Swans Are Fat Too (8 page)

Here was Maks again. "I'm bored." Maybe it was better when he was ostracizing her. "I'm bored."

"Maks, can you play the piano?"

"No." A fierce look, very reminiscent of his grandmother. "Babcia said I have no talent."

"Mm. She said that about me, too. And then everyone thought I was brilliant."

"So why do you just play da-di-dum-da"––he sang a very good approximation of a scale––"like that?"

"Well, it's a long story. Come, sit here on the piano bench. Sit up straight, hands like so…"

He tried a key or two and began to bang hard on A flat. "Tata makes music like this."

"Er. Yes. But I think we'll start with something else."

"I saw the most enormous young woman going into the Lanskis'," said Pelagia to Konstanty, as he let her into the apartment. "A piano student pressed into babysitting, I suppose. You'd think she'd break the bench. Really, she was like this." Her hands gestured widely around her own slim hips as she dropped her designer handbag on a sofa and sank down beside it with gracefully crossed ankles.

Konstanty regarded his sister. For facial features, Pelagia might have been Queen Jadwiga come to life. Really, why had he never thought of it before? The picture of Jadwiga's tomb effigy came to mind. Only Pelagia, slim in a straw-colored linen suit, had none of Jadwiga's inner demureness.

"So how's the history coming?"

"It's coming. I gave it to the"––his hands imitated her gesture of roundness––"to type and correct. She's Natalia Lanska's granddaughter. She's being very helpful."

Pelagia raised her eyebrows, made a little moue. "Oh, okay." She forgot the subject immediately, moved on to other topics. She was very different from her brother. She spoke whatever came into her mind, moved impulsively and joyously from one activity to another, and threw herself into the organization of gala balls and charity events with a clear sense of mission to advertise the family and keep it in history, or at least in the illustrated journals. That she belonged to an expanding public relations firm and was married to a wealthy German banker both made her task easier. (Actually, the German banker, however estimable, was a bit of a comedown, but no appropriate member of royalty, even minor, had had the sense to notice her by the time she turned thirty-three, and she was one to make the best of things.)

"So are you coming to my house-warming party tonight or have you got a shift?"

Pelagia had just bought a large villa in Konstancin.

"I haven't got a shift. But I invited the girl downstairs out for a drink."

Pelagia looked her surprise. He could see her hastily wondering if she had said something she shouldn't.

"Oh. A business meeting, I suppose."

"Of course."

Actually, he'd thought that Hania needed to get out; that it was hard on her, being locked up with the children. He'd felt sorry for her––as another human being––that was all. But he didn't say any of this to his sister. Unlike Pelagia, he was reserved, complex, capable of seeing two sides to every question, of seeing himself from a distance. Anyone he met at the café would assume it was a business meeting.

"I find her rather interesting."

Pelagia looked doubtful. As if even friendship might find it difficult to get past the extra layers.

Pelagia, Konstanty considered, had this in common with every Pole––that appearances were tremendously important. But he was very fond of his sister, and knew he had faults too. She probably thought he was stiff and a little dull, if nothing worse. Good family relations depended on not pointing out a sibling's defects.

"I'll stop in later," he promised.

Hania stood before a mirror, trying her hair this way and that. Kalina appeared behind her.

"I like it up like that."

Hania turned in surprise, blushing a little. Kalina was regarding her critically.

"I could give you a clip to hold it."

"Thank you." She considered a moment then shook her head, "But I don't want to look like I tried to make an improvement."

"Do you have a date?" Kalina asked curiously. She almost sounded friendly.

"No. Just––I'm going out to have a coffee or something with Mr. Radzimoyski from upstairs. To talk about this work you know I've been doing for him."

"Well, maybe something will come of it," Kalina suggested hopefully.

That was nice of her, thought Hania as she shook her head; I know she thinks I'm a totally hopeless case.

The telephone rang and Kalina went to answer it. No, Hania thought, looking at herself in the mirror again and letting her hair fall down onto her shoulders, there was nothing she could do to get ready for her first date. Only why should she imagine it was that? Don't be silly, don't be ridiculous. It was a business meeting. Well, not business exactly, but something like that. There was no need at all for those butterflies in the stomach. She felt the way she felt before a major piano competition. She took some deep breaths.

Every dress she had looked exactly as shapeless as the next. It was a choice between black shapeless sack or brown shapeless bag. She flipped through the hangers in the closet: Blue sack, black sack, beige sack. All she could do was brush her hair and polish her shoes. She tended to forget about her shoes, she couldn't see them unless she took them off. She held one up and rubbed the toe. Anyway, it was all just her imagining. But what did it hurt if she imagined a little? He would never know it wasn't a 'business meeting' for her. It would be like a piano competition. One was nervous beforehand, and then one would walk out to perform and it would be all right.

She emerged from the bedroom and found the children in front of the television. They'd be fine together for a couple of hours, Kalina had said. Kalina had been almost pleasant about it.

"Mama just called," she barely lifted her head, sounding uninterested. "She's coming back to pick up some paintings. She says she'll be here in an hour."

In an hour? No! thought Hania. "But I have to speak to her," she exclaimed in dismay. "And I have to go out!"

Kalina just pulled on a strand of hair and didn't look at her.

But, but, but…thought Hania. The first date of my life and she picks tonight to come back?

"I should be leaving right now."

Konstanty had said he'd meet her at the café. Calm, be calm, she told herself. She had to make a choice. Okay. She wasn't staying in, no matter what it cost––even if it meant spending the whole summer with the children.

"Please will you ask your mother to call me later? Tell her it's important. Tell her I had to go out. Will you do that?"

"If I remember." Kalina spoke in a tone of total detachment.

"Maks, will you help Kalina remember?"

"I'm trying to watch this," he waved her impatiently away.

Late that evening, Hania sat in bed with the laptop propped before her, opened the email program, hesitated a moment and typed.
Respected Sir, Thank you for the lovely evening
… And then erased it. She had walked down Nowy Świat Street. There had been the two lines of 18
^th
-century façades, arched doorways, decorated window piers, curlicued balconies, stucco swags and intricate cornices; a mass of fashionable women sweeping past––less lacquered than Manhattanites, but less haggard too––they were slim and light and natural. (And just occasionally, one with something unusual in her costume––that one, for instance, with the snakes on her fishnet stockings, winding round her legs.)  And the luxury goods in the shop windows––that hat with the fluffy feathers––but what had that to do with her? She could not wear any of those things, and she had her meeting ahead. Konstanty was standing waiting for her outside the café. She saw him almost every other day or so at the grocery; there was no reason for her heart to skip a beat. Only he was so distinguished looking, so exquisitely polite as he held the door open. And then the café––a memory of plush chairs and columns and people who looked like they'd never had anything to do with communist Poland. That middle-aged woman over there with the wild hair and the brocade shawl could only belong to the theatre, but the white-headed, humorous-looking man in an expensive jean jacket, or the young woman in pearls, embroidered skirt, and pointy sandals, carrying a briefcase, what were they? The café was probably the only place she'd yet been in Poland where people weren't instantly identifiable as construction worker, government clerk, humanities teacher, nouveau-riche businessman, thug…And then they had begun to talk and she hadn't noticed her surroundings anymore at all…

Respected Sir, I really enjoyed
…

Should she be writing to him on a personal note? In spite of numerous friendly conversations, she certainly couldn't consider him a friend. She didn't want to sound pathetic.

…
discussing work
…

She erased the message.
Dear Konstanty
…She blushed at the very words. Erase. Why couldn't she just write to him in a breezy American fashion?
Hi Kostek, Nice talking to you tonight…
She erased the words, closed the email program and went back to typing. But this part too was about a marriage. What had he thought in writing this, she wondered?

…In 1384, the grandniece of the last Piast ruler was crowned king––not queen––of Poland. Jadwiga was beautiful, multilingual, educated, refined, and ten years old. Much to her horror, within a year or two her marriage was arranged to Jagiello, Grand Duke of Lithuania, a pagan, and much her senior. Before the wedding a former fiancé came to attempt her rescue from Wawel Castle, but he was discovered and departed through a window, by a rope, while Jadwiga hewed desperately at the door with an axe. To no avail. Perhaps she gave in to pressure then, or perhaps––the official Catholic view––being very pious, she was moved by the idea of bringing Lithuania into the Christian fold. After assurances that Jagiello was not a wild animal––the chronicles mention a discreet inspection in a bath-house by a messenger––she agreed to marry him and the result was the personal union of Poland and Lithuania in 1385. Although Jadwiga continued to take part in running the country, she mostly engaged in philanthropy, and before her death from childbirth complications in 1399, sold her jewelry and clothes to finance the future University of Cracow. She was canonized in 1997 and is the patron saint of queens and of a United Europe.

Konstanty thought marriages important. Of course, a man of his background would, she knew; the marriages of his ancestors hadn't been about mutual attraction, but about alliances or wealth, and if today the wealth was no longer such an issue, she suspected there was still a definite ideal of the type of 'girl from a good family' that would be suitable. She blushed again, not liking her own thoughts.

In spite of Jadwiga's earlier, and successful, peace-making efforts, it came to bloodshed with the Teutonic Order. The battle of Grunwald in 1410, which the Order lost, was one of the largest battles in medieval Europe…
(Konstanty, she saw, had scribbled in the margin
, 'We love superlatives for our country, here's one'
)
…Tens of thousands of foot soldiers were killed on both sides; 209 knights of the Teutonic Order died, and 12 Polish knights
…Twelve? Only twelve? Were the others hiding to the rear?

Although the Teutonic Order continued to be a problem for some time, and the Grand Duchy of Moscow was rising, which would be a problem for the next 500 years, and Hungary was later to be lost to the Turks, who ruled it for the next 200 years
…

Was there any evidence, Hania wondered, pausing, that the inhabitants were worse off for the fact? She would have to ask Konstanty. Or did she dare? There were qualities she could be certain, from his background, he would possess: he would be honest and civic-minded, for instance. She had had experience of his kindness. Beyond that, she wasn't quite sure yet: she didn't think, from his conversation or what she had read of his writing so far, that it was the case, but there was always the possibility that he saw the past in terms of Matejko's overwrought historical paintings, saw Poland in terms of '
agonia
.' He might have exclusive metaphysical certainties; perhaps he would be offended by the suggestion that Muslim Turks could rule as well as Catholic Poles.  

Here was a happier note:

…
Poland-Lithuania consisted of one of the vastest territories in Europe. For the top 10% of the population, there were legal gains: Poland had an early Habeas Corpus act and one of the first parliaments in Europe; the king could make no new laws single-handedly, and any deputy could cast a vote annulling the work of the entire legislative session. This system of consensus worked well for over a century and a half.  

During the two centuries of the Jagiellon period, learning, and then the Renaissance, flourished in these parts. The University of Cracow became famous for mathematics; Polish literature took off as poetry was written in the vernacular ('Poles are not geese,' wrote the poet Mikołaj Rej, 'they have their own language'); the court was full of scholars, and Copernicus, by holding that the planets moved about the sun, began a scientific revolution.…

Hania noticed there was a note in the margin:
Was the rise of the vernacular a good thing? It's always mentioned as an achievement, but I'm inclined to wonder. A common language, such as Latin was, makes a universal culture, transcending borders, possible...Few things divide people as much as language. Copernicus, for instance, born in Torun of German or Polish or mixed parents, educated in Poland and Italy, speaking German and writing in Latin, was typical of the age
...
 

Well, these comments were quite encouraging, thought Hania, and she wasn't thinking of Polish history at all.

5

It's safer, beneath a green canopy, with a girl,

Playing on a charming lute, to lie under the eiderdown,