“byly sobie kotki dwa ...
“A-a-a, kotki dwa,
“szarobure, szarobure obydwa ...”
“What do those words mean, Angie? Are you aware of the meaning?”
She hummed the tune, and it made dapples of sunshine in her mind. “There ... were once two little kittens. A-a-a, a-a-, two little kittens ... they were both grayish-brown. Oh, sleep, my darling. If you’d like a star from the sky, I’ll give you one. All children, even the bad ones, are already asleep, only you are not ...”
“A lullaby,” he said softly, and his voice seemed to come from so very far away, from another time and space. “It’s making you even more sleepy. You’re going to go deeper. Who is singing?”
“She is.”
“And who is she?”
Light shattered the darkness like a breaking mirror. Her pulse quickened. She struggled to come up, fast. Not nice down there, not safe ...
“It’s okay, Angie, it’s fine. You’re fine. Youaresafe. She’s singing the song. Can you hear it again—those words, that tune? Sing some more.”
She nodded, the warmth coming back, and she whispered,“Oh, sleep, because the moon is yawning and he will soon fall asleep. And when the morning comes, he will be really ashamed, that he fell asleep and you did not ...
“A gdy rano przyjdzie swit
“ksiezycowi bedzie wstyd,
“ze on zasnal, a nie ty ...”
She stopped, feeling confused.
“What is she doing now?”
“Holding my hand.”
“What does she look like?”
Angie started shaking her head side to side. Dark. Very dark. An image slammed her brain. “A man is in the room. On her. On top of her. He ...” Tears burned. She gripped the armrests tight. “He’s grunting like a dog. He’s ... like a dog on top of her. Breathing funny ... not nice.Not nice!” She put her hands tight over her ears. “Go ’way. Get off! Stop it!”
“It’s okay, let’s get out of that room for now. Go to the door. Open it. Can you do that?”
She shook her head. “Locked.” Her breaths came faster. “Go away.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going to give you a magic key. I want you to use that key to open that door, and I want you to go through it.”
Angie took the key that was suddenly in her hand. A big bronze key like the one in the picture of her fairytale book. She turned it in the lock and creaked open the big door. Light—so white it was blinding—came through the opening.
“Go through the door, Angie.”
But she turned instead, looking back into the darkness of the room, and she held out her hand. “Come,” she whispered.
“Come playum, dum grove.” Suddenly there was a basket in her other hand.“Jestesmy jagódki, czarne jagódki,”she said.
“What does that mean, Angie?”
She began to sing.“We are small berries, little black berries ... We are small berries, black berries.”
“Who are you singing to?”
“She must come, to play. We go to dum grove, down indum trees. Bring baskets. Berries.”
