I wanted to push him to the floor, to bang my fists against the lady’s window, to scream my lungs out at them. I had a vision of myself doing just that, clear and vivid as if it were actually happening, and that scared me. I left without saying a word, without looking at her or the man again. I walked out onto the street, full of anger, feeling my legs tense. I walked as in a trance, hardly knowing where I was, until I felt a touch on my shoulders and I saw that I was on the New World Promenade, without knowing why. A stranger, a man in a suit and tie, was standing in front of me. Then I saw that it was you. You, looking like a different person. Your hair combed to the side, your leather shoes gleaming. I despised the sympathy I saw on your face.

“What are you doing here? What happened?” you asked as we stood in the middle of the street.

“Pani Kolecka . . . blood . . . no doctors.” I felt tears rising in me. Tears of anger, I think. You put your hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm.

“Come on, Ludzio, we’ll go and have coffee somewhere. I’m on my lunch break. We’ll figure something out.”

Your hand moved down to my back, guiding me along with you. I resisted its push.

“Let go of me, Janusz,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ve had enough of figuring things out. Enough of the talk.”

You were undeterred; your hand stayed where it was.

“Ludzio, you need to calm down. Let’s not make a scene in public. Let’s go.”

I pushed your hand off, its weight freeing me. “Go back to your office,” I said, the fury pouring out of me. “And to her, if you like.” Your face changed—understood, maybe. I turned quickly and left you standing there by yourself.

At the next empty telephone box, I dialed the only number I knew by heart. It rang several times, the beeping slow and plaintive.

“Ludwik, my child.” The tenderness in her raspy voice shook me to the core. There was loneliness in that voice too, and exhaustion, a voice no longer used to speaking, one that had used up most of its words. “Is everything all right, my love?” she asked. I could sense the stillness of our old flat while around me throngs of people rushed past. I nodded into the receiver.

“Yes, Granny. I’m all right. I just wanted to hear you.” I breathed in deeply. “It’s so good to hear you. How are you?”

“I’m well,” she said gravely. “Don’t worry about me. May God protect you, my love. Come home soon, yes?”

Familiar guilt stirred in me, together with a longing for that faraway part of my childhood when everything had seemed almost carefree. “Yes, Granny, I will.”