A story based on Monica's dream

''The story which I am to tell you, will be recited 200 years after my death. I will have returned to soil, as should be, and so will my children and great grand-children have done. Only Ada will still be around. I planted her in 2010, on my 52 birthday''

It was an early summer afternoon, and the sun was strong and sharp, through which one could see leaf of dusts as little snowflakes and white tiny flowers carrying through the widow from the garden. All was full of life. All of the nature uttered sounds, working hard. The green, this green was inimitable. I had to close my eyes. The light was too bright. A bee flowed and sat close to the wardrobe. I observed her delicate wings and their fast moves. She continued to walk as she knew the way. I realised that she went into the space between the wardrobe and wall where I saw to my surprise a kind of shelf. I decided to shift the wardrobe a little bit in order to find out that shelf. Bee flown nervously. I took out my hand and found in her a riddled notebook, with the sketch of Montmartre on brown cover. I saw that there are more similar notebooks, all in the same state, with the Paris cover. I leafed through the notebook hastily seeing yellow pages filled with petty handwriting being written with ink that become to fade away.
I heard some sound of breaking porcelain, oh god that must be Anna, so nervous, as usual. We do not have too much time. We need to prepare the entire house and the garden before new landlords will move in. I got a headache from yesterday for with Tosiek and Anna we celebrated the selling of the house. And Janusz our youngest brother congratulated us via the skype: it is indeed a good deal – he said.
Yes, indeed a good deal, best we could have. The house was old, needed general renovation and they paid surprisingly good money. They have already showed us the plan for new hotel and new garden. They were so excited – and here in the middle we will build a swimming pool. Even Gorlice need a three star hotel. Honestly, I do not care about this plan; I think it is crazy to invest here, in a middle of nowhere and I think they going to bankrupt very soon.
They were like from the moon, I mean from Warsaw, and they did not negotiate the price. The neighbours were jealous. And as for me – I signed with relief. It was pointless to pay all taxes and costs for a house like this, huge, old and so expensive, and nobody lived there, nobody wanted to move. Only Anna disagreed. She was sentimental and cried yesterday. Well, there was something in her arguments – it is a house built by our parents. And our mother was so determine not to sell it, she always repeated – ''it is all you have''. But Anna was a retired teacher and could not have enough money to maintain the house and to pay our parts. It was then better for all, better for all……
Besides, for me this house always brought some burdens, and unnecessities. All the holidays I had to come here from Katowice a distance of 300 kilometres, and recently even every second week when she had started to have problems with legs. She was so stubborn not to move to the city. Parents...so stubborn, both. They had saved all their money for that house, all their lives! I did not have even pocket money! And recently the garden has became dark and moist, for mother forbid to chop all these old, not bearing fruits, these silly crooked apples trees that overshadowed the house. It was something I could not really believed. How many times we asked to cut these god damned trees?
No time, no time, hangover, we drunk a little bit too much, and then I dreamt about Anna's tears. I do not feel pity at all. You should be more pragmatic. Less burdens, more happiness. That the way it is. My poor sister could not understand the simplest message. No time….Calm down, calm. How many times I had to repeat all that thoughts? How many times I had to go through this labyrinth? Everything has been decided. I should feel now calm. I need to feel calm. And I cannot not. All the time the same burden, when it will stop to heavy my head?
I saw I bowed this strange notebook. There was something in it, a breath of the past, forgotten smell or shape that I could not resist that pushed me to open it once more and pushed me to read my father's diligent writing:

''All my life was full of work and duties. And pain. As a youth, I suffered and could not stand any injustice. But still I believe in good part of the world. I always believed that there is a kind of message in all that moves of nature, like in a game of chess.''

''I meet her in a spa; she was as young as I was. My lungs had already begun to heal; I could spend more hours in the garden with the wild apple trees. She said to me once that she knew she is going to die''

''Love means life and once more I could feel it in my soul. Sometimes I could feel I have two hearts. It was light and good. I could not sleep. Next day I returned home''

''M accepted me; although she knew everything, she knew all at first glance, just looked at my eyes in the platform at the Railway station''

''I found a beautiful quote in Westeren's famous book, something about Ada, and the tree. It was first quote in my diary. I was dreaming about a story of revolutionists from Peru that has been rectified 200 years after his death. I think that our life is even more beautiful because true one and even more magical, for based on facts. Sorrow disappeared for a while when I planted a new apple tree in my garden – Ada''

''I think this ordinary feeling that with passing time you have forgot to name as love, that we had with M, is like our garden. The older the more beautiful.''

Anna went to the room, and smiled:
– Why you laugh? Did you find something funny?
I hid the notebook quickly and could not answer. I watched her wrinkles and tired but still full of light eyes.
– What do have there? Did you find something?
– Well.. Nothing special. Just some stupid bills of mother – she smiled even brighter. Her wrinkles for a moment disappeared.
– ach her bills. Funny woman. You remember? She used to write all her expenses. Well... OK, please hurry, we have only two hours
– I know I know. We will manage Anna.
She went back with reluctance. I threw the notebook away. I didn't want to read it any more. My father as a writer, poet, or whatever. I started to laugh. Miserable. He was coal miner! Or I should cry and cry out loud. Shame of all these lies. Shame of their imagination! It must not be truth. And even if it is, we should not know anything about it; another romance of our father. Another disgrace. Such a contradiction - for all we remember his calm face while he was sitting on the bench in the garden waiting for the twilight; he seemed to be noble, all his moves were full of charm even the way he held his waning cigarette between his fingers; his steadiness and awaiting, and silence that I could not stand. Once I asked him what did he think? He did not react. I left him alone. Now I know… we all supposed something. I decided to burn all the notebooks. It has to be like this. Anna could cry and Tosiek could feel an unnecessary burden. It was my duty to cut the past. I was the oldest. I tore only one page and place it in my pocket. Later, after we gave the keys to new landlords, in Tosiek's car, on the way back to Katowice, I have read on the faded, yellow page:

''What year, what month, what day? I can not longer hear the birds surrounding young Ada; her leaves vanish from my sight''