Swans Are Fat Too Read Free Page B

to some nice, sane, ordinary hotel? Even if it did mean crossing town on foot at a late hour? Yes, that's what she should do.
    The problem was, she thought, she never gave up as easily as she should. With a sigh, she walked over to the television and turned it down, then, puffing a little, she straightened and said, "Excuse me. I suppose you're very unhappy because of Babcia"––she saw Kalina widen her eyes and look up startled––so it wasn't that then––"and I'm sorry to intrude, but I really need to talk to your parents. I mean, I thought I was invited to stay here––obviously I made a mistake. Perhaps I should go to a hotel?"
    "Yes, I think you made a mistake," said Kalina. "You'd better go."
    The phone rang. Kalina stared at it as if trying to make up her mind, while Hania waited in dismay and suspense. Kalina let it ring five times and then picked it up.
    "What?" she growled into the receiver, listened a moment with her eyes rolled towards the ceiling, then at last handed it languidly to Hania. "It's them."
    With a sense of enormous relief, Hania put the receiver up to her ear.
    Wiktor's warm voice resounded down the line. "Hania! How wonderful that you're here. We're so sorry that we missed you at the airport, but things have been so hectic! You wouldn't believe! But tell us about you first! Are you all right? Did you have a good flight? What a way to treat you! Fourteen-hours delay. I would write and complain to somebody…"
    The charm was turned on full. Hania recognized it––wasn't it the same charm her grandmother had had, and her father had?––she recognized it and couldn't resist giving way to it, to finding herself wrapped in the warmth of suddenly being cared for, liked, met more than halfway…she gave in, and yet a part of herself steeled for the follow up.
    "Listen, Haniu, kochanie , it is so fortunate that you are there. We've had to come here overnight––"
    "Where?" Hania tried to squeeze in, but Wiktor swept on.
    "Absolutely unavoidable. You wouldn't believe the problems we've had."
    She sensed the self-pity. "Yes, but…" she tried to stop him but he kept talking.
    "So it's very fortunate that you're there, and we'll be back on Thursday, Friday at the latest…"
    "But..." Thursday––that was three days away.
    "The children will be good. They won't be a problem for you. You've been teaching right? Yes, yes, of course, I've always kept track of what you're doing..."
    She felt a little glow and stifled it, trying to get a word in edgewise. "But where are you?"
    He didn't answer that. "So you'll be fine with the children. Excellent then, that's all settled then, thank you so much for everything you're doing…" and in the middle of her questions the line went dead, and she was left staring at Kalina.
    Kalina didn't lift her eyes, but just observed in her monotone voice, "That's my dad."
    "Yes," said Hania wearily, "I have the same sort." Kalina actually turned her head then and gave her a quick upward glance before returning to the television. But after a second some better feeling perhaps prompted her to say, "I'll show you your bed."
    "Thank you," said Hania, and then, "Where's your brother? I remember meeting you when you were small, but I've never met your brother––he wasn't born yet the last time I was in Poland."
    "He's asleep," said Kalina brusquely, "I wouldn't wake him. He bites."
     
     

 
     
    2
     
    Childhood burns with an inborn heat;
    there is no need to add fire to fire.
    – Andrzej Frycz Modrzewski on diet , 1551
     
     
    Hania woke early and stared at the high ceiling of her room, not certain at once where she was but aware of a feeling of stiffness and discomfort. Things came back to her in a moment. Warsaw, she was in Warsaw, in her grandmother's apartment. She had met Konstanty Radzimoyski on the stairs. She had missed the funeral. Her aunt and uncle had disappeared and left her in charge of their children. She turned over and looked at her wristwatch and as