Chapter 23 The Change of Fate

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Edward Walenty Mazur, on the other hand, drank Starbucks coffee every day. Not only did he drink coffee from chain cafes, but also he didn’t mind tasting a well-brewed drink from a small local Italian-like bistro. He was a stylish individual, wore fashionable clothes (in the majority worn out), flashing the labels of his high-fashion shoes and leather jackets. He even owned a fur, which was a little too small for him, but he didn’t care about animal rights activists and the suffering of skinned rodents. He strolled the streets of the most expensive districts of Warsaw popping to shopping galleries, cafes, shops with Belgian beer and chocolate, French macaroons and Italian wine. He’s been doing this for almost ten years, making even some friends on the way: mainly shopping assistants and barmen. He occasionally popped in the Warsaw University lectures to learn something about the impact of mass media, the consequences of World Trade Center attacks, the interpretation of Koran or the protection of endangered species. He liked to be updated on recent news about the world. He was a blissful and happy man in his late sixties. This bliss and happiness were achieved by a certain state of nirvana he accomplished over the years.

Once, some forty years ago, Edward Walenty Mazur had a company. He had more than just a company, he had a normal life with a family, friends, and prospects. But for a company, you need luck and economic stability, which at that time was not the most generous for Edward Mazur. First, he lost his company. Then he lost his flat. The family was lost too (a fatal car accident that killed his pregnant wife and his five-year-old daughter). At that time he thought that he is the most unlucky person on the planet. One day you have everything, the next day you are left with nothing.

In a serious wave of depression and desperation, he found himself homeless. Apart from clothes that he wore on the last day before being thrown away from the flat and a backpack of his life’s memories, he had nothing. He was sure that he was going to die. He gave himself a year. He could envision himself dead on the pavement at dark cold night, frozen to death or drunk and drowned in the drain.

But people can adjust to many things, they can get used to hunger if it doesn’t touch the border of starvation, they can stand the cold, as they inhabit even the polar circles, building igloos and creating their potential houses out of their greatest enemy. They can even adjust to dirt and smell, where there is no water to wash and no soap to alleviate the stench of sweat and excrement. The dignity is also a questionable thing. Eating food from dustbins would never cross your mind unless you were really hungry. Using public toilets for washing would seem to be the last resort if you didn’t have running water at home. Sleeping on the staircase of a block of flats might have happened to you after a party with a lot of alcohol, but would you like to spend your nights on the cold concrete floor on an everyday basis? You can even relieve yourself outside when there’s a desperate need, but you don’t do this regularly, appreciating the comfort of taking a shit in the cozy space of your toilet.

The society was always built in the way that some had everything or even too much, their problems being sales during Black Friday bargains, or whether it should be a Michael Kors, Chanel, Hermes or Louis Vuitton bag. There were always people numbing themselves from the irritating naturalism of the world by designer facilities from Duka, cutlery, and crockery from Zara shop or some smoked salmon from fancy restaurants. Others had less than nothing, praying for the bowl of rice not to feel the hunger at night.

Edward Walenty Mazur for over twenty years had nothing. He wore clothes that someone left in sacks in front of the residential building, he ate what he found, what he waited for in the long queues formed by homeless people, and what was thrown in the rubbish by restaurants. Winters he spent in homeless shelters, summers on park benches. He never resorted to begging for money and never fell into the trap of alcoholism. He aged among the homeless, saw many die, many killed and many perish, with very few rebuilding their lives after this personal catastrophe of losing a home.

But fate is a tricky thing. It plays with you, trying your perseverance, challenging you to the unknown. There’s nothing that you have for granted and nothing that you have forever. Fate can also be generous. To Edward’s surprise, two good things happened at that time.

One good thing was as unfair as unfair was his first half of life. For a couple of zloty he found on the street he bought a Lotto ticket and the next day he won thirteen million.

People at the Lotto center were surprised when they saw a homeless man, toothlessly smiling, holding as a proof a ticket like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory, but they helped him with formalities, opened for him a bank account, gave him a credit card and wished him all the best.

But after twenty years of a particular lifestyle, he had problems with living once again a normal life. He bought a flat, but he found himself in the street for days, forgetting that there was any flat in the first place. He tried to buy himself food and clothes, but he couldn’t resist, seeing so much food wasted in rubbish bins all over the city. He still was a homeless man, but this time he was a homeless millionaire. Money didn’t bring him anything but a sense of security. Habits of over twenty years were so deeply rooted in him, the freedom of not working against the clock, the lack of responsibilities of an occupation, no stress and the lack of outside control were so tempting that, even with all his money, he didn’t change a bit. His life went back to normal. He still used second-hand clothes, still occasionally slept in the street and made use of the flat when it was really cold and there was no place at the shelter.

He arranged for himself a modest salary which went to his separate account each month. He made use of this money, he bought himself a decent meal in the Milky Bar, new shoes when his old ones were completely torn up. He even started appreciating brands, looking somewhat ridiculous in Tommy Hilfiger trainers and bushy hair and long beard, switching to Crocs in summer and stylish coat from Vistula in autumn. Other homeless kept a distance from him, as they perceived him strange: possibly a person who from years spent on the streets started to be a little bit off his rocker. The homeless were afraid of him and you couldn’t blame them. He was an outcast both in the world of rich and poor. With his experiences and millions in the bank account, there wasn’t a place he could fit in.

So fate gave him another blessing. It was true what they said about money. It couldn’t buy you happiness, friendship, and love. But it could buy you tuna. He learned it that day he met Kit-Kat. Kit-Kat was just a black cat that was playing near the dustbins with the wrapping paper from Kit-Kat chocolate bar and thus he was named accordingly. If he had played with Milka or Snickers, his name might have been different, but luckily for Kit-Kat, the wrapping paper from this particular bar, curled into a ball by some hungry teenager, was great for playing. Kit-Kat looked exactly like Edward Walenty Mazur during his first years of homelessness. He was dirty, thin and neglected. Edward entered a corner store and bought Kit-Kat a can of tuna and some milk.

Kit-Kat ate like crazy and happily jumped on Edward’s knees for petting. He purred fondly and fell asleep in a loving embrace. From then on there was him and Kit-Kat. Kit-Kat wasn’t of any breed but he was the most spoiled cat in the area. He had the best cat food, the best cat snacks and the best cat toys, which Edward kept in his rucksack with his change of clothes and credit cars. They were lucky to find each other. Edward was cured of depression, Kit-Kat was treated out of flees and ear infection.

Their fairly monotonous life could have gone on its standard course of isolation, rest, and cat food, but one day when Edward Walenty Mazur was drinking the biggest Starbucks coffee with a gingerbread spread, Kit-Kat was devouring his turkey pate, a newspaper appeared out of nowhere on the bench. Edward took the newspaper and started updating himself on the recent political news and plans of the metro renovation, and that was exactly when he found a small advertisement.