NOT EVERYTHING IS LIKE IT SEEMS - short story
- Katarzyna Nowocin-Kowalczyk
- Oct 21, 2023
- 13 min read
Updated: Jul 4
March 25th,2019
story from the book: NOT EVERYTHING IS LIKE IT SEEMS Life-written Fairy Tales for Adults
by Katarzyna Nowocin-Kowalczyk (Catherine)
An exclusive hotel in Beverly Hills. A friend invited me to a private concert of a well-known artist. We met earlier to have dinner and talk. And we never lack common, interesting topics. We are sitting sit at a table and to the sounds of gentle live music from the piano standing nearby, we are enjoying really good coffee. At some point, the friend receives an important phone call from his business partner who has just flown in from London and is staying at the same hotel. My friend apologizes and goes out to the lobby for a moment to say hello to him. He had warned me before that such a situation could happen, so I accept it with understanding.
At the next table, also with a cup of coffee, there is an attractive, well-groomed woman with Asian features. She may be about forty-something years old. She looks like she's waiting for someone or something. You can see that she is a bit tense. Our eyes meet. We exchange smiles.
"You have a very beautiful accent," she says in English with a Californian accent. Her voice sounds pleasant, while the way of speaking and gestures indicate a person with education and manners. “I love it. Can I ask where you are from?”
“I am Polish.”
“Really? I heard that Poland is a beautiful country. Two years ago, my boyfriend and I were in Europe. We visited several countries, but we did not reach Poland, although we had plans. We ran out of time. We were in Prague. It’s so beautiful there.”
Americans often think that once they have reached Prague it means that they know Central and Eastern Europe. They talk about the Prague Castle, Charles Bridge, the Old Town, Visegrad Hill, delicious dumplings, and delicious beer. The Czechs are indeed great at selling themselves... And I, too often, can't help but to say that Prague was not destroyed during the Second World War, as Warsaw and—depending on the situation and the interlocutor—I start my shorter or longer stories about beautiful Poland and its difficult, albeit very interesting history.
For a moment we talk about Europe and the places she has visited. Of course, I invite her to Poland and, as it is usually in similar situations, for a moment I become an ambassador of my country. My interlocutor actually turns out to be an educated woman. She tells me that although she graduated from a prestigious university with a degree in history of art, which is still her passion, she does something completely different. Together with her boyfriend they run an elegant restaurant and are just planning to open another one. I am a cultural expert by education, and my first diploma was in hotel and restaurant management, so a thread of understanding is established between us very quickly. I invite the woman to my table. We engage in conversation, and the muse Klio spreads her protective wings over us. We are so absorbed in ourselves and our subjects that we do not notice when my Friend appears at the table. We start laughing when he suddenly pops up next to us, like from under the ground.
I introduce them. The woman gets up and tactfully wants to return to her table. We invite her to stay, though. We still have some time before the concert starts. My friend orders a bottle of good Californian Cabernet. Despite the interesting conversation, the fact doesn’t escape our attention that the new acquaintance, although she tries very hard to control it, still seems excited about something, and at the same time a bit distracted and tense. Finally, I say:
“Sorry to ask, but did anything happen? You look like you're waiting for something you're afraid of.”
A surprised look and a moment of silence. You can see a thought on her face—to say, to throw it out of yourself, or not? After all, we are strangers to her. But it has been known for a long time that it is easiest to talk in front of strangers. Strangers do not judge, and the heart gets lighter. All the more so because we may never meet again. The woman reaches for the bulbous glass and drinks a sip of red liquor. As if she wanted to gain time.
“This wine is really good. You can feel our Californian sun and earth in it,” then looking straight into my eyes she says seriously, albeit with a gentle smile. “You read people well. I knew from the beginning that you were a good observer.”
Now I'm smiling.
“Let's say I know a little bit about human nature.”
“Yes. I'm really waiting for something. For a meeting. And I'm a little scared of it.”
“Would you like to tell us about it?”
“If you want to listen, I guess so. I guess I have to throw it out. I've been thinking about it since yesterday, but it's really my whole life. I'm still confused...”
“Tell us. We will be happy to listen,” says my Friend gently, whose one of the many traits is empathy.
The woman reaches for the glass again. This time, she looks as if collecting thoughts. We give her time. If something bothers you all life, it means that it hurts, that it is something difficult and it is not easy to talk about it.
“I was born in China. I lived there in an orphanage. I was adopted by my current parents when I was seven years old. I was put on a plane alone and told to fly to an unknown country and strangers...I remember being very afraid. I cried. I didn't want to come here. Although in the orphanage it was nightmarish. Rigor, fear, and loneliness. And often hunger...Penalties for even the slightest offense... I saw my adoptive parents for the first time at LAX airport... For the first time, someone hugged me so tightly...and kissed...Over time, this foreign country became my country, and strangers became the best parents I could have dreamed of...”
Tears appear in the woman’s eyes. In mine, too. This time we both reach for the wine...
“How did it happen that you ended up in an orphanage? What about your biological parents?“ I ask.
“I have been asking myself this question all my life. Not a day did go by that I didn't think about it. Bad thoughts. I asked—what was wrong with me that they didn't want me? Why didn't they love me? I was given away when I was one year old. I don't remember my biological parents.”
“But something has happened recently, hasn't it?”
“You really have a good intuition—a smile. Yes. It has changed...Some time ago, my boyfriend persuaded me to do DNA tests. Our data were automatically included in the database. Two weeks ago I got a call. It was my nephew, who I didn't know existed. My older sister's son. I didn't know about her either…I didn't know anything about myself...And it was terrible...Not knowing what your roots are...What a story... Who are you alike...After whom you have eyes, smile, and after whom one or another trait...My adoptive parents are dear, and I know that they love me very much... But they're white, and I'm Asian... I don't look like them...” The woman thinks for a moment. Her unseeing eyes indicate that for this brief moment she is somewhere far away. However, she quickly returns to the here and now. “My cousin was calling from London. It turned out that they were looking for me... And they found me through these DNA tests.”
“What about the orphanage? They couldn't ask for information there?”
“This orphanage is gone. It turned out that it burned down a few years after I left. And with it all the documentation. It was a great tragedy. Many children also died then. I didn't know that until yesterday.” “And what happened yesterday?”
"Yesterday I met my sister, her husband and my nephew who called me and my cousin...Especially for me they flew to Los Angeles from London...To see me...Meet me...”
“And how did you feel?”
“I don't know...Strange...But I'm happy...It's still hard for me to recover...It all happened so suddenly, unexpectedly, and in such a short time...Today I am to meet my brother...
“Have you found answers to your questions?” my Friend asks.
“Yes...I guess so... I don’t know...But a lot became clear…”
”Do you already know why you ended up in an orphanage?”
"It turned out that when I was less than a year old my father left my mother with four small children for another woman. He disappeared...We lived in a small town. A lonely woman abandoned by her husband was a shame and a kind of stigma. Mom had trouble finding a job and securing our upkeep. All the more so because the children were small. She had to ask for help from her father, my grandfather. He was wealthy. And it was he who ruled. Mom obeyed him in everything. That's how she was raised. Such was the reality. Anyway, until today this is the Chinese tradition and culture. I have two older brothers and a sister. I was the youngest. It was my grandfather who gave me away to an orphanage. Reportedly Mom cried but was afraid to object. He forbade her to contact me. He said it was for her and my good. He reportedly wanted to help her. Older children could work but I had to be taken care of.”
"Did you have the chance to contact your biological mother?”
“My Mom is dead. She died many years ago. When my siblings left for the UK. Apparently, for the rest of her life, she worried about me...Maybe it's hard for you to believe, but I felt it...I've dreamed about her many times...She sang me a song...always the same...I don't remember her face, but I remember the smile...and the smell...I missed her so much...Grandpa also died...”
“What about your father? Was he found?”
“Yes. A year ago. Also, in London. He was the one who found my siblings. Unfortunately, he died of a heart attack before meeting them. But they went to his funeral. Then it turned out that he was a very prosperous businessman and created a large international company. Now it is managed by one of my brothers. The one I'm about to meet today. The other brother lives in Amsterdam and is engaged in scientific work. I haven't met him yet, but we were on the phone...”
Sipping the drink of Gods, the woman becomes thoughtful again.
“How unpredictable life it is...We were born somewhere in the Chinese countryside, theoretically with no prospects for the future and despite difficult beginnings, we all graduated from good universities and became successful...They also went through a lot...I always thought that my mother didn't want me, she didn't love me...and the truth was completely different...”
Tears flow down her cheeks...
“What is your brother's name?" This unexpected question from my Friend surprises both of us. The stunned woman gives his first and last names.
“Why do you ask? Do you know him?”
“Yes. Your brother is my business partner. I was just greeting him in the lobby. I also knew your father. I did business with him, but your father, first of all, was my friend. And I was also at his funeral.”
“Did you know my father?!” The woman's great surprise is mixed with curiosity.
“Yes.”
...
“And I know this story..., but from a different side...”
“What was he like?” the woman asks after she gets her bearing.
“An idealist... He was a big idealist...And a good, honest man.”
“A good man? Does a good man leave his wife and children for another woman and not give a sign of life?”
“Your father said, 'The poor are afraid of relatives, and the rich are afraid of thieves.'”
“And?”
“He also said: 'In fragments, there is little truth or no truth at all.'”
“I already know the truth. And I know what I've been through.”
“You've been through a lot. But you yourself said that life is unpredictable. It writes its own scripts. Often, to be good, it is difficult at first. Life hardens and teaches. It gives lessons. The winner is the one who does that homework.”
“But why do small children suffer?”
"Who knows who you would be now and where you would be if it weren't for what happened in your early childhood...”
“But this doesn’t justify my father. He left us and my mother...Because what? Because he fell in love? Is this what a responsible man does? Good - as you called him.”
“Yes, he left you. But he didn't do it of his own free will. And certainly not for another woman. Your father was alone. There was only one woman in his life. Your mother.”
“How's that? What are you talking about? So why did he leave?”
”The heart of man is like iron, but the law is like a furnace that melts it’," these are the words of your father. He often said this.”
"But what does this have to do with me and my family?"
“It has more than you suppose. Your father and I often played golf. We both liked it very much. I still like it. “With these words, my Friend, who was born and raised in Great Britain, smiles gently. I know very well that he is a golf fan. Such is his English whim. Sometimes we play together, but I'll probably never match him in skills and precision of throws. "Golf is a game that brings you closer. It builds a kind of trust. Once, after about an 18-hole round, when he kicked my ass quite well—unfortunately it was not my good day on the course—your father, wanting to improve my mood, invited me to his place for a drink. And as we sat at his place on the terrace, he opened up and told me his story. That was the only time we talked about it. I could see that this was a very difficult subject for him, which he tried to deal with until his death.”
“Will you tell me this story?”
“Yes. You have the right to know the truth...I think he would like that.” After a moment of silence, my Friend begins the story, which the intrigued woman is waiting for. I admit that me, as well. "Your father and your mother loved each other very much. Unfortunately, your father came from a not-very-wealthy family. In addition, he was suspected of anti-government activity, which was not without truth. Your grandfather did not like all of this. He found another candidate for your mom. Your parents got married in secret. Grandpa was furious. He cut himself off from them, even though your mom was his only child. Your eldest brother was born, then your sister, your other brother, and finally you. Your grandfather did not visit his daughter even once. He didn't want to meet all of you. He also didn't let your mom in when she went to him with her first child. It was not easy for your parents, but they managed. Your father was an educated man, although he did not have a diploma. He was expelled from his studies in his final year of history, just before defending his master's thesis. Or rather, not allowed to defend it. As I mentioned earlier, he was suspected of anti-government activity. He even spent several months in a Chinese prison. Since then, he was under strict surveillance. Therefore, he had trouble finding a permanent good job. People were afraid to hire someone like that because they didn't want to get into trouble...” My Friend interrupts his story for a moment and drinks some wine.
“Okay, but why did he disappear so suddenly from our lives?” The woman asks.
“'The poor are afraid of relatives, and the rich are afraid of thieves.' ...He was reported by one of his relatives. No, it wasn't your grandfather. Your grandfather actually protected all of you. For people born in the free world, it is difficult to imagine the fear that people living under the regime of communism experience every day and every night...’The law is like a fence, the tiger will jump over, the rat will slip through, and the cattle is standing.’ ...These are also your father's words…He was threatened with arrest and imprisonment, and even death. Also your mother and all of you as his family...He had to protect you...It was your grandfather who helped him escape the country. Not only did he organize this escape, but he also paid for everything. Of course, everything took place in secret and very quickly. The version about escaping with a woman was the official version. Your mom knew everything too. Unfortunately, you were the victim who was supposed to shut people's mouths. They have never told all of you anything to protect you.”
My Friend interrupts his story again, and tears flow down the woman's cheeks again. I take her hand.
"That's why he never wrote us a letter...to protect us...And he could never go back to China...”
“Yes...I once had a business trip to Shanghai. He asked me to give your mom a letter. I went to your village. Unfortunately, neither your mother nor your grandfather were alive. And your siblings left. When I came back, I found out about your dad's passing...It was a shock...Then I forgot about this letter. Until yesterday."
My Friend reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulls out a white envelope, and hands it to the woman. "I was supposed to give it to your brother tomorrow, but I think it's you who should get it.”
The woman's hands tremble when she opens the envelope and takes out a piece of paper written in Chinese characters.
“Can you read it?” I ask.
“Yes. I know Mandarin. My adoptive parents made sure I never forgot it.”
My Friend looks at his watch.
“It's time for us...You should also know that your father spent many years searching for you... to find all you...He hired the best detective agency in London for this purpose. He was so happy when he finally managed to find the trail of your siblings. He was very worried about you...He often wondered what you looked like, what you were like...You were so tiny when he had to leave you...”
“Again it turned out that not everything is like it seems,” the woman says. "Thank you for showing me the truth...”
"Your father once said to me, 'On the day of your birth, everyone was happy, only you wept. Live in such a way that in your last hour everyone else is crying, and you alone will laugh heartily and have no tears in your eye.’ Don’t cry any more…You were a loved and wanted child. The rest are brutal circumstances created by people. Unfortunately, an evil deed of one man, maybe his Ego, maybe fear, or maybe something else—in this case, your relative—have an influence on many other lives... but these are all lessons...and you made your homework...the most important thing is that you are together again...And as you just said—Do not create truth from fragments, because not everything is like it seems...”
We are leaving. We head to the Hall where the concert is to take place. In the distance, we see the woman bent over a sheet of white paper.
-KatarzynaNK (Catherine)
*****
Not Everything Is Like It Seems
a short story from the book:
NOT EVERYTHING IS LIKE IT SEEMS Life-written Fairy Tales for Adults
author: Katarzyna Nowocin-Kowalczyk (Catherine)
translation: Elizabeth Kanski
Painting: Marek Szczęsny
👉 This book is available in Polish and English
Book Trailer
great story
Wow! Amazing story
great story; five stars
Your stories are interesting and engaging for the reader. Calm narrative and surprising action. Thank you Catherine for sharing. I just ordered your book.
❤️