Swans Are Fat Too by Michelle Granas Page A

Christian injured a Jew 'with a bloody wound' he was required to give him half his possessions; anyone jeering at a synagogue was to be fined in pepper. Muslims, like Jews, were also left to pursue their religion unimpeded; nor was either Islam or Judaism a barrier to ennoblement. 
    The prevalent attitude was tolerance. King Zygmunt the Elder declined to get involved in religious matters; 'permit me to rule over the goats as well as the sheep,' he said, and his son Zygmunt August was similarly broadminded. 'I am not the king of your consciences,' he told the parliament.
     
     

 
     
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    Konstanty, seated at a restaurant table, was regarding Agata with a serious look. She was very prettily dressed today; he couldn't have recounted the exact details, but he had a general impression of elegance. However, she wasn't listening to him, or she wasn't responding anyway. He said that he would like to see the Land of the Falling Lakes.
    She said, giving a passing woman the once over, that she'd never heard of the Lake of a Thousand Fishes.
    He said it was a wildlife reserve in Croatia that had been much disturbed by war.
    She said she got tired of people talking about Iraq.
    He said he'd read an interesting article on linguistics.
    She said linguini always had too much garlic and what did he think of The Da Vinci Code ?
    Still, when he mentioned President Kaczyński and she said she didn't care for potatoes, he thought it was mildly encouraging.
     
    Konstanty, reading his email that evening, was disconcerted. Left town? Without saying anything to him? Well, why shouldn't she have done, and what business was it of his?
    He opened 'new mail' and typed:
    Respected Madam …Somehow writing emails always made a person more uninhibited. He wrote in a way he would not have spoken, a way he would not––quite––have written had he been holding a pen, seeing the words form on paper. The computer added an element of impersonality to the whole exchange. The fact that she was at a distance also freed him somewhat. He didn't think much about what he was writing; his thoughts just came out his fingertips.
    Thank you for sending the next section. I've had a less than entertaining day. Lunch with a woman who made me feel the existential isolation of every individual and of myself in particular––if I weren't so imperviously conceited already, I'd have come away feeling I hadn't a thought worth sharing. We might have been two robots knocking with programmed fingers on each other's plated aluminum casing––and getting, of course, no answer. Dinner with a colleague whom I used to think tolerably intelligent. Perhaps my luncheon date had made me incautious. A propos of a discussion on town planning I told him––why?––that I wonder at the number and size of Warsaw's statues to soldiers.  I got carried away: I suggested that perhaps some negotiators––however futile their efforts––should be looked up out of history, even very minor ones––some little clerk, maybe, who heroically lifted his hand and said 'Wait. I think we should talk about this first,' or 'I doubt this is really worth it?'––and put upon a pedestal. His best response was to smile patronizingly at me and say 'don't tell me anyone could have behaved more gloriously than the heroes of the Warsaw Uprising.' The heroes of the Warsaw Uprising! 150,000 civilians died!
    ...I'm cataloguing all the obstacles ideas encounter:  there's the mental turn off, the attitude of mental superiority, the anger, the lack of imagination. The worst is that I find such mechanisms in myself as well. 
    I'm very obliged to you––if you're still reading––for allowing me to unburden myself. I didn't know you were leaving. When will you be back? I hope you enjoy yourself.
    He got a rapid reply. 
    Respected Sir, I don't know when I'll be back. I'm sorry you had such a day. I agree with you about the statues. A few days ago I passed the one by the parliament buildings