Evidence
Sunday, December 2nd, 2007My last day in Płock, I returned to the state archives one last time, looking for absolute evidence that I was in fact related to the strangers from Piączyn. The archivist seemed happy to see me back and tried to shake my hand, but I had misread and thought he was reaching for my pen. I ended up stabbing him in the hand with my pen. Such miscommunications transcend all language.
Sifting through the parish birth records one last time, I found another kind of miscommunication, this one over a century old. My great grandfather did have a brother Józef after all- his name had been misspelled in Cyrillic. So we were related, after all.
Before catching a bus to Warsaw, I celebrated the week’s findings the only way I knew how- with a return to my favorite restaurant, Tessa. I ordered a pork chop with surówka, a tasty salad based on red pepper and cabbage. Indecisive between a coffee and a beer, I chose both. Another meal alone, but this time I had the Polish version of MTV. This featured mostly American videos, but with Polish text messages submitted by lovers. For all Płock lacked in a jazz scene, it made up for in excellent food and televisions.
treeseventy