Possessed hearts
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– You tell me yourself.
– Where did you leave the Snow Maiden?" – I asked, suddenly realising that I hadn't seen my brother's car for two days. A white Volvo. A sedan. Martin affectionately called it "Snow Maiden" and washed it almost every day. By hand.
– In the garage. Let it rest," he said.
– Yes, it's a big city, and she's so tired, poor thing! – I snickered. – Did you wash her today?
– Of course I did.
– Doesn't it bore you?
– How often do you wash your car? – Martin asked in an ironic tone, instead of answering.
– I don't know. Once a week.
– If I were your car, I would have found a more caring owner a long time ago.
***
Elle magazine sent a request for a shoot.
My fingers are on the keyboard of my MacBook.
Yes or no.
A simple question. But I've been staring at the monitor for four minutes now, and I don't know which to choose.
Gloss. It's that damn gloss again.
I type, "Thank you for your interesting offer, but at the moment my work schedule does not allow…".
But. This shoot can take my mind off my perpetual thoughts and musings. From my unhappiness.
I press Backspace.
And once again, the field is blank.
"Thank you for your interesting offer. It would be my pleasure…"
Backspace.
At the mere thought that after such a success as the first exhibition of my truly worthwhile work, the world of glossy art would once again seize me with its slippery multi-coloured clinging tentacles, I was terrified. I have to break free. Do decent work. Be worthy. And the gloss pulls me down to the bottom of its sticky swamp.
But my tired mind has already seen the little welcome respite it will get from fake smiles and flashy clothes.
"Thank you for the interesting offer. I can't give an answer now, I need to check my work schedule. I'll give an answer tomorrow."
Send.
With a sigh of relief, I lean back on the headboard of my bed. I look round my large bedroom. It's classic, kept in light colours. Not a single interesting interior idea. The curtains are the colour of coffee and milk – too light, made of fine silk, and the sun will shine through them. Obliterate me. I'll have to call reception and demand they replace them with darker ones, preferably black and thicker, albeit cheaper.
But it's been raining all day today.
I'm sitting up in bed, and my knees are covered with a blanket. I'm cosy.
I close my eyes and try to banish all thoughts from my head. Not to think. Don't think about anything. Block out the noise of the other residents of the hotel and the street. Listen to the rain and breathe in its scent.
When you look at me
It's poison, it's just poison
Like the sin to which
I'm so close to
For a moment that can't be born
A moment that can't be
nor should be.
These lines burst into my brain.
– Can't be and shouldn't be," I repeated quietly. – Can't and shouldn't be. It shouldn't. Can't and shouldn't.
Get out! Get out of my head!
I jumped out of bed in a frenzy and went to the bathroom. I needed to get away from myself. Now. A perfect excuse to look round the city and give Martin a report.
It was raining outside. Quite heavy. Must be cold. I don't have an umbrella.
I quickly put on jeans, socks, T-shirt, sneakers, – and ran out of my room without even locking it. I quickly walked down the stairs to the ground floor.
No make-up again. I look like a teenager again. But I don't care at all. I don't care! I have to escape.
– Where can I buy a rain jacket here? – I asked the receptionist.
– You can get one for free from us," the girl smiled back at me.
– Great! Bring it!
A minute later, wearing a long translucent blue mackintosh that looked like a big rubbish bag, I stepped out into the rain and inhaled deeply the smell of wet asphalt with trepidation.
Cars drove along the wet road, with their headlights on, as it was semi-darkness all around. The sky was so grey that it looked like Gdansk would be swamped in rain that would flood it all the way to the roofs of houses and hotels. People passing by me were wearing jackets. On their feet were rubber boots, water-repellent trainers and leather half-boots, half-boots. I was surrounded by a sea of colourful umbrellas. And I stood in this sea – like a lighthouse, in my blue mackintosh. My sneakers were soaked after five seconds of being in the rain.
Everyone was running, in a hurry.
I was the only one who didn't know where I was going.
– Can you tell me what time it is?
The passerby looked at me perplexed. Then at his watch, hidden under the sleeve of his jacket.
– Seven minutes to eleven.
– Thank you. – I slowly walked on.
It was pouring cat and dogs. My hair, which didn't fit under the hood, hung down like rat tails, streams dripping from it. Unnaturally long rat tails.
We got to the main road and I saw three old Skodas, pressed up against the kerb, under a taxi sign. Next to them were three elderly men smoking.
– There was Ales. Hello, Ales! – Martin shouted hello to one of the three taxi drivers.
– I see you already have your own mafia network! – I joked quietly. – Do you know everyone and everyone who lives in Gdansk?
– Every last homeless person! – Martin said cheerfully. – Ales is a great guy, with a healthy sense of humour, and I always go only with him.
– Jesus, it's less than a minute's walk.
– Eight seconds. I timed it.
– Then why do you need Ales?
– I'm trying to understand the psychology of mortals.