by Theo Rion
Kurt walked over to a table in the corner and sat down; he had to wait for a waiter for about five minutes. All this time, he spent studying the ambiance and visitors. At the table across the room sat a group of young men. Some of them seemed familiar.
One of them was Thomas Walter, whom he’d met at John’s house. Archie Tains was sitting next to him; his face expressing extreme exhaustion. He didn’t participate in the conversation, and it seemed he was burdened by the presence of the interlocutors.
Kurt couldn’t hear what they talked about, but the meeting itself with Archie, a man who had unsuccessfully requested his help, wasn’t pleasant. Lately he had completely forgotten about Archie, and he was taken again by his own experiences associated with John, Philip and Eliza. During the young man’s first and only visit, Kurt hadn’t quite understood what Archie felt, nor could he now, but now his awakened heart sympathized with Archie.
Kurt had lunch, and deciding not to wait until the waiter brought him the bill, he went to the counter. Now snatches of the conversation reached Kurt.
“What? What are you talking about? John doesn’t do anything, but his father left him enough to squander ‘till the end of his life!” said one of the men.
“No, my friend,” objected the second, probably Thomas. “He has people who run his business, and he is no fool himself! His father was an investor.”
“Yeah, people! He broke all contacts with whom his father worked! You know who gathers at his place. There’s no one to do business with.”
“I noticed another thing,” Thomas said. “Of the guests who come every week, five or six rarely go out, yet I often see them in the house where John doesn’t allow guests. I think they are the elite, if you want.”
“I’d like to be among them.” Someone laughed.
Kurt left the restaurant without speaking to them. Elite? Could it be that John has friends? People whom he trusts. This doesn’t agree with John’s image of being completely aloof and self-sufficient.
Kurt returned home. In the hallway, he smelled a sweet scent of currants and smiled. On the table in the hall he found a fresh newspaper and a few letters.
Sitting comfortably in the living room with a cup of tea, Kurt began to study the correspondence. One letter caught his attention. When he saw the address and handwriting on the envelope, he became nervous. He even put down his cup and straightened in his chair, putting the other letters aside. His peace was destroyed by the only phrase on the envelope: To Kurt Rhein from John Fenririr.
Kurt couldn’t wait to open it, but he hesitated, savoring the moment. His excitement was growing with each passing second. Finally, he opened the letter, and there was an invitation from John to his Friday evening. Kurt stared at it in surprise and looked at the envelope again. But there was nothing more.
Why? Why would he invite me? Does he want to play some joke on me?
Kurt became more and more inflamed. He was about to burn the invitation, as he had done with the other in the past, but he forced himself to stop and calm down. Or maybe he didn’t force himself. Maybe, it was otherwise; he showed weakness because his heart, sensing an opportunity to meet John again face-to-face, leaped gleefully in his chest. Yet his mind told him the right decision, so Kurt held out his hand to the blazing fireplace. The risk of losing the opportunity to meet with John again drew a sharp pain in his chest. Kurt put the invitation onto the table and thought again. He didn’t seem courageous enough to give the invitation to the mercy of the fire, but before, Kurt hadn’t been like that. Now he didn’t have the strength to do it.
He stood up and walked around the room. Driven by his restless thoughts, he went back to the table, pulled out the invitation again and strode over to the fireplace. The heat of the fire touched Kurt’s outstretched hand, where the envelope was trembling. He clenched his teeth and hid the invitation in his pocket. He could not burn the invitation; it wasn’t in his power. He understood it was a weakness. And all he could do was seize upon the idea that he would use every chance to see and study John.
* * * *
Kurt heard the door open downstairs and immediately left the room. He was determined to talk to Edna today. Who else could tell him about John? Especially, as Kurt realized, she continued to help him run the economy at home.
“Good morning, Edna!” Kurt found her in the kitchen. She was dressed in an apron and brewing fresh tea.
“Good morning, Mr. Rhein,” she replied with a respectful smile. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I wanted to thank you for the excellent tea.”
“I’m glad I have been able to please you,” she said and smiled again. Kurt liked her demeanor. She had worked all her life as a maid, but she possessed such great dignity and simplicity at the same time, she seemed a much nicer person than the ladies of high society with titles and wealth. She was doing her job, not acting as a lackey or fawning.
“Do you have any errands for me?” she asked, noticing that Kurt looked at her thoughtfully.
“Edna, can I speak to you frankly?” Kurt asked. “The last time I behaved tactlessly, but…” Kurt paused, and suddenly, to his surprise, he realized his prepared speech had flown completely out of his head. “I received an invitation from Mr. Fenririr to one of his receptions, and I’ve never been there before. I wouldn’t want to offend him with a refusal, but also I don’t want to lose face. And I thought that maybe you could give me some advice on how to behave there.” Kurt looked expectantly at Edna. He liked his own verbal maneuver.
“I don’t think I have the right to give you any advice, Mr. Rhein,” Edna said slyly, keeping a respectful tone of voice.
“But I’m asking you for some,” Kurt insisted. “These receptions are so famous, I can’t go there without knowing anything!”
Edna stared at Kurt for a few moments, and finally spoke. “Well, I’ll try to answer all your questions if, of course, they aren’t beyond the limits of what is permitted.”
It was like a balm to Kurt’s soul; finally he had the opportunity to talk about John.
“What are these receptions for?”
“Mr. Fenririr is a very lively young man. He likes to invite friends to his house, that’s all.”
“But I’m not a friend of his. Why did he invite me?”
“Maybe Mr. Fenririr wants you to become his friend,” Edna replied.
“And how many friends does Mr. Fenririr have? It can’t be that everyone who visits his house is a close friend.”
Edna was silent. It appeared that Kurt’s questions touched the topics she didn’t want to discuss.
“Mr. Fenririr has friends and acquaintances, but I cannot know how many.”
It’s useless, thought Kurt. She has an honor and won’t gossip about John. Even considering John’s arrogance and his love for various antics, she isn’t going to tell me anything. Although, maybe that means he treats her well. But Kurt had nothing to confirm or refute these hypothesis.
“Is that all you wanted to know, Mr. Rhein?” Edna inquired politely.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, hiding his disappointment behind a respectful smile. Kurt returned to his study.
Chapter 8
On Friday evening, which was rather warm, Kurt got into a carriage and went to the house of John Fenririr. He was self-collected, if not tense, but his curiosity and a desire to see John were irresistible.
This reception was like the one Kurt had visited once before—ladies in elegant dresses and rich young people aspiring to be just like John. Kurt was bored, disappointment gripping him more with each passing second. Only one thought, that he would be able to see John, even from afar, kept him here. Although, at the edge of his mind, he still couldn’t understand why John had sent him the invitation. Not that he believed John would condescend to explain, but Kurt didn’t believe it had happened with no special intentions.
John finally appeared on the stairs, and Kurt for a second became blind. More precisely, he didn’t see anyone around
him, except John. This obsession lasted for a moment, but it seemed like forever, and more than that, Kurt wanted it to be eternal. How attractive John’s eyes were...
His heart fluttered with renewed vigor. But Kurt made an incredible effort, shook himself and looked behind John. There were two young men. When John came down, they went back to the house. Kurt immediately remembered the conversation he overheard at the Solar Restaurant, but he had no time to think it through, as John descended the stairs and headed straight to Kurt.
This time, seeing John approaching him, Kurt was surprised, then got scared and became utterly confused, but then he firmly pulled himself together. He managed to catch his throbbing heart, close it in a cage and hide it from prying eyes. As John walked up to him, the magnetism of his eyes was befuddling, but not so much as previously. Kurt could resist it. Proud of himself, he smiled confidently and openly.
“Good evening, Mr. Fenririr. I was surprised to receive your invitation, but still I decided to accept it.”
“I liked your joke, and I decided you’d look great here.”
And then Kurt felt the long-forgotten ardor, but he felt it in a new way, with all his guts. He realized that John couldn’t see what he was feeling inside.
“What joke?” Kurt’s voice held simulated surprise. It amused him that he could confuse John. This evening was no longer boring for him.
John smiled in response, as if he kept up and easily guessed Kurt’s fake surprise. Though in fact it was real, because Kurt didn’t know exactly what John considered to be a good joke.
“Come on, stop pretending. Although I have to admit I underestimated you. You managed to marry my younger brother to your maid. He broke his engagement and exposed my precious stepmother in such a light. She even closed her gallery out of shame.”
Hearing this, Kurt felt a pang of guilt.
“Of course, to make a fool out of my little brother is an easy task,” John added, but Kurt pretended all this didn’t concern him. “Come,” he said, heading toward the house. He didn’t look back to see if Kurt followed; he just assumed he would. Such arrogance. However, John carried it off with aplomb.
They entered the house and went to a closed door leading up hidden stairs to the second floor, where most guests weren’t allowed.
Kurt came into the large living room, and there was quiet at the table in the center of the room, where three men were sitting, playing cards. Kurt didn’t like the looks of them. Neither did he like labels, but in his mind the words rascal, sly and swindler seemed the most appropriate words to describe this trio. They quickly looked Kurt over from head to toe, making Kurt felt like he had already been robbed.
“So…” John excitedly rubbed his hands together. “Let’s play poker. You play, don’t you, Kurt?” he said, directing Kurt to a free seat.
Kurt sat down. “Yes, I’ve played before,” he said, although he harbored no love for card games. Then he remembered that poker was more a game dictated by facial expressions than with cards, so he unhesitatingly waded into the game.
My God, Kurt wondered. How can these people think they’re bluffing?
It was rather amusing. Almost every round the trio lost money, and it went to Kurt or John. After five rounds, they immediately folded. Now it was fun for Kurt to play. John was often lucky, and cards went to his hands. Sometimes it seemed to Kurt that John manipulated the cards. But the main thing was—and that was why nothing else mattered—Kurt could shamelessly gaze at John, allegedly trying to unravel his bluff. His heart, yearning in a dark cage, was sinking into languor, eagerly memorizing every line of John’s beautiful face—so confident and strong-willed, with expressive cheekbones and mesmerizing eyes.
John was young, but arrogance and contempt already disfigured his face. Kurt looked away only for a second when he saw it. John’s expression, his gestures were filled with self-righteousness and contempt for everything around him, and it made Kurt feel uncomfortable. It seemed to him he sullied himself, even by sitting at the same table with him. His heart fearfully curled up, not wanting to give up the illusion of beauty, but his eyes were merciless to the heart. They looked and saw all this ugliness, but the heart didn’t want to give up. And then sympathy pervaded Kurt, and the feeling flooded him, trying to spill out through his tears.
Kurt stiffened. Now he felt sorry for John. John’s ugliness made him miserable in Kurt’s eyes, and the worst thing was that John didn’t know how really ugly he was.
“I’ll pass,” Kurt finally said. He had a good combination, but he didn’t want to play anymore. The huge living room had turned into a stuffy little room, and he was anxious to leave. But not because he was afraid of John; he just didn’t want to see what’s happened to a man who had become so dear to his heart. And though he understood it was cowardice on his part, he forgave himself…at least this time.
“A perfect game,” John said and leaned back satisfied. The trio, sitting sullenly at the table, couldn’t agree with him.
“Unfortunately, I have to leave,” Kurt said calmly. “Thank you for a lovely evening, gentlemen.” He nodded respectfully to the sullen trio, who without enthusiasm nodded in response. “Mr. Fenririr.”
“It’s quite early. Surely you can stay a bit longer?”
For some reason, Kurt thought John was upset, but his expression remained the same. “I must leave. I have something to do. Don’t bother, I know where the exit is,” said Kurt. “Good night.”
Disappointment was cruel. Kurt walked through the garden to the door and wanted to be home as soon as possible. His soul was aching sorely. It might seem like the gentlemen in the living room on the second floor were worthy young people, and John was as always incomparable, but Kurt now saw otherwise. He couldn’t explain how. This vision embraced him completely.
* * * *
The next morning, Kurt, oddly enough, found Edna in the kitchen. There was a fragrance of raspberries and mint; she was preparing tea.
“Good morning, Edna. Isn’t today your day off?” Kurt asked cheerfully, feeling joy, that today he would be able to enjoy flavorful tea.
He wanted to calm down after last night’s reception, which he really didn’t want to remember, but couldn’t get out of his head. His thoughts, as though they were spellbound, kept returning to these memories. And every time, touching John’s image, his heart quivered in fright and timidly or desperately tried to convince him that all the ugliness he’d seen yesterday was just an obsession, an unsuccessful play of light and shade in the dim living room. But Kurt just sighed gloomily; his heart’s attempts were in vain. Although, the illusion of beauty was so sweet... He admired John in these precious moments. And sometimes he wanted to say, What, in fact, is an illusion? A point of view. Why can’t I see the world from that point of view, where it is most perfect, because it makes me happy?
And at that moment Kurt remembered speeches of his patients. Here it was, a self-deception. Unwillingness to see the truth, because it was unattractive—ugly—caused soul suffering. And sometimes suffering was so cruel the illusion turned into the only cure. Detached from reality, putting it into question, one suddenly gains the luxury of living in one’s own world, where everything is obedient to one’s desires.
If only it were that simple…
Suddenly you completely lose touch with the outside world; you don’t want to have contact with reality, and, as if reality in turn were able to take revenge, it doesn’t wish to have contact with you anymore.
“I thought you would be glad to drink a cup of fresh tea this morning, Mr. Rhein.” She smiled genuinely.
“With pleasure! But I think you should have your day of rest.”
“This stopped being work long ago,” Edna said and smiled discreetly, but light sadness appeared in her eyes. Edna was very reticent and collected; Kurt liked that about her, and it forced him to respect her right of privacy.
“Let me ask you, how was the reception at Mr. Fenririr’s? Did you find my advice helpful?” Edna asked softly
, stirring the brew.
Kurt barely suppressed a smile. This woman isn’t so simple! Such an abstract and courteous phrase hides simple curiosity! While perhaps not simple, Kurt thought.
“Yesterday I had a great time at the reception. Thank you for asking,” he said.
Edna briefly looked at him as if looking for confirmation or refutation on his face. But now, Kurt controlled his face perfectly; he was just surprised by Edna’s curiosity. Could it be she’s questioning me at John’s request? wondered Kurt. “You can pass on my words to Mr. Fenririr, if you’d like,” he added aloud, watching Edna. She seemed a bit agitated, but hid it behind a courteous smile.
“Your tea is ready, Mr. Rhein. If you don’t need anything else, can I be free for today?”
“Yes, of course, thank you again,” he said, accepting the tea from her.
Edna hastily withdrew. This haste wasn’t hidden from Kurt’s eyes and gave him new food for thought. A doubt began to creep into his soul. Could Edna be reporting to John about everything that happens in my house?
Kurt didn’t have time to think about it. He had scheduled several meetings for the day. Without delay he drank his tea and left the house. He stepped by a bookstore to pick up a book he’d ordered a few days ago, and then he met with Mr. Cort, a publisher, whom he was going to order copies of his new work from.
At Ellington’s, Kurt had lunch with Philip, whose note he had gotten. With shining eyes, Philip told Kurt he had withstood a truly fierce battle with his mother, but still he’d convinced her to accept Eliza. She and Eliza had talked for hours. Afterwards, Catherine had deigned to admit Eliza was perhaps a well-conducted girl, but she lacked education. Although she didn’t approve the marriage, at least she was resigned to her son’s choice. He also told him Eliza was now studying at the Institute for Noble Maidens in Paris, and it made him incredibly happy. However, words were unnecessary, as Philip beamed with happiness. And Kurt was happy for him. Also, from Philip, Kurt had learned that Danee’s gallery was closed, not because Catherine burned with shame for her son’s choice. It was for a complete change of the paintings on display.