The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Kurt took several deep breaths. He was amazed that emotion prevailed over his senses! Unbelievable! Internally, Kurt was more surprised he was capable of feeling such strong emotion. He always possessed himself. He kept everything under control, and moreover, he always understood cause and effect. And thanks to that, he was able to predict the course of events better than any fortune teller.

  “It’s impossible. Utterly impossible,” he repeated to himself. Catching his breath, he looked around. In the cool of the nighttime garden, in his usual seclusion, he began to put his thoughts in order.

  “What did I see?” he asked himself. “I saw John Fenririr. Maybe I called up this reaction, because I’ve been waiting for this meeting, and I’ve invested this anticipation. Although, while I was looking from afar, I felt nothing. Is it really the magnetism? In his eyes.”

  Kurt gasped. “I had too little time and was too far away to see something. But I don’t want to leave with nothing.”

  Kurt decided to return to the guests. At the entrance, he met Archie; he was alone. Seeing Kurt, he wasn’t surprised. It looked as if he had been waiting for him.

  “You felt it, too,” he said gravely, when Kurt caught up with him. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. And Kurt didn’t deny it.

  “You were right, Mr. Tains. There’s something unusual in him. But we should not lose our heads.” He smiled and headed for the guests.

  Archie watched him thoughtfully. Now, Kurt sought a meeting with John. He wanted to see whether his look would produce this same effect the second time, or if it was Kurt himself who provoked such a reaction. But now, at least, he was ready for it.

  To find John among the guests was easy. He was sitting at a table with a few guests. They were swollen with pride, while others crowded around. Kurt was somewhat surprised: more than two hundred people in unified adoration of their idol. It would be understandable if John was an outstanding musician, a politician or some other public figure, but he was only John Fenririr, a young man squandering his inheritance, buying adoration with lush festivities.

  Kurt stopped before he reached the main mass of John’s adoring fans. John was saying something to a pretty girl, who shone with happiness—this time the king condescended to shower his attentions on her as she was allowed to sit next to him, allowed to listen to his voice in her ear and be besotted by his eyes again and again.

  John then turned and said something to the lad on his right. He seemed to shine as if grace had been shed upon him.

  This evening is turning into a farce, Kurt thought. He didn’t hear what John said to anyone. From the side, it seemed like he was a healer who could cure anyone from a deadly disease with a word or a touch, and those who were suffering from a fatal disease gathered around John, waiting and praying for salvation.

  Kurt couldn’t catch John’s glance again and he got bored. He never liked this kind of leisure, and now, having lost the plot, the evening became especially boring. Kurt turned and walked through the garden to the main gate, where he again met the surly butler. Having said goodbye, Kurt went in his waiting carriage and went home.

  * * * *

  The morning sun found Kurt at work in his study. It had been a while since he’d decided to arrange his records of past patients, organizing them and putting them into the archive. And he could not think of a better time to do that than Saturday morning. The house was quiet, so when the doorbell rang, Kurt heard Eliza’s steps very clearly as she went to answer the door. When she opened it, Kurt tensed, trying to hear the voice of the guest. It was a man, but he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  Eliza knocked on the study door. “Mr. Rhein?”

  “Yes,” Kurt looked up as Eliza opened the door. “There’s—”

  “Oh, excuse me, I’ll introduce myself,” a male voice emanating from the foyer suddenly interrupted her. Eliza paused and turned her head, looking with surprise at the door. Without invitation or hesitation, John Fenririr entered the study.

  “Mr. Fenririr.” Kurt didn’t have time to control his face; the left eyebrow twitched up in surprise. He got up from the desk. For a few seconds, there was silence. Kurt looked at John. Now, neither distance nor a numerous retinue interfered, and Kurt could study the man. John was tall and broad-shouldered with a confident upright posture. He held his head slightly upturned, so it seemed that he looked down on everything and everyone with a fair amount of contempt. However, Kurt quickly concluded this wasn’t a matter of wishful thinking. Short black hair was slicked back, exposing the forehead, so the predatory glance was threatening, and at the same time, Kurt felt it again. Attraction.

  Eliza awoke first. “Uh, Mr. Rhein?”

  Kurt turned to her. “Everything is fine, Eliza; you’re free to go.”

  Eliza threw another cautious glance at John before closing the door. However, Kurt didn’t hear her steps in the corridor. They were heard only five minutes later. Apparently, Eliza was afraid she would have to save her master from the boorish guest who had literally burst into the house.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Fenririr?” Kurt asked. He immediately understood one thing; John really had seen him yesterday and remembered, and today he came here. One main question remained—why? Had he been jarred by the fact Kurt was there without his invitation, but his brother’s? However, Kurt was sure that John didn’t know his entire entourage in person. Kurt stood out because he wasn’t a part of this entourage.

  John took time to respond. He slowly examined Kurt from head to toe and his entire study. It seemed John didn’t feel any pressure from public decency, and he felt himself at home. Having satisfied his curiosity, John finally returned his attention to Kurt.

  “I need your help, Mr. Psychologist!” John said and smiled.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fenririr, but I don’t accept patients at the weekend. We can meet with you on a weekday, according to an appointed time,” Kurt said with a smile. He sat in a chair, and looked at John through his glasses.

  “How much is your appointment?” Not waiting for an answer, John threw on the table a few gold sovereigns. Kurt was silent, looking curiously at John. “More? Well, yes, you probably spend a lot on those frames for your diplomas.” John doled out some more gold coins.

  “I already told you; I don’t accept anyone on the weekends.”

  John smiled predatorily, and again the gold coins rattled.

  “I have an emergency.” He grinned. “Will you offer me to lie down on the couch, drink tea? Relax? I’ve never paid so much for a conversation in my life!”

  “Doesn’t anyone want to talk to you for free?” Kurt said with an air of surprise. “Sometimes the world can be so cruel,” he said and shook his head. “I’ll make a five-minute exception for you, Mr. Fenririr, and even do it for free. Please, have a seat.” Kurt nodded at the couch. John looked at him askance, but sat.

  “What is bothering you?”

  John laid down on the couch and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t even know where to start, doctor,” he said. “As a child, I had a turtle, and I could not cope with it. Do you think it could affect the way I cannot establish relationships with women?” John turned to Kurt and looked at him with a pitying look.

  “If in your mind, all women are presented as wrinkled turtles, then yes,” Kurt calmly replied. John laughed, leaning back. He laughed loudly and thunderously with head thrown back. Kurt watched silently.

  “It was worth paying for!” John contentedly concluded and abruptly rose from the couch. He walked around the study and stopped at a bookcase. The unpredictability of his actions somewhat alarmed Kurt, but he remained calm. He was still trying to understand why John had come to see him.

  “What kind of books do you read, Kurt?” Unceremoniously, John began to examine the crammed bookshelves. “Charles Despin, Eugène Azam…psychological folios, boring monographs…I see you wrote a couple too. I’m sorry you wasted so much time on this nonsense. And I bet your education cost you an arm and a leg. And all this just to
get into the heads of insignificant people.” John snorted. “And I don’t need books and education to understand what you have in mind.”

  Kurt tensed. John came to him and leaned so close that he could feel his breath. John’s eyes were hazel, but in this light, they seemed almost light yellow and ferocious as those of a wolf.

  “If you’re still wondering why I’m here, then here’s the answer, but not in a simple form, as you schoolboys like, but in a wrapper of ambiguity. So, you can spend a couple of hours trying to think it over properly, to make conclusions and write down in your little notebook. Never try to creep up on the beast,” he said and looked into Kurt’s eyes for a few seconds, as if he wanted to consolidate the effect he had produced, and then straightened. Kurt’s heart was beating much faster than before. And he had to work hard to cope with it. However, Kurt calmly got up from the table and said with an imperturbable smile, “Your time is up, Mr. Fenririr. I ask you to leave. I have a lot of work to do,” he said, and he looked in John’s eyes. Without fear, without servility.

  John smirked and left Kurt’s house.

  Until the end of the day Kurt sorted his notes, but his thoughts were far away. He was thinking about John’s appearance in his office, about his behavior. There was no doubt about it—Kurt’s visit on Friday night had displeased John, so now John wanted to…take revenge.

  “And he associates himself with a wild beast…classic.” Kurt smiled. “I invaded his territory, received an invitation from his younger brother, like from an enemy, so I’m no less than a spy. He spoke with me familiarly and behaved very rudely. He was brought up in a very wealthy family, so I have no doubt about his upbringing. That’s why his behavior is explained by only genuine grievance, which he, as a child, clothed in such rough shape and displayed, hoping to hurt me. Isn’t it incredible? To come to the house of the most eminent psychologist in London, burst into the office and take him apart in pieces. I think it is consistent with his nature, his self-esteem. But the strange thing is that I understand all this, and yet, I get nervous.”

  Kurt stood up from the desk and walked to the window. The street was dark. Lights shone quite dimly as rare passers-by were hurrying home.

  “Why am I nervous? I’ve talked to him face-to-face just once. His thinking was quite relevant to existing stereotypes, and he hasn’t hit me with anything extraordinary yet. Still, gossip is a damn effective thing! Just two persons painted him to me in strong colors, and I could not resist, but gave free rein to my imagination. And we can deceive ourselves, sometimes much better than others.”

  Kurt calmed down. He gathered all the records again and put them in a drawer.

  Seated in the living room, where the fireplace crackled, he was reading a book when Eliza brought him a cup of hot tea with honey and lemon. She looked incredibly happy. Her eyes sparkled.

  “Thank you, Eliza.” Kurt put down the book and looked at her. “How was your meeting with Philip?”

  When Kurt spoke his name, he noticed Eliza’s eyebrows twitched, and she could hardly restrain a smile.

  “Mr. Danee is a very talented artist and a real gentleman,” she said and smiled.

  “And when will the portrait be ready?” Kurt asked, knowing that he would certainly have to let his maid take the day off more than once.

  “Mr. Danee said that it would take at least two more meetings to finish.”

  “Mmm,” Kurt hummed and nodded. “If it’s worth the time, I don’t mind.” He smiled again, hiding it behind the book.

  Chapter 4

  The midst of the week was intense and fruitful. Kurt managed to escape from the everyday bustle as the day drew closer to dinner. He paid a visit to the Ellington’s Restaurant.

  Behind the counter stood the owner’s wife—Martina Ellington, a tall, thin woman with a kind face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Rhein. The usual?”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellington. Yes,” Kurt said and was about to take a table.

  “Oh, Mr. Rhein, there’s a gentleman waiting for you,” Martina said and pointed to a man sitting at a table in the center of the hall. Kurt couldn’t see his face—the man was sitting with his back to him—but Kurt recognized him immediately and was taken aback. For a moment, he stood unmoving, gathering himself. Kurt didn’t like that John had once again insinuated himself into his life, and now it remained up to Kurt to contain his emotions.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ellington.” Kurt smiled modestly and walked to the table where he usually sat in the far corner.

  Sitting down, he opened the morning newspaper and pored over the headlines, though his thoughts circled around the man in the center of the hall. Kurt didn’t look at him even once, when he passed the hall, but he felt the gaze of those wolf eyes.

  The waitress served Kurt lunch. The alluring aroma teased his appetite, but Kurt had a lump in his throat. He regretted he hadn’t turned his back to John, but now it was too late. And he couldn’t eat under the close supervision. Kurt looked in the newspaper for a few minutes, but he couldn’t read it. He was just hiding behind it, hoping the thin paper would save him, and at the same time he began to despise himself for cowardice. He sincerely hoped John would leave, and thus he knew that would not happen. John didn’t come for that.

  Making an indifferent face, Kurt put the paper aside and picked up a knife and a fork. After a moment, he decided to look at John, who sat with a grin on his face. Catching Kurt’s glance, he began to laugh silently, which was quite discouraging for Kurt. The absurdity of his position was becoming increasingly evident. Kurt wanted to leave, but he knew he could not afford such a shameful flight. Gathering all his will into a fist, he began to eat, calmly looking at John laughing. This lasted for about five minutes. Kurt’s worry retreated, and at this point, John stood up and walked over to Kurt.

  “Look, Kurt, I accidentally have an invitation for you to my reception,” John said, his voice muffled. “It’s private. On this Friday. You can enter through the front door,” he said and winked at him. Leaving the envelope on the table, he headed for the exit. Kurt watched him, and when the door closed behind John, he looked at the envelope.

  It was an invitation, exactly the same as what Philip had brought him. Only the handwriting was different—wider. Kurt read it several times and put it in his coat pocket.

  He was thoughtful when he returned home; even Eliza immediately noticed the change. “Are you feeling unwell, Mr. Rhein?” she asked sympathetically.

  “No, no.” Kurt shook his head absently, “but please cancel today’s appointments and reschedule everyone. I’m not accepting anyone else today,” he finished and walked into the living room, closing the door behind him.

  Leaving his coat on the armchair, Kurt built a fire and sat down. For a while he looked thoughtfully at the fire. Then he took the envelope with the invitation from his coat pocket and looked at it for a long time, fiddling with it, and then he threw it into the fireplace. Fire dealt with it in seconds.

  * * * *

  Kurt checked his schedule; Smith Johnson was scheduled on Monday at four o’clock. The clock struck four, and someone knocked on the door of the study.

  “Come in,” said Kurt. It was John Fenririr. Kurt looked at him through his glasses while John sat comfortably on the couch and looked expectantly at Kurt. “Mr. Johnson?” Kurt asked.

  “I assumed you wouldn’t find a place for John Fenririr in your busy schedule,” John said.

  “Mr. Fenririr, you’re almost thirty, and you still haven’t had enough of games? But since you’re here as my patient.” He sighed and moved to the chair opposite the couch. “What do you want to discuss this time? My books? My education? The habits of wild animals?”

  But this time John was unusually serious. His hazel eyes were still staring fiercely, but his face was pensive and sad.

  “Kurt, do you love anyone?”

  “Mr. Fenririr, the time of your reception is limited. Let’s talk about you.”

  “Everybody is talking about me!” Outraged, Jo
hn stood up. Kurt watched him in surprise. He still could not tell when John was sincere; the man was too self-possessed.

  “And what can you say about yourself?”

  Looking out the window, John took the time to answer. Kurt noticed that John tensed, as if trying to keep words behind his teeth. The silence dragged on, but Kurt was in no hurry to interrupt it. As practice showed, one could learn sometimes more in silence than in conversation. Silence itself was often an indication of how much one had to say. And silence is a wall of fear and weakness that separated one from freedom.

  John sat on the couch again.

  “It’s very quiet here, Kurt.” John unabashedly continued calling Kurt by his first name, as an old friend, but this time his tone was different. He wasn’t trying to offend; on the contrary, it seemed like he truly wanted Kurt to be his old friend with whom he could easily keep silent or speak from the heart. Even if it was a game, Kurt decided to play it.

  “You don’t like silence, Mr. Fenririr?”

  “Please, call me John.”

  “Well, John. You don’t like silence?”

  “No, it’s very tedious and boring,” John said, changing his tone so it sounded familiarly mocking. “Your patients must fall asleep?”

  “Some of them do,” Kurt calmly replied.

  “They sleep, and you get paid? Smart!”

  “And how do you sleep, John?” Kurt asked suddenly.

  “Naked, of course,” John smiled.

  “Oh!” Kurt portrayed surprise. “And nude beauties warm you at night?”

  For a second John’s face winced, such a profound contempt Kurt hadn’t seen yet. But John quickly pulled himself together again and smiled defiantly.

  “Believe me, Kurt, it’s not what you should dream about. Or…maybe you’re more interested in boys’ naked bodies?”

  The appointment had turned into a frank skirmish, an exchange of barbs, sometimes low enough that Kurt began to despise himself for unprofessional behavior. John drove him mad so easily, and Kurt felt the desire to get back at him. No, more than that, he wanted to hurt John, offend and wound him, and he did his best, using his knowledge and talents in order to find John’s weak spot and hit there as hard as he could.