Let's skip the foreplay, shall we?

Where I come from people like me are just staff. Tired and hurried, they walk with their heads down and faces closed. Hard workers struggling to make ends meet. It’s not that they are bad, or boring, or that there is anything wrong with them, no. It’s just that they are, well, closed, and so are their faces. Whereas Nino…

In the picture I have, Nino sits in front of a painting full of colors and hats – heads in hats, to be precise. And from under the hats, long black braids fall on the backs of uncountable Peruvian women, since all these women turn their backs on the viewer, clearly more interested in whatever might be hidden further, deeper in the painting. Against this somewhat disquieting background, Nino’s face seems light and open. The slanting sun pours from an invisible window on the right and so one side of Nino’s face is brighter, whilst the other, by contrast, seems darker. More serious. Sad? The left corner of his mouth is turned down, ever so slightly, and his left eye gets less light than the right one, but both look straight into my eyes and make me tremble with expectation. Because you see, there is a story behind those eyes, waiting to be told, haunting me, calling. And I recognize this call immediately and I am more than willing to answer it.

But although Nino’s face seems so upfront, so open – an open book, really – I can just stare at it in awe, unable to read a single word. I do not know the language it was written in. Yet.

And yet, oddly enough, there is a story we share, the story beginning one rainy day in early May. Oddly enough the street was deserted. Oddly enough I got lost in a city I know so well.

“Przepraszam” – I said. – “Szukam miejsca o nazwie Cheder, nie wie pan przypadkiem gdzie to jest? [1]”

The rain weakened to indecisive drizzle, but still, I held my red, dilapidated umbrella, from which I ventured a brief glance at the man’s face.

He smiled. Where I come from people don’t smile at strangers that easily.

“Um… Do you speak English?”

Had I mentioned my city was old and always flooded with tourists and another strange lot? Well, it was. A couple of minutes before, I’d chatted up a girl who happened to be Spanish, then a guy from Israel. With them I hadn’t bothered though, they were just tourists. But now…

“I do. The thing is… I was hoping for someone who lived here. I’m looking for a place called Cheder, it’s somewhere over here, but…” I looked around helplessly.

His smile broadened. Only then did I notice it didn’t reach his eyes. They were greyish brown and thoughtful as if they had seen things I could not even imagine.

“Well, I don’t know where it is, but I can look it up.” From the back pocket of his trousers, he produced a smartphone. “What’s it called again?... Cheder? With a ‘c’ at the beginning? Oh, here it is…” 

Oh, no. I was never a fan of maps, for many reasons. I glanced at the lighted screen and looked around again. Our eyes met.

“You know what… I’ll walk you there.” He was looking at me intensely. Intently. As if I was the most interesting human being on earth – at least at the moment. Where I come from people don’t look at each other like that. “I’m going in this direction anyway.”

His voice was warm, laced with a smile. I liked it. So we exchanged names and handshakes, and off we went. Together.

“So… you also don’t live in Krakow, do you?” He half-turned towards me, his eyes kind but inquiring.

I hesitated. And in case you haven’t grasped it, this is the key moment of this story. The turning point. It lasted half a second – half a second too long.

“I’m here… for work,” I said.

“Really? So am I!” He slowed down and turned towards me some more. “And what do you do?”

“Well, basically, dig up dirt.” I winked.

“A journalist?”

We both laughed.

“A paleontologist.”

“Oh?” He stopped to face me. “How interesting!” The rain intensified, so I raised my umbrella a little and invited him under. The situation suddenly got a bit intimate. “So what are you working on here, as a… paleontologist?” We resumed our walk down the street. It was slow – very slow. Our arms were brushing against each other. His was warm.

“Well, they discovered remnants of another, even older city near one of the churches in the Old Town, two years ago, while repairing the pavement. We’re excavating them now. And you?” I asked. “Where are you from, by the way?”

“Croatia.” That explained that golden, sun-kissed skin in early May. Where I come from, people in spring look pale and tired. “I came for a conference. It has just ended.”

“Press conference, I gather.”

We laughed again.

“No, I’m not a journalist either. It was a science conference.”

“Oh, really?” Now it was my turn to slow down. “What science?”

“Astrophysics.” The word came out of his mouth without a moment of hesitation.

I stopped.

“That’s fascinating!” I really thought it was. “What exactly do you do? Explore stars in some way?”

He nodded.

“Stars, yes. And dark matter.”

So, I had been right about him all along. It didn’t come as a surprise though; my intuition seldom failed me. I asked a few questions and he answered, letting me sneak a peek into his cosmic space. I tried to concentrate and memorize as much as possible, making mental notes to look some of the words up in Google. He was speaking of stellar atmosphere, solar physics, dark energy, and such, and although it all sounded very scientific and professional, his passion transformed it into poetry. Or perhaps it was his smile. His white, even teeth. Short stubble on his narrow chin. And the way he looked at me – that more than anything. We arrived at the door of Cheder and despite myself, I regretted we had to part.

He must have felt the same.

“Listen…” He stopped and was looking at me hesitantly, then seemed to have come to a decision. “It’s the last day of the conference, so we have like, er, a banquet this evening. It’s near here and starts in about an hour, and… I was just wondering… perhaps you would like to join me? “

I panicked but regained composure immediately. I’m good at it.

“I’d love to, but I’m just going to a meeting. We have a couple of, um, archeologists from abroad, they start next week and I need to give them an overview.” I moved to show him the big black bag I carried under one arm. “But…” – I said before he asked, as I knew he would. – “I can give you my number if you want. Perhaps next time when you’re here at some conference...” – I flashed him what I imagined was a flirtatious smile, and followed it with the number, this special number, that… He clicked it into his smartphone. Then he raised his head and our eyes locked. Something inside me slipped over the edge and started sinking quickly, inevitably. But it was too late.

I closed my umbrella and entered Cheder, stealing the last glance over my shoulder – he waited for it, apparently, because he waved his hand, then turned and crossed the street. His white t-shirt stood out in the rainy gloom of the evening. I came to the table where my friends were waiting, said sorry for being late, and excavated a box of scrabble from my big black bag.

I didn’t win that day; to say that my performance was poor would be a huge understatement. Words escaped me, I was miles away from the dim interior and just could not wait for the sorry business to end. It finally did. I fled home, shut the door, and opened my laptop.

It was against all my rules, but I didn’t care. I googled up the conference – it ended the day before, actually, perhaps I misunderstood what he said? But there was no Nino amongst either the organizers or speakers and the list of participants was not available. Bloody GDPR. I tried the restaurants – “near here” he said, so… a new window. The city map. The phone. Hello, do you happen to be holding a banquet for a bunch of astrophysicists right now? No? Thanks anyway. Bye-bye. Next. Hello… Did I ask myself, why I was doing this in the first place, or rather for what? No. I started at the center of the Jewish quarter and went around it in circles that got bigger and bigger. Nothing. No banquet, no astrophysicists, no Nino. The hotels I managed to contact also knew nothing of whatever it was I was pursuing in a state of trance that broke only at around two in the morning, leaving me red-eyed and exhausted. But I knew all those scientists must have slept somewhere, it’s just that I wasn’t lucky enough to find that particular place. Bloody city, stuffed with uncountable venues where you can eat, drink and be merry, or have inspiring, random conversations. Overloaded with hotels, hostels, and apartments, where you can sleep or have inspiring, random sex. Full of all those people – tourists, travelers, businessmen, artists of all kinds. Writers, lecturers, actors, critics. Scientists. Interesting people with interesting lives. In this city, the city I come from, I was just staff. I made their stay easy and pleasant. I made sure they had running water for the bath and for flushing toilets when they pooed. Quite literally. I worked in the City Hall, Water and Sewage Service Dept. I lived in this city but did not participate in the never-ending feast it consists in. I lived here but did not belong.

And this is how it might be forever if it hadn’t been for that day some years ago when I had finally found my voice. My vocation. What triggered it appeared, to put it mildly, trivial, as it is often the case with moments of revelation. The city water got infected with some bacteria, and the head of the department suffered from diarrhea. Those two facts may, or may not have been connected – who cared? We had a different problem altogether – somebody had to go out, stand in front of the city folk and newsmen and tell them some sorry story of how the authorities did all they could and so on... The clerks from my department, the deputy included, were just looking at one another in silence. I volunteered. Why? I have no idea whatsoever. The most plausible explanation is that I was so bored at the time, I would rather be devoured by an infuriated crowd than spend another five minutes at the desk. It was the performance of my life. It was as if I was suddenly blessed with the gift of tongues, so lightly did the story flow from my lips. I said I was the deputy. I said I was speaking on behalf of the head of the whole City Hall. I said we worked day and night, and would soon solve the problem, no matter the cost. And I managed to placate them, they bought it all. The head of the department appreciated my effort after she recovered from diarrhea; at the end of the month, I got some extra money. I thanked her and returned meekly to my desk.

But soon I found out I could use my newly discovered talent out of the office. An actor from some experimental Estonian theatre was the first. I met him near the railway station and I found him a hostel. On our way he told me o lot about the play, his role, and such – I used all this information when I bumped into a guy who was a plane-spotter. And I played a plane-spotter to an Indian ayurvedic massage specialist, on his way to a meeting with a clinic owner. I called a taxi, and we went together, so he managed to tell me a lot about his life in Bangalore. I introduced myself as an ayurvedic massage disciple, freshly coming from Bangalore to a Swedish girl with a mysterious long, thin object that appeared to be a Japanese bow. She didn’t need my help; I asked what it was and she told me; we had a nice little chat at a bus stop. Needless to say, I googled more about kyudo later that day and used the knowledge to impress a paleontologist who…

It's not that I lied. I never did, mind you. All these stories were true – just not mine. Where I come from people don’t have stories like that.

All of a sudden my life became more colorful. I was no longer just staff – better even, I did not have to limit myself to just one personality, I had a whole flamboyant array to choose from. It was enough to just raise my head and to look the people passing me in the street in the face. And perhaps smile a little. Give them some attention, some time. Answer a question, or ask one. Show that I cared.

At first, this new hobby of mine seemed innocent enough. I started going out more. I was taking my dog for longer walks and doing the shopping in the city center instead of my local groceries. I talked my scrabble buddies into moving our Friday gatherings to Cheder, a bar in the Jewish district, always thronged with multicolored, vibrant crowds. It’s just a little distraction, I kept telling myself. Entertainment necessary for mental hygiene. I hurt no one. It’s ok. I really thought it was. Until that spring rainy day.

The day I met Nino. Nino, who – however brief our encounter – managed to intrigue me more than anyone in years. Yes, it was his face, so open; and his eyes, so attentive. And the sun-kissed skin. But also that faint yet unsettling suspicion, that he saw through me and for some reason decided to play along. That he outsmarted me in my own game. Or worse – that it might be his game too. For some inexplicable reason, this thought hurt most. If at least I have given him my correct number. But I changed the last digit, as I always did when one of my… interlocutors… wanted to call me. That day I went to bed at dawn but still couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of all the things I could have had with Nino, the whole wild potential of our meeting. He might become, well, just my friend, or my boyfriend, or my best male friend, if by any chance he was gay. A WhatsApp pal, a couch in Croatia, if I needed one, a distant acquaintance. Someone I could consult in astrophysics or whatever his field was. Or… a passionate lover. I could easily imagine cupping his cheek with my hand and saying, hey, it’s gonna be ok. Or whispering into his ear, hey, let’s skip the foreplay, shall we? Boldly, like I really was that bold. Or… When I finally stumbled out of bed and peered into the bathroom mirror my loss seemed as multiple as my personality.

So I did not find him. I survived the weekend and went to work on Monday, and on Tuesday, and… I still had long walks with my dog, I smiled at people and occasionally got a taxi for them, or a hostel. But the stories collected for so long lost their appeal. I found a local kyudo club and it clicked. I bought a yumi and stopped playing scrabble on Friday nights. I had no intention of going nowhere near Cheder. Ever. But one of my former scrabble pals called me one snowy Saturday mid-January to say there was a little parcel waiting for me in Cheder. No, she didn’t know who from, the waiter who told her didn’t know that either, but it arrived only yesterday and had my name on it. So I went to collect it. It was just a thick brown envelope; I sat at a table in the most remote corner, tore it open, and looked at the light, open face against the multitude of hats. I turned the picture. Hi, still wanna meet? If you ever really wanted, that is ;) If so, call me. N. And a telephone number.

I did call him before I had time to think about what I would say. So I just said “Hi. Yes, I really want to meet you. But this time… let’s skip the foreplay, shall we?”

He laughed. We meet tomorrow, in Cheder.

I can’t wait.

[1] Excuse me… I’m looking for a place called Cheder. Do you know where it is?