The Philologist: September 2017

Chapter 17 Little People

00:33

For Lena, it was a complicated turn of events to enter the world of children education. First, she thought she would become a doctor, as she didn’t have problems with memorizing and understanding even the most difficult subjects. But medicine demanded not only educational effort. It required vocation of spending one’s life helping people and a whole lot of mess. While the helping part was admirable and easy to digest, the other part of the process was a little bit too overwhelming.

To start with, there were these dissecting room classes where they had to examine dead bodies. Fine, when a head cut in half entered the room on a stroller pushed by the lecturer, it was intriguing. But then it was the whole cut in half body, which was to be admired by innocent students, then there were organs, which they had to touch and, holding back their vomit instincts, get to know as much as possible. Then they were witnessing the section of a baby, which was separated into pieces and later on put together again. And then there were these countless hours of classes with her in the middle: anatomy, biology, chemistry, biophysics, laboratory classes and so on.

‘I don’t feel it’, she decided after a half a year ‘I don’t feel that I’m in the place I’m supposed to be.’

After some consideration, guilt-ridden thought process and doubts, she dropped out of the highly coveted place at the Medical University. Penniless, she went to London, slept on the floor of her high-school friend’s dorm room and found a job in a cafe. It didn’t teach her as much as a semester of medical studies, but she learned two important skills. First was a life-long ability to prepare fifty-seven versions of coffee, including honey caffè latte, espresso, macchiato, americano, flat white and dozens other variations of winter warming drinks and summer cooling smoothies and frappes. She also acquired a taste in cafe sandwiches, cakes, and pies, which didn’t add to her culinary skills but developed her cravings. But, most of all, she perfected her English, while she was surrounded by English-speaking people, and, as a matter of fact, she didn’t have any other choice. She had to do something with her life and this something was to become a linguist. She came back with savings in pounds, once again survived the admission process at the University and effortlessly fell into the world of Shakespeare, Dickens, the Royal Family, fish and chips and Harry Potter.

Five years of studies passed quietly and pleasantly, intertwined by weekend relaxation in Cracov. During her first trip (she still didn’t remember the reason why she went there in the first place: be it her need to travel or an invitation by some of her student friends), she met Gabriel Gacek and started her long-time, long-distance relationship. For a couple of years, she divided her time between studies, teaching at various language schools and cultivating her love life.

If you wonder why she devoted her education to minors, you should take into account her up-bringing, as before she left her town for Warsaw, she had been babysitting her stepbrothers and stepsisters for a long long time. When her mother was at work, she had to make them occupied, had to administer their homework and make sure she had some space for herself. Bored children were more dangerous than a grenade deprived of the plug. Bound to explode any minute. These experiences helped her with her work, an occupation which a lot of people found irritating and unbearable. She was prepared for the worst. She survived the most horrible outbursts of anger and misbehavior. She actually made friends with some of the kids, who were closer to her than other teachers, as with the children she was spending time on an everyday basis, while adults she was passing only in the corridor and in the teacher’s room.

And yes, her job had many negative points. Children were loud, they were difficult to keep in discipline, they didn’t listen to their parents and, as a result, they didn’t listen to their teacher. But they were real people of a little size, with their big fears, enormous insecurities, larger than life personalities and digestive problems. Also, with flaws, disabilities, ambitions and a whole lot of parent problems, for a troubled child was definitely trying to cope with some problems at home.

While she was exhausted and sometimes irritated beyond measure, at the end of the day she liked her job. She didn’t have enough ambition to pursue an academic career, she didn’t have any scientific interests, but she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to do this for the rest of her life. Earnings weren’t that great, her personal life deteriorated, and now she found herself in the process of opening a new chapter and she was willing to take everything that life placed before her in an absorptive attitude.

A year before she was sure that she would finish her studies, move to Cracov, settle down with Gabriel Gacek and probably continue teaching English. Now she was bound to stay in Warsaw and from the dorms she moved to the flat of a complete stranger, whom she met at the police station. She was also involved in a criminal investigation of three mysterious disappearances of academic professionals and she was painfully single. The cheated part she couldn’t yet entirely come to terms with. And each day she was looking at her students (ranging from bored, overly excited or uncontrollably furious meter tall fellows) and she had the same feeling as she had years ago as a student of medicine. Somehow she felt that she wasn’t supposed to be in the place she was at that time and something was bound to change.

Chapter 16 Christmas

23:50

There is one week during the year which fills many with suicidal thoughts. There are expectations never to be met, there are customs which many obey out of sheer fear of breaking out of tradition, there are religious beliefs that help people shift the focus from this difficult time and survive.

When you are a child the whole experience is positive, as you calculate with the eagerness of a banker how many presents you are going to get, how much money is going to fall effortlessly into your pockets, for how many days you are not going to go to school and what amount of chocolate you are going to eat, joining the group of overweight underage population. Once you’re past these years, you might come upon some difficulties. Maybe you hate spending hours preparing traditional dishes, you don’t want to be forced to knead the dough, fold dumplings and decorate ginger houses. Maybe you are short of cash and you don’t want to spend money on things that will be soon forgotten after a pleasant exchange of gifts. Finally, at the thought of spending hours at the table of twenty or thirty people and being asked the same questions over and over again, questions digging unpleasantly into your personal life, the number of kids you have or you are planning to have, your unhappy or failing relationships, or this state of singledom which never seems to end, you want to vomit. No one blames you. After continuous nagging, you might even become aggressive and stop actually turning up at your family gatherings.

These were the first thoughts that came to mind of Robert Rej when he was sitting at the table next to his ex-father-in-law, opposite his ex-wife and her new partner, with fifteen other people around, including his daughters. Robert made that day a few silly mistakes. The first mistake was accepting the invitation of his ex-wife. He heard the pitiful tone in her voice when she said that he didn’t have a family and, thus, he was supposed to come and spend some time with his daughters. He agreed, partly because he was really supposed to spend time with his offspring, and partly because he genuinely didn’t have any other plans. His second mistake was made when he bought for his girls books by Frances Hodgson Burnett as a Christmas present, distinctly remembering the beauty of A Little Prince and The Secret Garden, which he read when he was a little boy. His ex-wife’s new partner was more elaborate with his presents, and so was his ex-father-in-law, so the girls were spoiled with new doll-houses, sets of Barbie dolls with husbands, ponies and little dentist-utilities (it’s never to late to teach girls some practical skills).

After three hours of the feast, he could finally go home. Exhausted, he climbed the stairs and found Lena doing something in the kitchen.

‘Aren’t you at your family’s house?’ he asked, wondering why she was even there.

‘I have a serious case of flu,’ she answered, taking glasses from the cupboard, ‘I cannot spread the virus to my little step-brothers and sisters.’

‘But you seem perfectly fine.’

‘Only you know about it. It’s my seventh Christmas in a row. I usually have food poisoning at Easter and commuting problems on All Saint’s Day. I still visit them at the weekend several times a year, but spending the whole week with my family is like a bullet in the head. You have to draw the line at some point.’

‘Aren’t you sad being alone at Christmas?’

‘Do I look sad? I would be as miserable as you if I broke my routine. Look at you, you look as if you needed help from a psychologist. You can change your clothes for something less formal. I invited Krakowski for a dinner.’

‘Have you cooked all these dishes?’, Robert pointed at the kitchen window sill stuffed with food.

‘Do I look like a maniac? I bought everything. The Greek fish, salad, dumplings, everything is from Tesco and Biedronka. I bought some cakes from Blikle. I’m not saying that I don’t like Christmas, but I don’t like forcing myself to something that makes me depressed. Cooking is one of those things. Spending more time with children, taking into account my job, is another one. And buying a dozen presents, taking into account my earnings. So I opt out of all these options.’

Robert all of a sudden remembered his ex-wife’s family members who all these years seemed to evade any family gatherings, skipped weddings, christenings, birthdays and anniversaries. Their absence was pitied by those present at the occasions. Now Robert realized they needed no pity. They were actually having more fun on their own.

Expectations drew people into misery. It was expected of him to be a husband, but he was totally miserable doing this, as staying in a relationship without love was pointless. Any other job but policeman made him feel useless and out of place and, even though he tried and was persuaded by many to change it for something safer and more profitable, he just couldn’t do this. His presence at the Christmas dinner was expected of him, but the last thing he wanted was to look at his ex-wife’s amorous exchanges with her new partner and his daughters displeased looks at his presents. He really did like this The Secret Garden book as a child.

‘Next year I will follow your lead. And I will buy books for myself.’, he muttered to himself, still uncertain if he would have guts to do this.

He actually liked Christmas and eating the second dinner in a row with Lena and Jakub Krakowski was making him remember it. Professor brought two bottles of wine and they had an informal gathering with no expectations whatsoever.

Jakub Krakowski looked good in a T-shirt and an academic jacket, he was still handsome, despite his years, like a good wine, he aged gracefully, while his scientific interests still kept him young at heart and mind. Lena wore her little black dress, applied very subtle make-up and to all this, she wore these ridiculous woolen slippers they also bought in Cracov. She lit the candles on the table covered with non-Christmas theme sheets and crowded with ready-made dishes from the supermarket served on plastic plates used for barbecue. When they were full, they actually played some Christmas carols. Later that night Anton called via Skype from Russia, as he made use of the Catholic Christmas break to visit his mother. It was Lena who helped Robert talk via the internet connection and he was even glad that there was something like technology.

There were no gifts but gifts of good company and conversation. And Robert felt that life started to put in front of him the right kind of people.

Chapter 15 From Russia with Love

00:33

Anton Volkov at the ripe age of nineteen came to Warsaw with the idea of becoming a poet. You’d be surprised if you saw his home village in far Russia, where poverty touched the level of dilapidated wooden huts dating back to the middle of the nineteenth century, little wooden cottages which remembered the times of Tsar, Russian Revolution, World War One and World War Two, as well as systematic alcoholism and degeneration of its people. But Anton didn’t need all the things American teenagers found indispensable, from MTV to brand trainers and McDonald’s meal and was happily pleased with what his village could offer to him.

During his life, he was one time in Moscow and it was when his father was so kind to fund the trip as a birthday present. It was also the first time in his life when he saw people’s wealth. If you took into account the hut he shared with his mother and father, the conditions of floors, the wooden walls which each year were closer and closer to the level of the ground, Moscow left him with impression that people’s richness was beyond assessment and one person’s wealth, including flats, clothes, jewelry, and cars could sponsor his village for a lifetime. At the same time, in this contrast of poverty and wealth, he felt extremely rich because he had a roof over his head, food on his table and he felt safe.

He had a pleasant childhood. His mother believed in freedom and she let him do whatever he wanted to do with his life and, as time could tell, he was inclined to follow his instincts and passions as he pleased.

When he was thirteen, his father came back home drunk (nothing new, if there was money in the house, it was usually spent on vodka) and during a sudden row, he hit Anton’s mother. Anton walked out of his room, took a chair and with the strength of his teenage body threw the chair at the father. The force of the impact was so strong that he knocked his parent unconscious. There was no police intervention. In Russia they say that if he hits you, he loves you. Maybe that also applied to the son’s and father’s love, but Anton and his mother weren’t entirely sure about the fact. The next day with the mother they decided that father should move out of the house for the sake of their security. Alexei Volkov was surprised to be dismissed from his own house, but he didn’t move far, as he went back to his brother’s house at the other end of the street. All family members were visiting each other every day, but Anton’s father learned that violence was something that Anton didn’t tolerate from a young age. Violence bred violence and Anton’s father bore the signs of the chair accident for years.

When Anton was sixteen, he found in his mother’s library a volume of Pushkin’s poetry and he instantly knew that he was supposed to be a poet. His love for words, rhymes and this deep sense of magic and reality around him aroused in him feelings which he couldn’t simply ignore. There was a lovely purity in this inner voice of letters, which had nothing to do with Moscow but a lot to do with life, love, and death. His rural poetic soul needed only some stimulation and the right people placed on his way. But what a boy from a tiny village in the middle of nowhere could offer to the world?

When he was eighteen his mother suddenly came to his room and realized that her headstrong son was no longer a boy. His room was filled with volumes of poetry and books on history and geography. His walls were covered with posters of George Michael, Freddie Mercury, Backstreet Boys and NSYNC.

‘You should clean this mess, in case a girl wanted to visit you,’ his mother suggested.

‘I will never have a girlfriend.’

Anton never changed his mind and his mother instantly knew that posters weren’t hanging there for no reason.

When Anton was nineteen, he wanted to go to university. His father gathered some money (each time when he bought a bottle of vodka he recalled the chair accident and saved part of the money for son’s education, as he was sure that the boy wasn’t supposed to stay in the village for ever). His mother knew that they weren’t able to afford to send Anton to Moscow or Saint Petersburg. But Alyona Volkov renewed contact with her brother, who years ago emigrated to Poland, and granted Anton a safe place to pursue his dreams.

Uncle Alexei was more glad to see the money from his Russian sister than his nephew, but Anton was provided with a room in his uncle’s apartment, warm water, heating and a fifteen-minute walk to the Krakowskie Przedmieście street and the gates of the University.

After ten years he was still in Warsaw and having moved out from the uncle who wanted more and more money for the room, he was renting rooms from private owners. Having already graduated with honors, he was currently writing a Ph.D. thesis, supporting himself from translation works and other jobs he found along the way.

Now he was renting a garage in a detached house, which belonged to a widow. She was the wife of a late doctor, someone apparently respected in Polish circles. The house might have had its better days, but in years it lost its appeal. The cellar and the garage were turned into a three-room apartment with a bathroom and a kitchen. Two other rooms were being rented by two student girls. The garage was occupied by Anton, because he, as a Ph.D. student, was also considered a student. The first floor was an actual apartment of the landlady, but she managed to squeeze inside four other women, who were working in Warsaw. The widow was earning a significant amount of money from the rent and she continually mentioned that she wouldn’t have been able to afford the house maintenance from her small pension. None of her tenants was registered, as she wasn’t paying taxes for her services. The front garden was neglected and the house didn’t look its best, but the garage was renovated: it had nice floors, it was freshly painted and the garage doors were replaced with a three segment balcony window with roller-blinds to grant at least some privacy from the neighbors.

Last three months of his stay there were an educational oasis. The house was situated in a peaceful residential area consisting of detached and semi-detached houses with small gardens, low gates, and exotic plants. Its residents were mostly retired judges, consulates, doctors and artists who could afford to buy a house in Warsaw or were granted one from the city for some exceptional accomplishment in their field.

Anton felt hidden from the city hustle and bustle, and just a ten-minute walk away from his place of habitation there was a pleasant park with trees, benches, and valleys, in which he could sit and read. The center of the city was just seventeen minutes away by public transport and Anton was pleased.

But the change of his address wasn’t the only change that happened in his life. There were also some things connected to the sphere of his feelings, which filled him with optimism and hope. He still remembered the time when for the very first time he saw Robert, strolling in and out the office of his immense education guide impersonated by Jakub Krakowski. Robert looked like a god, a messenger with the sense of absence in his eyes, always in a hurry, with a week’s beard covering his chin and cheeks. He always took a look at Anton and Anton had always secretly glimpsed at him. And at some point of their accidental bumping into each other Anton felt something like sparkles and he knew that he was going to know this man better.

He was surprised when he answered the phone and heard the Russian language and an unknown voice. He could tell that the person on the other side of the phone wasn’t a native Russian, but his language was fluent and after a small talk Anton was invited for a coffee.

He expected Robert to be a serious man, the expectation stemmed from his always busy and focused appearance, but after some basic introductions and talks about studies and work he told him the most ridiculous story about his genital accident and Anton happily took him to the Old Town. When they were walking along the center of the city, Anton pulled Robert a little bit closer to him and kissed him with a passionate kiss that Robert seemed to be really enjoying.

That night when he came to his garage, he lied on his bed with his eyes open, remembering his little village and his tiny hut, in which his mother lived to this day, and for the very first time in ten years time, he felt at home in the city of Warsaw.

Chapter 14 Tube of Happiness

23:45

Robert Rej had always known he was gay. When young, he might have appreciated the girls’ looks, could distinctly tell which one was attractive and which one was simply plain. But the sense of taste had little to do with his state of emotions and physical needs. He enjoyed girl’s company and they definitely enjoyed his. He had always some sort of a girlfriend, following him around, creating a cloud of gossip material for his peers and giving him the ‘taken’ label, which prevented other girls’ attacks. Robert’s and the girls’ expectations were different as he wanted to have a friend (with whom he wouldn’t be emotionally attached, as falling in love with heterosexual men was his doom from late primary school) and the girl wanted to have a boyfriend (and made him fall in love with her), but somehow it never happened. Their tricks never seemed to work, their flirtatious arranged one-to-one situations never led to any romantic outcome. Even his wife didn’t make him a proper husband and having two daughters didn’t change anything between them. No wonder that they were both unhappy, as their visions of a happy relationship were entirely different. When he looked at his daughters, he felt more like a sperm donor than an actual father, and yes, he was convinced that his personal life was a failure.

But it was difficult to come out as a gay man in Poland. It wasn’t the easiest place to carry a rainbow flag and walk to school and then to work with a bold statement on his forehead and subject himself to discrimination and ridicule. He wasn’t only afraid of being called a faggot in the face. There was a real prospect of being beaten by some homophobic kids who knew sex only from porn magazines but couldn’t digest that two men or women could engage in some sexual activity, not to mention fall in love. Possibly that’s why he became a policeman: he didn’t want to be beaten but, as he was able to carry a weapon, he could help those with a real threat of physical abuse. Maybe even for the reason of his sexual orientation he went for a couple of years to Berlin as the level of tolerance there was different than in his mother Warsaw. He followed the footsteps of some other twenty thousand Polish gay men and women and worked there for a couple of years. But at the end of the day, he wasn’t German. He was Polish. He liked his home landscapes, music and literature. He liked watching Polish films and eating traditional Polish food. And somehow he couldn’t fall in love with Germany. He came back.

And while he wasn’t loud and open about himself, he was actually at the point of his life that he stopped giving a shit about anything. His years in the police taught him one or two things about life and, mostly, taught him about people.

Was he for the same-sex marriage? Now he was a divorced man (divorced even in a heterosexual relationship) and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get married again. Was he for the kid’s adoption by same-sex couples? He already had two daughters and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to have another baby. In any relationship. His small political effort was protecting the participants of Pride Parades while they were screamed at by Catholic fanatics and football fans. And that was it.

‘For me it’s disgusting,’ one time he was interrogating a middle-aged man who was taken from his flat at night faced with charges of manslaughter and the subject just popped up ‘Two guys kissing each other. It makes me throw up. It’s not natural. God didn’t create us this way. I can tell these homosexual men. I sniff them from the distance. They have something about them...’

Robert Rej raised his eyebrows in interest and smiled skeptically, wondering if he actually had been sniffed.

‘You know that some animals are homosexual. Statistically, it happens everywhere in the world...’

‘Natural? It’s a deviation. And what would happen if there were only two gays on this planet? We would completely disappear. We were created to reproduce. A man and a woman were brought to this world...

This idea of the end of the world made Robert think about the possibilities. If there were only two people left in the world, the result would be different depending on the configuration. Two gay men would probably have sex and set some fashionable piece of art, a sculpted Michel Angelo or they would write an Elton John-like song. Two lesbians would build a house and organize a home, a school and a farm, as men really weren’t necessary for anything and they could manage without them. Lesbians would probably find some sperm deposit and might reproduce. A heterosexual man and a woman could produce children, but if later on, these children bred between each other this would mean incest and the progeny might be genetically flawed. If there were two heterosexual women left on the lonely planet, they would probably argue, compare their body size, cellulite and skin condition, steal from each other, whatever there was to steal: cosmetics, clothes and probably cardboard men carved and painted in times of desperation. Two heterosexual men would be pals, they would drink beer, play cards and masturbate at the memory of their lost women. Or made some sex dolls out of the things that remained on Earth. Either way, two people weren’t enough. Civilization needed more than two people. The guy must have miscalculated.

‘Tell me again how come in the body of you wife we found seventy-six pieces of glass?’

‘We pretended that she’s a Christmas tree. She wore some balls. We had sex from behind and the glass just got stuck in her body.’

‘And couldn’t you hear her screams?’

‘We were playing Christmas carols. When I finished she had already been unconscious.’

Robert Rej doubted that there was something as nature at that time. And human beings were rarely exemplifying this nature. There was no black and white. People were usually different shades of gray. And his years in police taught him that this gray usually gravitated towards black.

But now, when his life situation stabilized a little bit, he decided that he also had the right to some pleasure. He took out the piece of paper and made a phone call.

He heard a voice. Instantly he switched to Russian, as he was afraid that his conversation partner would switch to English.

‘I’m a friend of Jakub Krakowski. We saw each other a couple of times in front of his office. I was wondering if you would like to go for a coffee with me?’

‘Yes, I remember you. Robert, right? You mean as a... date? Yes, sure, why not? I’m not seeing anyone.’

Robert felt a relief. He actually didn’t consider if Anton had any love life, which Robert might be interrupting. They arranged a meeting for the next afternoon and Robert was glad that it all came about so easily.

He went to the bathroom and looked at his body. He wasn’t exercising. His pale skin hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. His muscles were more or less neglected. He took a look at his penis situation and hopelessly started searching for some razor to save his last bits of sex-appeal and reveal his member from the bushes of singledom. He found something which apparently belonged to Lena and was a tube of a depilatory cream. That was even a better solution. He applied a fair amount of cream to his crotch and prepared to wait the said fifteen minutes. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and read the back of the instruction.

And somewhere between the sixth and seventh minute of the procedure, he felt something of an intense pain and a sense of burning. Like crazy, he started washing the substance from his body, hoping that the acid didn’t burn his skin to the meat.

And after half an hour he was looking at himself in the mirror, his pubic hair half shaved, with dozens of different-length single hair protruding from his sad penis covered with a thick layer of scab.

‘You walk in a strange way,’ Lena happened to notice that he wasn’t his natural self.

‘I used your shaving cream. I wouldn’t use it if I were you.’

‘Yeah? You should first try whether you have an allergic reaction. Plus it is for women. You have a different skin PH. Where did you apply it?’

Robert ignored the question and went on a date. Nature. If there was something which helped his situation, it was a bright face of Anton who listened to his story and burst out laughing with such a lovely laughter that he actually didn’t mind that his ex-wife hated him, that his daughters didn’t like him, that the guy who fucked his wife as if she had been a Christmas tree thought it unnatural, or that his penis was actually seriously wounded and might never return to its primary condition.

Anton kissed him on the lips and took him for a walk along the Old City of Warsaw. And assured him that they could simply hug until his member felt better.

Happiness was just another shade of gray. And maybe it was a part of nature, despite the general opinion.