say every seven years the tide turns, the world shifts. Seven years of fucking crap. Tonight Justyna will drink to the next seven.

When Anna comes in, balancing everything in her hands, Justyna is on the
wersalka
, smoking a cigarette.

“What are those?”

“Papierosy,”
Justyna drawls. “I believe your term for them was always cancer sticks.”

“A girl can have a change of heart. Can I bum one?”

“
Ja pierdole!
Or as
you
say, ‘Fak meee!’ Anna Baran smokes.…”

“Anna Baran does a lot of things she shouldn’t do.”

“Take a pack, I have a whole carton in the
barek
.” Anna sets down the glasses onto the coffee table. “And get a bottle of
bimber
, and that
bottle of Luksusowa vodka. The
bimber
, my uncle brewed in his bathtub. It’ll destroy you.”

The knock on the door startles them both. Justyna looks at Anna.

“You wanna get it?”

“And give her a heart attack?”

“Why not?”

Anna laughs quietly, smooths the front of her jeans, and heads to the door. Justyna cocks her head and smiles to herself. It’s so easy to pretend, it’s so easy sometimes.

A moment later there’s a squeal, and Anna walks in with a hyperventilating Kamila. She’s skinny—painfully so—skinnier than she was in the bathroom at Desperados four years ago. Fucking Kamila, just beside herself.

“I stopped at the gas station on the way! Wine and stuff.” She takes a gulp of air, and then, “I knew it! I fucking knew it! Those dumb girls at the hotel were talking about some
Amerykanka
! Fucking knew it! God!
Mój Boże! Dziewczyny!
This is incredible! Like,
kurwa mać
!” And then Kamila rushes over to Justyna, who is still sitting on the couch grinning from ear to ear, and Kamila kneels on the floor in front of her and clasps Justyna’s hands.

“
Jezus Maria
, Justyna. I don’t know what to do. Wait! I can’t even get over Ania Baran over there, looking gorgeous as ever.
Jezus!
” And then Kamila’s smile dissolves. “Justyna. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Kamila starts crying, fingers flying to her face, to wipe away the tears, but she can’t quite keep up. For a while, no one says anything. Anna leans in the doorway and Justyna looks at her.

“Fucking Kamila. We were doing fine till you got here,” Justyna says. And when Kamila raises her head from her lap, Justyna Strawicz is crying. No one has ever seen her come undone, or apologize, or crumple, or beg for mercy. Even when Teresa died, she saved the waterworks for late at night, when she knew everyone was sleeping. Now, Justyna quickly covers her face. She takes a deep breath.

“Okay. So we started the evening like pussies. But we’re not gonna end it that way.
Zgoda?
” She holds out her pinky.

And they answer in unison, loudly and clearly.

“Zgoda.”

Justyna pours the first round of shots. They sit on the floor and catch up on everything they want to talk about, and forget everything else.

When the bimber is gone they start on the wine Kamila brought. They go around in a circle, one-upping each other, their words breezy, bright, honest.

“My husband’s a homo!”

“My husband’s dead!”

“I never had a fucking husband to begin with!”

They don’t let up, and they don’t want to. It’s too soon, and not soon enough to joke about it, but that’s what Justyna needs because saying it like that, like it was a big fat joke, made everything surreal, and yet more real than ever. They are hardcore, breathless, and wasted on Uncle Marek’s moonshine.

“Wanna know why I’m here alone?” Justyna asks when the clock strikes midnight.

“Yeah, where’s Damian? Poor Damian, I wanna see him,” Anna drawls.

“He’s at
Babcia
’s. With Elwira and her kid. ’Cause that fucker snuck in the house the other day. Strangled my dog and left him gift wrapped,” Justyna says quietly and her friends fall silent.

“Rambo?”

“Wait,” Kamila exclaims, “you’re not serious?”

“Oh, yes, I am. I’m so serious. Look how serious I am!” Justyna widens her eyes in exaggerated fear, brings her hands under her chin in fright, teeth chattering. And then she grows still.

“Rambo was your mother’s dog,” Anna says quietly.

“Yes, he was. The last bit of Teresa I had.” Justyna says this like she says everything else, matter-of-factly.

“Is that why there’s a police car outside your house?” Kamila asks, and Justyna can tell she’s spooked.

“Yes! I’m not the only one with a bodyguard now, how about that? Huh,
gwiazdo
?” Justyna turns to Anna and winks.

“Wait a second.” Kamila’s not smiling. “So he’s not in jail?”

“Nope.” Justyna gets quiet, wishing she had never brought up the fucking dog.

“Do you miss Paweł?” Anna asks. Of course it would be Anna to ask that. The question lingers in the air.

“I
will
. Once I stop believing he’s coming back.” And with that, Justyna downs the last bit of the Luksusowa and stares into her glass. “Kamilka, go upstairs and go into my room. Remember which one it was? Second floor. There’s another bottle of
bimber
under my
wersalka
.” Kamila gets up with effort. She looks scared.

“Are the lights on?”

“Kamila!” Justyna barks and Kamila scuttles out of the room. Justyna sidles closer to Anna and leans her head back against the couch. She can feel Anna’s eyes on her.

“I’m okay, Anna. I’m okay.” Anna nods and closes her eyes, tucks her head in the crook of Justyna’s shoulder. Justyna smiles. This is the kind of night she had hoped for. And maybe the light of day would bring a bit of regret with it, regret at how wasted they got, and how disrespectful they had been, to both the living and the dead. Or maybe they’d continue in the only way they knew how; at once shielding their pain and sharing it, brutally, in revelatory spasms, but always with a wan smile and a wink.

Tomorrow, they’ll make plans for
Sylwestra
, because undoubtedly they’ll be spending New Year’s Eve together. It’s already been decided that they won’t leave Justyna’s side, and for that Justyna is grateful. They’ll help clean the house, they’ll babysit Damian while she goes out and tries to find a job, and they’ll lend her a little money until she does. They’ll make Anna pick up the phone and fucking call Tefilski. They’ll help Kamila go through her belongings at her old apartment. It’s already been decided.

When she hears the footsteps in the foyer, Justyna opens one eye. Anna has fallen asleep and Justyna has no idea how much time has passed and why it’s taking Kamila so long to find that fucking bottle.

Justyna hears him before she sees him.

“Shhhh. Don’t wake her. She looks so sweet.”

He’s standing in the doorway. Shaved head, thick beard, dirty jeans,
and dirty hands, no coat. She sees all these things in a flash and for a moment Justyna thinks he’s an apparition, except apparitions don’t talk. They don’t have fresh snow on their boots.

“You having a party? Tsk tsk tsk. Is that how a widow is supposed to act?” Justyna is frozen, except for her hands, which start to shake.

“I guess your pretty little friend forgot to lock the door behind her. Didn’t you tell her? About the bogeyman?” Anna stirs beside her, and Justyna shudders. She knows the minute Anna pops open her eyes, she will let go of a scream that might move Filip to action.

“The police are right outside,” Justyna says quietly.

“I know they are. I would have said hello but I didn’t wanna wake them.” Filip smiles and looks around the room, looks up toward the ceiling. “Where’s Elwira?”

Justyna has spent her whole life talking her way out of shit. She knows people; she understands how they operate. She has rarely been afraid of confrontation or of dying. But now, face-to-face with a life-or-death situation, the only thing she wants to say is a pleading
jeszcze nie jeszcze nie. Not yet
. But she can’t open her fucking mouth.

It happens in the blink of an eye. Kamila slams the bottle down on top of Filip’s skull. The bottle doesn’t break, but it’s enough to send him to the floor. That’s when Justyna scrambles to her feet, and takes over; five more blows, one right after the other, as Anna screams her fucking head off. Thank God for Anna’s vocal cords, for their decibel-shattering powers, because she is loud enough to wake up Officer Leon, who runs in, pistol cocked.

An hour later, Justyna sits on her front steps, smoking a cigarette. It’s cold, but she can’t really feel anything. She watches Kamila and Anna drive down Witosa in a cab, on their way to Szydłówek. They begged and begged for her to hop in the backseat with them, to leave that fucking house.

“I’ll be there later, I promise,” she told them. “I have to go get Damian anyway.”

“You sure?” Anna asked as the three of them stood on the porch and watched the cop car drive off with Filip in the backseat, soaked in bimber from the sixth and final blow that finally shattered the bottle, just as Officer Leon tried to grab it from Justyna’s hands.

“I’m sure.”

Justyna stares at her cigarette. Did she ever really believe that Filip would come back again? Justyna speaks softly, imagining Paweł sitting on the steps right next to her.

“I think I’m gonna sell the house, Paweł. It wasn’t ours to begin with. And there’s nothing to keep me here anymore. Who’s gonna fix the fucking ceiling, anyway?” She exhales again, feeling like a fool, but she continues.

“I guess it’s over. I mean, there’ll be a trial, but I think it’s done,
misiaku
. And I hope he gets it up the ass on a daily basis in there. And I hope they never let him out. There. That’s it. I just wanted to say that, just put it out there in case someone else is listening.” Justyna closes her eyes. Everything is incredibly still, and quiet, the kind of winter stillness that promised snow.

“I miss you. Every day. I miss you not because you’re not here. I miss you because I’m still waiting for you to come back. How fucked up is that?” Justyna stops talking for a moment, just to catch her breath, because she knows she could go on forever. But that’s the idea, she supposes, that’s what he wants her to do. To go on, forever.