I wanted to thank you, but I couldn’t.

“I was worried about you,” you said. “You seemed so upset yesterday. I waited for you at the pool last night. And with the demonstrations escalating . . . Did you hear?”

“I’m fine,” I said, managing to keep a steady face, watching yours relax.

You pulled out a packet from the net bag and handed it to me. It was large and heavy. “Chicken,” you said. “So you can make her broth.”

You knelt down to slip your shoes back on.

“How did you get all this?”

You straightened up, your face right in front of mine. “I told you, there are ways.”

“How?”

“A contact. I’ll explain soon. Take care of Pani Kolecka. And come to see me when you can.” You kissed me quickly, for no one to see or hear, and slipped out, your footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

I took Pani Kolecka to the doctor. I’d pushed all the clothes I’d worn that night of the flyers far under my bed, and for the outing I put on a green hat Pani Kolecka had knitted. We arrived at the doctor’s, a small, quiet practice in the south of the city. Pani Kolecka was silent with awe as we sat on the leather couches of the empty waiting room, while I flicked through the latest copy of the People’s Tribune, dreading to see a phantom drawing of me in there. But there was not even a mention of the strikes. Nothing. As if that night had never happened.

The doctor examined Pani Kolecka with unusual care and gave her a dose of French antibiotics that he took from a glass cabinet behind his desk. On the way home, we passed a line of policemen. I held my breath, but they didn’t even look at me.

That week I didn’t leave the flat. My mind had a storm raging inside it, and outside the autumn rains began. It rained for days on end. The drops drummed onto the roofs and hammered the streets. Thunder growled like the anger of our forefathers. It felt like the city was under attack, like the city and its streets might start to give way, dissolve, its life flowing into the Wisła and out into the cold depths of the sea.

I sat by the window and watched. I couldn’t bring myself to listen to the secret frequency again. A great weariness overcame me every time I thought of it, and of that night, and of the abyss of fear that had opened up as I’d stood in that closet. Something inside me had shut down. The radio remained silent.