Chapter XXIX

"She won't come," "she isn't going anywhere" — his mother's words rang in Piotr's ears like both a sentence and an accusation. After so many years of life together, after so many promises that had proved worth less than he wanted to believe, he felt naïve once again. Had Małgorzata sent him to Canada merely to rid herself of a problem? Had she known from the beginning that she would never leave Legionowo, while he furnished a home, looked for work, and waited for his family?

— I have to go back. Immediately — he said aloud, though there was no one in the empty apartment to hear him.

For a moment he could already see himself at the airport, holding a ticket bought with his last money. Before he began checking flights, however, he picked up the telephone. First he tried to reach Rozalka. She did not answer. So he called his wife.

— Well, we're packing — he heard Małgorzata say calmly. — The whole room is full of boxes. I've been taking some things to the market to sell them. We can't possibly bring everything with us.

Piotr fell silent. Her voice was calm, without a trace of hesitation. Małgorzata spoke of cartons, bags, and suitcases, of things sold for very little and of others that no one wanted to buy. He might have dismissed the declaration itself as another attempt to reassure him from a distance, but the details sounded too concrete.

— And the tickets? — he asked.

— We have them. The children know we're flying. We just have to finish everything here.

What he heard from his wife did not match his mother's account. Jadwiga insisted that her daughter-in-law was telling friends something entirely different. Rozalka still did not answer, and she was the only person Piotr trusted without reservation. Only his daughter could tell him what was really happening at the apartment on Sowińskiego Street. Even so, he calmed down a little. At least that night he did not look for a ticket home.

The next day he finally spoke to his daughter.

— Are you really packing? — he asked without preamble.

— We really are. There are boxes everywhere — Rozalia replied. — Mom takes things to the market to sell. But before that, she was telling other people we weren't going anywhere. I heard her myself.

Confirmation also came from his parents. Jadwiga sent her husband "on reconnaissance," as she put it. Adam was to look in on his daughter-in-law's apartment and find out whether the preparations existed only in stories told over the telephone.

— Your father was there — she reported afterward. — He says everything really is packed. Boxes along the walls, closets almost empty. Everyone is talking about the trip.

It seemed that Małgorzata either remained undecided until the very last moment or did not want to reveal her plans to other people. Piotr could not tell whether she had truly been wavering or had merely wanted to leave herself a way out. He knew only that by November 5, the apartment on Sowińskiego Street was almost empty.

Three days later, a small table stood in the middle of the nearly vacant room, surrounded by the last chairs left behind. Drinks, pizza, a few simple dishes, and whatever could still be found in the emptied kitchen had been placed on it. Małgorzata sat with the children. Krystyna Sołoduszkiewicz came with her husband, Jacek, and with them came Stanisław Stachnik, whom Krystyna had invited to her sister's home.

It was a farewell gathering, though not everyone used that word. The adults spoke more loudly than usual, as if the noise could drown out the knowledge that the next day the whole family would set off for the other side of the world. Krzyś drank juice from a large glass, Tomisław moved between the chairs, and Rozalia listened closely to the adults' conversation.

— So when are you coming back? — someone asked, half joking and half serious.

— First we have to get there — Małgorzata replied. — Then we'll see how it goes.

— Has Piotr arranged everything already? — Krystyna asked.

— That's what he says. Apparently the house is ready.

Małgorzata said neither that she was happy nor that she regretted leaving. Her voice carried the caution of someone unwilling to make any declarations before seeing the new place with her own eyes.

The next day, the novelty of the journey quickly gave way to exhaustion. Long hours in airplane seats and the steady drone of the engines took their toll. Krzyś nestled against his mother. Małgorzata tried to watch the younger children, the documents, and the carry-on luggage all at once. Rozalia and Paweł managed on their own, but every so often Tomisław asked how much farther they had to go.

— Is Canada very far? — he finally muttered.

— Very far — his mother replied. — But Dad is already there waiting for us.

After many hours of flying, inspections, and waiting, they finally saw Piotr. As he looked at all five of them — the bags, the tired faces, the children's coats draped over their arms — he could not think of anything sensible to say. Months of loneliness ended in a single instant. His family had truly arrived.

The house at 28 Dovercrest Way SE was not impressive. It stood in an ordinary neighborhood of low, similar-looking buildings near a busy road. The most noticeable features of the living room were a brick fireplace, secondhand sofas upholstered in a pale pattern, and a round table covered with a lace doily. Piotr had arranged family photographs on the mantel. Pots, plates, silverware, and basic groceries waited in the kitchen. The furniture did not match, but it served its purpose. The house no longer resembled the empty quarters of a man who had arrived alone and lived out of a suitcase.

Małgorzata looked around without visible delight, but also without open disappointment. She took off her coat, sat in an armchair, and closed her eyes for a moment. The children, meanwhile, moved from room to room, opening doors, peering into closets, and checking where they would sleep.

— Is this mine? Really mine? — Rozalia stood in the largest bedroom.

— Yours — Piotr confirmed. — You'll sleep here, do your homework, and keep your things here.

— And our bedroom? — Małgorzata asked.

Piotr showed her the smaller room.

— Why did our daughter get a bigger room than we did?

— Because she'll use it during the day as well. We come to the bedroom mainly to sleep. There's room for everyone in the living room. Besides, remember that she was always there with me — whatever the circumstances, at every stage. She deserves the larger room now.

— You could have discussed it with me.

— I was trying to prepare the house before you arrived.

It was not yet an argument, but rather the first collision between two ways of thinking. Piotr saw a practical solution. Małgorzata saw a decision made without her. Standing in the doorway, Rozalia stopped smiling and began unpacking her bag, pretending not to listen.

The first evening quickly drained everyone's strength. Paweł sat on the sofa beside a large travel bag. The younger boys fell asleep where they had earlier been playing and scattering things pulled from the suitcases. One curled up on the edge of the sofa; the other lay down on the floor among clothes and blankets. Małgorzata, still dressed, sank into the armchair by the table. Piotr poured drinks, brought plates, and tried to explain where the nearest store, bus stop, and school were. No one had the strength to listen.

— Tomorrow I'll show you everything — he promised.

— Tomorrow, first let us recover — Małgorzata replied.

Piotr wanted to share as quickly as possible everything he had spent the previous months discovering alone. He wanted to show his family Calgary, the public transit system, the stores, and the places that, in his eyes, proved the decision to emigrate had made sense. For November 11, he planned a trip to a water park.

The morning was spent dressing the children and searching for hats, gloves, swimsuits, and towels. There was not much snow yet, but the wind cut through their clothes. They stood at the bus stop burdened with bags while Piotr explained the route: first one bus, then a transfer at Southland Station, followed by another connection.

— Do you have to travel like this everywhere without a car? — Małgorzata asked.

— For now. Public transit works well; you just have to know the connections.

— The children can barely stand after the trip, and you're dragging them halfway across the city.

— I wanted to give them something enjoyable. Sitting at home won't help them recover any faster.

On the bus, Paweł sat beside Krzyś. Wrapped in a hat and winter coat, the younger boy gazed through the window at broad streets, low houses, and unfamiliar signs. Piotr and Małgorzata sat across the aisle. He smiled, happy that for the first time the entire family was traveling together through Calgary. She was tired and tense and clearly did not share his enthusiasm.

— Is it much farther? — Tomisław kept asking.

— Not much farther — his father answered every time, though another transfer still lay ahead.

Years later, Małgorzata still recalled the outing as proof that Piotr had disregarded her exhaustion. What he remembered most was his joy at having the family together and his inability to understand why an attempt to please the children had been received as yet another wrong. The same day remained in their memories in two entirely different versions.

The first days also brought a misunderstanding to which Małgorzata would return many times afterward. While unpacking, she placed a tied plastic bag beside a kitchen cabinet. Piotr normally left the garbage bag in that spot before carrying it outside. When he saw the bag, his only thought was that it looked bad: his wife had just arrived, and trash had already been left standing in the kitchen. He picked it up and carried it to the dumpster.

Only several days later did Małgorzata begin nervously searching the cupboards, suitcases, and boxes.

— I left a bag of medicine here. Haven't you seen it?

— No. What bag?

— A plastic one, tied shut. It was standing right here.

Piotr looked at the spot beside the cabinet and felt a rush of heat.

— I thought it was garbage.

— You threw away my medicine?!

— It was standing exactly where I always put the garbage bag. You didn't tell me anything.

— It never occurred to me that you would throw out a bag without looking inside!

— And it never occurred to me that someone would leave medicine beside the garbage.

There was no way to recover the contents of the bag. The medicine Małgorzata had brought despite her husband's assurances that obtaining medication in Canada would not be a problem had ended up in a landfill. To her, it was not merely a loss but further proof that Piotr acted without thinking. To him, it was the unfortunate result of a misunderstanding for which he was blamed as though he had done it deliberately. Before long, Małgorzata's relatives and friends all knew the story of the discarded medicine.

Once the first emotions had subsided, official matters had to be handled. On November 13, they went to obtain Małgorzata's Canadian Social Insurance Number, or SIN. Compared with the streets of Legionowo, downtown Calgary — with its broad intersections, streams of cars, and tall office buildings — seemed overwhelming. Małgorzata stood outside the building on Macleod Trail with her documents in her purse while Piotr explained the procedure once again.

— The address is the most important thing. Say: twenty-eight Dovercrest Way Southeast — he reminded her.

— I know where I live.

— The clerk may speak quickly.

— I understand more than you do.

Beneath the Canadian coat of arms, the line moved slowly. They had to complete forms, present documents, and answer questions. For Piotr, these procedures were already familiar. For Małgorzata, it was the first official matter that truly bound her to the new country.

Two days later, the first guests came to the house: Jarosław Bucholec and Cathy Shen. Piotr covered the round table with a lace tablecloth. Drinks, snacks, and whatever could be prepared in the still sparsely equipped kitchen were placed on top. Małgorzata was dressed for the occasion, Cathy smiled across her plate, and the men talked about work, housing, and prices.

— Well, look at you — Jarek said. — Not long ago you were the one visiting other people, and now you're entertaining guests in your own place.

Piotr looked around the living room. Family photographs stood on the mantel, the children's voices came from the kitchen, and friends sat at his table. For the first time since arriving in Canada, he felt not like a tenant or a temporary laborer but like the host of his own home.

In the days that followed, every outing became an exercise in a new kind of daily life. On the bus, Małgorzata, Rozalia, and Krzyś sat together, watching the city through a fogged window. They had to learn where to get off, when to press the stop button, how to read the name of a station, and how not to lose a glove during a transfer.

On November 21, Piotr took the family to a hill overlooking downtown Calgary. A broad roadway stretched below them; beyond it, patches of the valley shone white, and above them rose the towers of the city. The air was dry and sharp, snow lay in scattered patches, and the sunlight made the distant buildings seem closer than they were.

— Is all of that Calgary? — Tomisław asked.

— Not all of it. Just downtown — Piotr replied. — There's the tower. Someday we'll go up there.

— Can we see our house?

— Not from this side.

For a moment Małgorzata stood beside her husband and looked in the same direction. Below them flowed an unbroken stream of cars — the very thing they themselves lacked so badly. Behind them was their modest house; ahead lay an enormous city and a life that had yet to take shape.

The children quickly lost interest in the panorama and ran to a nearby playground. Snow squeaked beneath their boots, and the slides and metal equipment were icy, but no one cared. Krzyś climbed onto a green plastic horse, Tomisław and Rozalia rocked a seesaw, and Paweł, though already an adult, jokingly clambered onto one of the children's structures. Małgorzata sat on a bench and watched all four of them behave for a moment as though nothing in their lives had changed.

The next day, Dolores Habrun visited with her sister. Drinks, sweets, and simple snacks appeared on the table once again. Tomisław sat near the adults, listened to the Polish conversation, and enjoyed the presence of guests. In a city filled with an unfamiliar language, every evening when they could speak without searching for words acquired a special value.

Sunday morning, November 23, began with an invasion of the parents' bedroom by the younger boys. Tomisław and Krzyś climbed onto the bed, tugged at the blanket, brought toys, and began a brotherly wrestling match, unconcerned that Małgorzata wanted to lie down a little longer.

— Let Mom rest for a moment — Piotr said.

— We only came to say good morning — Tomisław assured him, then immediately jumped onto the bed again.

Later, Rozalia sat at the computer, Paweł went outside, and in the afternoon the whole family returned to the playground and the lookout point. The youngest children traced their own paths through the snow, Małgorzata rested on a bench, and Piotr took pleasure in an ordinary family day. Those were the days he wanted most.

That evening everyone gathered in the living room. The children spread games across the carpet, Rozalia helped the younger ones, and Małgorzata sat on the sofa. The house was cramped but at last truly inhabited: coats, books, toys, newspapers, and children's odds and ends lay everywhere. The order Piotr had maintained during his solitary months disappeared. Family life took its place.

Daily life consisted of small scenes. Krzyś splashed happily in the bathtub, while Tomisław increasingly tried to prepare his own food. At the yellow kitchen table he arranged bread and cold cuts with the solemnity of a cook entrusted with an important task.

— Be careful with the knife — Małgorzata warned him.

— I know how — he replied without looking up.

Near the end of November, Mirosław Oleszczuk visited with his family. Piotr had worked briefly for him painting houses and refinishing furniture, so it was hardly surprising that the conversation soon turned to wages, contracts, and Canadian realities.

— No one here will pay you just for waiting around — Mirosław said. — When there's work, you take it. When there isn't, you look for the next job.

— I take anything I know how to do — Piotr replied. — The most important thing is keeping the household going.

Małgorzata listened and occasionally asked about the rates. She still had no job of her own, so the security of the entire family depended on her husband's irregular contracts. To Piotr, they were proof of resourcefulness. To Małgorzata, they offered no sense of solid ground.

On December 6, St. Nicholas Day, they visited Ryszard Grzebyk and his wife, Anna. Their spacious house, broad kitchen with a stone countertop, and comfortable furniture made an impression. The adults sat in the living room while the children wandered between the kitchen and the stairs. Krzyś was given a piece of fruit and concentrated on it as though the adults' conversation had nothing to do with him.

— It takes years to reach a house like this — Ryszard said, seeing Piotr look around. — At first, everyone lives wherever they can.

— For now we have a roof, beds, and a fireplace — Piotr replied. — We'll build the rest.

— A car first — Małgorzata interjected. — Without one, you're trapped.

The next morning, Calgary was buried under a thick layer of fresh snow. The branches of the tree in front of the house bent beneath the white weight. The children ran outside and immediately began throwing snowballs. Piotr tried to clear the walkway, but after a moment he joined the battle.

— Dad, I hit you! — Tomisław shouted.

— Then you'd better run!

Małgorzata bent down for snow, Rozalia hid behind the tree, and Krzyś struggled through drifts too deep for his short legs. When they went back inside, they lit a fire in the brick fireplace. Krzyś sat on the carpet, spread newspapers in front of the hearth, and looked at the pictures while warming his frozen hands. The living room smelled of smoke, wet wool, and hot tea.

In the evenings, the children sought closeness even in sleep. Tomisław and Rozalia sometimes fell asleep in the same room, each beneath a separate blanket but close together. Their older sister increasingly became a guide for the younger children in the new world; in turn, they sought from her the security that unfamiliar streets and an unfamiliar language could not yet provide.

In mid-December, the process of enrolling the children in school began. The first schools were not among the best, nor was the neighborhood in which they lived, but their choices were limited by their address and transportation. On December 11, Małgorzata took Krzyś to Holy Cross School. The boy sat beside her in the waiting area, looking at bulletin boards filled with English writing. Later he entered a classroom where a teacher showed him blocks, pictures, and simple tasks.

— He doesn't speak English yet — Małgorzata explained.

— He'll learn — the teacher replied with a smile. — Children learn very fast.

Krzyś did not understand the teacher's words, but he watched her gestures carefully. When she placed colorful pieces in front of him, he began arranging them according to his own idea. In his first class, he was the only white child. He also knew no English, so from his first day he had to find his place in an environment entirely unlike the one he had known in Poland.

Back at home, the children released their tension in their own way. Rozalia tried to rest while Tomisław demanded play: he hid by the curtain, climbed onto the bed, and tugged at his sister's hand. Laughter and scuffling alternated with sudden waves of exhaustion.

On December 12, Paweł attended a Christmas Eve gathering at the Polish school. Students, parents, and teachers sat at long tables. There was a Christmas tree, the sharing of the Christmas wafer, and nuns whose presence allowed familiar Polish carols to rise above the English conversations. Paweł approached Sister Teresa.

— I never thought a person had to travel so far to miss an ordinary "Wśród nocnej ciszy" — he said.

— Polish words sound different here — Sister Teresa replied.

The next day, the wind drove snow beneath the kitchen door. Tomisław put on gloves, knelt at the threshold, and tried to scoop up the white powder that had found its way inside.

— Leave it alone, or you'll melt it all over the floor — his mother called.

— But it's already inside the house — the boy replied, as if that fact obliged him to act.

On December 15, Tomisław sat at a school table amid crayons, notebooks, and scattered supplies. Maps and charts hung on the walls, and the teacher spoke to him more slowly than to the other children. He recognized individual words and guessed the rest from gestures. Each day brought several new expressions, but as soon as he returned home, he switched back to Polish, as though he needed to make sure his own language was still waiting for him.

The next day, Santa Claus appeared at Krzyś's preschool. The boy sat on the carpet among children who had come from many parts of the world. When his name was called, he approached the red chair uncertainly.

— What would you like for Christmas? — Santa asked.

Krzyś looked toward the teacher.

— Toy — she prompted.

— Car — he finally replied, then sat on Santa's lap and allowed his picture to be taken.

At home, Christmas preparations mingled with the most ordinary routines. Rozalia kicked a ball around the living room, although Małgorzata warned her that she was about to break something. Tomisław paraded in a soccer jersey; Krzyś ran around the house in pajamas and fell asleep hugging a stuffed animal. Piotr tried to spend every free moment with the children: he let them climb over him during play or sat with Tomisław beside the fireplace.

— Dad, is it snowing in Poland now too? — the boy asked.

— Maybe. But not snow like this.

— Can Grandma see it?

— If it's snowing, she can.

On December 21, they celebrated Tomisław's name day. Earlier, they stopped at a store where the boys looked at sports equipment and toys. Later everyone sat at the table, although the older children kept getting up. A small gift for the guest of honor was enough to give an ordinary day a festive character.

— This is my first name day in Canada — Tomisław observed.

— Which is why we have to remember it — Piotr replied.

At last their first Canadian Christmas Eve arrived. Janusz Kapała came to the house with his young daughter, Sara. Janusz owned the painting company for which Piotr had been working for many weeks. He was divorced, and his former wife set the times when he had to care for their daughter according to her own needs, without regard for his obligations. At times he had to take Sara to work, even though sanding dust and fumes from sprayed paints and varnishes hung in the rooms. He had no choice: his daughter had to be picked up, and he could not abandon the contract.

On Christmas Eve, Janusz arrived with presents, and Sara immediately joined the younger Korycki children. A Christmas tree decorated with colored lights stood in the living room. Beside the fireplace lay packages wrapped in paper covered with stars and snowmen. Małgorzata placed holiday dishes, candles, and extra place settings on the table. The small room could barely hold everyone.

— Sit down before the children tear those presents apart — Małgorzata said.

— The Christmas wafer first — Piotr reminded them.

The adults stood and hesitated for a moment over whom to approach first. In Poland, the gesture had been self-evident; here, however, it carried greater weight. They were far from parents, siblings, graves, and homes associated with earlier Christmas Eves.

— May things work out for you here — Janusz wished Piotr as they broke the wafer together. — May you have work, and may the family stay together.

— And may you never have to choose between work and Sara — Piotr replied.

Małgorzata embraced each of the children in turn. Rozalia went to her brothers, then to Paweł. The younger children watched the tree impatiently, but they waited for the adults to finish exchanging wishes.

The table quickly grew noisy. The children interrupted conversations, someone passed a plate over another person's head, and someone else got up for a drink. Janusz talked about new contracts, Piotr about transportation problems, and Małgorzata about the children's schools.

— You can't live normally here without a car — she said. — Every time you leave the house, it turns into an expedition.

Janusz rolled his glass between his hands for a moment.

— I have a car. I'll let you use it.

— What do you mean, let us use it? — Piotr was not sure he had heard correctly.

— Take it for now. Somehow, it will be easier for me to manage than for you with four children.

— It's your only car.

— I know how many cars I own — Janusz replied. — I'm not giving it to you as a gift. Return it when you're back on your feet.

To Piotr, the gesture meant more than a Christmas present. The car made it possible to get to work, do larger grocery runs, and take the family beyond the reach of the bus routes. In sprawling Calgary, it was almost an indispensable tool of daily life.

After supper, the children threw themselves at the packages. Krzyś tried to lift a present larger than he was. Tomisław tore the paper more carefully, wanting to save the colorful pieces. Sara sat beside Janusz with an electronic keyboard and pressed the keys, producing a random melody. Rozalia helped the younger children untangle the wrapping, while Paweł examined his own present with a smile.

— Is this for me? — Krzyś raised the enormous package.

— Check whether your name is on it — Małgorzata said.

— It is! I think it is!

— If you can't read it, how do you know? — Tomisław teased.

— I just know.

At one point Małgorzata, exhausted by the preparations, lay down on the bed with a book. Kasi's small dog, which the Koryckis were caring for in her absence, settled beside her. From the living room came laughter, the crackle of torn wrapping paper, and the first clumsy sounds of a new toy. After a brief rest, she returned to the guests. Piotr added wood to the fireplace, the children arranged games on the carpet, and Janusz and Sara stayed until late in the evening.

Christmas Day was quieter. The family ate together at the same table, now without the haste of Christmas Eve. Paweł played with the dog and assembled the small pieces of a new game. Later all the children stood together in front of the Christmas tree. The difference in height between Paweł and the youngest made them look almost like two generations, although they were all siblings.

That day they also went to church. Christmas trees and red flowers stood around the Nativity scene, and Tomisław, Rozalia, and Krzyś paused before the Bethlehem display in their winter coats.

— Even the Nativity scene is different here — Rozalia observed.

— But the Christ Child is the same — Piotr replied.

On December 26, they visited Polish friends. In the larger house, the children spread their new toys across the floor, while the adults sat in several groups. Conversations unfolded simultaneously — about work, Poland, schools, acquaintances, and house prices. Małgorzata talked with the women; Paweł and Rozalia sat with the hosts' younger family members. After weeks spent mostly in their own company, such an evening created the impression that a substitute emigrant family was beginning to form in Calgary.

On December 29, the children went sledding with their father. The hill was broad, covered with packed snow, and surrounded by spruce trees. Rozalia went down by herself, Tomisław pulled a small sled uphill, and Paweł watched the younger children.

— Just don't ride into the trees! — he called.

— There aren't any trees here! — Tomisław shouted back, then changed course at the last moment.

On the final day of the year, they drove Janusz's large car to a lookout above downtown. Paweł and Rozalia stood beside the vehicle with Calgary's towers sharply outlined behind them in the winter light.

— Now we can go anywhere we want — Tomisław said.

— Anywhere we want, as long as we have enough gas — Paweł corrected him.

Piotr looked at the city that only a few months earlier had been foreign to him. Now they all lived there, the children attended school, a Christmas tree stood in the living room, and a car waited outside the house. It was easy to believe that the hardest part was already behind them.

— Next year will be easier — he told Małgorzata.

— We'll see — she replied.

Not long afterward, they managed to buy a car of their own. Marek Wiśniewski, an acquaintance of Janusz, was selling a van that his wife, Elżbieta, had scraped against a rock while entering the garage. A small dent remained in the middle door, but Marek no longer wanted to drive the damaged vehicle and let it go for fifteen hundred dollars. Owning a car opened the possibility of longer trips. On January 25, Piotr took everyone to Lake Louise to see sculptures carved from ice. In the sharp mountain air, figures and palaces rose from transparent blocks, and the children walked among them as though through an unreal city.

— Aren't we allowed to touch them? — Krzyś asked.

— You can, but don't put your tongue on one — Paweł warned him.

A few days later, they went to Johnston Canyon. In winter, the trails wound among rocks and frozen waterfalls, while metal walkways hung over the gorge. From there they continued to Radium Hot Springs. When they entered the outdoor pool, steam rose above the warm water and snow lay along the edges.

— You sit in the water while your hat freezes — Tomisław laughed.

Such trips gave Piotr the feeling that he was fulfilling a promise he had made to himself before emigrating: he would show his children a world larger than their housing estate, school, and the daily struggle for money.

In time, the house on Dovercrest became too cramped, and the neighborhood suited the family less and less. In April, they decided to rent a larger house in a better part of the city. On April 26, they moved to 4962 Vantage Crescent NW. Once again, moving meant boxes, dismantled furniture, and searching for things that had been within easy reach only the day before.

As soon as Rozalia had put her own room in order, she hung a Polish flag outside the entrance.

— Now everyone will know who lives here — she announced.

— Let's hope they don't mistake it for the Indonesian flag — Paweł joked.

— Ours has white on top. You have to look.

The new house provided more space, but it did not solve the problems the family had brought with them. Małgorzata still had no permanent employment, and the older children were increasingly beginning to shape lives of their own.

On June 16, Małgorzata flew to Poland. Her mother, Marianna Andrzejuk, had been seriously ill for many months. She had stopped walking, used a wheelchair, and needed help with nearly every activity. Małgorzata could not remain in Canada knowing that her mother might need her.

— I don't know how long I'll be gone — she said before leaving.

— Go. We'll manage here — Piotr replied.

— With four children?

— It won't be the first time I've been left alone with problems.

The sentence came out harsher than he intended. Małgorzata said nothing. At such moments, concern for her sick mother mingled with old resentments and with each spouse's conviction that the other failed to see the burden he or she carried.

After her return, the family tried to make the most of the brief Canadian summer. On July 5, they went to the famous Calgary Stampede, the great celebration of the Wild West. People in cowboy hats moved all around them; music, shouts, and the neighing of horses filled the air. The children watched the shows, the booths, and the midway rides.

— It's like a movie — Tomiś said.

— Only the dust is real — Rozalia replied.

Małgorzata still was not working, but in July she received an offer to help at a preschool run by Polish nuns. It did not yet provide complete security, but it meant leaving the house, having responsibilities of her own, and the possibility of earning money.

The summer filled with more trips. On July 19, they went to Kananaskis Country, where the mountains rose suddenly above the road and the rivers were the color of icy green glass. Six days later, they set out for Lake Minnewanka, returned to Johnston Canyon, and visited Banff. The town in the heart of the Rocky Mountains reminded Piotr of Zakopane, although it was larger, more orderly, and full of tourists from all over the world.

— All that's missing is oscypek cheese — Paweł remarked.

— And Giewont — Piotr added.

— But they have more bears — Rozalia said, looking around for warning signs.

On July 29, Paweł flew to Poland. His departure changed the rhythm of the house. Piotr saw his son off with the feeling that the emigration meant to unite the family was beginning to scatter its members between two countries.

On August 1, he finally persuaded his wife to take the journey he had dreamed of toward British Columbia. They drove through the mountains, stopping along the way in Glacier National Park and Revelstoke. The children visited SkyTrek Adventure Park, where ropes, bridges, and obstacles were suspended among the trees.

— I'm not going up there — Krzyś declared, looking overhead.

— Try the lowest course first — Piotr encouraged him. — No one is making you take the highest one.

— Once I go up, I'm taking the highest course — the boy replied, recovering his courage.

The next day they swam in Kelowna. After mountain roads, snowy peaks, and cold lakes, the warmth of the Okanagan Valley felt almost southern. On August 3, they also stopped in Peachland, Summerland, and Penticton. Piotr wanted to keep going, see more, and use every hour. Małgorzata reminded him that the children were tired, gasoline cost money, and they had to return.

— You can't see all of Canada in three days — she said.

— Not all of it. Just as much as we can now.

— And afterward we'll need a vacation to recover from the vacation.

Near the end of summer, mushroom season began for many Poles in Alberta. They did not go to nearby parks but to places passed from one person to another by word of mouth. One of them was known as the "Polish forest." On August 22, the Koryckis also set out through Water Valley. In the woods, the children scattered among the trees, while the adults called after them not to disappear from sight.

— I found one! — Tomisław shouted, holding up a large mushroom.

— Show it to me before you put it in the basket — Małgorzata called.

— I know what a porcini looks like.

— Everyone says that before their first case of mushroom poisoning — Piotr replied.

They returned with full baskets. That evening, the house smelled of freshly cleaned mushrooms, and the kitchen table disappeared beneath caps and stems laid out for drying.

Near the end of August, they set out for southern Alberta. The beginning of the trip nearly ended in disaster. The still-imperfect satellite navigation systems of the time directed them onto a dirt road that grew progressively narrower and steeper. A slope rose on one side; on the other, the ground fell away toward a drop. The van lost traction and began sliding toward the edge.

— Everybody out! — Piotr shouted. — Slowly, on the uphill side!

The children jumped out of the vehicle. Małgorzata stood beside it.

— What do we do?

— Push from this side. Don't let it slide down!

For several moments, the entire family pressed against the side of the van while Piotr tried to turn the wheels toward firmer ground. The engine roared, and dirt sprayed from beneath the tires. At last the van lurched back toward the road and stopped.

For a moment no one spoke.

— That navigation system tried to kill us — Tomisław finally said.

— Next time we watch the road too, not only the screen — Małgorzata replied.

They eventually reached Waterton Lakes National Park. From there, they took a boat to the American side of the lake. On the return journey, they also visited Red Rock Canyon. The children remembered the mountains, the red rock, and the cruise. The adults also remembered the moment when the car had begun to slide off the road.

In Canada, Rozalka's old dream could finally come true. Piotr enrolled his daughter on a soccer team. She quickly found her place on the field: she ran fiercely, did not shy away from physical challenges, and began coming home with medals.

— Rozalka has the ball! This is going to be a goal! — parents and friends shouted from the stands.

Piotr watched his daughter carry the ball between opponents and saw something more than sport. On the field, her accent, her country of birth, and the length of time she had lived in Calgary did not matter. All that mattered was whether she could pass, win the ball, and put it into the net.

For many months, life seemed relatively settled. There were outings, the children's schools, work, a new house, and a growing circle of acquaintances. The idyll — if that word could be used for a fragile balance built on old wounds — ended on October 2.

Piotr was standing by the toilet, answering a call of nature, when the door suddenly flew open. Małgorzata stood in the doorway.

— Why did you steal my phone?

He looked at her, unable to understand the question.

— Your phone? What would I want with your phone?

— It's gone. It was here a moment ago.

— Then look for it. It has to be somewhere.

— I looked. You took it.

— I did not.

— You're always going through my things!

The accusation, made without evidence and at a moment when he could not even leave calmly, struck him more forcefully than the missing phone itself. Piotr was convinced the device could not simply have vanished. When he finally came out, he began searching the house: countertops, sofas, drawers, coat pockets, and every place where the phone might have been set down.

— Stop touching my things! — Małgorzata shouted.

— I'm trying to find the phone you're accusing me of stealing.

— You have no right to search the house!

— It is my house too.

The commotion drew the children. Małgorzata called for them as though she needed witnesses or help. Only Paweł came.

— Dad, what are you doing?! — he almost shouted.

— Mom says I stole her phone. I'm looking for it.

— If you don't stop, I'll call the police.

Piotr looked at his son. He did not know which hurt more: his wife's accusation or Paweł's readiness to take a stand against him immediately. Despite the threat, he finished searching. He did not find the phone.

Soon afterward, Małgorzata announced that she was returning to Poland. At first, she spoke only of her own departure. A few days later, she stated that Rozalia and Paweł would remain in Canada, but she was taking Tomisław and Krzyś with her.

— You cannot decide on your own what happens to our children — Piotr said.

— I already have.

— They are not suitcases for you to divide between two houses.

— The older ones want to stay. The younger ones are going with me.

— And what do the younger ones want?

— They are too young to decide.

There was no joint decision about the children's future. Małgorzata presented her choice as a settled matter. On the surface, the children showed little anxiety. The older ones were living their own lives. The younger ones accepted the news that they were returning to Poland just as they had earlier accepted the move to Canada: as a decision made by adults to which they had to adapt.

Piotr began sighing more and more often. He did it unconsciously — while packing the boys' things, at the table, in moments of silence. One day Krzyś looked at him and asked:

— Why does Daddy keep doing that?

Then he drew in a breath and released it in an exaggeratedly heavy sigh.

Piotr picked him up.

— Krzysiu, because we're going to be far away from each other. Mom is taking you and Tomiś to Poland.

— Daddy isn't going?

— Not now.

— Later, then?

Piotr could not answer with conviction.

— Probably not...

As she prepared to leave, Małgorzata wanted to show the children once more the places that had become part of their Canadian life. In January, the entire family went up the Calgary Tower. From above, the roads looked like thin lines, the cars like toys, and the houses like little boxes.

— Is our house there too? — Krzyś asked.

— It is, but you can't recognize it from here — Piotr replied.

They also returned to Banff and Radium Hot Springs. They revisited places where they had once laughed together, as though repeating the old trips might halt what was falling apart. The children enjoyed the mountains and the warm water. The adults knew that each such day was among the last.

On February 7, 2010, Małgorzata, Tomisław, and Krzyś boarded a plane bound for Poland. At the airport there were suitcases, documents, lines, and announcements over the loudspeakers that left no room for a long farewell. Piotr held the boys, trying not to show how much he feared the moment when they would disappear beyond security.

Małgorzata adjusted the strap of her bag and led the boys toward check-in. She did not turn around immediately. Only before passing behind the barrier did she look back at her husband. From that distance, it was impossible to read what was on her face: relief, fear, regret, or only exhaustion.

A moment later, they were gone. The plane carried them east, and the house that for more than a year had struggled to become a shared home fell silent once again.