The Calm
Looking over an overcast city, the father sheds a single tear. It rolls down his rough pale face changing path with the contours and creases. The city looked back at him, it's few streetlights shared the same feeling, they flickered as they fought against the darkness. Omnipresent, and searching. “Понаехавшие” scarred itself across the father’s mind. A slight breeze whispered in his ear and foretold a storm on the horizon, he was unmoved by this and made his last step.
About five years and three months before, an East German family had moved to Poland. An unusual move that wouldn’t have been warranted if not for the father’s military rank amongst the Soviets, a move that found them living in their grandmother’s house, in the destitute outskirts of Radom. A hope of a new life for their son beckoned the German family to this foreign world, a desperate plea for salvation following recent troubles. The salvation they found took the shape of a pre-war bungalow, two bedrooms, a single bathroom and a square of a kitchen. The smell of mould lingered on all the walls, water damage congregated on a singular spot on the ceiling, and the only sources of light came from old roman candles. What was to become of this life was unknown to anyone at this time, the mother laboured in an unforgiving factory whilst the father spent most of his time in Russia as a major in aviation. This was the world Otto had come to claim, the son that had been promised so much, yet he was still waiting.
Life would then show its teeth in the most aggressive of ways over these next few years, nothing could have prepared Otto for what was to be a truly perplexing year that he could not even begin to grasp. Incidents that caused grave pain upon the family were to become a challenge that would be soon forgotten. The mother had come home late at night, every night, every week, blackened by dirt and oil. Her straw-like hair would resume life after a thorough wash once a week and her charcoal skin would see light for a few days. The coughing persisted, however, no wash warm or cold could prevent that. Otto knew this was irregular and it troubled him for some time, long enough for it to become normal to him, the mother coughed at that was to be expected from here on out. The trips to the hospital followed, Otto did not accompany the mother, he sat playing Blackjack with the great grandmother whom he called “Oma”. By the time the hospital trips became increasingly regular, the father had left and not returned. The mother was never the same after that. Otto was troubled by this, confusion clutched him, and it never let go.
