Work Text:
It's warm. The air smells like spring, grass and wild jasmine and other flowers. The Vistula is sluggish and quiet in front of them, invisible in the darkness. Magda's wearing a white blouse, bare feet tucked under her long skirt as she sits on the bank, long hair spilling over her shoulders, and Erik feels overwhelmed by her beauty.
He's bought a bottle of homemade cherry wine from someone semi-legally, and it's much better than the stuff in shops but strong and they are both tipsy. She passes him back the bottle, and he takes a long draught, relishing the sweet tart taste, the bite of alcohol, the very fact he is alive on this beautiful evening drinking wine with the woman he loves.
„So tell me,” he asks jokingly, „will we be happy when we marry?”
Magda takes his hand, peering at the lines of his palm, the little spot of ruddy anticorrosive paint dried near the base of his thumb and half worn off.
„You will live to at least ninety and change the world. We will have five children, but one of them won't be yours. You will forgive me because you will have been sleeping with the same man for years...”
Erik is laughing now, quietly.
„Your hair will go white, and my lover will go bald. You will both look good with it though, dignified old men.”
„I love you”, he laughs, pulling her hand to him and kissing it. „I love you so much.”