The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Friday was two days away. He couldn’t wait!

  * * * *

  Kurt ate fragrant julienne and unfolded the newspaper. His eyes ran over the headlines. Every day, if it was possible, he dined at Ellington’s restaurant. He was a friend of the owner. Once he had cured the restaurateur’s little daughter of the fear of the dark in a single session.

  Kurt liked it here—a calm quiet place, excellent cuisine, though without frills, and a pleasant atmosphere. A special good-natured atmosphere reigned here, as at the table of a large and close-knit family. It might be because this restaurant was a family business, and everyone tried their best for the good of their loved ones. And this unobtrusive concern could be felt throughout.

  A waitress approached Kurt. She put a cup of tea with mint on the table and removed the empty dishes.

  “Would you like anything else?” she asked politely and smiled.

  “No, thank you.” Kurt smiled, and she walked away. Kurt took a sip from the cup with pleasure. The hot flavored tea burnt his lips a little. He again plunged into reading.

  “Oh, I knew that news a month ago!” Kurt heard a voice, folded the newspaper, and noticed an aged woman sitting at the next table. Faces of the old were interesting to Kurt. Over a lifetime, a person experiences so many emotions, but the most common are printed on the face and freeze there like a mask. It’s a tip for others. The face of the elderly lady was fresh, and her eyes were slightly squinted. She calmly waited while Kurt examined her face: fine wrinkles around her eyes, deep wrinkles on the forehead and slightly pursed lips. She herself without embarrassment studied his face.

  “The news doesn’t please you?” Kurt asked, tilting his head.

  “People should know what will be and not what was.”

  “Do you believe in destiny then?” Kurt immediately asked.

  “I don’t believe, I wit.”

  Kurt chuckled quietly. He had never been a fatalist. He felt himself the captain of his own ship, and he had always felt this way.

  Fate for him was just an artful conjecturing of other people’s actions with your own. And if you lie dormant, then fate will overtake you. People care about themselves, about their own benefit, and it’s a part of human nature. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll never get what you want. Of course, this can happen by chance, and it means by someone else’s will, so what? Wait in vain? Wouldn’t it be better to build your life actively and get what you need, what you want? For Kurt, the answer was obvious. But people with a different view of it were interesting.

  “And what do you know about fate?” Kurt asked. Instead of answering, the woman got up and walked over to him. Looking in Kurt’s eyes, she sat opposite to him.

  “You think that the fate is subservient to you, don’t you?” She smiled slightly. Kurt continued to study her face.

  “You like to think you know the fate of others. Thus, you implicate yourself in the mystery you have made unattainable. Your fate doesn’t belong to you. You’re a fortune teller,” Kurt concluded.

  “And what are you? A clairvoyant?” the woman asked, as if she was surprised.

  “No,” Kurt answered. “The newspaper has a note about your new salon and your photo, Madame Brittan.” He showed her the page, and a smile touched Madame’s lips. “And you knew I had to see it. Therefore, you started this conversation.”

  “Not bad, Mr. Rhein. No wonder you’re so praised in society. So, you expressly said what you said about fate?”

  “No, I really think that.”

  “Do you want to become a partaker of the mystery?” she asked as she opened her purse.

  “Do you want to tell my fortune?”

  Madame Brittan pulled out an old deck of tarot cards and shuffled them carefully. Kurt didn’t stop her.

  “Pick a card, Mr. Rhein,” she said, her voice getting lower. Kurt pulled out a card from the deck and placed it on the table in front of him. It was the card of The Devil.

  Madame Brittan picked it up and turned to Kurt, saying, “Do you know what this card means?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “You’re playing with fate, Mr. Rhein. She also loves to play, but she always wins. There’s a temptation in front of you, and you’re ready to jump into the maelstrom without a flinch. I would advise you to beware. However, I know this will only provoke you.” She pulled out another card from the deck and looked at it, not showing it to Kurt. “Yes, the devil is eager to meet you as you crave to see him. However, remember, whatever you see, the reality is always duller than fantasy.”

  She smiled and put her cards back into her purse. “Goodbye, Mr. Rhein,” Madame Brittan said as she got up from the table. “If you’re interested in my assistance, you know where to find me.”

  Smiling, Kurt watched her leave and went back to reading. The fortune teller didn’t scare him. On the contrary, he felt vigorous. Kurt liked such people; they went beyond the pale trying to surprise, and sometimes it came out quite amusing.

  Kurt returned home. Eliza, as usual, opened the door before he could unlock it himself. As soon as he came in and unbuttoned his coat, there was a knock on the door. Eliza opened it.

  Philip stood on the porch. Kurt started to say, “Hello,” but stopped when he saw how intensely Philip was looking at Eliza.

  “Good…good afternoon, ma’am,” he said excitedly, barely even noticing Kurt. “I came to see Mr. Rhein.”

  Eliza turned and looked at Kurt. He smiled and nodded. “Good afternoon, Philip. Please come in! Eliza, please bring us tea. We will be in the living room.”

  Philip, throwing another interested look after Eliza as she retreated into the kitchen, finally came in.

  “Hello, Mr. Rhein.”

  “Call me Kurt.”

  “Well…I brought you the invitation you requested.”

  “Why would you bother? You could’ve sent it by messenger.”

  “Well, I still want to try to talk you out of this.”

  They sat in armchairs before the fireplace. The weather was warm, so the fireplace was lit only in the evenings.

  Philip took the envelope out of his inside pocket and placed it on the table between the armchairs. He wanted to say something, but Eliza entered the room, carrying a tray. Philip blushed noticeably when she put a cup next to him and filled it with fragrant hot tea. Kurt watched again; he found the situation touching and amusing.

  In Kurt’s head, Eliza, in a rich elegant dress, was sitting at a table in a cozy salon, and Philip was a waiter. He shyly handed her tea and glanced furtively at her, as if trying to steal her beauty, keep it somewhere deep within himself. However, she didn’t notice his mental anguish, because she had her own. She hid it in a small silver medallion on her graceful neck. And sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, she opened it.

  “The reception starts on Friday evening and sometimes continues until Monday morning,” Philip told him. “The people who gather there are very different, but I’m afraid you won’t find anyone pleasant there.” Philip shook his head.

  What Kurt liked about this young man was that he always expressed his emotions so sincerely. As soon as any emotion slipped across his face, he immediately voiced it. Kurt liked this directness and sincerity. His demeanor wasn’t vulgar, but decent.

  “You know, if your patient’s problem is associated with John, the best solution is to be as far from him as possible. You can’t reason with John; he doesn’t feel sorry for anybody, and he doesn’t love anyone. He’s interested in people as only play things. When he gets bored, it’s all over. I’ve seen so many girls who were tormented by love for him and how he played with their feelings and enjoyed their suffering so openly.” Philip winced. “He’s a dyed-in- the-wool sadist.”

  “Believe me, everything has a reason for being,” Kurt said softly.

  “It’s his nature. As I remember, he was always like this. He was never in need of anything. Father never spoiled us, but he never deprived us of anything either. Yes, he was often busy, but still…John
constantly pushed everyone away—him, mother and me. Actually, he didn’t want to know me at all.”

  “You said you are half-brothers?”

  “Yes, we have the same father.”

  “What happened to his mother?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she died in childbirth. No one has ever told me about her, so I don’t know what John knows about her. And I wasn’t interested.” Philip paused and sighed. “Maybe you can understand why he hates me.”

  “Yes, I do, and it isn’t surprising. His father remarried after his mother’s death and had a second child—you. And you have a mother.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Philip said, as if beginning to make excuses. “My mother always treated him like her son, and I grew up thinking he was my blood brother. I couldn’t understand why he hated me. When I learned about his mother, I understood something. But still I can’t forgive him for taking it out on me. Father had some influence on him; John would grit his teeth, but he rarely contradicted father. After father’s death, John was irredeemable. A year ago, my mother and I moved out of the Fenririr’s house and settled separately. John hasn’t kept in contact with either of us.”

  “Yet you painted him…”

  “Because resentment lives somewhere inside of me. He’s my older brother; I loved him. Maybe it’s childish and stupid, but I expected him to love me back.” Philip paused and took a sip of cold tea.

  Nothing surprised Kurt yet. All was clear and predictable to him. He was interested only in the so-called magnetism John used to befuddle others. And in order to understand its nature, Kurt was sure he must experience it for himself. Knowledge of John’s past, of course, was a great help, but Kurt’s impatience increased. He only had to wait for the evening of the next day to see John’s character at close hand. He made a mental note on the picture of John in his gallery.

  Eliza entered the room. Philip’s demeanor instantly changed; he straightened up and smiled even though he had looked depressed.

  “Would you like anything else?” she asked politely and looked at Philip.

  “No, Eliza, thank you,” said Kurt.

  She was about to leave when Kurt turned to Philip. “Tell me, Philip, don’t you think Eliza would be a lovely model for a portrait? Of course, I know nothing about art, but…” He paused and looked expectantly at Philip.

  “Mr. Rhein, what are you talking about?” Eliza turned back, embarrassed. But Kurt knew she was waiting. She looked at Philip…and she hoped.

  “Well….” Philip coughed as if something had stuck in his throat. “Of…of course…I mean, I think Miss Eliza would look perfect in a portrait,” he said at last, and his cheeks blushed. Kurt smiled.

  “So then, why don’t you do a portrait of her for your mother’s gallery?”

  Eliza stood a bit further and didn’t move. She looked at Kurt and then Philip, as if her fate was to be decided in the next few moments.

  “With pleasure,” Philip finally answered, trying to catch his uneven breath. “That is, if Miss Eliza would not mind to pose for me.”

  Now it was Eliza’s turn to blush. Kurt openly enjoyed this situation, feeling like the conductor of an orchestra.

  “I wouldn’t mind.” Eliza looked at Philip with sparkling eyes, and for a moment it seemed to Kurt the two young people were alone in the room while he was nothing more than a disembodied spirit.

  “Then I will send for you tomorrow at two. Is that possible?” Philip said and finally turned to Kurt.

  “Yes, of course. I don’t mind,” he responded confidently and leaned back in his armchair.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Happy and elated, Eliza literally ran out of the room.

  In Kurt’s cozy internal salon, Miss Eliza suddenly encountered the confused look of Philip-waiter, and for a second, she released a silver medallion from her hands.

  Saying goodbye to Philip on the doorstep, Kurt thought about the following night.

  “Look, Kurt. Be careful. Better to watch from afar, otherwise you won’t be able to think soberly,” Philip said.

  Kurt smiled in response. Philip didn’t realize his words just further whetted Kurt’s curiosity. “Don’t worry, Philip. I’ll be fine. Good night, now, and thank you again for the invitation.”

  Philip went down the stairs, and Kurt closed the door, pondering again what his meeting with John Fenririr would hold for him. And for his newest patient.

  Chapter 3

  Friday afternoon turned out to be fruitful. Kurt managed to receive three patients. Time slipped by unnoticed, but his feelings of expectation weren’t becoming less stressful. At nine, Kurt went to the address written on the invitation. The carriage stopped at a luxurious mansion, surrounded by a green garden, with a view that expressed superiority over the neighboring houses.

  Kurt came to the gate, where he was met by the butler. Kurt gave him the invitation with his name; the butler nodded briefly and let him pass through the gates. Even from here he could hear the sound of music and the hum of voices. Kurt walked through the garden, and in the cool air he felt the anticipation of something very interesting and unusual. He didn’t deny that maybe he himself instilled this anticipation. But it was so seldom that something rare came his way. He just couldn’t resist the temptation.

  Approaching the open door of the mansion, Kurt was surprised to see such a large number of guests. Young girls seemed to compete for whose outfit was more luxurious. They sparkled with diamonds on their slim fingers, with gold on elegant necks and wrists. Young men, dressed in the latest fashion, entertained the ladies. But what immediately struck Kurt was that all the young men had something in common with the portrait of John Fenririr. Everyone seemed to be trying to look like him. They had short, shiny black hair combed back, and confident, even cocky, looks on their faces.

  Kurt stopped. He realized he couldn’t merge with this crowd, but it was too late to retreat. He entered the richly decorated house filled with luxury. It seemed the house was trying to dazzle the guests with its magnificence. Kurt went through the first floor; it was like a museum. He chuckled at this comparison. Over the weekends, Danee’s gallery also had been crowded with people, and they were surrounded by luxury, but the luxury was dignified and silent, and people tried to match it. Here it was different. Luxury made this house arrogant and completely devoid of nobility.

  Kurt went down to a fountain surrounded by arbors. All the seats were taken, making it difficult to pass through. Kurt couldn’t say for sure, but there were at least two hundred people here. It was difficult to believe this happened here every weekend.

  Suddenly, out of the carousel of faces, one whipped out that was familiar to Kurt—Archie Tains. He spoke with someone at the garden entrance. Kurt decided to approach him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Tains,” he greeted when Archie noticed him. His companion also turned to look at Kurt. “Kurt Rhein.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Rhein. This is Thomas Walter,” Archie said, becoming noticeably nervous. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Kurt smiled. He knew Archie was lying and had been hoping Kurt would find a way to get here. “Why?” Making a surprised face, he replied, “You’ve intrigued me greatly.”

  “I’m afraid these parties have long since stopped being intriguing,” said Thomas in response.

  “Why do you come here, then?” Kurt asked with a smile.

  Thomas laughed a bit awkwardly. “I love the stability, you know. And then, who refuses John’s invitation? Certainly not me. So, while I get one, I will attend.”

  “So, you know John?” Kurt asked, his curiosity becoming increasingly difficult to restrain.

  Archie gave him a wary look.

  “Of course!” exclaimed Thomas. “In order to be here, you had to have at least one conversation with John.” He paused and glanced suspiciously at Kurt. “Did you get here another way?”

  “No, of course not,” Kurt replied curtly. But Thomas didn’t take his eyes off him. Behind them there were cries, and al
l three turned around. The host was descending the stairs. Kurt paused for a moment. So, this is John Fenririr, he thought. It seemed to him he had come to a masquerade, where all the men wore the host’s mask, and when the host arrived in person, their behavior became pathetic and clownish. Kurt was a good ways from the stairs, but he clearly understood what Archie and Philip had been talking about. When John appeared, everything changed. Everybody looked at him with adoration, envy, admiration; he attracted these glances and knew it. It was clear—John felt like a king within this little world of his subjects. Kurt grinned; the mystery wasn’t so complicated. And when he was about to turn away, his eyes suddenly locked with John’s ; the other man was looking straight at him. Without knowing why, Kurt felt a flush of fear and immediately looked away. He became nervous, and his breathing hitched. Realizing this, he was surprised, but tried to pull himself together as quickly as possible.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said curtly to Archie and Thomas and went into the garden. He quickly stepped into the street and walked farther and farther away from the noise, away from the magnificent radiance of the mansion, away from those predatory eyes that had caught him off guard.

  Kurt stopped. It was the first time in his life he’d felt this way. There was no longer a portrait of John in his internal gallery; the figure had gotten out of the frame and become flesh and blood, gaining power and strength. At the same moment, Kurt saw the doors of his inner salon open. Everyone fell silent and looked at the silhouette that appeared. It was a woman in a long red dress, long red silk gloves and a broad red hat, which completely hid her face. Accompanied by the sound of her heels clicking on the floor, she walked through the ringing silence to sit at a counter. The door closed, and habitual gloom reigned in the salon again, but it wasn’t the same anymore. With her appearance, everything had changed. And no matter how hard people pretended not to notice the woman in red, each one held her in sight…waiting.