Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

window would just happen to look out onto the site. But she never glanced up to see who’d come in. Not many people visited the library. So the librarian loved it when anyone appeared. But her, she didn’t look up. She even seemed to sink deeper into her book, so as not to draw attention to herself. So I would not notice her. Or God forbid I should ever ask what she was reading. That might have embarrassed her, turned her against me, hurt her even. And what for? I knew she was waiting for him. And who cares what she was reading. It was better she was in the library than standing or pacing to and fro in the rain. You know, I often felt more sorry for her than I did for myself. It goes without saying that people told all kinds of stories about her. I don’t even want to repeat them. For instance, there were rumors that she cleaned his room, did his laundry, washed his shirts, darned his socks. That she spent the night there. See how her eyes are all puffy, what do you think that’s from? It never occurred to anyone it could be from crying. It was like that love of hers was the property of everyone. Like anybody had the right to walk all over her love the way you walked about the site, trampling it, even tossing down your cigarette butt. All because she served in the cafeteria.

No one said anymore, You look nice today Miss Basia, or Basieńka, she couldn’t look nice with her eyes swollen.


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