POST SCRIPTUM English__ Feb 2021

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SHORT STORY Drunk bitch Suzy fell over in the middle of the street. I work in a car factory. I say so to everyone, although I actually work for one of the subcontractors. I tighten the screws to parts with names that will tell you nothing. Have been doing this for a year. I also do other things: I sweep, deliver parts, help Frank (my boss), but mainly I tighten screws. Now I’m screwing up, standing by the dirty window and looking for Margaret. It’s past three o’clock. People are leaving work and should soon pass the factory’s windows – the factory that makes things and in which I don’t work but say that I do. Margaret always passes the window. In the summer wearing floral dresses, in the autumn, a long jacket, and during the winter in a worn coat with a fur collar. Sometimes she looks at me. Not always. But now I’m counting on something. On more than just a glimpse. Yesterday in the pub I got the courage and asked her for a date. “Why not?” she smiled. “Call me sometime.” And off she went to her friends from finance. So today, when she passes, I intend to invite her to the cinema and then for dinner at this restaurant with a French name, which God knows how to pronounce. I don’t know French. Suzy got up clumsily, hastily picked up the lunch she was just carrying for her father and fell again. Jesus! Someone will finally walk over her. A damn drunk bitch. “Frank!” I shout, not taking my eyes from the crowd of men and women pouring out of the factory gate. He can’t hear because the grinder is on. I can already see Margaret surrounded by a bunch of friends. The women look through the windows of 36 POST SCRIPTUM Frank’s factory and laugh. I put aside the screw in my hand and run to Suzy. I grab her under her waist like as she was a dog, with my other hand picking up her bag and take her off the road. “Look after your drunken bitch, or next time I will knock her over!” Yells some driver from a red Pontiac, before storming off with a screech of tires. He ran over a salad in a plastic box; Frank will have to do without today. I hold her closely, afraid to let her go so she wouldn’t topple over again. I automatically brush the sand off her arse. She blushed and looked down. I feel uncomfortable too. I look in the direction of Margaret, but she disappeared around the corner. I won’t invite her on a date today. It’s a shame because I already have tickets in my pocket. Bloody drunk whore. I look angrily at Suzy, as she looks down, sensing my distaste. I’m standing by the window again, but I can’t see Margaret. Maybe she took the day off? I saw her friends who looked at me from the other side of the window and started laughing. Margaret wasn’t with them. “Good morning,” Suzy walked into the room, beaming. “I brought you guys some lunch.” For you? I look at her, surprised, as she unpacks boxes and plates. Apparently, for me too. She wants to apologize for yesterday. For my wasted opportunity and missed cinema tickets. Of course, she doesn’t know that. Nobody does. I don’t even talk to Frank about Margaret, although he is the only friend I have. I sit down at the table and eat all the wonderful things his daughter had prepared. Suzy smiles, overjoyed, watching us lick our plates, she kisses her father on the cheek then makes a move as if she also wanted to kiss me, but I move away. I see the smile fading on her face. “Goodbye, Josh,” she says and hurries out, not waiting for us to finish eating to pick up the plates and boxes. Frank stops for a moment, stares at the door through which the Drunk bitch left. He then looks at me saying nothing. We eat. I dance with Suzy in the middle of a large hall surrounded by other couples. There is an annual ball for factory workers. They invited Frank, as a long-time supplier, but he gave me the invitation. “I don’t have anyone to go with” I protest, knowing that this isn’t an excuse; he has no one to go with either. Last Sunday there was a mass for Frank’s wife- the fifth anniversary of her death. “Invite Suzan”, he suggests. What a ridiculous idea! But then I realized that Margaret would be there too.
I’m dancing with the Drunk Bitch as she smiles brightly. She is the only girl I know who can smile like that. Even her eyes laugh. She has this special glow. I notice Suzy has nice breasts and very beautiful legs. I can see it now. Usually the girl wears jeans and jumpers, which hide her perfect figure well. When I think about it, I come to conclusion that she has better legs than Margaret. Not to mention her bum. I still remember these curves from when I brushed her off from the sand. We dance. She didn’t even stumble once. Just in case, I hold her close. I can smell her perfume and the scent of slightly sweaty skin and her freshly washed hair. Beautiful, long and thick hair. She looks into my eyes and I get the first punch to my stomach. Not a real one. Metaphorically. For the next dance I invite Margaret. I am here, bending in front of her, as if my stomach really hurts, trying to shout over the loud music. Maybe my stomach really hurts after all. Out of fear. “Thanks, but no. I need a rest” says the girl. Then she looks at her friends, who burst out laughing, as if I said something funny. I don’t dance well, that’s probably why. I go to my table, where Suzy is still grinning and sit down next to her, disappointed. I can see some guy coming over to Margaret and she goes with him to the dance floor without a second thought. That was a quick rest! Not even a minute had passed. I know this man. He is a manager from quality control. He had called us several times because he wasn’t happy with something we’d done. There was some scratch or something. A terrible crud, but doing what he does, being a crud is probably an advantage. The crud dances with my Margaret, as the Drunken Bitch puts her hand in mine as if we were a couple. It’s good that nobody saw beneath the table. “Don’t give the bitch any alcohol, she’ll be rubbing the floor with her boobs.” Several youngsters from the assembly line pass by our table. They laugh. I see Suzy’s face thicken and feel her fingers clenching my hand. I want to get up, but she stops me. That’s probably for the best- there were four of them. Not to mention the fact that the entire hall is filled with their colleagues. Nobody would help me. I sat back in the chair. It would be nice to hit the twat in the teeth, but it would also be nice not to get my teeth knocked out. I just realized that I am not much better than them. We leave the ball. I hold her waist tight as she hugs me. I feel strange. Ridiculously, incomprehensibly pleasant. My grandfather founded this factory. I won’t mention its name because then you’d know everything. About me and my family. That’s why I won’t tell you. I won’t even reveal the name of the city or the state in which the factory is located. My father’s idea was for me to start with simple jobs and understand workers. He was afraid that they would quickly decipher me at the factory, that’s why he placed me at Frank’s. Frank wasn’t aware either. Somehow, my father managed to arrange all that through someone. A few days ago, the change finally came. I became managing director. I don’t know French, but I know German, Russian and Mandarin. And a little bit of Japanese. I walk with Margaret hand in hand. She is joyful and smells good. Maybe she sprayed her perfume a little too intensively, but the smell is pleasant. Not as sexy as Suzy’s skin, but still nice. We are pass the windows of my former workplace. “I’ll say hello to Frank,” I say. “You must stop hanging out with that pleb,” my Margaret says, cursing her lips in contempt. “I am your girlfriend, so you bring shame not only on yourself, but also to me.” I know she’s right. We pass Frank’s department. With the corner of my eye, I see him covered in a plume of sparks from the grinder. It’s good that he can’t see me. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m afraid” Suzy cries in my arms. “what if it all goes wrong?” Then you’ll continue to stagger walking down the street and people will still call you the “Drunk Bitch.” And I will still love you. I think that in my head, but don’t say anything. We are sitting on a big bed in our new home. Suzy is naked, I hug her body and kiss her neck. I love the smell of her skin and her hair. For a long time, I knew nothing about her illness. Frank never told me. I only talked to him about this once, if you could even call it a conversation. I suggested that Suzy should drink less. He looked at me furiously. Weird, my ex-boss is the gentlest guy I know. “I like you, Josh,” his voice changed, it was as rough as sandpaper “You are a decent boy: smart and hardworking. That’s why I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. Okay?” And that was that. At some point I did find out. Suzan had never been drunk in her life. After having an ordinary flu, she got complications an ear infection, damaging the workings of her inner ear. That’s why she walks like a drunk. Not always. Sometimes she’s normal, and sometimes she can’t maintain her balance. I now have access to my father’s money and I have arranged for her surgery, which is very likely to restore her health. At least the doctors say so. I enjoy the fragrance of Suzan’s skin, hugging her even tighter. And Margaret? “You have to stop associating yourself with the pleb,” she said in front of Frank’s department. And I understood that she was right. I passed some large, dirty windows and pulled my hand out of hers. “Goodbye, Margaret. Call me sometime!” I looked into her big, surprised eyes and started to laugh. I wasn’t laughing at her. Not at anybody. I laughed out of happiness that I’d finally freed myself from her. And I ran home to my “Drunken Bitch” who was just packing lunch for Frank. [JP] POST SCRIPTUM 37
Page 1 and 2: ISSN 2633-1292 POST INDEPENDENT MAG
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Page 5 and 6: ORAPISM 5 POST SCRIPTUM 5
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Page 13 and 14: Face canvas. This is a process. I a
Page 15 and 16: photos: Renata Cygan RC POST SCRIPT
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Page 19 and 20: ABSTRACT /SURREALIST PAINTER LOUI J
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Page 27 and 28: V I S H N E V S K A Y A POST SCRIPT
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Page 35: the glass of the window and feel a
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Page 41 and 42: photos: Renata Cygan POST SCRIPTUM
Page 43 and 44: E R R I C O POST SCRIPTUM 43
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POST SCRIPTUM English__ Feb 2021

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