A Night with no Stars - Prologue. Like a Bat out of Hell

It had been less than twenty-four hours and for the fifty seventh time Maks thought he was making a mistake. The frequency of this pondering depended heavily on the amount of time spent with his parents. The mere existence of these people gave the institution of marriage bad publicity.

He’d been trying to convince himself that it was only natural to be anxious after making such a huge life decision. Besides, why would he even waste time on doubts when he knew from the very beginning how it was going to end? So what if sometimes there was a small, lost question in his mind, asking if it was really all he would ever have in life. Maks hated his inner voice. Its advice usually sucked and it was awfully pessimistic.

He apologized, interrupting his mom mid-rant, right when she was accusing his dad of treating everyone like garbage and not caring about their feelings at all. He stood up rapidly from the table. Wiktoria’s eyes had risen from her iPhone and she gave him a long stare. For a second he thought she was going to react somehow, but eventually her head dropped back without a care in the world. Holding back a heavy sigh, he left the living room quietly. His sister’s momentary engagement in family matters involuntarily drew attention to her and now their mom was complaining how she could spend the whole time with her nose glued to the screen and does anything even interest her anymore. Her voice, full of distress, became more distant with every step Maks took.

He sat on the toilet after entering the bathroom and stared for a moment at the cream-colored tiles with flower adornment. He remembered years ago, when he was still in high school, his mom had been hassling him to help her choose these tiles and he remembered precisely all fourteen patterns that were shoved in his face. He didn’t know why he kept bullshit like that in his memory, why he didn’t have a healthy reflex of removing useless information. He always remembered everything. He remembered when he saw her for the first time on the school hallway. He was getting back from the theatre rehearsal; she was stuffing books in her backpack. They didn’t all fit so she left a pocket copy of William Wharton’s “Last Lovers” on the windowsill and walked away. He waited hidden behind the column for a whole two minutes before taking the book and spent the next four days scanning the hallways obsessively. Now he knew that she had caught a flu the next day, but back then he wasn’t sure that he didn’t imagine her. Eventually he found her and almost followed her to the ladies' room, before he realized what he was doing. He returned her book, stuttering as if he was having a stroke, which was really lame for someone who spent the majority of life arduously polishing up his diction. She smiled the smile of someone who knew perfectly well that shyness was sexy and when a few hours later he looked around her room for the first time, he felt like an idiot, because of all his sacrifice for this one book, when she had around a hundred thousand of them. That was probably the moment he kind of fell in love. They had been like two peas in the pod ever since, he was all bright and pale, with hair curvy just like wrinkles on his forehead after thinking too much and crumpled like his shirt, while her hair was all smooth and glistening just like the rest of her. Kind of absurd, as if people actually adapt to be more like their hair.

That was eight years ago, when Maks and Ewelina gave each other their first sacramental “maybes”. And now he was going to marry her for real. He’d come back from England after two years and she was waiting, just as she promised, but a little bit forged. A little bit less smooth and glistening, her eyes less sparkly and her smile less honest, when she dropped by his place after work at nine pm, with eco-friendly bags full of hummus and cherry tomatoes, and eyelashes so long that Maks was kind of scared to approach and get impaled on them. She didn’t do anything to make sure that he was listening to her, when she ranted about her boss who sucked at confrontations, and why such a lousy person should have such a high position, moving her gel nails rapidly on her smartphone’s screen at the same time. Then she asked casually when he was going to find a job, seeing that he’d been back in Poland for more than a month. Not everybody had such an easy start in life where they didn’t have to put any effort to get whatever they wanted. Did she sound like a bitch? Probably, but he tried to convince himself that his Ewelina still had to be hidden in there somewhere. So what that all of her books were long covered in dust?

Since he’d come back, it was like he couldn’t find a place for himself, as if this city disinherited him and in order to belong again, he needed to pass some kind of test, but had no idea what it was and what were the rules.

“Maks, baby,” his mom whispered, lurking outside of the bathroom. She gave his hair a very mom caress, hugging his arm lightly. “I’m sorry, I still can’t get enough of you,” she explained, so he returned the hug awkwardly. It was kind of cute, but mostly embarrassing. “I know you need time to get on your feet, but I can see you’re struggling. Maybe if you tried…?” she started with voice full of hope. That was about the thousandth time she’d said it.

“Come on, no,” he whispered back, stealing a glance inside the living room.

He couldn’t understand why she wanted to keep him unemployed for the rest of his life. She meant well, he knew that, because she always meant well, but no one graduated from Cambridge in economics to become an actor, it simply didn’t make any sense. Sure, it had been his dream when he was young and foolish, but in the end he took a different path and it wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t accept it and was convinced that it meant he would never find happiness. He could. When he visualized himself ten years from now, he did see himself as a financier. And he did see himself as Ewelina’s husband. Really. Probably.

He actually liked his mom, unless she was reminding him that he’d sold his dreams and soul for his father’s approval and his own peace of mind. It did sound kind of sad, so he tried not to think about it like that. She was such a kind-hearted person, even though lately she didn’t even drink her liquid courage from the little glass like before, but straight from the pot-bellied bottle, which Maks thought was a little disturbing. Almost as disturbing as the fact that she seemed to do anything she could to turn him against his father and vice versa. He knew it was awful, but he was really glad that they could afford to buy him his own place, because if he had to stay here with them he would probably shoot himself in the head.

They got back to the living room and Maks thought that it was a perfect moment for him to announce it was time to leave.

“All right, I should go.”

He got the impression that his house had become a battlefield, where two enemies fought, armed with ruthless words and only waiting for the right moment to attack.

“Monday, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late, son,” his dad said with eyes focused solely on the news. He didn’t seem at all interested in persuading him to stay.

Wiktoria again raised her head. “Hey, would you give me a lift?” she asked hopefully.

Maks frowned, but his mom was the first to speak. “Are you crazy, you’re not going to Warsaw at this hour, it’s close to midnight!” she snapped disapprovingly.

Wiki rolled her eyes. “So what, I could stay at Julka’s…” she whined without much conviction. She knew she would get nothing out of it.

“You’re not staying at Julka’s,” mom said in a menacing tone. “If you want to go to Warsaw you can go in the afternoon and take the last train back, not sponge off your brother,” she added, then addressed Maks, putting a hand on his elbow. “Are you coming on Sunday? You could bring Ewelina with you.”

“Will you just let him be, we didn’t buy him that apartment for you to keep him here all the time. At least pretend that you want him to have some independence,” his father snorted.

His mom sent him a death glare. Maks only nodded, trying not to get in the middle of it. It didn’t always work, because he felt kind of responsible for keeping the family drama in check. Wiki apparently didn’t have the same problem, she just casually went back to scrolling through her phone, appearing completely unflappable. On the one hand, he kind of envied her, but on the other she was the one who had to live here, so it was understandable that she created some defense mechanism to survive. He knew she was waiting just as impatiently as he was to hear that one liberating sentence. We’re getting a divorce. But they’d waited for years and if it hadn’t happened so far, it probably never would.

Monday, eleven am, he repeated in his mind. It was kind of pathetic that his dad had to get him a job interview, but he felt strangely powerless when it came to that. Maybe it was because he hated it, this whole world of economics, numbers, money, his peers, all of it. But he couldn’t say that out loud, and it wasn’t as if he had any other choice, because his chances of becoming an actor were practically non-existent. If there was anything he actually learned at freaking Cambridge, it was the balance of probability. Which furthermore meant almost one hundred percent chance of hearing one of his father’s 'I told you so’s' at the end, which should be avoided at all costs.

He got into the black Subaru and drove carefully through the gate. When he rolled slowly on the gravel road, it was like someone turned off the world around him. There was not one star visible, not one street lamp glowing, not one car, not a soul in this shithole except for him, and sure it was late, but it was still Friday. But that was Sulejówek and nothing ever happens here. Especially nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to…

He slammed on the brakes when he saw a hunched silhouette on the side of the road. At first, he did it because he was concerned that the crazy drunk was going to fall under his car, but when he came to a full stop, he realized that the crazy might not be drunk and might not even be crazy. He was a little anxious, because what if that someone was dangerous? After all, how normal was it for someone to be wandering around the woods at night in March? He struggled internally for a minute, because he had no problem admitting that he wasn’t the bravest of men, and taking a risk to help someone who probably didn’t even need his help didn’t sound very appealing. He should just drive away and forget about his existence.

Apparently, there was a short circuit in the part of his brain responsible for common sense and self-preservation, because instead he opened the door and got out of the car, squinting his eyes to see the figure through the darkness. It was a man, probably not old, but he couldn’t tell much more. He was crouching in the grass and appeared to be looking for something.

“Hey, is everything ok?” he asked hesitantly. He couldn’t see much, but for some reason he knew that the guy was eying him suspiciously from the second he stopped the car. He slowly straightened up.

“Of course it is.” His voice was flat, Maks couldn’t tell whether it was supposed to be sarcastic or not. He sounded young, but more like a man than a teenager. He seemed arrogant, maybe too arrogant and for a moment Maks wondered if he was using sassiness to cover something else.

“Ok,” he said slowly, feeling quite silly with the knowledge both that his question was stupid, and the answer insincere. “Is there any way I can help?”

The guy finally looked at him and for a moment he seemed to judge him, as if he was trying to decide if he could be actually useful. “I've lost a phone,” he gave up eventually. For some reason he was whispering.

Maks made a few more steps. “I can call,” he offered the first thing that came to his mind, taking his own phone out of his pocket.

The stranger frowned on him. “I don’t have the number,” he informed him rudely. “We need to find it the old way,” he added, making a chaotic gesture with his hands and getting back to crouching down in the grass.

That should probably have set off alarm bells in Maks’s head - the guy was looking for someone else’s phone? - but for some reason it didn’t, so he just turned the flashlight on. The boy winced from the light and then looked around apprehensively. Maks could finally take a better look. He was right, he was young, no older than twenty. His hair was dark with long bangs. He couldn’t tell how tall he was, because he was still squatting, but he was definitely pale and his eyes were wide open. He seemed fully focused, as if he was listening carefully all the time and not lowering his guard even for a moment. He was dressed in a grey hoodie. It looked pretty thin, he must have been cold. For one absurd second Maks wanted to offer him his coat. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with a lack of meaning in his own life, helping a stray to feel better about himself?

“Ok, hurry up,” he hissed, so Maks obediently turned the light to the ground.

“Here,” he said triumphantly after several minutes, forgetting that they were supposed to keep quiet, even if he didn’t know why they were supposed to keep quiet. He leaned down and picked up the old Samsung model from the ground.

“Turn it off,” the kid snapped at his flashlight, grabbing the phone and looking over his shoulder, visibly distressed. He dusted his jeans off when Maks finally put his own phone away. “Thanks,” he muttered absentmindedly, looking as if his mind was already somewhere else.

“Where the hell are you going?” Maks frowned when he realized that apparently the boy was just going to walk away. In this weather, dressed like that? It was like asking for pneumonia. The kid looked surprised.

“As far away as possible,” he shrugged. Maks’s eyebrows went up.

“Is Warsaw far enough for you?” He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. The kid looked uncertain for a long moment, when suddenly he turned around rapidly. Did he hear something? The only thing Maks heard was dead silence.

“Ok, whatever, just hurry up,” he whispered, rushing to the car and tapping Maks on the shoulder on his way. He sat in the passenger seat, still behaving kind of paranoid, looking around and listening. Maks suddenly felt as if he was in an action movie, but he’d rather focus on acting, not thinking, so he just got behind the wheel and turned the keys. “Go,” said the guy, looking intently at the woods and sounding a little desperate. He seemed as if he couldn’t wait to leave whatever it was behind them. Maks didn’t look at him until they were safely back on the main road. His lips were clipped tightly, his eyes were still bulging unnaturally and that’s when he realized that he was driving someone who was a complete stranger in the middle of the night, a stranger who was looking for someone else’s phone in the middle of nowhere and was clearly scared of something in the woods. He must have gone completely insane.

It took a moment, but eventually the woods started to clear a little and they saw city lights ahead of them. The guy seemed to relax a bit, but Maks was now starting to panic. He tightened his fists on the steering wheel, wondering if he should start a conversation and how to start it. And when he should kick this weird guy out of his car, considering that theoretically they were already in Warsaw.

He was surprised when the kid spoke up first. “What’s that?” he frowned.

Maks looked around wildly, momentarily thinking that something actually came out of the woods, and then he understood what he meant. “Apostolis Anthimos,” he said.

His companion pulled a face.

“What, not a fan of jazz?” he added mockingly, cause seriously, here he was driving his ass to Warsaw and the kid though it was ok to whine at his music?

“I love jazz.”

Maks glanced at him skeptically. He tried not to judge a book by its cover, but the kid looked as if he could easily blend in with the crowd of football hooligans and didn’t seem like someone who would like jazz.

“But it’s a fucked-up name. Too long. I hate long names.” He sounded distracted.

Maks thought that maybe his previous panic was acting up and now he was starting to drivel. The corner of his mouth raised up. “Maksymilian,” he introduced himself without being asked.

The kid moved these wide eyes of his at him – really, Maks was convinced that he hadn’t blinked once since he first saw him – and snorted. His laugh was high-pitched and a little hysterical, but it was nice and Maks thought that maybe he would even give him a lift to the city center.

Nothing ever happens on the way from Sulejówek to Warsaw indeed.