TE20 Migrant Mosaics

Matthias Nawrat

Mrs Halina.

From the restaurant’s entrance area, a lady in a red coat waved at him, with golden ear clips, a powdered face and red-painted lips. She came over to us, taking tiny steps and holding on to the backs of the chairs between the fathers, mothers and children. Hello, Mr Rosowski, she crowed directly into his ear, louder than necessary. She gave me a smile that was friendly but also distrusting, as though Imight beagrandsonnoonehadpreviously been aware of. The two other seats at our table were taken by a young couple talking quietly, their heads pulled in close. I stood up and offered Mrs Halina my chair, but she declined.

Please, go ahead, I said.

I had long since finished my meal and was exhausted by the volume in the restaurant and the people still standing around waiting for tables. I said goodbye to Mr Rosowski but he took no more notice of me. He had got to his feet to help Mrs Halina sit down and was draping her coat over the back of my chair.

I ordered a portion of pierogi, he yelled in her ear as I was still standing alongside them.

Lovely, she shouted back, and pulled her chair in closer to the table.

I paid at the cash desk at the front, thanked the young waitress I believed was called Małgorzata, and stepped out into the chilly winter air, dazzled for a moment by the bright sky arching above 28