people,’ said Bartek. ‘Else you’ll never find the right woman. So, what was it you said you do all day, if you’re not sitting around at home?’
I haven’t yet said what I do , thought Samson in irritation. Sometimes Bartek did not really listen to him. After all, he never had anything particularly impressive to talk about.
He hesitated briefly, wondering whether it was wise to tell Bartek what he did. He wanted so much to tell someone and there was no one else apart from Bartek. ‘In a way,’ he said mysteriously, ‘I do spend my whole day around people.’
‘Really? What do you do?’
‘I look at other people’s lives.’
‘Huh?’ said Bartek.
‘I walk around the streets. At set times. And it’s really interesting . . . you find out a lot about people in their own surroundings. How they live. Whether they are alone or have a family. Whether they are happy or unhappy. That kind of thing.’
Samson suddenly thought that he had probably made a mistake. It was stupid of him to open up to Bartek like this. He could see it in the expression on his friend’s face.
‘You mean, you stalk other people?’ asked Bartek after a pause in which he was obviously trying to make sense of what he had heard.
‘I analyse them,’ explained Samson.
‘What do you mean, you analyse them?’
‘I try to find out things about them. For example, why someone is alone. And how the person deals with that.’
‘And what do you get out of it?’
‘I understand things.’
‘Yes, but why? I mean, what exactly do you want to find out?’
Samson saw that there was no point. Bartek would not understand. Perhaps the whole thing was incomprehensible. Nevertheless, he tried to explain it.
‘Well, I’m alone too,’ he said. ‘And I often wonder why I am. And so I try to work out why other people are in the same boat as me.’
‘Yes, but – now don’t take this the wrong way – but it’s a completely . . . well, pretty disturbed way to go about it! Why don’t you look on the Internet? There are thousands of people there with the same problem as you. There are tons of forums where you can talk to people about it.’
‘I do that too,’ admitted Samson. ‘But it’s so anonymous. I often feel doubly alone if I’ve spent the whole afternoon chatting to someone five hundred miles away who I don’t even know, just because he too can’t find a partner.’
‘So is your main issue about finding a woman?’
‘Yes. That too.’
‘And do you think you’re going to find a young, single woman by wandering the streets and spying into other people’s houses?’ asked Bartek, who was obviously trying hard to bring a certain structure and logic to a situation that seemed grotesque to him.
‘Not exactly.’
‘So what the hell makes you do it, then?’
Samson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘No, it does. Don’t take this the wrong way, Samson, but it sounds pretty crazy to me. If you ask me . . . being unemployed isn’t good for you. You’re starting to do some odd things.’
‘I didn’t choose to be jobless.’
‘No, of course not. But are you trying to find something? You’re still young! You can always drive a taxi . . . something. Creeping around after other people all day – that’s not going to help!’
‘It’s interesting.’
Bartek shook his head. ‘God, Samson, really . . . Have you at least found a woman who could be right for you? So there’s been some point to all your walking?’
Samson had to admit that there was not an abundance of single young women that he had his sights on. ‘Most are quite a bit older, of course. A lot older than me. There is one woman in my . . . schedule. She is my age and obviously lives on her own. She works at home as a freelancer and has a big dog.’
‘And? Have you ever talked to her?’
Samson realised that Bartek did not understand a thing. He would never talk to the women he shadowed.
‘No.’
‘Invite her out for a
I haven’t yet said what I do , thought Samson in irritation. Sometimes Bartek did not really listen to him. After all, he never had anything particularly impressive to talk about.
He hesitated briefly, wondering whether it was wise to tell Bartek what he did. He wanted so much to tell someone and there was no one else apart from Bartek. ‘In a way,’ he said mysteriously, ‘I do spend my whole day around people.’
‘Really? What do you do?’
‘I look at other people’s lives.’
‘Huh?’ said Bartek.
‘I walk around the streets. At set times. And it’s really interesting . . . you find out a lot about people in their own surroundings. How they live. Whether they are alone or have a family. Whether they are happy or unhappy. That kind of thing.’
Samson suddenly thought that he had probably made a mistake. It was stupid of him to open up to Bartek like this. He could see it in the expression on his friend’s face.
‘You mean, you stalk other people?’ asked Bartek after a pause in which he was obviously trying to make sense of what he had heard.
‘I analyse them,’ explained Samson.
‘What do you mean, you analyse them?’
‘I try to find out things about them. For example, why someone is alone. And how the person deals with that.’
‘And what do you get out of it?’
‘I understand things.’
‘Yes, but why? I mean, what exactly do you want to find out?’
Samson saw that there was no point. Bartek would not understand. Perhaps the whole thing was incomprehensible. Nevertheless, he tried to explain it.
‘Well, I’m alone too,’ he said. ‘And I often wonder why I am. And so I try to work out why other people are in the same boat as me.’
‘Yes, but – now don’t take this the wrong way – but it’s a completely . . . well, pretty disturbed way to go about it! Why don’t you look on the Internet? There are thousands of people there with the same problem as you. There are tons of forums where you can talk to people about it.’
‘I do that too,’ admitted Samson. ‘But it’s so anonymous. I often feel doubly alone if I’ve spent the whole afternoon chatting to someone five hundred miles away who I don’t even know, just because he too can’t find a partner.’
‘So is your main issue about finding a woman?’
‘Yes. That too.’
‘And do you think you’re going to find a young, single woman by wandering the streets and spying into other people’s houses?’ asked Bartek, who was obviously trying hard to bring a certain structure and logic to a situation that seemed grotesque to him.
‘Not exactly.’
‘So what the hell makes you do it, then?’
Samson shrugged his shoulders. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘No, it does. Don’t take this the wrong way, Samson, but it sounds pretty crazy to me. If you ask me . . . being unemployed isn’t good for you. You’re starting to do some odd things.’
‘I didn’t choose to be jobless.’
‘No, of course not. But are you trying to find something? You’re still young! You can always drive a taxi . . . something. Creeping around after other people all day – that’s not going to help!’
‘It’s interesting.’
Bartek shook his head. ‘God, Samson, really . . . Have you at least found a woman who could be right for you? So there’s been some point to all your walking?’
Samson had to admit that there was not an abundance of single young women that he had his sights on. ‘Most are quite a bit older, of course. A lot older than me. There is one woman in my . . . schedule. She is my age and obviously lives on her own. She works at home as a freelancer and has a big dog.’
‘And? Have you ever talked to her?’
Samson realised that Bartek did not understand a thing. He would never talk to the women he shadowed.
‘No.’
‘Invite her out for a
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