Krzysztof Kieslowski's Confectionery Corner
They say the summer is the time to take a holiday, and I suppose they can't always be in the wrong. So it was, that at the beginning of August, I left my humble home in the Mazurian lakes (cabbage slicer under one arm and a ski under the other) and took to the air. It's been a few years since I left the house, and I'd forgotten how good it can feel. I spent a few hours just drifting around in the sky; you can see so much from up there, although so many of the old buildings are gone now. For instance, the House of Culture in Sokolowsko, whose roof we used to climb to see movies for free, has been knocked to the ground and the sanatorium where my father stayed is now a holiday spa.
In the evening, I turned towards Warsaw, speeding up now. I hurried past the military hospital on Dolna Street where I managed to get myself diagnosed as "schizophrenia duplex", and the escalators in Castle Square where I met my mother in the rain after Lodz rejected me for the second time. I sat myself down outside the old Milk Cafe, where I used to meet Preisner on occasion. These places are one of the few relics of the old days, and it shows. I didn't fancy trying the meal of the day; chlodnik and weak tea, with stale cream cake for dessert. I wasn't really enjoying this part of my trip, to be honest. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered the delicious confectionery Emmanuel Finkiel used to bring me for lunch when I was working on the Trilogy in Paris. "That's what I want to eat!", I thought to myself.
I headed for Okecie Airport; when I arrived I saw that it has been renamed in honour of Frederic Chopin. I guess I wasn't famous enough for them to call the airport after me. I heard that they dedicated a fountain in Krakow, but I would have preferred the airport, to be honest. (If you don't like a fountain, you can't just fly away from it, whereas if you don't like an airport you can buy a ticket and go anywhere else in the world). I checked the timetable, and found the next flight bound for Paris; LO0333. I floated out to the runway, and waited for the plane to takeoff. "After you, Captain, just show me the way", I thought. I drafted off the plane as it made its ascent. I had never flown so high before, and it was incredibly cold. (Even ghosts can get frost bite, you know). But I persisted, and I arrived at Charles de Gaulle shortly before midnight.
Paris is such a beautiful city that I couldn't even think about sleeping. I skirted around all of the old haunts that me and my friends Piesio and Agnieszka used to frequent in the early '90s. Things haven't changed as much here as they have in Poland. I spotted a young couple walking by the Seine, and I started thinking about Irenka. I'm not sure what she is doing these days; she might be living in Paris for all I know. I kept an eye our for her, but I didn't spot her.
In the morning I headed for the Boulevard Saint-Germain to find something to eat. The chocolate hens in the window of Patrick Roger's shop looked inviting, so I headed inside. There was a vast array of sweets of all kinds; it was really very impressive. I moved towards a pretty young waitress: "A couple of fruit pastilles and a bottle of Coca-Cola with a straw in it please", I said, and waited for a response. "She can't hear you, you idiot", I thought to myself. (I forget that I'm dead sometimes!) It was nice to see the fine spread all the same though. However, I soon became homesick. I was a Pole throughout my life, even when I detested the country, and you can't change sides just because you've passed away. Everyone ought to have a place to which they return. I packed up my things, and headed back to CDG. "I've got to get back to my lawnmower and my cigarettes, and my rickety old chair", I thought. "I've got to get back home".
