Sławomir Bączkowski

BEAUTY

He got down to the car park without realising where he was and what he was doing. Stopping in his tracks, he started looking for something but had no idea why he was doing so.

– The car is over there, doc. – said a paramedic walking by.

– Thanks!

          He trudged to a silver Nissan, got in and froze to the spot. Even at noon it seemed it would be one of these ordinary days full of trivial cases: a squabble in the waiting room for a good start, a few patients with mild depressive symptoms, an old man suffering from senile dementia followed by a teacher afflicted by anxiety neurosis and one consultation in the internal ward. Of course, there was sure to be a tattooed thug eventually thrown out of the surgery for trying to wangle a sick note.   

– As far as I can see, you are a healthy man. – he said after taking the medical history.

– But they gave me the fucking sack.

– The loss of employment isn’t a disease entity.

– What? I’m tired…

– So am I. Now will you kindly leave, there are  s i c k  people waiting.

By three he had taken care of the much-hated official correspondence and was just about to go down to the canteen when he heard a soft knock. The belated patient?

– Come in!

          He raised his eyes from above the documents and saw a young couple. The man appeared to be an educated person. Spruce, with a smile of mild embarrassment. His companion had a cheerful face radiating kindness. She was very pretty with cropped dark hair and a fringe which she gracefully brushed off her forehead. Her eyes sparkled playfully, but there was also composure and wisdom in her glance. They sat down on the chairs in front of his desk.  

– How can I help you?

– Doctor, my wife hasn’t been feeling too well recently…

– I see… I’d like to talk to you in private. – he said to the woman.

– Of course. I’ll be waiting in the corridor, darling.

The man touched her hand for an instant, jumped from his chair and disappeared behind the door.

– You are fond of Bobkowski… – said the woman looking at Sketches in pen and ink lying on the pile of medical papers.

He noticed that only part of the title was visible, the author’s name being obscured by a yellow envelope.

That’s right, I’ve read it four or five times.

– Are you familiar with essays by Stempowski? It’s also the Maisons-Laffitte circle, so to speak…

          And they started talking as if they had known each other for many years, and it was thanks to literature and music. The woman was witty and undoubtedly had a thorough humane education because she referred to many authors with unpretentious ease and made extremely apt remarks about literary trends and philosophical systems. It was difficult to believe that the chat was taking place in his surgery where he usually listened to a litany of human hardship and suffering. After ten minutes or so of the pleasant conversation some disconcerting elements crept into her discourse. At first, the bizarre expressions could have been mistaken for slips resulting from nervousness, however, as the conversation progressed, the absurdities began to pile up and finally he felt beads of perspiration on his forehead. Her clear and amusing disquisitions turned into gibberish full of terrifying delusions – it seemed to her that the people in her circle wanted to destroy her and were doing everything in their power to carry out this elaborate plan. It was with great precision that she analysed their statements and gestures interpreting them as more or less  unambiguous threats. Her symptoms were so classic that he could no longer listen to it, but she was still beautiful and still brushed her hair from the forehead in a sensual gesture.

– I think we can stop for the time being… – he said in a somewhat brutal fashion.

The woman fell silent in mid-sentence. He rose from the chair and opened the door.

– Will you join us, please?

They were sitting in front of him again as if it was the beginning of the appointment. But so much had happened…

– In my opinion an observation is most advisable.. – he began in the most considerate way.

After that he explained things for a long time smiling gently, but at the same time, almost like a magician during his performance, he imperceptibly took out the right hospital referral form. He hesitated before signing it and stamping the document. They listened in silence, the woman looking straight into his eyes with an unfathomable smile. The man put the referral into a paper folder with a rubber band. He had prepared it in advance. Probably his initial statement about his wife not being too well was the gentlest way of informing the doctor about the awful development of her schizophrenia.

          He started the engine and eased the car out of the hospital car park. He was driving instinctively, routinely because he kept thinking about her coquettish brushing the fringe off the forehead. The road led him straight home. He reacted to various traffic problems in the proper way, but everything seemed to be happening somehow elsewhere. Suddenly, as if acting on a vague impulse, he turned into a side road. The asphalt ended after several dozen metres and the shiny SUV began to dance on the potholes. He was driving like that for a few minutes which seemed almost like an eternity, but he didn’t care. Having passed a grove, he suddenly stopped. The trees had given way to a charming small lake the existence of which he did not realise. A breeze rippled the surface, the reeds whispered something in their own way. Every so often some circles appeared on the water signifying an abundance of fish, one could hear sucking and squelching sounds –  they were made by fine-looking carps swimming towards the surface of water to greedily swallow caterpillars falling from the trees surrounding the small lake. Possessive bindweed was invading the gently surprised bushes, here and there necklaces of cobwebs were hanging gracefully and their deceptive beauty enticed dragonflies which were shimmering with all the colours of the rainbow. Families of dandelions had come into yellow flower on the hospitable grass. All these things were pulsating with eternal rhythm of nature complementing one another like single chord. In the crystal clear silence he saw his pen writing the verdict and the stamp erecting a wall behind which nobody wanted to find themselves. He looked at the splendour of summer nature once again and just shrugged his shoulders.

Then he got into the car and drove off spinning.

translated from Polish by the author