Candlelight Stories

  The judgment was immediate: Guilty!!!

  I screamed and then fell to the ground unconscious."

  ***

  "I lay without my senses for five days.

  The summoned doctor said I had a case of meningitis. He did not leave my side, letting my blood and doing other miracles to save me. Unfortunately, he succeeded. In the meantime, Janek was sentenced to death. He was executed, then buried outside the walls of the Wilanow cemetery. The execution took place in the morning. Apparently up to the end, he claimed that he was innocent.

  The butler Franciszek left his post, saying that he did not want to remain in a house where a crime had been committed, and left in an unknown direction.

  For me the world ceased to exist. My life also."

  ***

  All that was left was the last, short entry in Grandmother Ludmila’s diary:

  "Our red-haired butler was arrested at the Czech border. In his suitcase was discovered the Bank bonds stolen from the drawer of my father’s desk, which were never found. Under sharp questioning of police, he confessed to everything. Michal surprised him during the robbery and, in panic; he grabbed a candlestick, struck the young count in the head and fled with the bonds in his hand. He returned only when he saw Janek from afar hurrying into the office. Now, there was someone to blame. All this gave me only a slight consolation. Janek was lost forever, and it was entire my own fault.

  My parents decided to move his tomb inside the cemetery. They found however that it was easier to move the part of the fence, so his peace was not disturbed. I do not intend to continue writing this memoir. It won’t bring my happiness back, and I hope that no one will ever read this.

  Miserable forever... Ludmila".

  ***

  Tereska put down the booklet with yellowish pages and looked sadly at Tomek.

  "Money. Titles. Fortune. All of it is not enough for a person to be happy," she said. "My grandmother had it all, and yet she was the saddest person I have ever met. I really miss her. I wish I had known all this before."

  "What would it change? You said it before; she didn’t want to talk about the past."

  "Yes, but I would act differently towards her. Now, I feel a little guilty."

  "And what happened next? Did she get married after? Wait a minute. Your last name is Ratajko. How is it possible if Michal died?"

  "Can you not guess? The wedding took place, only a year later, after the end of the mourning. The bridegroom was Count Ratajko, the father of Michal. For Grandma, it didn’t matter, and he did not mind that his young wife was in eternal mourning. He thought it was for his son. You know what? I am already an adult. I can write an application so that the palace can be given back to me. After all, I am the rightful owner. Do you think that an engineering salary is good enough to support such a house?"

  "I think that one is not, but two can do it, especially when we begin to breed the rabbits."

  "And rebuild the motorcycles, I agree," said Tereska and Tomek held out his hand, which she took, sealing off their agreement.

  "Wait, wait," Tomek said suddenly. "There is still a letter inside. Maybe you want to read it?"

  "Perhaps later," Tereska replied. "Now I am really tired."

  ***

  "My Love..."

  These were the first words of the letter that was stored between the last two pages of the diary. It was one sheet of paper folded in four, without the date or recipient. It was such a letter out of nowhere, as Tereska called it in her mind.

  "My Love, I love you so much and will never stop feeling it. I'm waiting for you, because I know that someday we will be together again and only this one is important: We. When you lean over me, I will feel your scent. I will feel the ends of your veil stroking the stone slab and it will be like you touching my skin with your fingertips.

  I'm waiting and I know that everything can change. Things can begin anew. I know because He told me. Then, when it happened, I heard the flapping of wings and I felt something carry me up. I found myself here, in this waiting place, and I have been waiting for you since.

  And He also told me that on my birthday, exactly at midnight, everything can be reborn and given a chance to live again, and that there is always a chance to rectify mistakes. The sign will be the white face of an angel on black onyx. We just need to find someone who can help us, who will think of us at this point. I know that this person exists and with all my confidence, I expect it to happen.

  I love you more than ever. J."

  ***

  Tereska folded back the letter and looked at Tomek. Both of them were deeply impressed by what she read.

  "How is this possible?" she asked. "How could this letter have reached her? Surely, she didn’t write it herself. There is no doubt, since a different hand, a masculine hand, wrote it. And what does it mean? I'm beginning to regret that I chose engineering studies, not psychology. Maybe then I'd know better what to think about it."

  "Maybe it’s better not to think about it?" Tomek suggested. "The Church calls such cases, simply incomprehensible dogmas. Perhaps in secular matters, there are also dogmas. Perhaps some Soviet scientist could explain it to us. They always know better, but we do not have any on hand."

  The face of Tereska showed that she had no desire for jokes. She went to the calendar on the wall.

  "Do you realize that the fifteenth of September falls tomorrow?" exclaimed she suddenly in a panic.

  "So what? Do you have any idea what to do?"

  "Not yet. I need to think things through. There is still time."

  "What is there to think about? This letter from the dead man? We have no idea who wrote it and when. Only your grandmother could explain it, and yet, she is here no more."

  "You know what? Could you please leave me alone now? I really have to rethink everything again," said Tereska and despite the objections of Tomek, she gently pushed him out of the door. As soon as she found herself alone, she picked up the letter and read it several times, then with an overwhelming expression opened the closet door, where at the bottom of the old trunk lay the black dress of grandmother Ludmila.

  ***

  Tomek knew that Tereska was up to something. For half the night, he watched the light in her window. When it finally went out, he decided to wait a few more minutes to be sure. He did the right thing. After a moment, a figure dressed in black took the bicycle in front of the house.

  Tom ran behind the bicycle at a safe distance, so that she could not hear his footsteps. She would not forgive him if she realized that he was following her, but he could not leave her alone at such a time.

  Now he stood, hidden behind the trunk of a tree, and watching her silhouette from afar as she knelt in the dark, only slightly illuminated by the orange flames of the candle. He looked at his watch. It was almost midnight.

  Tomorrow, they both would laugh about this nocturnal adventure, but at the moment it was not fun. He even noticed with amazement that he was afraid. He did not know exactly why, but purely and simply, he felt fear.

  With admiration, he thought of Tereska: Brave she was. Maybe not reasonable, but certainly brave.

  Suddenly, he heard the already known sound of a huge flap of wings. He looked up, but saw only a starry sky. When he lowered his eyes, the place where Tereska had just been standing was empty. He forgot about his fear and with sudden panic, rushed in that direction.

  When he arrived there, he stumbled on a protruding branch in the dark and fell down, hitting his head hard on the stone slab of Janek Barski’s grave. There, came the darkness.

  ***

  "What were you doing, son, in the palace during the absence of its masters?" judge Surkov asked, tinting the Polish words with his strong Russian accent in a funny way.

  Standing at the podium, Janek was silent as stone. A trickle of sweat ran down his pale forehead. His lips pursed tightly, testifying eloquently about his decision to be silent.

  "I am asking you for the last time, if you have a witness, or an ali
bi? What were you doing in the palace at such an hour?"

  Ludmila jumped up from the bench. She opened her mouth, but Janek gave her such a pleading look that she closed it immediately. Sitting beside her, Tereska called out:

  "Speak! Speak right now the whole truth, or for a lifetime, you will be in mourning!"

  Then Ludmila proudly raised her head and looking straight into the eyes of the judge, began to speak.

  ***

  Tereska sat by the stream, watching tadpoles floating in the shallow water.

  The boy who walked by, stopped.

  "Did you know that when they grow up, they would become frogs?"

  "Yeah, I know. After all, you already said that to me."

  "Do you remember?"

  "I remember, but less and less."

  "So what? Did we do it?"

  "Great. We did all right. Grandma no longer wears black."

  "I also remember less and less. Do you think this is a new life?"

  "How come, silly? It’s still the same, just a little different."

  "So, let's go, take a look at my rabbits..."

  Back to ToC

  What would you do if she was alive?

  Sometimes, when you come back after many years to the place where you grew up, you can see the things in quite different ways than before. Some places you remember, don’t exist anymore. Some are completely unchanged.

  The same goes for the people from the old times. Some are not there. Others are older, changed by time and stress, maybe beyond recognition. But while they have changed on the outside, their inner “I” will remain the same forever.

  ***

  He stopped at the corner of Marszalkowska street and Jerozolimskie Avenue. So, here he was again. Here at the very heart of Warsaw. It was a beautiful, sunny day. The air smelled of summer. A small flock of pigeons flew in circles high above him, their silvery wings glinting in the sun. So this was how it felt like to be back home.

  He smiled. And here he thought things would look completely different. When he left this city more than thirty years ago, he dreamed about coming back on a white horse, or at least in a white Cadillac El Dorado filled to the brim with exotic beauties. And yet, what did he have to show? He stood by this Rotunda, which he could remember so well from years ago, no different from the guy standing next to him, who the whole time did not move beyond his smelly hole. He settled in his place forever comfortably and farted around, moaning and grumpy, but still was standing. Who knew? Maybe even this guy was right standing like this.

  Paul arrived yesterday through Boston and Frankfurt. He still felt Paul, though slowly, gradually, Pawel (his original Polish name) began to wake up in him.

  He looked around curiously. Actually, not so much had changed here. The Rotunda still stood in its place. (He still remembered how it looked like after the gas explosion in 1979, reducing it to a poor, miserable skeleton.) The good old Palace of Culture and the tall and narrow box of the Forum Hotel both looked as they did years ago, which is like a feast for sore eyes.

  What about him? Had he also changed? Well, a little changed perhaps. His vision of a white Cadillac had become blurred somewhere along the way. That was all. With his once fat account in Citi Bank, he could have been able to afford a few such Cadillacs, but the need for it disappeared somewhere in space, evaporating with time. And his bank account had shrunk considerably following the recent downturn in the stock exchange. Maybe this was the change that he felt? Nothing more? So why did Paul feel different from Pawel? Had he really changed during those years he spent on oil rigs in search of "liquid black gold" on several seas and oceans of the world? He had thought so, but now that he stood here, looking around, he felt like he and this place were still the same.

  With a time, he threw his English words more rarely. Polish words returned quickly to his head, where he had set them aside temporarily but had never really forgotten. They returned quickly and willingly while he talked with passers-by, listened to street bustle and read the signs on shop windows.

  He looked at those windows as he headed in the direction of Constitution Square. The goods on display were little different from those he had seen in American cities, probably also wearing the same labels "Made in China" or something like that. Had the world really gone crazy with this Chinese fever? Everyone must be blind not to see that all the Chinese imports were ruining their country’s own economy. Or maybe there's nothing that can be done about it. The Chinese race would flood the world - or so an old prophecy said.

  He came to the Constitution Square, looked around and sat down on the free bench on the east side where he could catch some sun on his face.

  After a few minutes, he felt someone sit down next to him, on the same bench. He raised his eyes and looked at the intruder. It was some geezer, wearing a tattered coat and a woolen cap on his head, his gray, unshaven jaw turned towards the sun. Seeing that he was being watched, he smiled amiably and started to talk.

  "You would not happen to have, my friend, some spare money for a bottle of something, would you?"

  Paul (and increasingly Pawel) reached into the side pocket of his jacket where he kept change and felt a twenty zloty bill.

  “I’ll give it to this junk. It will wash him away," he thought, handing the bill to the man. The old man accepted willingly. He even asked what Pawel would like to drink and what kind of glass he wanted it in and Pawel was about to dismiss both questions when suddenly, he jumped to his feet.

  "Ludwik?" asked he in astonishment.

  "Finally, you recognized me!" the old man exclaimed happily. He was obviously amused.

  "I recognized your voice, but not right away."

  Pawel looked with amazement at the unshaven face of his friend from years ago.

  "My God, it’s been like ages! What are you doing? How's it going?"

  "How's it going? Living on a thin pension, of course. How about you? You probably have also already retired. We were in the same class, after all. I remember that you left the country. To the U.S. was it? You did not want to get involved in politics?"

  "Oh, that was before the Solidarity movement. There were no politics, then yet. But now, when I turned on the TV in the hotel, I found discussion from the Sejm. Tricky stories are going on there."

  Ludwik grimaced.

  "And to think that we spent so much time fighting. We got jailed, passed persecution and martial law. For those punks to make a circus in our Sejm, it’s disgusting."

  "Do not worry. In the United States, the Congress turns into a circus also. The only difference is that the average American does not have a clue. He prefers to watch American Idol than listen to hypocritical politicians talk."

  "Well, over there, they had time to learn how to lie decently. Those here are just learning the first baby steps. But let’s stop talking about them. What about you? How are you doing?"

  Pawel gave a brief narration of his life between an empty apartment in Houston and drilling rigs throughout almost the whole world, wherever oil deposits were discovered at the bottom of the sea.

  "Interesting life," Ludwik muttered without conviction. "You've traveled the world."

  "At the beginning, it was interesting," agreed Paul. "Very much so. But then, it became a routine. You sit in front of your computer and you calculate the diameters of pipes, bolts, flanges, and with time, it gets boring, just like everything else. And the scenery, it is also not so rosy. Platforms are generally built far out at sea. Sometimes, the nearest town is several hundred kilometres away. The opportunity for excursions does not pop up as often as you think."

  "Do you have a family?"

  "How could I have one with this lifestyle? Sometimes, it felt easier to meet a whale than a woman. Even if I did meet some, none of them would like to sit home alone and wait for her husband. After all, who the hell knows when I will be back? What about you? As I recall, you were studying philosophy. Have you finished?"

  "I have."

  "And then, what?"


  "I was an assistant at the university. Then I lectured. Finally, I gave up on it, so I am not even entitled to a full pension."

  "How so?"

  "How can I explain it? I think I reached too high level of knowledge, that I came to the same conclusion as many philosophers before me, from Socrates onwards."

  "I know that I know nothing?"

  "Exactly. How can a guy teach philosophy when he knows absolutely nothing?"

  "He cannot. Otherwise, all the students wouldn’t learn anything. Not the funniest social perspective."

  "Well, so I gave up teaching. Socrates said that you should not lie. Do you believe in life after death?"

  "Yes. A little bit."

  "I believe it. I also would say that the more honestly you live, the better life awaits you after death."

  "Oh. If that’s the case, I think I need to improve myself."

  "Never too late. You know what? Maybe you could drop by my place for a glass? I live next door from here. We could stop by the liquor store along the way to enrich my modest bar."

  Paul agreed, curious to learn more about his old friend. In the store, an odd bottle with murky content drew his attention. The label said "Siwucha".

  "And what's this muck?" he asked Ludwik.

  "Hooch for snobs," Ludwik said. "You want to try? I do not drink it often. I use the cheaper stuff out of necessity."

  Pawel paid for two bottles. The 20 zloty he previously donated obviously went into oblivion.

  Ludwik lived in the state studio apartment, the one right under the roof, on Lwowska street. It was really close.

  What caught Pawel’s attention the most about the apartment were its walls, which were completely bare. No decorations. No family photos. Just completely and exactly nothing. As for furniture, there was a table and some necessary equipment, nothing more. It was a truly Spartan interior. Or perhaps like a monastery. It was hard to tell which description was closer to the truth.