The Collected Stories

came to me and lay on my legs, not once but dozens of times. Almost every night at first, then rarely. A dream? No, I wasn’t dreaming—unless the whole of life is one dream.”
    IV

    “I will tell you one last incident. I have already told you that a number of the women with whom I had affairs I met in the drawing rooms where I went to repair furniture. This plain man who sits here has made love to Polish countesses. What is a countess? We are all made of the same stuff. But once I met a young woman who really made me jump out of my skin. I was hired to go to a noblewoman’s house in Vilanov, to mend an old pianoforte decorated with gilded garlands. While I was working, a young woman glided through the drawing room. She stopped for no more than a second, saw what I was doing, and our eyes met. How can I describe to you how she looked? Both Polish aristocrat and strangely Jewish—as if, by some magic, a gentle yeshiva student had turned into a Polish
panienka.
She had a narrow face and black eyes, such deep ones that I became confused. They actually burned me. Everything about this woman was full of spirituality. Never before have I seen such beauty. She disappeared in an instant, and I remained shattered. Later I asked the owner who that beauty was, and she said it was a niece who was visiting. She mentioned the name of some estate or town from which she came. But in my confusion I wasn’t able to pay attention. I could easily have learned her name and address if I hadn’t been so dazed. I finished my work; she did not show up again. But her image always stood before my eyes. I began to think about her day and night without stopping. My thoughts wore me out, and I decided to make an end of them, no matter what the cost. Manya realized that I wasn’t myself and this was the cause of new scenes. I was so mixed up that, even though I knew Warsaw like my ten fingers, I got lost in the streets and made silly mistakes. It went on like this for months. Slowly my obsession weakened—or perhaps it just sank deeper inside me; I could think about someone else and at the same time brood about her. So the summer passed and it was winter, then it was spring again. One late afternoon—almost dusk—I don’t remember if it was April or May—my telephone rang. I said hello, and no one answered. However, somebody was holding the receiver at the end of the line. I called again, ‘Hello, hello, hello!’ and I heard a crackle and a stammering voice. I said, ‘Whoever you are, be so good as to speak up.’
    “After a while I heard a voice that was a woman’s voice but also the voice of a boy. She said to me, ‘You once worked in Vilanov, in such and such a house. Do you happen to remember someone passing through the drawing room?’ My throat became tight, and I almost lost the ability to move my tongue. ‘Yes, I remember you,’ I said. ‘Could anyone forget your face?’ She was so quiet I thought she had hung up. But she began to speak again—murmur is more like it. She said, ‘I have to talk to you. Where can we meet?’ ‘Wherever you wish,’ I said. ‘Would you want to come to me?’ ‘No, out of the question,’ she said. ‘Perhaps in a café—’ ‘No, not in a café,’ I said. ‘Tell me where you could meet me and I will be there.’ She became silent; then she mentioned a little street near the city library, way uptown, near Mokotow. ‘When do you want it to be?’ I asked. And she said, ‘As soon as possible.’ ‘Perhaps now?’ ‘Yes, if you can make it.’ I knew that there was no café, no restaurant, not even a bench to sit on in that little street, but I told her that I was leaving at once. There had been a time when I thought that if this miracle should happen I would jump for joy. But somehow everything was silent in me. I was neither happy nor unhappy—only amazed.
    “When I arrived at our meeting place, it was already night. The street had trees on both sides and few lamps. I could see her in the half darkness. She seemed leaner, and her hair was combed up in a bun. She stood near a tree, wrapped in shadow. Except for her, the street was deserted. She started when I approached her. The trees were blooming and the gutter was full of blossoms. I said to her, ‘Here I am. Where can we go?’ ‘What I want to tell me?’ I asked. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you to leave me in peace.’
    “I was startled, and said, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ ‘You know very well,’