Absolute Sunset (8 page)

“Why don’t you want him?” he asked more gently.

“I’m not strong enough...”

“I’ll help you, I promise,” he swore, already knowing it was a lie. He spent more and more time at work, guarding his stool.

Sabina waved her hand as if she were shooing away a fly. Her gesture seemed so delicate, nearly unfinished. Janusz came closer and stroked her as if she were a little girl. He was touched by her gaping shirt.

“Liar!” Sabina cried out so suddenly that he jumped in his seat. “Shit!” She began to sob. “You won’t help! You won’t! Just take him for yourself! I don’t want him! I’m not coming back home!” She sprang out of bed and began knocking over stools, ripping the bedding from the beds, and throwing drip stands against the walls.

Janusz retreated to a corner, hunching his shoulders to protect his head. Nurses came running from the nursing duty office, the head of the maternity ward hard on their heels. The noise of broken equipment had roused him. He shouldered his way through the staff and was the first one to burst into the room.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded with a peremptory tone he’d perfected over years of practice. He was good at ordering, at kicking people around. Sabina momentarily froze. Like a child in the middle of the play. “Quiet!” the doctor ordered. Janusz straightened up. “You,” the doctor said to Sabina. “Get the fuck out of here. You’re being discharged today!” Sabina didn’t dare to argue. “And you,” he said to Janusz. “Take the baby. And your wife. If you can’t behave yourselves, then get out! Get out of my hospital!”

Hanka—Baptism

Bartek was baptized a month later. Sabina and Janusz decided it was necessary. Everyone at the housing estate expected it—they had all baptized their children, so there wasn’t really much choice. Hanka was neither pleased about it, nor disappointed by it. It made no difference to her: baptism or no baptism.

The church ceremony was short, and Hanka was very glad of it. She didn’t like the dreadful coolness of aisles and the icy light that came through the stained glass. She was frightened of the faces of the saints and angels. They looked as if they were going to burst into tears. The music was terrible, too. A near-deaf church clerk sang something devoid of rhythm. Hanka’s ears hurt.

As soon as the last “amen” died out, she hurried out of the church and into the hot sunlight, heading home without looking back. When she passed church gate she sped up and began to run.

A couple of aunts and uncles were invited to have dinner together at their flat after the ceremony. About ten people. Not that many, but Sabina had been hysterical for a week. So Hanka was in a hurry. She had to heat the broth and the stew. To lighten her mother’s workload. To help somehow.

She managed to check if everything was on the table and to put the sticky pasta onto plates before the adults arrived. They’d walked slowly, as if they were still in a solemn mood. They spoke in low voices. Bartek was asleep. Hanka carried him to her room—now their room—and closed the door. She hoped he would sleep as long as possible, so he wouldn’t disturb things. She had work to do. And she was starving.

The solemn mood disappeared as soon as the guests finished eating and drank their first round. The adults laughed loudly at foolish jokes, which Hanka didn’t understand, and which irritated her.
If they wake Bartek there’ll be trouble!

Sabina poured the vodka generously. The sight gave Hanka the shivers. Oily vodka oozed reluctantly into drool-smeared glasses and then disappeared in greedy mouths. Under a moustache covered with sauce from the roast. Between lips covered in lipstick. Gross.

Hanka observed the guests from the entrance hall. Nice, friendly uncles turned into sweaty pigs, their shirts unbuttoned down to their belly buttons and circles of sweat under their arms. Pretty aunts turned into randy flirts. They lost their shoes, took their jackets off. They sang, each one of them choosing a different melody. Amongst them, Sabina was excited, squeaking like a rubber toy. Salads dried out, coated with mayonnaise that slowly went bad. Her father was almost invisible. He couldn’t calm them down. She sighed heavily and escaped to her room.

Bartek was still sleeping. He seemed almost not to breathe, as usual. Hanka sat down on the floor and tried to play or read a book, but the screams of drunken guests disturbed her. She couldn’t concentrate at all. In the end, after yet another burst of laughter, she got up and covered Bartek’s ears with a rolled up blanket. Let him sleep so there could be peace.

Unexpectedly, when she drew back from the pram, her baby brother woke up. Before he even opened his eyes, he started crying. Loudly, as usual. Hanka knew that the only person she could count on was herself, not her aunts and not Sabina. She decided to give Bartek a pacifier—her mother called it a “plug.” But it had disappeared somewhere. It had most probably fallen out of the pram when they were coming back from church. Or someplace else. Dammit.

But Hanka was lucky! On a shelf—quite high up, almost at the ceiling—lay another plug, still unopened. It should satisfy Bartek, and Hanka had completely forgotten about it! She stood on her toes and tried to reach it, but couldn’t. It was too high. She took her dusty socks off and started climbing up the shelves as if they were a ladder. Two levels seemed like just enough. One of Hanka’s hands gripped the highest shelf, and the other reached for the box with the plug.

She almost had it when her traitorous, sweaty left hand, which was usually strong and reliable, slid down the white French polish. Hanka hung for a second, then tumbled down to the floor, straight onto a scattering of angular building blocks. During the short drop she somehow turned to one side, then hit her head. She felt one of the blue blocks split her skin. Warmth. A daze. She sat up with difficulty and touched spot, which was radiating pain. Wet. Red. Hair glued together. Too bad. Hanka could barely hear Bartek screaming. She covered the wound on the head with a finger, then waited until the big wheel that was whirling within her head stopped.

She came into the living room reeling. The drunk figures before her looked blurred.
Where is dad?

“Dad! Dad!” she cried out.

Janusz burst out of the kitchen.

“Baby!” he shouted, terrified by Hanka’s appearance. And Janusz’s fear made her afraid. He returned to the kitchen and quickly came back with the cloth. He put it in on the wound on Hanka’s head. It slowly filled to soaking—head wounds always bleed freely, Hanka knew. She had to stay calm. It would stop in a moment. She wanted to comfort Janusz, but somehow couldn’t come up with any words that made sense.

“What about Bartek?” Janusz asked. “Why is he crying?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s hungry.” Hanka wanted to muster more, but couldn’t.

“Wait,” Janusz said, and went into the kitchen.

After a moment he returned with the bottle of the milk for the baby. It was more than Bartek could possibly drink, but Hanka didn’t comment. It was still quite early, and the remaining milk would be useful later. They fed the baby together. Once Bartek had burped and fallen back to sleep, Sabina turned up at the door of the children’s room.

“What the fuck is going on here?” she started, as she so often did. “Janusz! Join our guests! It’s impolite to disappear like that!”

“I had to help. Hanka fell down...”

“Hanka! Hanka! Hanka all over again! Or this little shit!” Sabina took her son from Janusz and hurled him violently into the pram, knocking the wind out of him for a time. Hanka screamed at Sabina’s outrageous behaviour.
That bitch!
she thought.
She’ll kill him! He’s so tiny!

Sabina wanted to hit Bartek again. She had beaten him earlier—Hanka had seen bruises! She gathered her strength and stood between her mother and the pram. She would defend her brother! She was big enough! But her father was faster.

“Stop!” Janusz grabbed Sabina by the shoulder and pulled her back toward the living room, keeping a powerful grip. Hanka could see bluish marks appearing on her skin, left by her father’s fingers. She deserved it!

“Stop? Stop!” Sabina shrieked. “I can never enjoy a party because of you! Now you’ve even screwed up the baptism party!” she sobbed. “Always the same! You, Hanka, and Bartek! Where does that leave me? Where?” Sabina screamed, rushing to the door. She grabbed Janusz’s old military jacket and ran out to the staircase. She half slithered, half ran down the slippery stairs.

Downstairs, she banged the door open with her hands. She charged out to the backyard, racing if she were being pursued. She glanced to the left, then the right, then raced away.

The guests went after her. Some of them left the building in their slippers, others barefoot. They yammered on the stairs and quarrelled, pushing their way out. Finally everything went silent. Hanka was left alone with Bartek, who, happy with the peace, immediately fell asleep.

Hanka approached the window. She spotted her mother near the playground. Sabina was running as fast as she could, her beige flats flashing. Her jacket fluttering behind her, like a bridal train. The others followed her. They must have shouted something to her, because she looked back from time to time. She moved her lips in reply. Or maybe she was singing. Hanka remembered once watching something on TV without sound. The actors had walked around, opening and closing their mouths. It was hard to guess what they meant. But Sabina’s emotions were clear to Hanka. Fierce eyebrows drawn hard together. Mouth shut in a tight line. Flaring nostrils. Her mother was furious.

How furious? One of her uncles found out when he grabbed Sabina by the forearm. She broke free in one move. She tore off her jacket and began to beat him with it. Hanka could almost hear the whistle of the fabric singing through the air, the ringing of the zipper. Sabina whipped the uncle with the metal part, just below the eye. Thin skin ripped. The uncle fell to his knees. Blood leaked between his fingers as he shielded his face. Sabina threw back her head and laughed. But she remained vigilant. Seeing that some of the guests were getting close, she fled, climbing up a willow and hiding amongst its branches. She had no intention to of coming down.

“Hanka, how are you feeling?” Janusz asked shyly. For some time he’d stood under the tree with the rest of the group, trying to convince Sabina to come down. But she had just thrown broken branches at them. Of course Hanka had kept an eye on the situation from her place by the window, and she’d known there was no chance that Janusz could get his wife to come back to the flat if she really didn’t want to go.

Finally, all the guests returned to the flat to continue the celebration of Bartek’s first sacrament. They probably assumed that the clink of glasses would eventually tempt Sabina. But she was as stubborn as a donkey. Hanka knew it, too.

“Better,” she replied to her father. “I stopped bleeding.”

“That’s great,” Janusz was relieved, and for a moment he just stared at the ceiling. Hanka thought he would cry. But no, he winked at her and smiled.

“Hanka, I need a favor,” he started quietly. “Would you go and bring your mum home? You know that she responds when you ask. Maybe you’ll manage to bring her back.”

“And what about Bartek?” To be honest, Hanka wasn’t that interested in her brother’s well-being, but she wanted to get out of this favor. She didn’t feel like negotiating under the willow for the entire housing estate to see.

“Auntie Anna will take care of him,” Janusz soothed his daughter, patting her on the shoulder. Hanka moved away. No, a stupid gesture is not enough! But instead of firmly pushing her father away, instead of escaping and hiding under the duvet, cursing and being rebellious, Hanka simply agreed. As usual. It was their way. Her mother was mad. Her father didn’t know what to do. Hanka would solve the problem. Such a fate. What karma.

She approached the willow by the longest possible route. She tried to avoid the other kids from the housing estate, girls playing a jump rope game, and friends of hers who were throwing a ball. They ignored her to make things easier for her. They had seen her mother’s escape to the tree and the swarm of guests chasing her. Now they looked straight ahead and didn’t bother their friend. Her life was nasty enough without them gawking. Hanka was grateful.

It was slowly getting dark. When Hanka glanced up the tree, she could barely make out the outlines of the narrow leaves against the sky. She had to seriously strain her eyes to see her mother. Sabina was probably asleep. Her legs dangled, as if made of rags, but her hands held the slender trunk firmly.

“Mom,” Hanka whispered, and Sabina immediately woke up.

“What?” she asked, sleepily.

“Come down. Guests are waiting. You have to serve the stew.”

“Uh-huh. Well. I’m coming down. Move aside so I won’t kick you.”

Sabina slowly climbed down to the ground. She was still completely drunk. Her hair was full of the bark. Her dress was stained. But Sabina smiled bravely, flickeringly, flirtatiously.

“Come on, sweetie!” she said a bit too loudly and caught Hanka’s shoulder.

They were, as a local expression described it, “tracking the snake,” their track like a sine wave. Hanka felt the eyes of people out for a stroll on her back, eyes of mothers with prams, of kids. But she kept going. What karma. At home, Sabina sat down at the table. They poured her drinks. Rounds. First one. Another. She started humming. She spilled the stew. Hanka brought Bartek to her bed and finally fell asleep.