The Lullaby Of Polish Girls Part 16

"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 Pawe 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. Pawe 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 f.u.c.k in bathroom stalls all the time. Pawe 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 f.u.c.k! 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 f.u.c.king nose job!"

"I did. I did get a f.u.c.king nose job," Kamila says, eyes scanning the floor. "Hi. How are you?"

"I'm f.u.c.king awesome. My kid's away for the weekend, I get to sleep in tomorrow. And right now, Pawe 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 a.s.sumption that Justyna had become a sad and broken thing.

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

"f.u.c.king 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 f.u.c.king summers, we plan on getting together, and it's all kind of bulls.h.i.t 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, Pawe 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 Pawe 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 G.o.dd.a.m.n cold.

She arrived in Kielce two days ago on a train from Warsaw that stopped and stalled at every village they pa.s.sed. She dozed, and when she woke, she spent her time staring out the window. The green fields she used to pa.s.s 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. Szydowek 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, prosz 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 Ro. 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.

"Sucham Pani?"

"Yes, h.e.l.lo, 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 pa.s.sport 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 b.u.t.tons 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? G.o.d, 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 eromskiego. 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 doork.n.o.b, 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."

"Sonce, moje! How are you, coreczko?"

"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, moj Boe, 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, coreczko? 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.

"You taxi is here, miss," another hotel clerk informs Anna on her way downstairs. "You need the directions for anywhere?"

"No, thank you, I know where I'm going." Anna smiles.

Will Justyna slam the door in her face? Will she still even be in that house? "Lulaje Jezuniu" is playing on the radio now and Anna hums along. It's a lullaby, sung to baby Jesus, and it's one of Anna's favorites. Growing up, Paulina would play the carol all day on Christmas and it always soothed Anna, reminding her that Mary had been just a mother once, trying to lull her restless child to sleep. Anna knows there will be babies, beautiful, healthy babies in her future, who will speak Polish, who will know where part of them came from. One day, she'll forget the abortion. She'll forget Ben. Lulaje, lulaje. Even G.o.d started out wide-eyed and afraid. It's a comforting thought.

As the cab makes its way up toward the neighborhood of Sieje, Anna's heart starts racing in antic.i.p.ation. The last time she saw Justyna was the night Teresa died, when Kamila, Justyna, and Anna sat in the middle of a field, drunk on vodka, and happy. Anna remembers the bright sky, how romantic it seemed. She remembers the stars, and how the Summer Triangle was out that night, visible only to her. It feels like eons have pa.s.sed since then, and yet it feels like yesterday.

Kamila.

Kielce, Poland.

"Good morning. This is your wake-up call."

"Tak, dzikuje," Kamila answers briskly. She lies back down onto the sofa bed, and closes her eyes. She can tell that it has snowed without even looking. The sun is high outside, its rays, reflected off the snow, are blinding.

Yesterday, after her confrontation with Emil, Kamila felt oddly triumphant. Downstairs, Natalia high-fived her, but had refrained from asking Kamila about the details. "Your face says it all. Now down a stiff one, and get thee to sleep." And Kamila had done just that. At the Hotel Pod Ro, where Natalia had booked her a room, she asked for her key and promptly ordered a martini, on the rocks, one olive. Kamila fell asleep in her clothes, using her coat as a comforter. She woke up once during the night. She had been crying in her sleep, her cheeks were wet and puffy, but she had no recollection of any dreams.

The alarm clock on the dresser reads 13:01. To Kamila the hour is irrelevant. It could be three in the morning, and it kind of feels like it. Kamila fumbles for her mobile phone. She finds it lodged under her back. The battery is dying but her charger is in her suitcase and Kamila doesn't feel like looking for it. The thought of unpacking her lingerie into the hotel dresser drawers fills her with melancholy. Instead, she reaches for the hotel phone and orders room service: scrambled eggs and blood sausage, with breakfast rolls and a side of Nutella. Kamila is ravenous and when the meal arrives at her door twenty minutes later, her mouth waters. She eats slowly, but she finishes everything. I don't care anymore, Kamila thinks. She chews the doughy bueczka and imagines herself years from now, soft and pliant, with a belly that sways as she walks, and somewhere there is a man who loves every last curve on her body. Once she's done eating, Kamila licks her fingers.

She cracks the window open and breathes in the crisp air. She uses the hotel phone to call Justyna, who picks up on the third ring.

"Halo? Kto tam?" She greets Kamila with a strangled Who's there.

"It's Kamila Ludek. Marchewska ..."

"What's going on?" Justyna says lightly, as if they had just talked the day before, as if it was no big deal to hear her old friend's voice after so many years.

"Nothing much. I was in the States, visiting my parents."

"Really? I heard you ran away from your husband 'cause he cheated on you or something." Kamila cringes. Justyna's not going to make this easy. She hadn't made it easy the last time they saw each other in the bathroom at Desperados, when she had openly mocked Kamila's new nose and insulted her.

"Right. Well, yes. He did cheat on me. With his best friend, a man named Wojtek Marszaek. They've been together for the last three years. I found out in October, and then I fled to America. But I'm back now, and I'd really love to see you."

There is a silence on the other side of the line. She can hear Justyna breathing. Her friend is stunned and Kamila doesn't give a s.h.i.t. It's out in the open now, and she liked the way it sounded coming out, like a confession, and not an apology.

"Holy f.u.c.k," Justyna finally allows and starts laughing. "Holy f.u.c.k!" she repeats loudly.

"So can I come over today? I heard what happened to you, and I want to tell you how sorry I am in person."

"Nothing happened to me. And why are you sorry? Were you an accomplice?" Justyna's laughter settles, and she continues, not giving Kamila any time to interject. "Yes, Marchewska, come over. I'm sitting home alone. Bring some winko."

Kamila hangs up, somehow both satisfied and confused. She's used to hemming and hawing. How strange, then, to just open your mouth and say what you mean. That is the biggest thing that Kamila always envied in Justyna-more than her perfect body and her cute little nose-Justyna never spared anyone, including herself.

In the shower, Kamila works lather all over her body, and for the first time she winces at how sharp she feels, at how her bones stick out after years of deprivation. Kamila can still somehow smell the American on her. She'll tell Justyna everything about him, about his fat stomach and his strange hands, about how beautiful he made Kamila feel. She's going to tell everyone everything from now on. Because today Kamila feels like a new woman. This Kamila will eat when she wants, will ask men to take her home on the first night, and will rid herself of her old, squandered life. After she dresses in a purple Anne Klein sweater and her favorite pair of jeans, pulled from her luggage, Kamila calls Natalia, to tell her she survived the night, and to tell her that she feels better than she has in a long time.

"Give me a few days to get most of my stuff out of the apartment. I'll leave all the furniture for you and Stasiu. Even the TV."

"But it's forty inches! Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Dziki, Kamila. I guess I can tell you now that you're a G.o.dsend, Kamila Marchewska, because I'm f.u.c.king pregnant. Four months." Kamila erupts in congratulations. When she hangs up she sits by the window, remembering the time, two and a half years ago, when her period had been very late. When she was waiting for it to start, Kamila felt her heart ignite, said her prayers, and knew, knew deeply that a baby would be the thing that would save her and Emil. A week later, she peed on a stick, and she and Emil waited. When the two minutes were up, he grabbed the pregnancy test from the sink and hid it behind his back.

"Kamila! Kamila!" he cried desperately. "We're not ready! You can't be pregnant anyway; you're too skinny, kotku. That's why your period's late. Okay? Okay, Kamila?" Kamila laughed and tried to grab the stick back. Emil squirmed until it wasn't funny anymore. Finally, he opened his palm and when they looked down and saw the results, Emil laughed and hugged Kamila.

"See? We're not ready yet." Kamila walked past him, curled up on her bed, and cried herself to sleep. Looking back, Kamila calculates that it was around this time that Emil started his affair with Wojtek. She wonders if the thought of having a child with her frightened Emil so much that it had driven him right into Wojtek's arms.

In the lobby Kamila asks the girls at the concierge desk to call her a taxi.

"Oh, a cab just left, prosz pani. Our Pani Amerykanka took off in it."

"No matter, I'll wait for the next one." Kamila says it blase, but her insides spark like someone set a match to them. Amerykanka. That word brings to mind only one person, but surely the Rose's Amerykanka is not the same as Kamila's. She sits on one of the two chairs next to the concierge desk, and idly tears at her cuticles.

"Amerykanka? In Kielce? Where's she from, do you know? I have family in the States."

"New York. She says it's her first time in Kielce but I didn't ask why on earth she's here and not in Warsaw or Krakow. My English is totally remedial, but it's fun to practice. She seems nice enough."