Part 21 (1/2)
”Nothing. Somebody must have borrowed it 'for a moment' once - for so much of a moment that it hasn't even been noted down - then they forgot, so the files are lying in some forgotten cupboard in Mostowski Palace. It happens. But if you're free this evening you can go and see the militiaman who handled the case - you're neighbours.”
”Where does he live?”
”On Mot Street.”
”Good, send me the details by text, I might drop in on him. And if I don't, you go tomorrow, or send one of your guys. I really shouldn't get involved in things like that. Sorry, Oleg, I've got to go. I'll call.”
”Say h.e.l.lo to her from me.”
”Say h.e.l.lo to my a.r.s.e.”
Twenty past four. He was just entering the cafe, imagining Monika getting ready to leave with a sour look on her face, when the phone rang again. This time it was Kitten. He sighed, answered it and went back outside towards Bracka Street.
”Where are you?”
”Out,” he grunted, ”I've been for something to eat, now I'm going back to work.”
What a fine remark. One-third true, one-third half-true - he really had been to eat something earlier - and one-third a downright lie. What a bargain for a philosopher.
”Please, I beg you, pick up Helka from playschool. I've got to stay, I've got a meeting, there's a very important trial tomorrow, involving very big money. If I leave now I won't be able to get back again.”
He held the phone at arm's length, covered it with his hand and cursed out loud. A nice buxom blonde, who was walking past pus.h.i.+ng a stroller with twins, gave him a pitying look.
”What about your mum?”
”I called them, they went to Wyszkow this morning to visit friends and they're still there. There's no way. Please, Teo, say you're not in the middle of interviewing a serial murderer...”
”OK, OK, what time do I have to pick her up by?”
”The playschool is open until half-past five, but please try...”
”I'll try,” he interrupted her. ”Don't worry. I've got to go. Big kiss.”
”Bye, thanks.”
Twenty-five past four. In a panic he ran into Szpilka, forgetting about putting on a show of cool. She wasn't downstairs. He looked on the mezzanine - not there either. She's gone. Great. So much for his flirtations with attractive young women. He should find himself a forty-year-old married woman who's bored with her old man and doesn't expect much from life any more, and drop in on her when her husband goes off to his air-conditioned office and the children have left for school. One good turn for another, a nice neat situation. But at least Helka wouldn't be the very last child to be collected from playschool. He knew all too well what that was like. You sit on the floor, play half-heartedly and jump up every time the main door opens. The teacher furiously reads her paper at the desk and looks at her watch now and then. When's that daddy coming, then? Oh dear, our dad hasn't exactly distinguished himself today.
He turned round and b.u.mped into Monika.
”You're in a trance, Teodor,” she laughed. ”You keep running to and fro without noticing me. Surely you didn't think I'd sit inside on a day like this? Too few people would have seen me there.” As she said this, she twirled on her toes in the same sandals he'd complimented on Sat.u.r.day.
He thought he should retract everything he'd said about her figure. Her legs weren't bandy, her shoulders too broad, or her b.r.e.a.s.t.s too small. Everything about her looked absolutely perfect, and the credit couldn't only be due to her thin linen dress. Slit in all the places where it should be slit. He was reminded of the Russian fairy tale where they try to test the heroine's wisdom by telling her to come to the castle both dressed and undressed at the same time. The clever girl comes wearing nothing but a fis.h.i.+ng net. Standing in the sunlight, Monika seemed to be dressed in not much more. Once they had sat down at a table, he could still discern the outline of her body and her white underwear.
”You really did get changed,” he remarked idiotically.
”Do you hold it against me?”
”I'm just sorry I didn't bring a camera.”
”No worries, I can put it on for you again one day.”
”But without underwear,” he automatically blurted, and almost fled on the instant. This isn't Weronika, you fool, it's a girl you've only known for a week. Control yourself.
”Hmm, I didn't know we were that well acquainted,” she said with a laugh, plainly pleased, which shocked him almost as much as his own words had. He started to apologize, but she just laughed even louder and put her finger to his lips to make him stop.
”OK, it's a deal,” she said, and moved back in her chair.
”What's a deal?” he asked unconsciously, still feeling her touch on his lips.
”Without underwear.”
You've only yourself to blame, he thought.
VI.
At a quarter to six he entered the playschool. Helka joyfully threw herself round his neck as if she hadn't seen him for ten months, not ten hours. She was the last child to be collected. Luckily the teacher, Miss Marta, didn't say anything, but just gave him a knowing look.
At home he let the little one switch on the telly. He felt too guilty to forbid her anything, and too distracted after the meeting at Szpilka to play with her. He and Monika had mainly talked about work again; she'd asked him about all sorts of details, claiming she needed them for her book. However, she was less interested in the technical details of a prosecutor's work and more in the emotions that go with it, and by drawing on confidences their meeting had become more intimate than he would have wished. On top of that there was a constant undercurrent of flirting.
”There's one thing I don't understand,” she had said as they were getting up from the table. ”You're a civil servant, you're thirty-five with a wife and a child, and white hair. Can you explain to me why I keep thinking about you and nothing else?”
He had replied that it surprised him too, almost as much as the fact that whatever spell she was under evidently worked in both directions. And had fled.
At home he had tried to call the retired Civic Militia captain Stefan Mamcarz, but his phone must have been out of order or disconnected, because all he got was a recurring message that the connection couldn't be made. Weronika came home a few minutes before seven, and he realized that Mamcarz offered the perfect excuse for him to get out of the house. He was afraid she'd read in his eyes everything that had happened that afternoon, every word heard and uttered.
Oleg was right. They were neighbours. He saw the hideous ten-storey block on Mot Street from his windows every day, unfortunately, and getting there only took him a couple of minutes. He tapped out ”46” on the entryphone, but no one answered. He was going to give up, when a s.h.a.ggy teenager with an intelligent and handsome, though rather spotty face and an eight- or nine-year-old fair-haired girl with the devil in her eyes came up to the entrance. Helka would definitely have loved her at first sight.
”His intercom doesn't work. I'll let you in,” said the boy and tapped a code into the panel.
Szacki should have said thank you but he was tongue-tied. He always reacted like that when dealing with disabled people. The nice teenager uttered his remark incredibly slowly, dragging out his vowels infinitely. In his version the remark was so long that he said it in three stages, drawing breath along the way: ”His intercom” - inhale - ”doesn't work” - inhale - ”I'll let you in.” Poor kid, it must have been some speech-centre defect, rather than anything else. After all, his parents wouldn't have put him in charge of his little sister if he were seriously handicapped.
He pulled himself together and said thank you, trying to speak very slowly and clearly, but the boy looked at him as if he were mad, and the little girl ran through the open door onto the landing.
”Race you?” she asked, jumping up and down the whole time. Maybe she had ADHD. Szacki thought fate was really putting this family to the test, by giving them beautiful but ailing children. Instead of replying, her brother gave her a pitying look.
”You don't want to race because you're fat,” she blurted as all three of them waited for the lift.
The boy smiled and addressed Szacki.
”Please” - inhale - ”take no notice” - inhale. ”She's still” - inhale - ”little.”
”I'm not little!” she squawked.
They all got in the lift. The boy looked at him inquiringly.
”Which floor is forty-six on?” asked Szacki.