I floated in the water, and you lay by the shore reading Giovanni’s Room. The air was the same temperature as our skin, or a little lower, caressing us. Later we’d lie next to each other and watch the clouds, observe the change of their fantastic shapes: from unrecognizable to familiar, familiar to unrecognizable.

One afternoon, toward the end of our stay, we went to the nearest village, about an hour’s walk away. We found a small shop and bought bread and cucumbers and apples and beer. The sun was descending as we made our way back. It was dark before we reached the forest. You’d forgotten your torch. The path was lit only by moonlight. And as we walked along the fields, the image of my childhood nightmare returned to me, like a challenge from the past—the empty silence of the world, the fields stretched out on all sides, a sense of the monoliths staring back at me. But I didn’t even have to decide whether or not I was scared. I wasn’t. The tombstones—along with the shame—were a mere memory, dissolved like sugar cubes in summer rain.

We walked on through the forest, taking in its furtive sounds, until we reached our clearing and saw the moon on the surface of the lake. We stopped and watched. Then, without a word, we undressed and slipped into the water. We swam, fearless and free and invisible in the brilliant dark.

Chapter 4

Night fell particularly early today, and outside the city glimmers across the other side of the river like a sequined dress of steel. I was hungry when I got home and decided to make a sandwich. The bread is white and already sliced. Over here, all you have to do is chew. I buttered the bread and sprinkled sugar on it. It’s not the same as home, but it did the trick. Then I picked up the phone and dialed Granny’s number. The signal was still busy. I’ve been trying for days. I tried not to worry and wrote her a letter instead, asking how she was. Of course they will open and read it before she does. But I no longer care.

After that I switched on the TV. The news is getting worse: they’re hunting down the opposition, arresting the key figures of Solidarność, dispersing the underground, hunting down trade union leaders. Probably torturing them, said the presenter, her pretty face matter-of-fact. I believe it. I don’t want to, but I cannot help myself. I wonder: Are you involved? That’s the question that follows me around like a shadow. Would you still defend the Party now?