Swans Are Fat Too by Michelle Granas Read Free Book Online

of a very romantic and loving nature. Had anyone shown a little interest or a little kindness she would have flung Konstanty's image aside like a used rag.
    Somewhere, in the midst of these thoughts, her head dropped onto her chest and she fell asleep.
     
    It was the click of the door shutting that woke her. She raised her head, thinking through her sleep, "Good, Kalina's come back, I can go to bed." But when she opened her eyes the apartment was strangely empty. Maks wasn't sitting in front of the television anymore; the television wasn't even on. She stood up abruptly and looked about. No one was there. "Maks!" she called. "Maksiu!" No answer. Well, he wouldn't answer. Quickly, rubbing the sleep away, growing momentarily more awake and worried, she scurried through the apartment looking for him. No Maksymilian. The truth dawning on her, she ran back through the apartment, bumping awkwardly into corners and doorframes as she went, until she reached the front door and tried to open it. It was locked on the outside.
    She pounded on it. No response. "Maks!" She hissed through the crack. "Maks! Open the door!" There was no response, only silence. She put her ear to the door and listened hard, holding her breath. No sound, no movement reached her. She straightened, panting.
    So there she was, locked in. And Maks, her six-year-old charge, Maks whom she was supposed to be taking care of, was gone. She had a moment of furious anger at Wiktor and Ania. Stupid, irresponsible parents! And of anguish––what if something happened to him? And of remorse––she'd be responsible.
    And there was nothing to do about it. A moment's reflection convinced her that even if she could scream loudly enough to be heard by the neighbors, they still wouldn't be able to get her out and they wouldn't find Maks unless he wanted to be found. Hopefully he was with Kalina. Please let him be with Kalina. She paced back and forth. 
    The minutes passed, then half an hour. She went periodically to the window––to each window in the apartment––to see if she could spot Maks or Kalina in the street. She saw her friendly drunkard of the other day; he was leaning against a building with one hand, and as she was wondering whether to call to him, "have you seen a small boy?" he subsided onto the sidewalk and lay inert. An occasional passer-by walked with quick steps along the pavement and disappeared, and an occasional dark cat flitted across the street, but her relatives didn't reappear. She suspected––hoped––they were sitting on the bottom step of the building. And she hoped that Maks was very tired. But she couldn't be sure.
    She picked up the telephone and dialed a number in the States. "Hallo, Tato?" Her father had gotten her into this; maybe he'd have some idea how to get her out. No, she didn't really believe that, she just had no one else to turn to. "Tato, Wiktor and Ania went off and left me with their children and now Kalina has disappeared and Maks has locked me in the apartment."
    "So how was the funeral? Were there lots of people?"
    "I missed the funeral. The plane was delayed. Maks has locked me in the apartment."
    "Good, good. So how's Wiktor? How's Ania? Is everyone healthy?"
    Hania took a deep breath.
    "Tato, Maks has locked me in the apartment and disappeared. It's eleven o'clock at night."
    "Eleven o'clock? Yes, I always forget about the time difference. So how's Warsaw?"
    Hania stifled a desire to scream. Why would he never listen?
    "Tato! Wiktor and Ania left me with their children and now they've disappeared. What should I do?"
    "Whoooo's disappeared?"
    "Wiktor. Ania. Kalina. And worst of all––Maks."
    "What are you saying?"
    Hania could see him shaking his head, unwilling to understand, to get involved, to have to make decisions. She could hear the note of self-pity creeping into his voice.
    "You know, I don't understand what you're saying. I don't know why you always have these problems. I thought you'd be a help to