by Theo Rion
“Are you in a hurry?” Kurt asked calmly, watching his companion. “Maybe you have something to do, and I asked you for this date at an inappropriate time?”
“No, no.” Philip took a deep breath and finally took a sip. “What did you want to talk about?”
“Yesterday, I received the portrait you painted of Eliza.” Kurt didn’t have time to finish as Philip put the cup on the saucer with a loud clang. He looked at Kurt, and there was indignation, embarrassment and excitement in his eyes. He breathed again abruptly and began to trifle with the cup. “I just wanted to know how much I owe you for the portrait.”
These words only increased the indignation in Philip’s eyes.
“I…” Philip began loudly and, as if he were afraid of his own voice, he paused again. He looked out of the window, sighed abruptly and turned back to Kurt.
“You don’t owe me anything. Consider it a gift,” he finally said and lowered his head.
“Philip, I can’t accept such a gift,” Kurt continued. But he felt something in him had changed. He could not just watch; now he truly sympathized with Philip. He didn’t know whether to rejoice or not about this change. He didn’t understand it, whether this skill dazzled him or, on the contrary, made him more insightful. Now, however, following the old habit, Kurt behaved as usual, as if he didn’t notice the confusion of the interlocutor and directed the conversation wherever he needed. But at the same time, he felt bad.
“And…did she…like it?” Philip squeezed out.
At first Kurt couldn’t even find an answer. Philip didn’t raise his head, and Kurt realized he simply lacked the courage to look into Kurt’s eyes, because now all of Philip’s soul was exposed on his face. All became clear: why Philip behaved so, why the portrait was sent by Catherine and why Philip couldn’t now look into Kurt’s eyes.
And again, Kurt felt the longing in his heart. It seemed to him he understood what Philip felt. And he found out with surprise that it didn’t give him a hint on how he might respond.
No, he isn’t a roué and he isn’t callous. He’s a good son, and honors his mother, but he can’t give orders to his heart. However, he tries to do the right thing, thought Kurt.
“Eliza hasn’t seen the portrait, yet,” Kurt answered. Philip finally looked up at him, and there was a slight glimmer of hope in his eyes. They stared at each other in silence. Kurt’s dinner had cooled, as had Philip’s coffee.
“Look, Kurt,” Philip suddenly whispered. “Help me, I’m begging you,” he said and looked pleadingly at him. “Please!” He grabbed Kurt’s hand. Tell me, what is more important: to do the right thing or to do what your heart wants?”
This question put Kurt in a quandary, for he knew what was hidden under this seemingly abstract choice.
“Sometimes,” Kurt began, but Philip didn’t let him finish.
“John always does as he pleases! And does anyone turn away from him? No! He’s surrounded by a retinue, and all his antics are accepted with delight! And what did he do in fact? He abandoned his family! But no one condemned it!” Philip’s voice sounded desperate, as if he appealed to strict judges, to their cold hearts, begging for mercy. And Kurt knew these judges were only in Philip’s head. He condemned himself for his feelings and sentenced himself to suffering. But he couldn’t bear it, and now he was trying to break his own boundaries. Kurt was in no hurry to interrupt him. Besides, when Philip spoke about John, Kurt noted with surprise that the turmoil in his soul subsided a little and gave way to some new feeling that brought both pleasure and sadness, but sweetened with this pleasure. And Kurt understood that he wanted to experience that feeling again and again; he wanted Philip to talk about John.
“I have always been faithful to my father and mother. I’ve never broken the rules! Why now do I have to be so miserable?” Philip looked at Kurt, but he was absorbed by his new experiences and didn’t immediately find an appropriate answer. Oh, he would like to reproach himself for such unprofessional behavior, but he could not. To his shame, he allowed himself to be captured by his feelings.
“I think if you’re sure about how you feel, you should go for it, no matter what. You only have one life…”
Kurt didn’t have time to understand how his words could be taken, because Philip’s face became determined. Kurt wanted to say more, to explain what he meant, but, at this moment, someone came into the restaurant. Kurt looked at the new visitor. Suddenly, his longing turned into a different feeling, which for a second captured him completely, denying the possibility of understanding anything. He was looking at the wolf eyes of John Fenririr.
It was like a bolt from the blue. John stared at Kurt and Philip, who didn’t know who stood behind him. However, catching the expression in Kurt’s eyes, he turned around and was stunned. The pause lingered.
“I shall go,” Philip said, rising from his seat. “We’ll talk some other time. Thank you.” He nodded to Kurt, walked past John, who gave him a quick glance, and left the restaurant.
Kurt tried to pull himself together. It seemed to him that there was a storm raging inside him, and he was in a leaky boat trying to resist a huge wave. He found the strength to give a short nod in greeting to John, but he only grunted in response and left.
Kurt was left alone. He didn’t touch the food. Moreover, confusion captured him, and he could not get rid of it. Since then it has haunted him. It could be a little softer or a little harder, but it was always inside. Waking up in the morning, it was the first thing he felt, and he realized his life would never be the same again.
It frightened him. His stability, which he valued a great deal, which gave such a pleasant feeling of confidence, was gone. He thought about the sufferings of Philip and Eliza, then remembered John and his look. And every time he was shivering. It was like an obsession.
He hoped only that the work would distract him from all these thoughts. And in some way, he was right, but as soon as he found himself alone, these thoughts again pervaded him, without giving a chance to hide.
Chapter 7
The next day Kurt couldn’t find Eliza. He peered into the kitchen and living room. But it seemed he was alone. Kurt made himself a cup of tea and sat in the armchair in the living room. He placed his cup on the table, and here he noticed an envelope. He immediately opened it and read…
Dear Mr. Rhein,
We hope you can forgive us for this sudden leave. And we hope you can feel our deepest gratitude for everything you’ve done for us.
Sincerely,
Eliza and Philip
Kurt stared at the letter for a minute. He was at a loss. What have I done? Did I encourage Philip to run away with Eliza? Kurt wondered. He felt uneasy, and somehow ashamed and guilty. With keen regret, he thought about Catherine’s gallery. He could never go there again.
Kurt was rather surprised by his shame. After all, he didn’t make them run. And he didn’t suggest anything like that… And yet, Kurt knew he was involved. “And now I need a new maid…”
The timing was bad. His feelings grew more, but he hoped that he would be able to control himself. However, in the moments he gave himself a bit of slack and allowed his thoughts and feelings to gain his attention.
Kurt longed for the days when he could indulge in dreams of the sharp mountains or the sandy beaches, when his soul was carried thousands of miles away, and he felt biting wind on his skin or a gentle surf. That was the way he rested, travelling in his fantasies, but what was left of them? No more amazing pictures, bringing peace and quiet. It was good enough, if he could just stop the flow of his thoughts. This respite was short, black or white, no bright colors, no rest.
Occasionally he wandered the corridors. Dark and long, they reminded him of the corridors in John’s house. It was deserted and gloomy.
All this, of course, affected Kurt’s appearance. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept. At least in his sleep he didn’t think about anything. He even stopped having dreams. Kurt knew he had lost control of himself. However, he was
in no hurry to do anything about it. He had to admit he was curious, because this condition was new to him. He truly felt such a rich range of emotions as never before in his life.
McGlow was right, he thought. The only soul we could learn and feel was our own. And now I have a unique chance to have such a valuable experience.
However, sometimes Kurt regretted he could not remove this trembling and troubled soul and watch it from the outside. And in moments of acute curiosity, he would put it inside himself to feel what he saw. Then these feelings wouldn’t bring so much confusion to his thoughts. Who knows, maybe then he would have made his discoveries faster. But, unfortunately, to remove his own soul seemed impossible, therefore his whole life became a struggle.
* * * *
“Good day.” The clerk behind the counter quickly looked Kurt over. “How can I help you?”
“Good afternoon. I need a maid.” It wasn’t that Kurt became attached to people, but he didn’t particularly like changes.
“We have a lot of candidates, Mr…?”
“Rhein.”
“Yes, Mr. Rhein! Do you have any special requirements?”
“Special? It seems not. My previous maid kept house cleaned, received correspondence for me, cooked…”
Kurt immediately felt sadness, remembering what a wonderful tea Eliza had made for him. She seemed to be able to sense what taste would be best for his mood. This thought caused Kurt to become upset, and he assured himself that he wouldn’t find another maid like Eliza. Funny, but Eliza had been working for Kurt only for a couple of years, but now he felt strongly attached to her. It seemed this revival of his soul intervened in all spheres of his life, forcing him to look afresh at them and notice what was obvious now that had somehow been artfully hidden from his sight before.
“It would be perfect if she comes in the morning for several hours. It would be enough,” Kurt added. He didn’t want anyone to live with him, as Eliza had.
“We have a few candidates for you to take a look at.”
The clerk looked expectantly at Kurt. Kurt smirked slightly, reading his eyes, and handed over a few coins. The clerk put them in his pocket and put three resumes in front of Kurt.
Kurt walked away from the desk and sat on a chair against the wall. On the first page was written “Edna Hoggart.” She was a little more than fifty and had worked all her life as a housekeeper and cook. After looking over the other two applicants several times, Kurt kept coming back to the Hoggart woman. The two other contenders hadn’t made any positive impression on him.
“Please send me Mrs. Edna Hoggart. I would like to speak to her personally,” Kurt said, handing his card to the clerk. After setting a time for her to come and saying goodbye, he left the domestics recruitment office and went wandering around the city. Walking distracted him from the intrusive thoughts that assailed him at the house when he was alone.
Previously, he loved to indulge in speculation, but it was objective, and now thoughts—chaotic and unclear—circled in his head. Feelings, which Kurt could not get used to, disturbed his mind again and again, forcing him to walk in circles. At such moments, he feared he would lose the ability to think clearly at all, and then he could say goodbye to his career. But fortunately, he found his work with patients didn’t suffer. The knowledge and skills accumulated over the years didn’t allow him to lose his grasp on the sobriety of reasoning and insight. However, in everyday life, Kurt admitted he had become more sensitive. And he still could not decide if it was good or bad to ultimately live a life separate and different from his work.
Answering this question, Kurt sometimes jokingly said to himself that he must admit it was good, because he couldn’t choose another path anyway. But he didn’t believe it. He hoped he could return to where his life was exactly the same as before. But in his heart, he felt this hope was just an empty illusion, which he preserved for security reasons.
Knowing nothing can be brought back, you would be afraid to take risks. If you think you can always return to the same place from where you started, taking risks became easier.
Kurt was amused by how he could now deceive his mind as well as his patients. Maybe, with the only exception being that he saw and realized how and why he was deceiving himself. His patients often got lost in their self-deception and were unable to find their way back to reality.
Kurt had lunch as usual at Ellington’s without an incident. However, he had to admit he felt a bit disappointed nobody violated his peace. He must have become used to the fact that there was something going on in his life. In the end, constant change is a kind of stability, he thought to himself with a smile.
On the way home, he bought a newspaper. At home, he sat down to read it in his living room with a cup of freshly brewed tea, not nearly as good as Eliza’s, when there was a knock on the door. Kurt sighed in frustration.
It was Edna Hoggart several hours earlier than expected. She was a short plump woman in a simple dress and knitted cardigan. In her hands, she held a shabby old handbag.
“Mr. Rhein?” she asked.
Kurt barely suppressed a smile—recently he had begun to smile more. Still Kurt’s cold mind held a capacity for dispassionate analysis and concluded she was a good woman, economic and responsible. It was in her demeanor to stand straight and proud, although holding a handbag in front of her, as for protection. From her face, covered with wrinkles around her eyes and the corners of the lips, Kurt’s heart saw warmth, comfort and incredible charm. Her voice was soft and at the same time strict, the same tone affectionate mothers speak to their children when they want to teach them something.
“Yes,” said Kurt and stepped back, inviting her into the house. “You must be Edna Hoggart?”
Edna came into the house and thriftily looked around, noting details clear only to her.
Kurt ushered her into the living room, where she sat on a chair, her handbag on her knees.
“I need a maid for a few hours a day, mornings preferably. And I like tea made,” Kurt began.
“Do you like any particular teas?” Edna asked suddenly.
“Yes,” said Kurt. He was curious.
“I detect a fragrance of cinnamon and mint, lemon and honey,” Edna said with pleasure and smiled.
“You know how to make different teas?”
“Yes, of course, I do!” Edna smiled discreetly, but he could read genuine pride in her smile.
“Wonderful. Also, I need you to receive mail, do some shopping and…I think that’s all, in addition to the cleaning and brunch prepared for me before you leave,” Kurt finished. “Do you have any employer recommendations?”
“Of course,” she said, again, with pride. “From the Fenririr-Danee family, if you like.”
Kurt paused again and looked at Edna, now a little differently. “How long has it been since you ceased to work for them?”
“A year ago.”
“Why?” Kurt could no longer cope with his curiosity. Edna gave him a sly look, she was a little surprised by his interest.
She tilted her head slightly, sadness flickering in her eyes. “After Mr. Sullivan passed and Mrs. Danee took back her maiden name and moved out of the family mansion, there wasn’t much call for my services.”
“And what about Mr. Fenririr?” Words came faster than Kurt had pondered them.
Edna’s look again became sly. “It’s hard to keep track of both households,” she replied evasively. “I have only a few responsibilities left for Mr. Fenririr. And even then, it’s more friendship than duty.”
Kurt wanted to ask more about John, but realized that any further questions would only represent him in an unfavorable light and would be simply tactless.
“Well, that’s fine,” Kurt said abstractedly. “Then I’d be glad to have you work for me.”
Edna got up from her seat. They discussed her salary and other small details. After all the necessary questions were solved, Edna insisted on making a cup of tea for Kurt. When they parted, Kurt, sitting by the firepl
ace, enjoyed this tea, in which notes of ginger and cinnamon played. This tea wasn’t similar to one Eliza made, and oddly enough, it reminded him of John.
Kurt had long forgotten about the newspaper. His thoughts were warmed by the fragrant tea and the flames from the fireplace. They didn’t torture, didn’t bother him. And on this evening, he returned to his serenity, granted him by his heart.
* * * *
The first few days Kurt didn’t even notice Edna. It was like things were made to order by themselves, and fresh tea appeared on the kitchen table. When Kurt came out of his study about eleven, after his usual morning’s work, Edna had already left the house. Sometimes Kurt suspected that his excessive curiosity at the first meeting had scared Mrs. Hoggart, and now she just avoided meeting with him.
After appointments with patients, Kurt went to Ellington’s to dine. This was already the third day in the row when absolutely nothing interesting or unusual happened to him. His life had suddenly gotten back into the old, peaceful track, but strange to say, Kurt didn’t want peace anymore.
If I want something to go differently, I just have to do something unusual, thought Kurt, so instead of going to Ellington’s, he went to the center of the city. Passing Danee’s gallery, he noticed it was closed. He even came closer, hoping to see a notification with the reason for closing. But no, there was only the stingy Closed sign.
Kurt continued on his way. In the central square, as always, there was buoyant activity. People with extremely nervous facial expressions frowned and hurried somewhere. During his walk, Kurt got hungry, so he was glad to see the sign for the Solar Restaurant. It promised a delicious meal and excellent service. Kurt went inside. The atmosphere that reigned here was completely different from Ellington’s. And it was crowded here.