liked to imagine herself this way while she brushed her hair for hours, sending her parents casual smiles. She loved the worship in their eyes. They were proud of her beauty. Sabina always got what she wanted.
“I have everything!” she repeated to herself proudly, as if she had actually earned all the extravagant, crazy gifts her parents gave her.
Her father was a miner. He had made a fortune. His brothers had worked in Germany. They had made their own fortunes. Sabina liked to spend that money. Dresses, coloured pencils, chocolate, dolls, elastic hair bands, notebooks, medicines, vitamins, oranges. Shoelaces, hats. Everything had come in packages from Germany. Nobody she’d known had had so much.
“It’s too much!” Sabina’s mother used to say sometimes. She was a proud Silesian, the lady of the house, with boundless reserves of energy. But Sabina’s father laughed at her. She took offence and responded by forcing her daughter to do housework, only to abandon the idea after a few days of Sabina’s sorrowful eyes, her hands red from scrubbing the floors.
Soon fashion magazines weren’t enough for Sabina, playing with toys and sitting on the sofa with a mirror for company wasn’t fun anymore. She developed a desire to feel the worship of crowds. She came to see the housing estate as waters far too shallow for her beauty. So she sailed out into the city.
Katowice happily took her. Sabina went wild at discos, parties, and bonfires. She cast happy glances at everyone she seduced. She kissed boys, hidden in the bushes. She drank red wine and smoked. In the end, her parents couldn’t take it. One quarrel, then another. Her father used his belt. One, twice. It didn’t help at all.
“I like it!” Sabina said, and her father simply gave up. Next they apologized. Eventually they began to beg her.
“Sabina, stay at home, please!” her mother implored.
“Sweetie, don’t leave!” Her father had tears in his eyes.
Nothing. All for nothing. Sabina was lost. When she was sixteen years old she went to a party and didn’t come home—disappeared. Her parents went crazy. They were running from one window to another, when suddenly someone rang at the door. They raced to answer it, pushing their way in the corridor.
“Sabina!”
But a man stood behind the door. He was more or less their age.
“Mr and Mrs Neiman?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sabina’s mother dug her fingers into the wall, scoring the wallpaper.
What about Sabina? What about Sabina?
she wondered, fearfully.
“Jan Panek,” their guest introduced himself. “Can I come in?”
So he did. They served him tea. Quickly. And a cookie. Sabina’s parents sat down at the table in the living room.
“What’s the problem?” they asked.
“Sabina, as you must have guessed,” the man began. Sabina’s mother fainted.
Sabina had painted the town red. She had passed out and somehow landed far away from Katowice, in some godforsaken small town. Nobody knew what she’d been doing there. She was alone. Jan Panek found her in a ditch. He heard some groans as he was coming back from an evening walk with his dog, around midnight. He was in the habit of going to bed late. Sabina was lying there amongst burdocks. Her dress was rolled up on the back. She had no pants on.
The man took her with him. He and his wife washed the girl and put her to bed. They didn’t know who she was, so they locked her in a room upstairs. Maybe she was a thief. Before they locked her up, they took her ID. And that was how Jan Panek knew the address. And so he had arrived.
“We have children. We just had to help...” he finished his report. Sabina’s father went pale.
“Let’s go get her,” he said, and raced off to their Fiat 126p. His guest barely kept up with him.
It ended with a beating. A serious one, with a cable not a belt. Sabina had marks all over her body. Her father tore her hair out. He ripped the clothes from her. Her mother just stood by, not intervening at
“I have everything!” she repeated to herself proudly, as if she had actually earned all the extravagant, crazy gifts her parents gave her.
Her father was a miner. He had made a fortune. His brothers had worked in Germany. They had made their own fortunes. Sabina liked to spend that money. Dresses, coloured pencils, chocolate, dolls, elastic hair bands, notebooks, medicines, vitamins, oranges. Shoelaces, hats. Everything had come in packages from Germany. Nobody she’d known had had so much.
“It’s too much!” Sabina’s mother used to say sometimes. She was a proud Silesian, the lady of the house, with boundless reserves of energy. But Sabina’s father laughed at her. She took offence and responded by forcing her daughter to do housework, only to abandon the idea after a few days of Sabina’s sorrowful eyes, her hands red from scrubbing the floors.
Soon fashion magazines weren’t enough for Sabina, playing with toys and sitting on the sofa with a mirror for company wasn’t fun anymore. She developed a desire to feel the worship of crowds. She came to see the housing estate as waters far too shallow for her beauty. So she sailed out into the city.
Katowice happily took her. Sabina went wild at discos, parties, and bonfires. She cast happy glances at everyone she seduced. She kissed boys, hidden in the bushes. She drank red wine and smoked. In the end, her parents couldn’t take it. One quarrel, then another. Her father used his belt. One, twice. It didn’t help at all.
“I like it!” Sabina said, and her father simply gave up. Next they apologized. Eventually they began to beg her.
“Sabina, stay at home, please!” her mother implored.
“Sweetie, don’t leave!” Her father had tears in his eyes.
Nothing. All for nothing. Sabina was lost. When she was sixteen years old she went to a party and didn’t come home—disappeared. Her parents went crazy. They were running from one window to another, when suddenly someone rang at the door. They raced to answer it, pushing their way in the corridor.
“Sabina!”
But a man stood behind the door. He was more or less their age.
“Mr and Mrs Neiman?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sabina’s mother dug her fingers into the wall, scoring the wallpaper.
What about Sabina? What about Sabina?
she wondered, fearfully.
“Jan Panek,” their guest introduced himself. “Can I come in?”
So he did. They served him tea. Quickly. And a cookie. Sabina’s parents sat down at the table in the living room.
“What’s the problem?” they asked.
“Sabina, as you must have guessed,” the man began. Sabina’s mother fainted.
Sabina had painted the town red. She had passed out and somehow landed far away from Katowice, in some godforsaken small town. Nobody knew what she’d been doing there. She was alone. Jan Panek found her in a ditch. He heard some groans as he was coming back from an evening walk with his dog, around midnight. He was in the habit of going to bed late. Sabina was lying there amongst burdocks. Her dress was rolled up on the back. She had no pants on.
The man took her with him. He and his wife washed the girl and put her to bed. They didn’t know who she was, so they locked her in a room upstairs. Maybe she was a thief. Before they locked her up, they took her ID. And that was how Jan Panek knew the address. And so he had arrived.
“We have children. We just had to help...” he finished his report. Sabina’s father went pale.
“Let’s go get her,” he said, and raced off to their Fiat 126p. His guest barely kept up with him.
It ended with a beating. A serious one, with a cable not a belt. Sabina had marks all over her body. Her father tore her hair out. He ripped the clothes from her. Her mother just stood by, not intervening at
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