Absolute Sunset (5 page)

“Oh, it looks serious,” Sabina said, theatrically upset.

“No-o, in a moment it’ll be okay.” The man wiped his hands on his thighs and started screwing something in place.

“You’re very efficient,” she said, acting delighted. She bent over the plumber, who was kneeling on the floor. She examined the bathtub, leaning her hand on his arm. It was hard. Lightly tanned. So perfect just to squeeze it with your hands and scratch with your nails. She barely resisted the temptation.

“I’m done. If you let me go, I’ll put it on,” the man glanced at Sabina in a strange way. Almost contemptuously. Or maybe she was misinterpreting. Eh... in the past she’d only had to wiggle her hips and men had known what to do. This one expected her give herself to him on a silver platter. Dope.

Sabina got up and sat on the washing machine. She felt the chill of the metal lid on her buttocks. Her skirt was very short. For a moment she wondered how her floppy arse looked in it... better not to think. An ass is an ass. She leaned backwards and fixed her hair. In the end that was what drew the plumber’s attention.

“Well, boy?” Sabina said shamelessly. “Are we going whole hog?” She spread her legs. She had no panties on.

The plumber got up quickly and franticly began packing his tools. Sabina felt like laughing when she saw him peeking at her thighs over and over again with wide eyes. She felt desirable. Yes! She still had it!

“What do you mean?” he asked, putting an adjustable wrench into his toolbox. “I’m done, so I’m leaving.”

“Don’t mess with me! Pants off, show me what you’ve got, and then there’ll be no room for doubt!” Sabina laughed and licked her lips. She was in her element. She had to have this man. Lust. Desire. Need. No butterflies in her stomach. Pure desire. Janusz had never been able to set her off this way. Even when they were watching skin flicks together, Sabina somehow didn’t feel excited at all. She’d just been doing what a good wife should do.

“You’re nuts!” the plumber said, knocking on his forehead. He fixed his overalls and went to the door. “Old asshole, and still stupid even now.” He shook his head with pity and left, slamming the door. He didn’t even take his money.

Sabina stared at the door for a moment. Finally she slowly locked it and went to the kitchen. “Fuck you,” she whispered and sat down by the window. She lit a cigarette and pulled on it once or twice. The smoke somehow didn’t taste good—it stuck to her palate, bitter and thick. Choking. She put the cigarette out and burst into tears, sobbing and choking with snot. It had been completely different in the past. The men had been eager to fuck her. Gas company workers and the ones from the
Tysiąclecie
administration. Once in a while some lusty pollster would show up. She called it “neat fucking.” No complaints. And now? Now it was different.

About three p.m. she saw Hanka and Janusz at the end of the street. They were walking slowly, lost in conversation. The girl leaped and jumped around her father. Sabina had no clue why. She watched carefully, with a strange thrill. Longing—which was immediately replaced with irritation. Her husband and her daughter were oblivious to everything, and she spent all day alone, doing nothing. As they got closer, Sabina could see that they were laughing about something. Their joy fuelled her anger. By what right? By what right did they neglect her? She ran to the door and waited for them, her eye at the peephole. She could see her own eyelashes as she leaned against the convex glass.

“There you are at last!” she said, jumping out to the stairwell as soon as she saw their heads surfacing above the steps. “I was waiting and waiting for you two!” she grumbled and marched off to the kitchen, stomping heavily. Let them run after her! Let them do something! Let them apologize.

Janusz and Hanka took their shoes off and followed Sabina in silence. She was sure they had exchanged knowing looks in the hall. They were mocking her as usual, almost openly, in her own home!

“We have fish,” Hanka muttered shyly, approaching the sink. “I’ll put it here,” she said and shook something out of a plastic bag. It slid on the stained enamel covering the sink and hissed. And then popped. Sabina got up from her stool. A pike. Its eyes had already gone cloudy. It had been boiled in the foil. Idiots, they couldn’t even transport the food properly!

“What is this shit?” she roared and grabbed the fish by the tail.

“Sabina, leave it, I’ll do it,” Janusz interrupted her shyly. He probably thought she was going to dress the pike! Not likely!

“You’ll do nothing, because we’re not eating this!” Sabina yelled, banging the fish against the counter. Green scales flew up. The smell of the river spread through the kitchen.

“But...” Hanka tried to take the pike back from her mother. Sabina pushed her straight towards the fridge. She hit the door handle with her head. She cried out, but not loudly. Still, it was enough for Sabina. She hated whining.

“You fucking snot! Mucky cunt!” she roared and slapped Hanka in the face. White teeth flashed. Hanka fell to her knees. Yes! Sabina felt a wave, like applause. She took another swipe, two, three, more if needed.

“Stop!” Janusz grabbed her by her shoulders. Sabina tried to break free, but her husband held her firmly. She was writhing and panting for breath. Hanka had crawled under the table. All Sabina wanted was to drag her out. To pull her dusty feet. To kick her head. But the girl managed to run away and Janusz wouldn’t let Sabina go after her. “Calm down, calm down!” he repeated. Sabina’s anger was slowly dying down.

“Fuck off!” she yelled in the end, straight in Janusz’s face, spitting saliva that stank of tobacco. Her husband finally let her go. Sabina snapped out of her fury and fixed her hair. She went to the window and opened it with a thud.

“Get the hell out with your shitty carrion!” she hissed, picking up the fish from the floor and throwing it outside. The pike fell straight down—cylindrical, aerodynamic. It slapped against the pavement. The neighbours, standing in the middle of the backyard, looked up, horrified.

“Bon appétit, cunts!” Sabina called to them, then disappeared into the living room.

She heard Janusz whispering in the kitchen.

“Don’t cry. I’ll give you some ice, don’t cry.” Sabina sat on couch and covered her head with a blanket.

That evening, Janusz didn’t come to their bedroom. Instead, he went to sleep with Hanka. As usual. Sabina was alone in the darkness. Shadows created by the lacy curtains flickered on the ceiling. Her head was full of noise caused by vodka and anger and it formed a ball of tears in her throat. “I want it, I want it,” Sabina repeated—senselessly, because she had actually no clue what she might want at all.

Hanka—A Ball Of Tears

Hanka wasn’t sleeping either. Not because her head ached after she was hit—no. A slap like that was nothing. It could get much worse with Sabina, so much worse. This? Just a tickle, a scrape. No blood. There wasn’t even a bruise.

Hanka was listening, waiting for Sabina to be quiet, but her mother hadn’t stopped crying and coughing. Over and over again she would get up and trail into the living room. Bottles rattled, and alcohol spattered as it was poured into a glass. It was a nice word, anyway: alcohol. Better than “vodka”—so common.

Since Sabina had been drinking, the morning would be peaceful. Hanka knew this cycle very well. First—the quarrel. Then—the drinking. The following day, Sabina usually wouldn’t get up before three in the afternoon. She’d have to recover from her hangover. Hanka was supposed to be quiet, silent. She mustn’t open the curtains and she had to make some tea from time to time. It was best for her to go outside around noon and play with her friends. Sometimes she’d even be invited to have a dinner at the neighbours’. It was so simple. She was often glad when her mother didn’t get up—it was much better this way.

Eventually, around three in the morning, Sabina calmed down. In the morning she’d be sleeping like a log, that was obvious. Hanka’s father was sleeping on the floor, right by her side. He was snoring. She covered her ears with her hands and finally fell asleep.

Unfortunately, Sabina did get up in the morning—agile and fast, though tired out by the hangover, and still intoxicated. Later Hanka kicked herself for her lack of vigilance. She shouldn’t have been lingering, should have left for school right away, without eating breakfast or washing. Her teetering mother caught her in the bathroom.

“That’s not how you comb your hair, you little shit!” she screamed, whipping the brush out of her daughter’s hands to show her how to do it properly—but instead hit Hanka in the head with it over and over again, the plastic bristles pricking her badly. Hanka covered her head as best she could. She was proud of herself when she finally managed to crawl between her mother’s legs and run away to school.

Yet, sometimes she failed to escape and Sabina would have to dismiss her from class. It would bring too much shame on them if she went to school with a black eye or a swollen lip. On days like this, Sabina would give Hanka a ballpoint pen. “Write, I’ll dictate. My hands need to wake up.” She would give Hanka a blank sheet, her hands trembling as if she had a fever. But that was the vodka.

Hanka wrote:
Please excuse my daughter, Hanka, from classes today.
Hanka pressed a wet towel to her cut brow ridge.
She must be away on account of important family matters.
The towel slowly became soaked with blood.

“Will you sign it, Mum?”

“No. My hands aren’t working,” Sabina grunted, and Hanka signed for her.

Sabina was just like that. From time to time she simply had to harass Hanka and the girl had to bear it somehow. To bear the pinching. Survive the spanks and jerks. Eventually, each time, it would end. And she was hardly the only one who was beaten by her parents. Every child on the housing estate could tell a story about being beaten. With a cable, with a lead. Hanka’s mother was the same as other mothers, right?

Hanka once talked to her best friend, Agata, about it. Agata was red like a fox. They sat on the roof of the garage and ate wild cherries. They were still a little green, but it was better to eat them than to leave them for the other kids.

“They fight, and then Mom beats me up,” Hanka said.

“Normal stuff,” Agata replied. “She’ll be better when they make up. My parents are always better after sex, you know? Once I went into their bedroom. They were jumping on each other like kangaroos. Yuck!” The girls started giggling, and Hanka felt a little better.

After a few days, Hanka’s parents made up. Janusz brought flowers and red wine. They drank it politely in silence. Then they got up and disappeared into the bedroom. Hanka rubbed her hands together, silently congratulated Agata on being so acute, and also went to bed.

Sabina—The Bottom Of The Bottle

By September, Sabina and Janusz had had two more rows, with several quiet days, sleepless nights, and teary apologies. Stupid Janusz. He was always resentful, he always wanted something. Sabina was irritated—everything got on her nerves.

On top of this, she hadn’t menstruated for a while. At first she thought she’d made a mistake counting the days. She looked through the calendar. As usual, she had forgotten to write down when it had happened. She thought it must be just a mistake. But another month passed and Sabina had to face the fact that she’d have to go to the doctor and to see what was going on. After all, she was too young for menopause!

“You’re pregnant,” the gynaecologist said, and Sabina tried hard to smile as if she had never heard better news.

She almost ran on her way out of the clinic. She spotted a free bench and dropped onto it. She felt breathless. She lowered her head between her knees. Something roared inside her.
A baby
. Anything but that! Sabina straightened up and pulled her blouse up. Her belly was still flat. A normal belly with such an unpleasant surprise inside. She reached for her purse and turned it upside down. An old lipstick fell onto the grass where it had been flattened by people’s feet. The sun glinted on its golden rims. Handkerchiefs.
Here they are!
Cigarettes. She lit one, but had it the wrong way around and held the flame to the filter.