Read Online Swans Are Fat Too by Michelle Granas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Granas
Tags: Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, World Literature, Eastern European
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next days passed without incident. She had no need to put her threat into action. The children regarded her warily, but were tolerably polite and helpful. Still, she had a feeling they were waiting for something.
"You really don't know where your parents went?" she said one morning to Kalina, when the prospect of the week ahead seemed too daunting. Kalina took her pacifier out of her mouth and after considering a moment, deigned an answer.
"They went to meet some people to talk about a film. Tata is making the music for it."
Goodness. What kind of film could that be?
"They were going to Gdansk and then to Berlin––someplace in Germany anyway."
Germany!
"You really don't know when they'll come back?"
"I don't want them to come back." She burst into tears. Hania stared at her, distressed. The tears ran down the girl's childish face. What on earth was the matter with her? She put out a tentative hand in sympathy but Kalina brushed it away.
Here was Maks, sitting on the other side of her. "I'm bored." That was his latest method for making her uncomfortable. He followed her around saying "I'm bored" like a broken record and refusing any of her suggestions for entertainment.
"Maks, can't you see your sister's unhappy?"
"Kalina's...."
Kalina tried to hit him around Hania, and got Hania instead.
"Kalina's….what?" thought Hania, as she sat at the piano, touching the keys slowly. C, C sharp, D. Involved in drugs? Kalina and Maks didn't usually fight. What was it that she had had to keep him from saying?
Here was Maks again. "I'm bored." Maybe it was better when he was ostracizing her. "I'm bored."
"Maks, can you play the piano?"
"No." A fierce look, very reminiscent of his grandmother. "Babcia said I have no talent."
"Mm. She said that about me, too. And then everyone thought I was brilliant."
"So why do you just play da-di-dum-da"––he sang a very good approximation of a scale––"like that?"
"Well, it's a long story. Come, sit here on the piano bench. Sit up straight, hands like so…"
He tried a key or two and began to bang hard on A flat. "Tata makes music like this."
"Er. Yes. But I think we'll start with something else."
"I saw the most enormous young woman going into the Lanskis'," said Pelagia to Konstanty, as he let her into the apartment. "A piano student pressed into babysitting, I suppose. You'd think she'd break the bench. Really, she was like this." Her hands gestured widely around her own slim hips as she dropped her designer handbag on a sofa and sank down beside it with gracefully crossed ankles.
Konstanty regarded his sister. For facial features, Pelagia might have been Queen Jadwiga come to life. Really, why had he never thought of it before? The picture of Jadwiga's tomb effigy came to mind. Only Pelagia, slim in a straw-colored linen suit, had none of Jadwiga's inner demureness.
"So how's the history coming?"
"It's coming. I gave it to the"––his hands imitated her gesture of roundness––"to type and correct. She's Natalia Lanska's granddaughter. She's being very helpful."
Pelagia raised her eyebrows, made a little moue. "Oh, okay." She forgot the subject immediately, moved on to other topics. She was very different from her brother. She spoke whatever came into her mind, moved impulsively and joyously from one activity to another, and threw herself into the organization of gala balls and charity events with a clear sense of mission to advertise the family and keep it in history, or at least in the illustrated journals. That she belonged to an expanding public relations firm and was married to a wealthy German banker both made her task easier. (Actually, the German banker, however estimable, was a bit of a comedown, but no appropriate member of royalty, even minor, had had the sense to notice her by the time she turned thirty-three, and she was one to make the best of things.)
"So are you coming to my house-warming party tonight or have you got a shift?"
Pelagia had
"You really don't know where your parents went?" she said one morning to Kalina, when the prospect of the week ahead seemed too daunting. Kalina took her pacifier out of her mouth and after considering a moment, deigned an answer.
"They went to meet some people to talk about a film. Tata is making the music for it."
Goodness. What kind of film could that be?
"They were going to Gdansk and then to Berlin––someplace in Germany anyway."
Germany!
"You really don't know when they'll come back?"
"I don't want them to come back." She burst into tears. Hania stared at her, distressed. The tears ran down the girl's childish face. What on earth was the matter with her? She put out a tentative hand in sympathy but Kalina brushed it away.
Here was Maks, sitting on the other side of her. "I'm bored." That was his latest method for making her uncomfortable. He followed her around saying "I'm bored" like a broken record and refusing any of her suggestions for entertainment.
"Maks, can't you see your sister's unhappy?"
"Kalina's...."
Kalina tried to hit him around Hania, and got Hania instead.
"Kalina's….what?" thought Hania, as she sat at the piano, touching the keys slowly. C, C sharp, D. Involved in drugs? Kalina and Maks didn't usually fight. What was it that she had had to keep him from saying?
Here was Maks again. "I'm bored." Maybe it was better when he was ostracizing her. "I'm bored."
"Maks, can you play the piano?"
"No." A fierce look, very reminiscent of his grandmother. "Babcia said I have no talent."
"Mm. She said that about me, too. And then everyone thought I was brilliant."
"So why do you just play da-di-dum-da"––he sang a very good approximation of a scale––"like that?"
"Well, it's a long story. Come, sit here on the piano bench. Sit up straight, hands like so…"
He tried a key or two and began to bang hard on A flat. "Tata makes music like this."
"Er. Yes. But I think we'll start with something else."
"I saw the most enormous young woman going into the Lanskis'," said Pelagia to Konstanty, as he let her into the apartment. "A piano student pressed into babysitting, I suppose. You'd think she'd break the bench. Really, she was like this." Her hands gestured widely around her own slim hips as she dropped her designer handbag on a sofa and sank down beside it with gracefully crossed ankles.
Konstanty regarded his sister. For facial features, Pelagia might have been Queen Jadwiga come to life. Really, why had he never thought of it before? The picture of Jadwiga's tomb effigy came to mind. Only Pelagia, slim in a straw-colored linen suit, had none of Jadwiga's inner demureness.
"So how's the history coming?"
"It's coming. I gave it to the"––his hands imitated her gesture of roundness––"to type and correct. She's Natalia Lanska's granddaughter. She's being very helpful."
Pelagia raised her eyebrows, made a little moue. "Oh, okay." She forgot the subject immediately, moved on to other topics. She was very different from her brother. She spoke whatever came into her mind, moved impulsively and joyously from one activity to another, and threw herself into the organization of gala balls and charity events with a clear sense of mission to advertise the family and keep it in history, or at least in the illustrated journals. That she belonged to an expanding public relations firm and was married to a wealthy German banker both made her task easier. (Actually, the German banker, however estimable, was a bit of a comedown, but no appropriate member of royalty, even minor, had had the sense to notice her by the time she turned thirty-three, and she was one to make the best of things.)
"So are you coming to my house-warming party tonight or have you got a shift?"
Pelagia had
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