I will try to put aside my disappointments about this episode for today’s essay and accept it for what it is. I think, on some level, the two Kyrzsztofs who wrote this episode — Kieslowkski and Pietsiewicz — fell in love with a character they created. That isn’t such a terrible thing. The world would be a much better place with plentiful Zofias.

We are back at Zofia’s apartment. Elżbieta sees the titled painting, fixes it, and it again tilts right back. She notes all of the books, pages left open. She remarks “the woman I knew could not have become the woman you are.” Zofia responds “and yet, I have.”

She is preparing for them both the most unappetizing meal imaginable … a bunch of sliced up radishes, some soft cheese and two boiled eggs. Zofia apologizes that she’s on a diet and wasn’t prepared for guests.

Before they eat, Zofia tells her guest that she gave her a scare back at the old apartment. Elżbieta apologizes.

Zofia then knows it is time to tell Elżbieta what really happened. She begins it with saying if you were expecting a great revelation, you’ll be disappointed. And yet, the story is a pretty big revelation.

Zofia says that her husband, the man with his hands in his pockets, was a leader in the Polish resistance. Before Elżbieta and her escorts arrived, they were tipped off that the escort was an informer for the gestapo and they were being set up. They feared a ripple effect of arrests if this turned out to be true.

She added that they later found out that this was a false tip — and that the escort came very close to being executed for espionage wrongfully. She adds that Elżbieta has gone her whole life thinking something about her — and she has gone her life wondering if Elżbieta was alive.

I do like this moment, accenting the point that people can live great stretches of their lives believing something untrue about someone else, something that can shift the climate of their lives.

Here, Zofia is behind Elżbieta and she states simply, in an almost confessional manner, that she sent her away, to almost certain death, and knew precisely what she was doing. She adds that Elżbieta is right — there is no idea that is more important than the life of a child.

In another of those beautiful Kieslowski moments with hands, Elżbieta reaches back to her shoulder to grasp Zofia’s hand.

Then we get a very Montaigne like moment, with Elżbieta asking Zofia what she tells her students about how they should live. Zofia responds almost exactly as Montaigne would, that I don’t tell them, I help them reach the destination towards goodness on their own.

She says that situations bring out good and evil in us, and that evening — the night Elżbieta was turned away — did not bring out the good in her. The conversation veers to religion, Elżbieta noting that she never mentions God in her books. She replies that she does not attend church and doesn’t refer to God, but that some words need not be said.

Elżbieta asks that if you choose to leave God out of life, what is there instead? Zofia replies that there is great loneliness. They both refer to a void … but the conversation trails off, it doesn’t land.

The doorbell now rings. The neighbor who ran into Zofia earlier has come around with his zeppelin stamp. After he leaves, Zofia notes that he shows off his stamps like people brag about their grandchildren.

There are moments here where the conversation goes nowhere and drags, but there are numerous nice ones as well, and it’s all wrapped in a growing friendship between two people originally torn by a terrible event.

I accept the scene for how it is, grateful that it exists, even if it’s something Kieslowski might have done better.