Tatarak Page #5

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Show me my husband's results.

No, I can't. I can't,

not even to a wife.

Personal data protection.

I can't.

Anyway, the results aren't ready yet.

The doctor was absent today.

But, please, show them to me.

After all, you do know all about that.

I can't. I can't,

not even to a wife.

It was a bearded man, in the afternoon?

Yes, Edward Klosinski.

He left. He came back.

It's very bad - he said.

Very bad.

We'll get it ready as first tomorrow.

You may collect it then.

What time can we do that?

From 8, but you may

come earlier than that.

I called. I said: Edward, I've seen it,

I've seen the printout.

We'll get the results tomorrow

morning, you can do that from 7.

I hate that.

I'll sue them!

Some old hag comes over,

they show her whatever she wants.

They wouldn't even tell me anything!

It's disgusting. I hate that!

They'll show you whatever you want!

Yes, because my name is Krystyna Janda.

I know. That's terrible.

Tomorrow we'll get

the results together.

You can get them yourself.

I can't, the plumber

is coming over.

They'll give it to you.

I went very early in the morning,

before opening.

The result was there, waiting.

They asked no questions, nothing,

not even my name, nothing.

They gave it to me.

I was holding that envelope in my hand

and walking towards

the car as if hypnotized.

I drove through the gate

and out into the street.

I found a shoulder to park

and opened the envelope.

A tumour 8 x 10 centimetres

in the left lung,

five shadows in the right one.

I was in shock. What shadows?

I called my doctor friend in Germany.

All she said was - Read it.

And then - I'm sorry.

But what are shadows?

Mets.

It's spread to both lungs.

Hang in there now.

I didn't call him.

I cried,

I screamed, I couldn't calm down.

And that was the only time when

I cried like that, I haven't ever since.

Quietly, when I was alone.

When I let myself off guard.

And I cry like that until today

when it slips out of control.

We met at the theatre.

He didn't ask me anything.

We got into the car and went to

the hospital on Plocka Street.

He had an appointment with a doctor,

who, as it happens, was a friend

of a friend we went skiing with.

Not a word on the way...

We drove in silence.

I didn't say anything.

He preferred not to ask.

He didn't ask about the result.

My mobile rang. Andrzej Wajda.

"Sweet Rush".

All the way to hospital

I talked on the phone.

That there's this assistant

who knows better than his master.

He's been giving me tips,

that there's always some youth

on the set who thinks they

know better than the director.

Andrzej was having doubts.

Edward kept quiet.

At the crossroads,

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