How Beautiful You Are Today

- My love, how beautiful you are today, - Levko said to Orysia, confined to her bed. He decided not to go home. He waited until she fell asleep, lay down on the bench by her door and listened to her breathing for a long while, and then never noticed falling asleep himself. He woke with grass between his fingers. Outside it was February. The snow crunched so loudly you could hear it through the window. Not a blade of grass, not a blossom anywhere.

Yet Orysia's house smelled of a wet apple tree after rain. Orysia had been fading for several weeks. They never made it to the wedding: she had taken to her bed before it, so Levko slept at his parents' house and spent his days almost without leaving her side. And the village witch had stopped coming even before Epiphany.

The last time, she sat by Orysia a long while, listened to her breathing, then gathered her herbs back into her bag and told Levko there was nothing more she could do. He sat by the bed every day. Gave her water, straightened the blanket, read aloud. And always, before leaving: - My love, how beautiful you are today. At first Orysia laughed. - You're lying. - No. Then she touched her sunken cheek. - You do see me? - I see you. - And still? - And still.

One especially quiet night he fell asleep on the bench outside Orysia's room and woke up in summer. The apple trees were in bloom. The river was warm. Orysia came walking toward him barefoot, as bright and full of life as before the illness. She sat down beside him. - What do you love me for? - For your eyes. - They'll grow old. - For your hair. - It'll turn grey. - For your laugh. - And if I stop laughing? Levko got angry and woke with the smell of grass on his hands.

In the morning he gave her water. Orysia didn't open her eyes. - For my eyes, then? Levko froze. Then he laughed. He decided he must have talked in his sleep and she had heard him through the wall. - And the hair will turn grey. He wasn't laughing anymore. - I also saw you stamp your foot. That, you can't see through a wall. Orysia opened her eyes. - I was there too. From then on, by day they waited for the night.

Every night there was the same orchard. And the same question: - What do you love me for? Levko searched for better answers. For her voice. For the middle of the pie she always left for him. For the cross way she folded shirts. For how, in a thunderstorm, she shut all the windows and said it was just the draft. Orysia listened. - And if I can't do any of that anymore? By day she could barely speak. And at night she ran from Levko among the apple trees.

Then someone else appeared in the orchard. Far off, under the farthest apple tree. The next night, closer. A night later, a tall man in dark clothes stood by the water. - Do you see him? Orysia turned around. - Who? The man was gone. Under the apple tree lay a feather. Grey. Wet. Matted, as if it had been pulled from the water. Levko picked it up the moment he woke. And spent a long time wiping his wet fingers on his shirt.

The next night Orysia sat with her back to Levko. And the man stood right behind her. Now he saw the enormous wings. The man was weeping without a sound, tears running one after another down his motionless face. Levko sensed his nature. - Don't take her. He looked at him. - I don't want to. - Then don't take her. - It's not mine to decide. And he looked at Orysia again. - Take me. - No. - Why? - You were not called. Levko went pale. - And her?

The man lowered his eyes. - She has been called for a long time now. Then Orysia turned around. - I see him too. - Since when? - Since the first night. Levko looked at her as if he had just heard a betrayal. - Why did you keep quiet? Orysia held out her hand to him. - You would have stopped talking to me. She was quiet for a moment. - And started saying goodbye. That night she asked for the last time:

- If there is no more of my face, my voice, my hands, my laugh... if even I myself don't remember you, what will you love me for? Levko was silent a long time. - I don't know. Orysia was surprised. - Really? - Really. I don't know. He squeezed her fingers. - I only know that tomorrow I'll come to you again. Orysia began to cry. And the man behind her covered his face with his hands. In the morning Orysia refused water. Levko set the cup by the bed and took her hand.

- My love, how beautiful you are today. A long nothing, then her lips barely moved: - And tomorrow? - Tomorrow too. She never spoke again while conscious. He went out into the entry hall. Outside, the frost was cracking. And from the room came the smell of wet earth and apple blossom, as if spring were already somewhere very near.

Levko now stayed at her house every night, waiting for Orysia in the orchard, but this time she didn't come. Only the man with the grey wings sat under the apple tree. Levko sat down beside him and wept bitterly. - Was she afraid? - Yes. - Very? - At first. Levko hung his head. - And then? The man looked past his shoulder. - Then she remembered you had promised to come tomorrow. Levko turned around. She was standing among the apple trees.

Her hands, as always, tucked into her sleeves. She came closer. - Well? - What? - You always say something when you come. Levko was crying. - My love, how beautiful you are today. Orysia smiled. - Today you don't have to lie anymore. He stepped toward her; a hand came down on his shoulder. - Let me go. - I can't. - Why? - You're waking up. The orchard swam. - I'll come tomorrow! Orysia watched him to the very last. - I know.

Levko woke on the bench. Orysia's hand was already cold. Then the women came, covered the mirror, set water by the window. And on the chair beside the bed lay a grey feather. After the funeral Levko wrapped the feather in linen and hid it away. Before leaving the house for the last time, he straightened the blanket on the bed. - My love, how beautiful you are today.