K.K.

by Greggory Moore
© 2000

he sidewalk café was crowded with the usual lunchtime throng. A red-haired woman of 35 sat slouched in her chair, black-rimmed sunglasses shielding her eyes from the unhindered sunlight. A woman reading at a table next to hers looked over at her now and then as if she thought Katerina was looking at her; but Katerina was lost in thought, her gaze unfocused. She was thinking about the seven-day trip she was about to undertake with her latest lover. The lover, in his mid-50s, was an individual for whom she felt absolutely no passion. They had been involved with one another for two months, and he had already declared his undying love for her, wanting to marry at the earliest feasible date. Katerina, however, knew that there was no real future with this man. She knew, also, that she had remained with him after their initial two or three trysts because of his apparent adoration of her. She also suspected that his wealth was a sort of magnet that helped to hold her in place; but, whenever this occurred to her, she would do her best to put it out of her mind, as she did not want to face this side of her character. Seven days and six nights in Acapulco, she intoned internally. Seven days and six nights. She did not notice the man crossing her line of sight. As he passed by her table, the man sent a fifty-cent piece spinning into the air with his right thumb. In the middle of its descent, he slapped it onto the back of his left hand and looked at it: it was heads.

Katerina's lover walked up to where she was sitting. "Hi, honey. You all ready?" He reached down and stroked her hair affectionately.

Katerina had not seen him approach, and was started from her reverie by his voice. "Oh. Yes, yes." She picked up her travel bag from the chair next to her, then reached into her purse, looking for money. "Were you able to see Véronique?"

"No, I didn't get a chance. But I left her a note," he replied.

"Oh. Father of the year," Katerina breathed to herself as she was standing up.

"I'll take that," her lover said reaching for the travel bag. She allowed it to be slipped off of her shoulder, and then placed three one-dollar bills on the table. "Ready?" the man asked. He leaned into her and kissed her on her right cheek. "I'm really excited about this trip."

Katerina removed a pack of cigarettes from her purse, shook the pack twice, and removed a protruding cigarette to her lips. "Me, too," she said. The man softly ran his left hand down her right arm. Katerina smiled at him and lit her cigarette with a blue Bic lighter. "Well," she said exhaling smoke, "shall we?" Her lover's smile became accentuated, and he turned without speaking to lead her away. Katerina's travel bag glanced the head of the woman at the next table. The woman jerked forward and craned her head around to look at Katerina's lover, but he was unaware of his faux pas.

"I'm sorry about that," Katerina said as she passed the woman. "He's really clumsy." She took a deep drag of her cigarette and followed her lover into the parking lot, thinking vaguely for a moment about the woman to whom she had just spoken.

35-year-old college-educated file clerk sat with her back to the sun at the same sidewalk café at which she spent her lunch hour every weekday, eating a Chinese chicken salad and reading. She was unable to concentrate on her book, however, because it seemed to her that the woman at the next table was staring at her. She looked up at the woman from time to time, but the woman did not seem to notice. She's not looking at me, Katerina thought. Just spacing out, I guess. She reached for her fork and prepared another mouthful of food (careful to include a sampling of all of the salad's ingredients) and resumed reading after finding her place: Having eaten as a man eats in contemplation of a rich dinner-party, that is having taken a bite "to stay the pangs of hunger," as they say. She did not notice the man crossing her line of sight. As he passed by her table, the man sent a fifty-cent piece spinning into the air with his right thumb. In the middle of its descent, he slapped it onto the back of his left hand and looked at it: it was heads.

A man's right hand softly brushed against Katerina's red hair as he moved past her, and she looked up to see him greet the woman across from her. Katerina took another forkful of salad as she watched the couple talking. She tilted her head slightly to the side so as to be better able to make out what they were saying.

". . . see Veronika?" she heard the woman ask.

"No, I didn't get a chance. But I left her a note," the man replied.

Katerina couldn't make out what the woman said to this, and lost interest in following the conversation. She sipped from her water glass and began to read again. She had not been reading long when she was jolted by a sharp bump to her head. She irritatedly looked behind her and saw the man to whom she had been listening a few moments earlier walking towards the parking lot with his back to her. He shouldered a white travel bag that bounced in time with his steps.

"I'm sorry about that," came a voice from above her. She turned and saw the woman who had been seated at the next table. "He's really clumsy." Katerina looked intensely at the woman and thought she saw a noticeable torpor in the woman's eyes. The woman followed in her companion's path, but Katerina did not turn to watch the woman's pursuit, struck for a moment by the woman for a reason unknown to her. Odd, she thought. Probably just the glasses. After another moment, she returned to her book, taking a long draught of water as she slowly turned the page with her right hand.

For Krzysztof Kieslowski, in memoriam - March 1996