Page 32 of The Storyteller of Krakow

‘Damn it to hell and back!’ I yelled, my voice jumping off the walls and echoing back to me.

‘Can I help?’

I turned, not realising someone else had followed me in, and saw a young lad, a teenager of indeterminate age, his face spotted with acne and tufts of thin hair growing from his chin.

‘Sorry. The lift isn’t working,’ I told him. ‘And I’m not sure I will be able to make it all the way up.’

‘Which floor?’ he asked.

‘Five.’

The boy looked at me, then raised his head up and pondered the situation for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

‘Better come with me, then,’ he said.

‘To where?’

‘There’s a service lift. No one uses it really because everyone says it’s a death trap. They say any day now, it will just fall to the ground.’

‘But you use it?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t mind taking my chances. You?’ He pointed to a rear door next to the stairwell. ‘This way.’

He took me through the door that led, what smelled like, to the bins. ‘In here,’ he said, taking me into a small dimly lit corridor.

It was then that I realised I was in some potential danger here. A youth, me, an old woman, in a dimly lit space and no one knew where I was. I didn’t feel afraid, though, just gripped my cane tightly and told myself to give him a good thwack over the head if he tried anything.

‘Here,’ he said, gesturing, thankfully to a large pair of stainless-steel doors.

He pressed the button, let me in first, then pressed floor five.

The lift began to judder upward as if someone were doing this by hand.

‘Told ya, death trap,’ he said, then started to hum a tune to himself.

I decided I quite liked this strange boy and suddenly wanted to know why he was putting himself in danger. Was it for a thrill, or was it something more serious, and he really did not care about death?

Before I could ask him, or try to, we had reached Kasia’s floor.

I stepped out, then turned and thanked him.

‘No problem,’ he said. ‘If you come here again, you know where it is now. Maybe I’ll see you about, and we can take a ride again?’

The doors closed, and the youth disappeared into the dodgy lift, leaving me standing there, smiling. Funny lad. I liked him.

I found Kasia’s apartment easily and was about to knock when I heard raised voices. Or rather, mostly one voice. A man.

He was cursing, and now and then a squeak of reply would come from a woman: Kasia.

His voice got louder and louder, and then there was a crash of sorts.

I did not knock but tried the door handle and was glad to find it open.

Cane in hand, I went in and called out, ‘Kasia!’

I was in the hallway, and she appeared from a room a few feet away, red-eyed and wet-cheeked.

‘Kasia,’ I said and walked to her.