Page 66 - WTP Vol. IX #6

In about fifteen minutes two women, an older and a younger one, will each take a seat at a table in a café located in the market square of a large city. The name of the city is unimportant as are the names of the women, but giving them names will keep us from using their age to tell them apart.
At the moment the older woman is getting out of her car. You can’t park in the square, so she’ll have to walk a short distance. She doesn’t mind; she’s used to it. She lives in a gated community about twenty minutes away from downtown. The day is beautiful, sunny, warm, and a stroll will do her well. She’s walking briskly and her purse of pale brown leather moves in step with her. The second woman has come by train from a nearby town. She’s left the railway station and is now heading toward the market square. From time to time she pulls up the strap of a large canvas bag that slides down her shoulder. Neither the purse nor the bag will play a role in this story. If it were a Chekhov drama, they would be turned into meaningful props. One of the women might be hiding a pistol there, which, fired at the proper moment, would in a clean-cut manner solve the problem of the ending. But this isn’t a play, and although the women can be considered the dra- matis personae, neither carries a gun. The canvas bag holds a book which its owner was reading on the train. The largest object in the leather purse is a small ma- roon umbrella. According to the weather forecast the day will stay sunny, and the umbrella won’t be used to protect its owner from rain.
The older woman, Beata, stops at the entry to the café’s garden, which is just a break in the railing that separates the open-air part of the café from the rest of the market square. She scans the area and makes
a beeline for the table adjacent to the wall of the building. Right behind the railing a photographer is assembling a tripod. He’ll be taking pictures of the market square. There are many of them here in the summer. He’s wearing faded jeans and a wrinkled white T-shirt. A large black bag and three cameras, each a different size, drape his chest, hang down his shoulder and around his neck. No doubt he’s a pro- fessional. He screws everything together with pains- taking attention and directs the lens at the café. He must be checking the focus. But, no, he’s shooting the café as if there was something interesting there.
Beata looks around. The café lost its popularity among the city’s residents long ago. Now only tour- ists come here because it’s still mentioned in guide-
books. The locals prefer other venues: the older ones go for those they don’t associate with the former political regime; the young people swarm to the ones that at a given moment are labeled hot. She hasn’t been here for well over a year—not since she broke up with Mariusz. Before that happened they often met here. It was the perfect place with no risk that anyone would spot them. Mariusz lived in another city, but because this was where he finished college, he still had many friends here. Beata didn’t really care. She was divorced. Mariusz, though, was married. At first she protested. To meet smack in the city center, in the market place, was risky if not downright crazy, but eventually she saw that Mariusz was right. No friends ever showed up, few people ever did.
Why did she propose that same place for today? She doesn’t know. She rarely visits cafés. It was just the first name that sprang to mind. She takes a tube
of lipstick out of her purse, applies it to her lips, smoothes her hair. Three days ago she had her hair col- ored. Now it’s dark chestnut, not blonde. She also had
it cut following Paula’s suggestions. Paula emailed her the picture of the model. She’s always cared about her mother’s looks. Before Beata closes her purse, she takes the umbrella out, lays it on the table, and almost im- mediately puts it back in again. She looks at her watch. There’s still time.
At this moment the second woman, Magda, enters the café. She sits down at the table next to the railing as if she wants to be in full view. She places her bag on the unoccupied chair. Magda is wearing skinny jeans and a flowery shirt. She has come to the city to meet with her boyfriend, most likely her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. Strange that he chose such an uncool place. Did he forget that you just don’t come here? Magda still goes to college in the city and is up to date on what’s in and what’s out. Eryk’s done with
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Two Women
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