I thought of the miners, and it struck me that they could have been the same people I had seen a year earlier from that window where I threw the flyers. Or it could have been me. But then, I had been a coward compared to them. I had hidden under window ledges, in kitchen closets; I had not been in the streets demanding my right to be heard. Now I was an ocean away, wearing a new suit. I wondered about your role in all this, what kind of pact you’d made with yourself. Because we all make one, even the best of us. And it’s rarely immaculate. No matter how hard we try.

“Głowacki? Are you still there?” Jarek’s voice brought me back. “You all right? Got family in Katowice?”

“No,” I said. “I’m OK.” I thanked him, which felt macabre, and cut the call. Then, for the umpteenth time that week, I dialed Granny’s number.

The tone went “Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep,” repeating mercilessly like a reproach.

I walked back to work, waited for the sadness to pass.

*  *  *

The night after the flyers I slept deeply, dreamlessly, as if floating underwater. I was unmoored, a ship that had finally left its harbor, only to be pushed by the wind without any control of its own. When I awoke, I hardly knew who or where I was. It felt as if I’d returned from a long journey underneath the sea. I was on my bed, fully dressed; my bag lay beside me on the floor. Outside, the sun stood high in a spotless sky.

I heard Pani Kolecka coughing. I got up to check on her, the remains of sleep diffused by anxiety. There was no blood on her or on the sheets. I went to the kitchen and prepared her tea, wondering what I’d make her to eat, wondering whether I’d try the doctor’s office again. Wondering whether it was even safe for me to go out onto the street. Whether the police wouldn’t somehow come looking for me, or whether I was being paranoid. And then, as I served Pani Kolecka the tea, the doorbell rang. The ringing was shrill like a cry.

Pani Kolecka looked at me. We never had anyone over, except for a neighbor who came every Friday to knit with Pani Kolecka. But it wasn’t Friday.

“Pan Ludwik, are you expecting visitors?”

I shook my head, listening for movement.

The doorbell rang again, with more urgency.

“Won’t you see who it is?” she asked.