Our Stepdad

(translated from the Polish by Dawid Mobolaji)
I was telling you about Mama’s boyfriends – about their smell, their strutting around the house, their making love to Mama behind the wall then acting like nothing had happened – about their quarrels with Grandma, too, and the drinking and the beatings these stepdaddies would afford us. Mama was still looking for love and still unable to find the right guy. Dad had disappeared many years ago, and she’d since been wandering from body to body, struggling to find one among the masses with a long enough expiry date, a long enough best-before, a long enough everything. There was no shortage of short-term, fast-track men around – divorcés, narcissists, pathological slobs. Their only virtue was that they swarmed to Mama like fruit flies, as if she were a mythical fly catcher, or even a princess. She just had that something – “a mythical aura,” you might call it. Guys were drawn to her, and she was no supermodel, after all (she had thin hair, eyebrows drawn on by tracing around a glass, a set of mighty thighs and tired, wrinkly hands). They’d wait for her in front of the Lidl, walk her home, take her out for a kebab, then they’d come home with wine or vodka, switch on the tunes, aware that Mama was just as keen.
When Grandma was still alive, she’d scream at Mama, saying she was insulting God, and Mama would run from the house. She couldn’t stand Grandma; she’d sit under the cherry tree and cry. I, on the other hand, couldn't stand Mama crying, so I’d run out as well, Sonia and Daniel after me. We’d all cry together under the cherry tree, the sticky, dream-like fruit popping beneath our feet, as Mama swallowed her tears, hugging us close, saying she only had us in this world. ‘Do you guys really hate being with Tomek, Witold, Staś?’ she’d ask me. What was I supposed to say? Even though I despised the stepdaddies, I’d say: ‘No, they’re alright.’
Grandma then died, but Mama still cried under the cherry tree. ‘I just love Bartek, Maciek, Rysiek. My sweet girl, do you understand?’ she’d press on. ‘Yes, I understand,’ I nodded, even though I knew that in two or three months’ time, I’d once again have to console her, that she’d be sitting under the tree, crying. She’d swear it was the end of it all, and she wasn’t going to keep on hurting herself and her children. Once she stopped crying, I’d go back in. Mama would pray after the break-ups – she’d kneel at her bedside, repeating the Decalogue, Our Father, the Hail Marys. Sonia very much liked this version of Mama. She wanted her to keep praying forever, to never get off her knees. ‘You’re silly. It hurts Mama to kneel. It’s not natural,’ I’d say to my sister, and she’d get moody with me. Meanwhile, Mama kept saying that Grandma was watching over her, that she could see us from heaven. And then she’d meet a man, dress up all “mythical,” sleep with this man on the pull-out sofa, and do everything to try and make him happy. He’d return the favour by kindly tightening a screw or chipping in twenty bucks for the food shop. He’d move in, and then he’d leave. Sonia preferred kneeling, therefore unhappy, Mama. I preferred neither; I’d shake all over whenever I saw Mama with a new guy. I’d hug the walls and imagine myself turning into a chameleon, or some other animal – a computer mouse.
That’s how it all went – the majority of the stepdads were very similar to each other – all until the day Pawełek appeared in our house. He was nothing like the guys Mama had been with before.
/
I always wondered how he’d managed to catch Mama’s attention. She’d been successful with men, after all, and could really have her pick. If there’d been anything of note to him, it was his utter mediocrity. He distinguished himself in his blandness: with his small stature, short thinning hair, yellow teeth, sparse ginger beard and mild scoliosis. Sometimes I’d get the impression he was a schoolboy: a kid not much older than me, held back a few times and now repeating the year, different from his classmates and at the same time assimilating with them. He worked as a driver – he’d deliver this-and-that for so-and-so, but rarely – almost never, in fact. That’s why he had no money, although he didn’t seem to mind that too much; he could get by without it, especially with Mama at his side. He’d laugh at his own jokes. He couldn’t control his legs or arms, which casually trembled most of the time, setting the surrounding glasses, plates, cigarettes and beer bottles into a strange, quaking state, and anyone who was nearby into generalised agitation.
Sometimes, during our merry breakfasts – Mama beamed in the mornings – I’d forget myself. I’d freeze, staring into Pawełek’s beard – those few tufts of ginger hair, sticking out like an insect’s antennae searching for light. Pawełek seemed to be a half-formed person, a being composed entirely of half-measures, a constituent part which had not yet managed to reach full maturity. The sharply pointed chin jutted its coarse hairs into the air like an angry dog, which no one took seriously. I, for one, found body hair embarrassing. I wanted to pluck that which grew on and between my legs and under my arms with tweezers, but I was afraid that it would return to the surface, much thicker. I avoided getting changed in P.E., looking upon the other girls’ smooth, shaved legs with envy. Mama didn’t want to buy me a razor. ‘You’re too young,’ she’d claim. ‘The hair will grow back thicker if you start shaving.’ Easy enough to say, more difficult to sleep with. Especially when you can feel your entire body rising with a violent wave of hard microtips growing under the skin and marching towards the duvet. I’d dream of shaving, but I listened to Mama. I didn’t buy myself a disposable razor. Perhaps the coarse tip of Pawełek’s chin scared me? Perhaps I’d wake up the next day all covered in bristles, all covered in chin. Or perhaps I simply didn’t want Mama to call me a “whore.”
Pawełek’s complicated masculinity didn’t bother Mama. She was pleased, in fact, with this extra child, this heir, who pretended to be a boy among me, Daniel and Sonia, and refused to grow up. Pawełek, who actually understood full well what Mama expected of him, would let himself fall deeper and deeper into boyishness with each day. He could spend half the day sitting on the sofa with a phone in his hand, playing platform games and checking football scores. He’d cuss a lot. One time, Daniel asked him what he was getting so worked up for. He cussed Daniel out, too, and told us to keep quiet. Although later, when Mama was almost home from work, he came into our room. He sat on my brother’s bed and said he was placing bets on matches. His mood was much improved – you could tell he’d finally managed to win something. He introduced us to the world of betting with dedication and gusto. Even when I didn’t want to listen (I pretended that I didn't give a crap and wanted to do my chemistry homework), I still picked up most of it. Daniel was, of course, enthralled. He hung on every word coming out of Pawełek's thin lips. Because Daniel would always get clingy with our stepdads. He needed love – a scrap, at least, of manly affection. He was impressed by anything even remotely man-related. Even things as pathetic as a new phone or football bets. It had to be said, though, that betting seemed to be the one thing that Pawełek knew plenty about. He explained to us that you could bet on absolutely everything – on who’d score, against whom, who’d win, who’d lose. But also on more curious things: Who’d get the Nobel prize? Who’d win Top Model? Who’d get knocked out on the next episode of Strictly Come Dancing? Pawełek would watch sport, meanwhile Mama focused on entertainment – they’d joined forces with the aim of hitting the jackpot. But ultimately, it must’ve been rare for them to strike lucky, since there was no money coming in, and Pawełek was still getting worked up. In the end, Mama banned him from betting. She yelled at him, saying he doesn’t know about a single thing: neither football, nor dance, nor fashion, nor fucking literature.
Another time, Pawełek had made efforts to get us into some films from his youth. In late November, when the days were suddenly turning short and sleepy – but hours at the Lidl were by no means shrinking – he’d persuade us to sit with him in front of the TV and gaze into the screen. He had no taste at all, and it wasn’t even that he’d pick exclusively bad films. That wouldn’t have been so bad. Pawełek simply could not tell the difference between a good film and a bad film. So he’d show us Taxi Driver and Blade Runner but follow them up with the entire Rambo series, Die Hard and all the James Bonds. Sonia would play with plasticine on the carpet; Daniel just slept on the floor. I didn’t have anything to do, so I’d watch. Sometimes, as it turned out, my patience paid off – when Pawełek put on a film that had me glued to the screen, like Batman or Lord of the Rings or The Graduate. And even though the last one was very much to my taste – about a boy and beautiful love against all odds – that evening, as I lay unable to sleep, I realised why Pawełek liked The Graduate so much. If he saw the gorgeous neighbour in Mama, then he’d got it all mixed up.
/
All winter long, Pawełek limited his activities to fucking and loving Mama, showing us films from his childhood, and ineptly betting on football. When things got tight, he’d do a bit of work here and there – putting up Christmas decorations in shopping centres, even working as Santa when the other guy didn’t turn up for the job. In the new year, he did a bit of pizza delivery, but the inconsistent hours tired him out. ‘I don’t want to turn into a robot,’ he’d say, collapsing on the sofa. Or he’d come out with witticisms like: ‘Don’t look for a job, look for money,’ ‘If you can dream it, you can do it.’ He was strangely clued-up – he’d attend economic forums – but I understood nothing of what he said. I mean, I did – as I, too, had dreams – but I knew they would never come true. Mama didn’t want to hear any of Pawełek’s lectures. She’d just shake her head, making us all supper. ‘I just want to relax, I couldn’t care less about that nonsense,’ she’d tell Pawełek, and though it irritated him that his girlfriend didn’t want to wise up, he’d politely come to the table and eat what she’d brought us from the Lidl.
I was slowly getting used to having this additional brother around, even though he was really an additional stepdad. Every now and then, I did treat him like a brother, while he expected me to maintain a level of respect befitting interactions with a stepdad. Other times, I craved the love and the support I typically saw in my friends’ fathers, but he’d brush me off with an awkward smile and reach for his phone or a sandwich, so he could do something else with his hands just to avoid hugging me or, I don’t know, playing with my hair. Because of this uncertainty, I was afraid to speak around Pawełek; his jitteriness, vagueness and lack of a fixed personality scared me. He’d decide how we were going to treat each other, and I had nothing to say in the matter. Daniel didn’t have such problems: he saw Pawełek as an avatar, a replacement for our ever-absent father. He did everything to get in his good books: he’d compliment Pawełek, invite him to play, follow him with his gaze. And Pawełek, aware of Daniel’s devotion, used the boy in every way possible – it even got to the point where Pawełek made a deal with the neighbourhood shopkeeper and would send Daniel out to get him beer or cigarettes. Daniel met our stepdaddy’s demands with admiration – he’d walk along the pavement with a bag full of clanging bottles, a pack of cigarettes in his hand, while everyone wondered what kind of crack den our place was turning into. Pawełek would nod his head at the boy – he took these favours for granted. Although, he sometimes offered Daniel a little glass of Żubr or Harnaś beer. One time, he’d slipped a stinking cigarette into Daniel’s lips to try and teach him how to take a drag, but Daniel had a coughing fit and vomited for the rest of the day. Sonia’s treatment of Pawełek was ambiguous: she did sometimes grasp his calf and hug it tightly, but more often than not she’d avoid him, hiding in the shadows and the corners like a little rodent. She couldn’t trust him, though for no conscious reason. Mama was the same, even though her and Pawełek were the closest. She wasn’t a specimen of boundless affection towards Pawełek – she sometimes had enough of him; she’d push him away or hide in her room, leaving our stepdad at the mercy of the empty kitchen.
In the spring, Pawełek got all thin and grey in the face. He’d been working on a building site for months, since Mama decided the time had come for our stepdaddy to grow up. She’d wake him up at the crack of dawn, get him dressed and lead him towards the gate. ‘I don’t want to see you back here without the day’s pay,’ she’d warn him, and in the evenings – because it was the evening by the time he got back – she’d count the money he brought back. Of course, she forgave him the pack of Rothmans he’d smoke while plastering walls, and the mini-bottle or two he’d drink on his breaks. He’d never tried to make her believe he worked entirely sober. In any case, he’d give her back the rest of the money.
After two months, he rebelled – he collapsed on the sofa and said he can’t go on any longer. He’d brace his back, bleating that he was going to start his own business and show everyone what’s what. Daniel would bring him beer and sandwiches, then fluff his pillows and fetch the cigarettes. Sonia and I felt sorry for Pawełek, too. He looked awful, lying under the duvet like a used-up doll, still stinking of cement. I made Mama promise she wasn’t going to force Pawełek to bring in the money. ‘You could’ve killed him,’ I said. But Mama was gradually getting fed up with our stepdad; limp and useless, he was only getting in the way. ‘Come here, you invalid,’ she’d call for him at suppertime. ‘What kind of a man are you?’ she’d say, when he complained of backache. ‘Vegetable, vegetable!’ when he moaned, climbing up the stairs. ‘Beetle, beetle!’ because he couldn’t get out of bed.
Filip would cry behind the door to get inside, but Mama wouldn’t budge, saying we’re overcrowded as is. The dog knew full well that he couldn’t sleep on the sofa because of Pawełek’s living with us, and he came to hate our stepdad with the entirety of his dog heart. He’d bark at him, then whine at night, frightfully so, as if trying to swallow the moon. Stop crying, jealous-pants! I love you, you know that. I walk you, and I pluck your first, springtime tics. It’s Mama who says you’re not allowed in the house. I’m fighting your corner. I have a tummy ache from stressing that you’ll freeze to death outside. But for the time being, we need to worry about Pawełek’s health.
Filip did not freeze. It got warm out, Pawełek’s bones rallied, and our stepdad decided to take us on a trip in order to redeem himself. We took Filip as well – I’d insisted, dug my heels in for my dog.
The journey began with making sandwiches and loading Filip, who didn’t want to get in, into the car. Pawełek had sourced a car from a mate. I didn’t know he had mates, since he’d never actually meet up with anyone, but it turned out that he did have them – ones with cars at that. Mama gave Pawełek fifty to fill the tank. I felt such pride. We drove fast, but for a very long time – the town gave way to a village, then that village to another village, then that to another, and so on. We went past the ring road, past fourteen grocery shops, past eight churches and two cemeteries. Pawełek kept on turning, decelerating, looking around, accelerating, until we all felt nauseous, but of course none of us said a word. We didn’t want to anger him, especially since a thick, bluish vein had emerged on his forehead. He was getting annoyed – he couldn’t find the way, and we had to turn back several times. The sun hung high, and I was afraid we wouldn’t make it on time, but Pawełek finally stumbled upon the right track and darted ahead. We turned into a gravel road, welcomed by clouds of dust. We drove along the forest, and I watched the cheap, little houses with mangled fencing. Their front yards teemed with children, hens and geese. I didn’t know what to think of it all. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I didn’t have it so bad, after all, and I oughtn’t complain. I smiled and kissed Filip while he barked at the countryside mutts. Pawełek unexpectedly stopped the car in front of a hovel drowning in nettles. Some hen shrieked and ran out from under the wheels of our Ford towards the quiet, wooden house. Its roof glimmered with fibre cement, and there was a well out front. Pawełek made a pained face.
‘This is where I was born,’ he said quietly. ‘This is why I haven’t made it big.’
It was difficult for me to understand exactly what he meant, but I nodded politely. When someone shows you a pathetic, little shack in the middle of nowhere and says, ‘This is where I was born,’ then they’re surely hoping for at least a shred of sympathy. I thought Pawełek was going to pop into his old stomping ground, but no – he re-started the engine and darted ahead, or plodded ahead rather, since the car was constantly falling into potholes, wheezing. Pawełek kept saying his fucking suspension was going to go any minute now. We eventually reached the forest parking area, and the Ford could finally rest. Filip had got terribly excited – he started hopping around the trees, peeing here and there with joy. Pawełek told us about the forest. He explained this was pretty much where he’d been raised – away from civilisation, surrounded by nature, in a primaeval world – that he’d eat breakfast in the company of foxes, and dinner with wild boars. Looking at Mama, I felt embarrassed – because it was only in the forest, removed from the streets, the buildings and the fences of the city that I noticed the cheapness of her clothing. The shiny rubber flip-flops, the nylon mini-shorts exposing her wide thighs, the polyester crop top with the slogan “Born cheeky” – it all seemed to now jar me with its artifice, and I was afraid she’d soon set the forest – shimmering from the heatwaves – aflame with her scorching polymers.
Pawełek hadn’t lied; he did know the way. He led us with skill and soon – as if by the touch of a wand – we found ourselves on the beach. Ahead of us was the sparkling lake, encompassed from all sides by the dense forest. Excited by this miracle, we ran to the shore. The water was very dirty, the sand floor barely visible, full of little branches and pieces of bark carried here by the wind. Mama laid out a blanket and threw “Born cheeky” over her shoulder. I took off my shoes, though I didn't want to remove my T-shirt or trousers around Pawełek. Daniel and Sonia stripped down to their underwear, and Paweł jumped in after them. I envied Sonia, because the infancy of the body was only hers to enjoy. I, on the other hand, was suspended between the desire to swim and the polyester femininity spreading out on the sand and the blanket.
Sonia paddled near the shore, but Pawełek and Daniel went in deeper. My brother could not swim, of course. Where was he supposed to have learned? He played all cocky now. He’d call Filip from the shore, and the dog would quiver, touching the water with its paws. I felt like pushing him in with my foot, but he was completely shaky, and I decided not to take advantage of my human power. Can’t you swim doggy? I thought maliciously. The dog got offended, dropped down on the sand and ran off. He barely got to the blotch of shade under the pine tree before collapsing there, paying no heed to the roots. Not even a colony of rabbits would’ve roused spent Filip.
I saw Daniel and Paweł in the middle of the pond; the sun rested on my eyelids then died. Pawełek grasped Daniel at the waist and laid him across the water like a paddle. And Daniel submitted himself to our stepdad with a brief sigh, with the relief characteristic of an abandoned child finally experiencing skin-on-skin contact. He felt in Pawełek’s arms like a precious stone – cleansed after many years and admired at last. They swam side by side, and Daniel kept sinking under, drowning for a few seconds, then returning to the surface, brought back to life by Pawełek’s surprisingly strong arms. Sonia wanted to join them. She wanted to learn to swim in our stepdaddy’s arms. But I grabbed her by the hand just in time. ‘No, stay. You’re a little girl, you shouldn’t.’ Pawełek tossed Daniel up in the air – the boy slipped out of his hands, flying through the air, and fell a few metres away with a splash. He’d glimmered in the air like a real stone, didn’t emerge for quite some time, and everyone except for Mama got scared that Pawełek had broken our brother’s back. But he ultimately reappeared, even further away and waved at us, proud of himself and of measly Pawełek, who’d proved himself mighty.
When they finally came out onto the shore, I noticed that their bodies were coated with a strange, green layer. Mama had dried up and melted, leaving behind the sticky polyester glimmering on the sand. Pawełek spread out nearby and smacked Mama on the ass with an open palm. The ass jiggled. Mama sighed, and Pawełek sent us to fetch branches and pinecones. He then stoked a bonfire on the sand and heated the sausages we’d brought from home. I ate without appetite – with a strange, hot emptiness in my stomach. And regret. The meat disintegrated into a million little pieces in my mouth, got between my teeth and stayed, which is why I only chewed and spat into my hand to give the scraps to Filip.
On the way back, Pawełek stopped the car near the shack and told us to stay in the car for a moment. He went off by himself to visit the old stomping ground – the countryside home at fault for him not making it big. It got horribly muggy; I was afraid we’d all suffocate in the red-hot Ford. Filip, Sonia and Daniel’s eyes were wide open. Thankfully, Pawełek didn’t stay with his family for too long. After a few minutes, he came back.
‘It’s like Mad Max in there,’ he said and started the engine. ‘Everything’s dried to a crisp. All the cherries eaten by birds. And, well, my mother’s buried.’
We all struggled for a breath, but we sat there quietly. Only Filip panted loudly. When someone comes back from their family home, saying it’s like Mad Max in there, they deserve at least a shred of respect. And Pawełek certainly knew what he was saying, because between March and April, when it happened to get quite rainy, he’d re-watched all the instalments with us. We’d watched the desert adventures, chases and meals, sad about the rain and the fact we couldn’t play outside and free ourselves for a moment from the forever imposing Pawełek, for whom we now felt very sorry – because of his mother and the sand, the sand and his mother. Because it must’ve all been forever connected. I later wondered, as I watched Pawełek who’d since the trip become a ball of nerves and monosyllables, what he’d really seen in the house. I imagined his five sisters, now akin to tree wraps, their dry, flat faces, the scraps of hay protruding from their ears, lips and noses, and the black, pebble-like, toothless mouths. The sisters could’ve lunged at him, scratching him with their hay, stinging with their nettles, beating him with whatever they had on hand – buckets, rakes, some old spade – while he stood, unable to move. He’d left these five weird, somewhat handicapped sisters behind and walked away, while they dried to dust and buried their mother in the well. It didn’t respond with a splash, only emptiness. They’d come to hate Pawełek, but they were too afraid to follow him.
/
Mama loved Pawełek, but she mustered up the strength to ask him to leave the house. He didn’t protest too much, though he was surprised it had really come to this. He unstuck himself from the furniture with difficulty. The table, the sofa and the toilet had darkish stains left behind by his body. I spent several days running around with a rag, wiping off these last traces of our stepdad.
I don’t know myself what I was feeling. It had all been a little straining for me, while Daniel fell into a real depression – he lost the patchwork daddy who’d taught him how to swim in the dirty, green pond. Mama was alone again – she’d walk to the Lidl, come back and smoke, leaning against the kitchen counter. I also started smoking here and there. Mama then found us another, and then another, and then another stepdad. Each of them was uglier and dumber than Pawełek, but their transience made up for their defects. In any case, after Pawełek, Mama stopped deluding herself that she was going to find us a real dad, so she sought love that was discreet and murky. None of the other stepdads imposed themselves on us to a significant degree. Though sometimes we’d still hear their dense, sliding movements behind the wall. They pottered around Mama’s body without the discretion or the sensitivity so characteristic of Pawełek.