This morning I awoke and listened to the gentle traffic outside, the horns of the ships gliding past. Then I got up, took my coat, and walked outside. The snow on the pavement was powdery, shimmering in the sun like shredded glass. It’s Sunday, and people were out in the streets, taking their families for a walk. I looked at all of them. It’s an impulse I can’t seem to shake, to look at everyone I pass, hoping to recognize a face in the crowd, yearning for the familiar.

I went toward the water—past the brownstones, their solid broad stairs leading up to the angels and stars and Santa Clauses in the windows; past the decorations, the abundance.

They buried the miners this week. They didn’t even say anything about it on TV—Jarek told me. He’d heard about it from home. It seems hundreds of security forces were there to prevent riots—a funeral procession lined by men in helmets, in honor of those who were killed by men in helmets. I felt more sadness than anger. Maybe because the year is drawing to an end. There is only so much hatred you can produce, only so much resentment you can hold inside of you.

Yesterday I tried calling Granny again and the unthinkable happened: the signal went through. Someone picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” I couldn’t believe my luck, as if I’d thrown a rope across the ocean and she’d caught it. “How are you?” I asked, again and again, clutching the receiver until my palms turned oily.

Her voice was the same as ever. She was fine, she insisted, a little too much. She had enough to eat. She stayed in, mostly. She tried not to read the news or listen to what the neighbors said. Of course I knew that the line was tapped, that somewhere, in some sad, cramped radio room, someone was listening to us and that Granny was trying to say the right things.

“And you, Ludzio?”

“I’m all right,” I said quickly. And then I told her that I was thinking of coming home. That—

“Don’t,” she said, interrupting me, her voice becoming urgent. “There is nothing here. Your suffering won’t help us.”

“Granny—” I tried, to stop her from incriminating herself, but she interrupted me again.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “At least it gives me hope. And now hang up, my love,” she added. “This call must be costing you millions.”

I put down the receiver and buried my head in my hands.

Part of me still wanted to return. Even though I knew that, once there, they would never let me leave again. Even though I knew it was a folly, that I’d be a prisoner. But at least I’d be there. Inside.