🌊 Salt in the Wind Episode 13: The Boy in the Frame
The Kołobrzeg town hall was a place of bureaucracy and dust. Ren hadn't planned to go there, but the archivist's cassette had mentioned a name—Janusz Zieliński, Aleksander's younger cousin. A clerk at the front desk raised an eyebrow when Ren asked.
"He passed away in 2003," she said. "But his estate was never claimed. There's a box in the archives."
Aleksy joined Ren in the basement, where the clerk handed them a cardboard container sealed with twine. Inside were photographs, receipts, and a small wooden frame wrapped in cloth.
Ren unwrapped it slowly.
Inside was a photo of two boys—Aleksander and Janusz, sitting on a dock, legs dangling over the water. Aleksander's arm was around Janusz's shoulder. Behind them, blurred but unmistakable, stood Masaru.
Aleksy stared. "He was part of their life."
Ren flipped the frame over. A note was taped to the back.
"He told me to remember. So I did. I kept this. I kept them."
Aleksy whispered, "Janusz knew."
They searched the rest of the box. At the bottom was a postcard, never sent. The handwriting was shaky.
"Masaru—he's gone. I think the sea took him. But I remember. I remember everything."
Ren folded the postcard carefully. "Janusz was a witness."
Aleksy nodded. "And maybe the last person who saw them together."
They left the town hall in silence, the photo tucked safely in Ren's coat. Outside, the wind had picked up, carrying the scent of salt and memory.
Back at the hostel, Ren added the photo to the wall. The collage had grown wild—letters, sketches, napkins, tapes, now a new face: Janusz, the quiet cousin who remembered.
Aleksy stood behind him. "It's starting to feel like a family."
Ren turned. "It is."
That night, they walked to the harbor, retracing the photo's setting. The dock was still there, weathered and cracked. Ren sat at the edge, camera in hand.
Aleksy joined him, legs dangling over the water.
"I used to come here with my grandfather," he said. "He'd tell stories about ships that vanished. About people who left and never came back."
Ren looked at him. "Did he ever mention Aleksander?"
Aleksy hesitated. "Only once. Said he was a boy who loved too loudly."
Ren whispered, "And the town punished him for it."
Aleksy nodded. "But not everyone forgot."
They sat in silence, the waves lapping below. Ren took a photo—Aleksy on the dock, eyes distant, the sea behind him.
When they returned, Ren printed it and pinned it beside the old one. Two boys on a dock. Decades apart. But somehow, still connected.
Aleksy stared at the wall. "What happens when we finish this?"
Ren didn't answer. He just whispered, "We give them back their voices."
Outside, the wind carried the sound of footsteps.
Inside, the story refused to fade.