Anchored To You

Chapter 2

We decided that since we were going “into town,” it meant makeup, dresses, heels and all that. Seeing our involvement, Dad also dressed better than an ordinary sailor. Shirt, jacket, ironed navy trousers and black half-shoes. Through all those months he hadn’t been to a barber. He had long, greying hair that almost reached his shoulders. He hadn’t shaved his beard either. It was neglected and, whatever one might say, it didn’t look good. Which didn’t change the fact that his build commanded respect.

To the tavern we had a whole hundred metres. That was the first disappointment. It wasn’t a restaurant but a dive. Heavy wooden tables, benches, bar stools covered with leather that remembered the Hundred Years’ War — none of it was inviting. That was the second and third disappointment. Dad, however, remained optimistic.

We sat at the end table. He always did that. Many times I had wondered why.

The menu, though, was encouraging and turned out more than decent. After all, it was a port tavern. We sat over the menus and wrote the shopping list. Dad ordered drinks. For me he ordered wine, which surprised me. My birthday was still a month away. Mom was critical.

– She’ll have time, Max.

– Better she drinks with us now than with strangers.

Dad kept topping up my wine glass and I was getting more and more drunk. The waitress took the next order. A young girl who probably came from one of the Slavic countries. Blonde, full-figured, she spoke English with a characteristic accent. Walking towards us, a fat drunk guy coming out of the toilet first bumped into her, causing our drinks on the tray to tip over; then, trying to keep his balance, he pushed her. The waitress fell on her back, dropping the tray with glasses onto herself. The glass shattered and she landed on it with her back. Before I could react, Dad was already with her. He lifted her and checked her back and arms. She was fine. Her wet blouse from the drinks stuck to her breasts. The fatso laughed and dropped heavily into his seat.

– Bring a mop and something to pick up the glass. And don’t worry. Then go wash up and change.

– You Polish?

– Sort of. Slovak?

– Yes.

– Then we’ll get along. Go ahead.

Dad cleaned up the glass and wiped the floor three times. It dried in a moment. Putting away the bucket with the mop and the dustpan full of glass, he headed for the fatso. Mom groaned: Santa Madonna.

– You should apologise to this young lady.

– f**k off. – He sat over his glass, swaying left and right.

– You’re rude, boorish, a simpleton, and probably so drunk you should leave.

– And if I don’t, then what?

– Then I’ll carry you out.

– Threatening?

– Promising.

He stood up. He could barely stand. There wasn’t much space between the tables, the old bar stools and the bar. The bartender stood there trying to work, wiping glasses, but looked frightened at the thought of what was about to happen.

The fatso stood up smiling, with an insolent face. He took an attacking stance. Dad lengthened the distance.

– You can’t handle me!

– Give it a rest. Let it go. Just leave.

– This is my tavern!

His right hand started travelling backwards. Without closing the distance, Dad hit him with a beautiful, polished black half-shoe in a half-turn. The fatso stiffened and fell between the tables and the bar stools. Dad checked that he was definitely unconscious, then turned him onto his stomach with his foot. He lifted the shirt. From the bar he took a tissue and pulled out a knife the man had been holding behind his belt. He laid it on the bar and asked that no one touch it.

He took him by the belt and the neck and carried him outside the tavern so no one would trip over him, then laid him right by the bar window.

He walked back in smiling broadly. The other guests smiled too. Mom was angry.

– Did you have to?

– I had to.

– Dad, you know that daughters look for father prototypes and sons for mothers?

– I read about that once, darling.

– Well, then I won’t find a guy.

– And good. In a moment you’ve got exams, later studies, learning, research… A guy is as necessary to you as a second hole in the a… – He glanced at Hania. – Sorry, Auntie.

– In the ass? Nothing happened, Max. You’re right — Ewa doesn’t need extra activities. If you know what I mean.

– See? Everyone says the same.

– Dad, not everyone has to be right. – I threw a tantrum.

The police arrived, checking what had happened and why someone was lying on the pavement. Dad stood up and identified himself. One of the officers went to the car for an evidence bag. He bagged the knife. Several guests from the tavern were listed as witnesses. After a short conversation they bowed and left.

They picked up the fatso like a sack of potatoes and threw him onto the back seat of the car. After they left we heard whistling and applause. Mostly the waitress and the bartender were happy, but the cooks also came out and clapped for Dad. The rest of the tavern guests joined in. They began standing up simultaneously and putting money on the bar. There was quite a lot of it. Judging by the number of notes, I thought we could drink until morning.

A moment later the barmaid returned. Refreshed, smiling, walking confidently with a tray full of drinks and a bottle of wine.

– Captain, this is from our guests.

– Oh no, no, no! If that’s the case, then we’re buying for everyone!

– That’s not possible. The boss said everything is already paid for. The camera recordings he’ll sell for serious money.

– He’ll make twenty-five euros. What’s your name?

– Julka.

– Thank the boss for me. And come sit with us.

– We’ll be right there. Thank you.

A moment later the owner of the tavern arrived. The same bartender, but dressed normally, without the unnecessary tension. In a T-shirt, jeans and trainers. He brought himself a drink, having first closed the place and turning it into a bit of a private party.

– Captain. Thank you.

– Don’t mention it.

– There is something to thank for. For a week he’d been sitting in the place, terrorising the guests and driving Julka crazy. Me as well. He’d come in drunk and leave barely able to stand.

Julka joined us. I looked at her again, but differently this time — as a woman. She was older than me, maybe three or four years. I decided she was beautiful. Her delicate features, the sensitivity and kindness on her face made me want to get to know her. She sat with a glass of wine, not saying anything.

– Captain, do you have a name?

– Max.

– Captain Max. You’re as much of a sailor as I am a ballerina.

Dad looked under the table at his feet.

– I don’t see any ballet shoes.

– I’ve been running this place for a few years. When people start punching each other, one grabs the other by the shirt and the fists usually come from the right. Then they get up and buy each other rum until morning. You saw exactly what was happening and ended the sailors’ dispute in about half a second.

– I am a sailor. Like my wife and daughter.

– If you say so. My name is Karim.

We all started mixing. We moved between the tables. The men talked about women and fish, the women about men… and men. I overheard a few women saying they’d gladly get to know Dad better. I was curious what it would look like when Dad “let someone down gently.”

I met a young Serb who was on holiday with his parents. Zoran. A handsome dark-haired guy with dark eyes, dressed in brand-name clothes, which put me off a little. He was older than me — roughly Julka’s age. Neither he nor his parents sailed. Yet fate had brought them to the tavern. The three of us sat together.

– What do you do, Julka?

– You mean work?

– No, what are you studying? – She looked at me with a smile and sympathy.

– I don’t know how you know, but yes, I’m studying. Biotechnology.

– Great! In a few years that will be the future!

– Meaning toilets. – Zoran ruined everything.

– You don’t have to be unpleasant. And you, Zoran?

– I’m at the polytechnic studying robotics.

He said it in such a tone that I knew his ego was heavily inflated. The whole charm evaporated.

– And you, queen of the ball, what are you studying?

– Nothing. Finishing school.

– And later?