“What’s your hurry? Can’t it wait till the evening? It’ll be evening soon. Do you want them calling me a whore again? That bitch Karaska’s gonna come running and she’ll be all, you whore, you closed up shop again yesterday and I didn’t have any bread to give my man with his cabbage! Someone ought to report you, they ought to, it’s downright ungodly. Whenever her ass starts itching she closes up, like she didn’t have opening hours posted outside. So report me! I’ll tell you where you can stick your complaint. Come and work here yourself, you old witch. Stand here on those skinny legs of yours for two hours and your ass’d start itching too. She ought to have kicked the bucket years ago, the bitch. Same goes for her old man. He won’t eat his cabbage without bread, but that doesn’t stop him from coming to the store and being all, how about it, Kaśka, eh, how about it? How about what, spit it out! What’s under your dress. Buy some cigarettes, that’s all you’re getting. You think I don’t get enough of that sort of talk? Sometimes I think I must have a hole in my frock. The women are even worse than the men. You’ve put on weight, Kaśka. The hell do you care if I sleep around and put on weight? What do you need? Get on with your shopping. Don’t come hanging around here and complaining, it’s not a waiting room, it’s not a church. On top of that they’ll tell you you’re a lousy shop assistant. When the store’s out of something it’s your fault, because it says in the papers there’s plenty of everything. You’re screwing around instead of stocking up. How can there be no vinegar? How can there be no this, no that? Sometimes I just want to grab a broomstick and let them have it. I have to hand them such and such, measure something out, wrap it up. Or they take forever choosing, and all you can do is stand there waiting. Not this one, not that one, and inside you’re all furious. If it were my store I’d chuck the whole damn lot of them out, go choose on your own time. But as it is I even have to make suggestions. What do you think, Kaśka? Which one is better? Do I get paid for handing out advice? Beside, what is there to choose from? Take what there is, even that’s gonna be gone soon. With bread, one of them wants a well-baked loaf, the next one tells me to look for a lighter one. Sometimes they make me turn over every loaf in the place, because when they deliver it they’re either all well-done or all not. And God forbid you don’t have five groszes change, there’ll be a whole line of moaners standing there looking daggers, come on, give her the change. I’m not budging from here till you give her the change! What, am I trying to stop you? It’s not exactly a fortune. But am I supposed to give her the change from my own money? If I did that every time I’d be stone broke. And don’t think they don’t talk about me and you screwing. If you didn’t have things so easy with me you’d have gotten married long ago. As it is you come here, do your business, what do you need to get married for. About today, go have a drink at the pub, the time’ll pass quickly enough. I’ll close up once I’ve sold the bread. You’ll be even better if you’ve had a drink. Hee, hee! Not in such a hurry.”
“Don’t be mad,” I said. “I brought you something.”
“Me? Straight up? She must have really done a number on you. Or you’re just teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing. Here. Nylon stockings.”
“Seriously?” She wouldn’t believe me. “Oh my Lord! They’re lovely!”
“The seller came by and I bought them for you. You can wear them to church.”
She opened the packet and tried the stockings against her hair and her arms like they were ribbons. She hugged them and stroked them.
“Some of them already wear these to church,” she said. “Plus in church there’s always a crowd, you can’t see people’s legs. I’m going to wear them here in the store. It’ll make those bastards’ eyes pop out. They’ll be all, hey, Kaśka, where d’you get them stockings? From my boyfriend. You have a boyfriend? Sure I do. Don’t you think wearing them in the store is a waste? Why would it be a waste. If they get torn he’ll buy me new ones. So he’s rich then? He sure is. When we get married I’m not going to work in the store anymore. Even the richest women don’t wear stockings like these every day, but I’m going to. To hell with the lot of them.”
“But how are they going to see what’s on your legs when you’re behind the counter?”
“That’s true. Silly me, I hadn’t thought of it. In that case I’ll come out and close the door each time, because hardly any of them close the door after themselves. All day long I’m yelling at them, close the door, close the door. My voice gets hoarse. Or I’ll come out to chase flies. I know we already have flypaper up, but the stuff on it must be crap. Whenever a fly sticks to one of those strips it just buzzes its wings and it’s off again. I think I’m going to shut up shop. You’re worth it. Oh, Szymek, Szymek, what would I not do for you. But what sign should I put up? I can’t say receiving new delivery, because next morning they’ll all come running to see what came in. I’ll say, gone to office.”
With the other woman I went back to treating her like any other office worker. Good morning. Good morning. Nothing more. Till one day I’m leaving work at the end of the day and I see she’s moving away slowly, holding back, like she was waiting for someone. I was all set to walk past her when she suddenly came to a stop and turned to face me.
“Are you mad at me by any chance, Mr. Szymek?” she asked, and her voice was soft as silk.
“Me? Mad? Of course not. At you, Miss Małgorzata?” I answered a bit too eagerly.
“Because it’s like you’ve been avoiding me. I’m sorry if I hurt you with what I said the other day. But that story about the king amused me so much I couldn’t help myself.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s forgotten already.” I walked with her all the way to the footbridge outside the village. And since that coming Sunday the fire brigade was holding a dance in a clearing in the woods, I asked her if she wouldn’t like to go with me. In the woods meant close to Łanów as well. I’d come pick her up and it went without saying I’d walk her home afterward. She agreed gladly, except that I shouldn’t pick her up, she’d come on her own and we’d find each other at the dance.
I got hopeful again. I was a first-rate dancer and I’d won more than one girl over with my dancing alone. When it came to the polka and the oberek especially, no one else in the neighborhood danced them as well as I did. After the war there were a lot of younger dancers showed up at dances and they knew all kinds of fancy fox-trots and what have you, but when it came to polkas and obereks I was it. I was no slouch at the tango and the waltz either. My favorite was On Danube’s Waves. But if it was a matter of coming to an understanding with a girl as fast as possible, the best thing was a polka or an oberek. With tangos and waltzes there was too much talking and making stuff up, when it was obvious what you were after. And if you didn’t talk at all, she might think you were a dud.
Turned out she didn’t like either polkas or obereks, so we danced nothing but slow numbers. On the other hand, she kind of held tight as we were dancing. Except what of it when there was some sort of strange force that wouldn’t let me move my hand an inch on her back. She even had an opening in her dress below the back of her neck, I could have accidentally on purpose tried to stroke her on that little bit of bare skin, maybe that would have made her hold me even tighter, because touching bare skin is always better than through a dress. But it was like my hand was glued there on her back, stuck in the same place the whole time. As for the other hand, the one holding hers, it felt like I was holding a little baby bird, I was afraid I’d smother it.
I thought to myself, I gotta get a drink, because otherwise nothing’s going to come of this. I was so distracted I even misstepped a couple of times, and that never happened to me. True, she told me she hadn’t imagined I was such a good dancer. She wasn’t bad herself. But what of it, when that wasn’t what I was after. I went to the buffet and brought back a bottle of vodka and some open sandwiches. I was counting on her drinking a quarter of the bottle or so. Not too much, not too little, just enough, from what I knew about girls. I’d have three-quarters of the bottle and we’d be even. But it turned out she didn’t drink vodka.