Then one day a certain peasant learned about the king’s unhappiness. He wasn’t a fortune-teller or a herbalist, just a goatherd that drove goats to market in the town. He came into the royal presence and said:
“Your majesty, there’s a remedy to make you have dreams. Move into my cottage, you’ll dream my dreams, and I’ll live awhile in your palace without any dreams.”
At the end I told them happiness is easier to find with a husband or a wife than on your own, and I wished Kryśka a son.
Where I got it all from I have no idea. What did I ever know about happiness, and today I know even less. But maybe happiness is only good for talking about, maybe it’s not something you can ever know. In any case I could tell I’d done a pretty good job, everyone in the offices congratulated me. And one of the farmers that had been listening outside through the window, who’d come to pick up his benefit money, he asked me if I’d known that king, and he couldn’t get over it:
“You’ve got the gift of the gab, son, you really have. If only everything you said could be believed. But even just listening to it is nice.”
So then, I was certain she must have liked it as well. But she disappeared soon as the wedding was over. It was only the next day I ran into her in the hallway.
“That poor king,” she said when she saw me. “Did he really not have any dreams?”
I couldn’t tell if she was making fun, or if she just said it because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. It hurt me a bit, but I let it go.
“I have something for you, Miss Małgorzata,” I said, because I’d decided to use the opportunity and give her some stockings.
“What’s that?” she said, intrigued.
“Come into my office.”
She came in, she seemed a little excited from curiosity. I took the stockings out of my desk. I’d even wrapped them in colored paper.
“What on earth is this?”
“Stockings. Nylon ones.”
She opened the package.
“They’re lovely. Thank you. How much do I owe you, Mr. Szymek?”
“Nothing. They’re a gift, Miss Małgorzata.”
She reddened.
“Mr. Szymek, I can’t. Please tell me how much. Really. No, in that case I can’t accept them.”
And she didn’t.
It made me so mad that after work I went to see Kaśka that ran the grocery store and I gave her the stockings. Though she was the only one you didn’t have to give anything to. You only had to go visit her, she always knew why you’d come. Because sometimes, when I didn’t have anywhere else to go I’d go to her. Or whenever I needed to get as far away from everything as possible, I’d go to her. Or I was so frustrated that I didn’t feel like going anywhere at all, I’d still feel like going to see her. Or when I didn’t have the strength or the will to go see anyone else, I’d go to her and it would always be the same. Because with other women you had to spend time with them and flirt with them and walk them home and promise them things the whole time, and sometimes you still came out losing. But with Kaśka I’d swing by for matches or cigarettes, lean over the counter and whisper:
“Stay back in the store after work today, Kaśka.”
With her, her heart was always on the outside.
“Just take your cigarettes or your matches, you don’t need to pay. I bet one of those bitches of yours went and dumped you again. Office girls, big deal. Like they don’t know what their body’s for. It’s for the same thing as all women. Either way you’re gonna end up eaten by worms. They’re not soap, they’re not gonna wear away from being used. What the hell are they afraid of? That the priest won’t give them absolution? So don’t tell him everything. When you don’t tell something it’s like it never happened. If I were you, Szymuś, I’d find myself a nice ordinary girl. She doesn’t need to be smart, the main thing is she should stand by you. You’re smart yourself, any girl is going to look dumb next to you anyway. What do you need an office girl for? You can’t even whack her one, she’d up and make a big fuss. Those kind make all sorts of noise. I saw it at the pictures one time. He didn’t even hit her that hard. She squealed so loud I had to cover my ears. What’s the point in making a racket? Lie down, your man wants you to, and don’t pretend you don’t either. Or she’ll start running around on you, and what’re you gonna do, tie her down? When you have sit on your ass for eight hours a day your ass can go crazy. And when your ass goes crazy it’s worse than when your head does. When your head gets like that, the worst it’ll do is talk nonsense. But asses are trouble. You’re getting old, Szymuś. Dear Lord. Though for me you’ll always be a first class young feller. Tell me which one it is, when she comes in the store I won’t sell to her, the bitch. Get out, slut! Go do your shopping in town! Office girl — big deal. She wants gingerbread. Not a snowball’s chance!”
She was just a shop assistant, but she was a tower of strength. Sometimes she seemed dumber than a sack of rocks, but she had more wisdom in her than a hundred wise men. And her thighs, her backside, two women could have shared them and they’d still have looked good. When she took her clothes off you’d never know she was a shop assistant. Her breasts, it was like there were four of them. They stretched from one arm to the other, from her neck to her belly, like pumpkins in a patch. And whatever she was lying on, whether it was sacks of salt or sugar or buckwheat, or on the floor, she’d always lie down like she was in a made-up bed, she didn’t like to do things any old how.
“Just a minute now, let me get undressed. I don’t want to get my frock all crumpled.” And she’d undress like it was her wedding night. “Touch my breasts first. I like it when I get gooseflesh. And I want us to do it for a long time. I’m not going to open up the store again anyway, so why do we need to hurry. It was open for hours, people could come buy whatever they wanted. There’s always this big rush, then when it’s over you regret hurrying. And you won’t be back for a month or two, maybe even longer. They say I’ve gotten fat. No way, it’s not true. What do you think? Tell me — am I fat?” Though sometimes it would be like she was suddenly afraid, and out of nowhere she’d ask: “Do you think there’s life after death, Szymuś?”
“Come off it, Kaśka. You’re a shop assistant, you believe in that nonsense? If there was it’d be the same as this life.”
“You’re a smart one, Szymuś. I’m glad you came today. Hee, hee! Just don’t make me a baby, so I don’t have to cry afterwards because of you. Though whatever you want. Oh, Szymuś. You’re a one, you really are. Dear Lord!”
“I’ve got something for you, Kaśka,” I said. “Close up the store.”
“Are you nuts?!” she snapped back. “It’s still early! Look how much bread I still have to sell. Almost two shelves’ worth. What, am I supposed to sell it stale tomorrow?”
“If there’s nothing else, they’ll buy stale. Close up.”