The Man who drove

The plane touched down in Warsaw just past midnight.

Outside the frosted windows, the tarmac glistened under low orange lights, painted in cold winter haze. The engines hissed and groaned as they slowed. Kazou sat still, spine rigid, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. His breath fogged slightly on the window as he stared out—at nothing in particular.

He hadn't slept.

Kazou stepped out into the arrivals terminal, his coat slung over his shoulder, a worn leather bag bouncing against his hip with each step. He looked tired—his eyes hollowed from lack of sleep, but his movements carried the focus of someone on a mission.

Nobody looked twice at him. Just another foreigner. An east asian man with a purpose lost among tourists and business travelers.

He didn't know what exactly he expected to find. But he knew where to start. Gdańsk. The old name—Danzig—kept echoing through his head. Like a cipher he hadn't cracked yet.

Kazou stepped out of the airport into the chill air, the weight of the leather bag heavy against his side. The gray sky pressed down low, and a damp, cold wind swept through the arrivals terminal. He squinted against the weak glow of street lamps, taking a deep breath.

A yellow cab rolled to the curb, the engine rumbling low beneath the cracked city noises—distant footsteps, muffled voices, and the faint hiss of brakes on wet pavement. The driver, a middle-aged man with sharp, weathered features, watched Kazou approach through the cracked passenger window.

Kazou smiled softly, his voice quiet but steady. "Gdańsk, please."

The driver's eyes, a piercing icy blue, studied Kazou for a moment before nodding. "Ah, Gdańsk. Long ride. Are you from Asia?" His accent was thick but precise, every syllable carefully placed. "Nihao," he greeted, his Polish accent thick but clear.

Kazou blinked in surprise but returned the smile politely. "Hello."

The driver laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Ah, sorry, sorry! I thought maybe you were Chinese—your face, you know? But no matter. Welcome to Poland."

Kazou's smile grew gentler, his voice calm and kind. "I am Japanese."

"Ah! Japanese!" The driver nodded, tapping the steering wheel. "I know a little. Beautiful country. Beautiful people. I've always wanted to visit Tokyo."

Kazou nodded, hands folding politely in his lap. "Yes, I came to learn. There's a history I need to understand."

The driver exhaled, a faint puff of smoke escaping his lips as he lit a cigarette, then flicked it away before starting the cab.

"History," he muttered, as if testing the word, "can be a heavy burden. But sometimes... necessary." He glanced over at Kazou, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You're quiet, but you carry that weight like a stone in your pocket."

Kazou's smile deepened, gentle and patient. "Sometimes a stone is better than the wind. It grounds you."

"So," the driver said after a pause, "what truly brings a man like you so far? I understand it's for 'history' but Gdańsk isn't a common destination, especially for someone from so far away."

Kazou met the driver's gaze through the rearview mirror. "I am searching for answers. About a man. Someone who did terrible things, who managed to manipulate the world into forgetting his existence."

"Well, well... An ambitious man you are... What is your name?" The cab driver asks

"Kuroda... Kazou Kuroda." Kazou bows his head.

"I'm Jan," the driver replied, "Been driving cabs for over twenty years now. Born and raised in Czechoslovakia, moved here once I got married." The driver grins.

Jan's grin softened into something warmer, more knowing. "You know, Kazou, this city… Gdańsk… It's full of ghosts. Not just the ones in history books. The kind that linger in the cold air, in the cracks of old buildings, in the faces of people who lived through things you can't imagine."

Kazou nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the dim streetlights that passed by like fleeting memories.

Jan continued, his voice low and steady, "My father used to tell me stories about this place, about the tides of war and peace, and how people here survived by holding onto fragments—fragments of truth, of hope, and sometimes, of madness."

He glanced in the rearview mirror again, meeting Kazou's gaze. "You sound like a man who's carrying his own fragment. And sometimes, those fragments can either break you or make you whole."

Kazou's lips curled into a faint smile. "I hope to find a way to put the pieces together."

Jan shifted gears, the engine humming smoothly as the cab eased into the night streets. "Well, Kazou, if you're chasing shadows, you might find they're not as silent as they seem. Just remember — every shadow has its own story. And every story… well, it's waiting to be told."

The city's quiet hum wrapped around them like a cloak. For a moment, the cab was more than a vehicle—it was a vessel carrying two men bound by unseen threads of history and fate.

Jan's voice broke the silence again, softer this time. "You're not alone in this, Kazou. Sometimes, the strangest company can be the most honest."

Kazou's eyes met Jan's in the mirror once more, steady and grateful. "Thank you, Jan. For the ride—and for the company."

Jan smiled, the lines on his face deepening like the stories they both carried. "Anytime, Kazou. Anytime."

The cab rolled onward, into the shadows and the mysteries that waited beneath the cold Polish sky.

The cab slowed as it approached a small, dimly lit stop near the edge of the city's old quarter. The streetlamps flickered, casting long shadows across the wet cobblestones, and the air smelled faintly of rain and wood smoke.

Jan cut the engine and glanced at Kazou through the rearview mirror. "Here we are, Kazou. This is where I'll leave you. Man... Three hours went by fast!"

Kazou nodded, steady but tired. He reached for his leather bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

Jan opened the door and stepped out into the cold night, pulling his coat tight against the wind. "Take care of yourself, Kazou. This city... it doesn't give up its secrets easily."

Kazou stepped out, his boots clicking softly on the cobblestones. He looked up at the shadowed buildings, then back to Jan. "Thank you, Jan. For everything."

Jan smiled, genuinely, and a little sadly. "Good luck. And if you ever need a ride or just someone to talk to… You know where to find me."

Kazou returned the smile, a flicker of warmth breaking through the exhaustion in his eyes. "I'll remember."

Jan closed the cab door with a soft thud and watched as Kazou disappeared into the night, a lone figure swallowed by the city's quiet darkness.

The engine rumbled to life again, and Jan pulled away slowly, leaving Kazou at the crossroads of past and future.

As the cab's taillights faded into the distance, Kazou took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

For the first time in a long while, Kazou felt a flicker of hope.

Kazou stood alone for a moment beneath the flickering streetlamp, the cold night air settling around him like a shroud. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag.

"If no one else will stop you… I will."

Even if it meant dying... Even if it meant becoming the very thing he swore he'd never be.