by Theo Rion
“How are you doing, my friend?” Philip finally asked.
At first Kurt didn’t know what to tell him. He didn’t want to discuss his thoughts about John with anyone. More precisely, he didn’t want to mar Philip’s enthusiasm with anything.
“Ah, my friend,” Kurt replied with a smile. “I wish my life was at least half as interesting as yours!”
Philip smiled broadly.
You are truly a wonderful young man, Kurt thought, even while disappointment for John pierced Kurt painfully again. Philip just exuded joy. He had no hidden thoughts, no desire to play with other people’s feelings, none of this mysterious vanity and aspiration to rise above others, looking down on them with disdain. He was open, with his whole soul in full view. He was beautiful in all his sincerity.
And all that Kurt felt now was regret that John wasn’t like that. Two wishes fought in Kurt—to cease all contact with John…or to save him.
Oh, God, I’m so naïve, Kurt thought.
“It seems you’re a bit dismayed,” Philip asked sympathetically.
Kurt, actually, somewhat detached from the conversation, was occupied with his own thoughts. “No, no.”
“Is it because of…John?” Saying his name, Philip instantly darkened. That was what Kurt didn’t want to happen.
He realized with surprise that he didn’t want to talk about John with Philip, because Philip had seen John’s ugliness long ago. And furthermore, he had no doubt about it and no pity for him.
Kurt was even ashamed of his feelings. He wanted John’s ugliness, not his beauty, to be an illusion. And this hope made him feel ashamed.
“Let’s not talk about John.” Kurt made no effort to make the phrase sound easier, more indifferent. He said it with all the weight that was on his heart. He knew Philip would notice. And even if he wasn’t ready to reveal all his soul to Philip, he trusted him, and his frankness and sincerity deprived Kurt of any desire to pretend, even for the sake of decency.
Philip, as expected, was surprised by Kurt’s tone.
“Did something happen between you and John? He isn’t leaving you alone?” Philip’s surprise gave way to irritation, which was ready to turn into anger.
“Philip, I’d rather not talk about John. Excuse me.” Kurt pursed his lips and said nothing more. During the pause, Philip wanted to say something several times, but little by little he tried to pacify his feelings out of respect for Kurt, and finally he succeeded. Of course, the atmosphere wasn’t as radiant as before, but the rest of their lunch was spent talking about abstract topics, which somewhat relieved Kurt.
As they parted, Philip said seriously, “I understand you’re a famous psychologist and many things you understand better than me, but if you ever want to just talk, I’ll be a grateful listener and I would be honored to be your companion.”
This speech was somewhat stilted and awkward, but Kurt didn’t doubt in its sincerity, and because of that he felt inexpressibly pleased. He smiled warmly, and Philip shook his hand.
“Thank you, my friend. And I will keep that in mind.”
John didn’t leave Kurt’s thoughts until late into the night.
Chapter 9
On Monday morning, Kurt received another Friday night reception invitation from John. All week Kurt tried to decide whether he should go or not. He hoped the pain in his heart would eventually subside, but it grew stronger. The last two nights he’d barely slept. Longing cruelly tormented his heart, and he couldn’t find a place anywhere to ease it.
“I have to see him!”
Kurt dressed and got into a carriage. A couple of times he wanted to ask the cabman to turn back. Suddenly he was smitten by fear and unprecedented excitement from the thought he would see John again.
What if today I don’t see what I saw last time? he wondered, his heart exulting over this thought, and he was filled with the most sincere and desperate hope. Will it mean I’m blind and don’t wish to see the truth? And from this thought his heart again curled up, and that was when fear embraced Kurt as if today his fate would be decided.
This time he hesitantly walked through the garden, as if sneaking through it like a thief. And in the crowd of guests he suddenly felt a vague saving desire to be lost among them.
John came down around midnight. What would be the cost of all this waiting? Afraid, he avoided looking at John. But what, he wondered, am I so afraid of? Am I scared of being disappointed in John? Wouldn’t that mean I had won? Kurt asked himself, slipping into the garden. Wouldn’t it mean I was able to resist his charms, to see him as he really is? Not like others see…or don’t want to see him.
Kurt was even amazed by that thought. At this point the people at the party ceased to seem like puppets; they turned into miserable people whose souls were empty until they could be filled by one glance from John. And Kurt understood why all of them clung to John when he finally came down to the guests.
And still, it’s self-deception. And whether they know it or not, it doesn’t make them stronger, because they live in self-deception.
Kurt’s thoughts were interrupted.
“You suddenly decided to hide?”
Kurt winced. John’s voice came from directly behind him, intertwining with the cool darkness and delicate scent of blooming rose bushes. It intoxicated and fascinated Kurt. His heart stopped, and then, as if leaning towards the source of sweet languor, trembled. Pleasant shiver ran all over Kurt’s body. The last time Kurt could restrain himself, could resist him, and he had seen the truth. Now, he felt he could no longer resist, but he wasn’t afraid.
Why did I decide I had won? Maybe John has planned it all, and I confused myself with my own thoughts. Now I feel like I’m cornered. But in the face of danger I’m suddenly befuddled. Did John fool me? Did I fool myself?
John approached him.
Absorbed by his thoughts, Kurt didn’t answer, didn’t move. He still didn’t dare look at John’s face. It was enough for his heart that John’s voice was full of the same beauty he had seen once, and then for some reason had taken it for an illusion. His heart no longer believed the arguments of the mind. It was sinking in these enchanting sounds.
What has happened to me? Kurt asked himself. Even the air breathes him, and I feel his approach with all my skin!
“It’s quiet here,” he said irrelevantly. Even these words weren’t easy to say.
John sought his gaze, and Kurt finally found the strength connect with his eyes. Even if John’s face had self-complacency, Kurt didn’t see it.
I’m blind, he thought.
Regret over this lasted only a moment, and afterwards Kurt was captured by languor and sweet melancholy. He understood it was written on his face, but he didn’t care. Maybe he even hoped that John could read it, and what would be next—Kurt didn’t want to think about that. How short-sighted a human heart is, Kurt had time to think. It wants only to quench its thirst for now, even with poison, but only immediately, in this very minute.
“Yes, it’s always a good place to think,” John agreed. He turned to the dark garden and looked at the roses thoughtfully.
How much was Kurt willing to give so this moment would last forever? It seemed John had opened a part of his soul. They were alone, and John was so calm and showed no similarity to the personality that Kurt had seen last time. The heart would exult, but now it was too fascinated.
They were silent, and Kurt thought this was more frank that any conversation they might have had. Without saying a word, John moved on a path deep into the garden. At first Kurt was confused, but then slowly followed him. Their steps echoed with only a faint crunch of gravel. In the depth of the garden, there was an arbor. They entered under a canopy.
A lake stretched out in front of them. The dark water was calm. The crescent moon hung low in the cloudless sky, reflecting off the lake. From the arbor came the sweet smell of roses.
“My father hated roses,” John said suddenly and then fell silent again.
Kurt was surprised. H
e had to force himself to think, because all he wanted now was to enjoy every moment, feel it fully. And yet…had John planted roses because he hated his father?
That was all Kurt was capable of thinking. John looked pensively at the lake, and Kurt allowed himself to look at his face. Illuminated by moonlight, it seemed to Kurt even more beautiful. His gaze slid from John’s high forehead and expressive eyebrows to his slightly pursed lips. He didn’t want to think or analyze. He surrendered to the charm, allowing illusions to capture him, and there was no place in his heart for fear or regret.
* * * *
For the next few days Kurt didn’t know what was happening to his mood. He’d left John’s house in a wonderful mood. He was full of happiness; it was so intense Kurt almost sang aloud while the carriage drove him home.
Today, all this happiness seemed a distant dream, but the irritation was quite real and even tangible. He didn’t even try to be complaisant, casually maintaining only the necessary courtesy. This fact, however, was immediately noticeable to others who considered him in a bad mood. Someone even asked him if anything had happened and if he needed any help?
But no one could help him. Kurt’s soul pined; he couldn’t find a place to rest. It was indeed a brutal torture. Taking off his jacket, he fell on the couch and closed his eyes.
The week seemed to him infinite. He imagined how unbearably long these grey days would be without…he sat up on the couch and shook himself. A thought suddenly visited him. It didn’t dispel his feeling of internal embarrassment, but made the cause clear. However, it didn’t make Kurt’s state any better.
I look forward to when I can go back to John’s mansion. Do I want to see John that badly?
His feeling of irritation subsided at once, as if understanding was enough. Satisfied, it hid somewhere in the depths of his heart, giving way to yearning as Kurt lay down again. He stared at the ceiling through glassy eyes and saw sunbeams hidden in crystal chandeliers. Kurt wanted only one thing—to understand. Now it seemed to him he was trying to talk to a foreigner and spoke with confused gestures.
No, I would understand that. Kurt grinned. Why can’t I understand myself? I can feel it. The feelings and emotions rolled into a tight ball inside him, and Kurt was left trying to dissimilate what it was made of. No matter how many of them, they are all in me. And all I have to do is to separate one from another. I can’t think clearly, until I feel such confusion. I can’t think until I feel.”
In Kurt’s head, in his salon, where the lady in red was still sitting on a chair, Kurt swept litter and went into the corner, looking at the lady. It seemed to him she was watching him, though her face was hidden under a broad-brimmed hat.
The desire, that he realized, shone in the depth of his confused thoughts. It was clear and understandable; it could cause confusion and shame, but it existed.
Kurt sat down on the couch.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Kurt beat the back of the couch. “I’m losing the ability of self-control?” That evening was two days ago, and before that I didn’t feel the way I feel now. And I can’t find peace just because I know I want to see John!
It was amazing. At first his heart pined in anguish, now it writhed in agony. To see John wasn’t now a simple desire; it was a painful necessity. Kurt had never wanted something so much that it overwhelmed him with anger and irritation. Now he felt hungry and hence mad.
Pull yourself together! Kurt’s mind voiced raucously, but immediately it was overflowed with a new wave of despair.
That evening when we were alone in the arbor, we were silent for an hour or two, I don’t know. Time ceased to exist for me. And what’s more, I wanted it to disappear, I wanted to stand beside John and be silent. Air, silence—all is his. What do I want now? Could it be that in that silence I lost myself? Surrendered to John Fenririr?
Suddenly someone sat down in the chair opposite. It was Kurt himself, dressed as always in a suit. He was calm and collected, wearing glasses. Kurt-psychologist stared at Kurt, who was lying on the couch.
“What bothers you?” Kurt-psychologist asked dispassionately.
Kurt almost exploded; this tranquil tone led him out of himself. This face, determined with the conviction that he knew everything about everything, now simply annoyed him. “Why don’t you guess it?” Kurt snapped. “Come on! You read faces, don’t you? You can see through the soul! Come on, read me! Explain to me the meaning of my state! And tell me what to do if you’re so enlightened!”
“Aggression,” said Kurt-psychologist and made a mark in his notebook. “Uh,” he drawled, looking at Kurt’s face. “You want to blame someone for your weakness and stupidity. When you have been told to stand—you went, when you have been told to keep quiet—you spoke. Your arrogance led you to a dead-end; and now your humiliated self-esteem retaliates against you.” Kurt-psychologist took off his glasses. “Is that what you want to hear?” He suddenly raised his voice and spoke in quite a different tone. “You have been warned so many times, and you yourself knew everything! But you were so curious! Get your curiosity! Oh, come on! I’m not blaming you for the curiosity! Curiosity is the driving force of human life. But stupidity! You gave John Fenririr an unforgivable advantage. When it was necessary to be alert, you were relaxed, allowing your feelings to capture you. Oh, my God!” Kurt-psychologist’s voice rang on a high note. “I can feel! I’m alive!” He became serious again. “Now what? Feelings are uncontrollable, they don’t like control; you had to remember this! You gave up the slack and thought, It’ll be okay, if I allow myself to live it, feel it. And now, how are you going to keep the raging sea in a cup? Now wait for the mercy of John. When he deigns to crush your heart. Then, humiliated and insulted, you will come back, lick your wounds, and these scars will be reminders for you. Then, the next time, you’ll be careful. In the meantime, suffer, feel this, too!”
Kurt-psychologist spoke even tougher, enunciating his words. “You never say it to your clients, but you know perfectly well that only experience will teach a fool. And the more painful it is, the better. And let’s hope this will be enough for you.”
Kurt-psychologist closed his notebook and disappeared.
Evil thoughts again swirled through Kurt’s head. He closed his eyes, but his thoughts were impossible to appease. Even if Kurt guessed it was cowardice, he didn’t want to feel it. He wanted to forget everything in sleep. But sleep didn’t come, the day was in full swing.
Kurt didn’t want to think about anything, but he could not drive his thoughts away. He either dreamed of John or then was tormented by his defeat and his miserable situation. Then he tried to look at everything from the side, but each time, he failed. It seemed he was trying to build a house of cards, but the slightest breath of wind ruined his work, and he had to start all over again.
An hour passed. Exhausted but still unable to forget, Kurt stood up from the couch and went to the kitchen. Fresh mint tea was brewed in a teapot, but Kurt moved to a closed buffet.
Kurt didn’t like alcohol, but he kept one bottle of scotch. He couldn’t remember where he had gotten it.
He hated the taste and drank the scotch like bitter medicine. It took him two glasses for his thoughts to settle a little. The sensation of burning in his throat and stomach seemed a trifle compared with what he had experienced recently. Yet, Kurt emptied the bottle in a half hour and laughed bitterly. Damn. Sleep didn’t want to come.
“Who the hell is John Fenririr?” Kurt said aloud, pacing around his study, holding an empty bottle. “Who is he? What does he have that gift for, hmm?” He turned angrily to an imaginary audience, but it was silent and frightened, and watched the speaker. “I’ll tell you what. He’s no one! No one!”
Kurt sat down, dropping the empty bottle on the floor with a thud.
“No one,” he whispered. “But I can’t...” He fell into a deep sleep before he could finish the thought, and in his sleep, he dreamed of his salon. It seemed someone came in through the door and sat down in a dark corner. Who
this mysterious visitor was, Kurt never knew.
* * * *
Kurt would not lie if he said that he barely survived until Friday. Exactly at nine in the evening, he arrived at John’s house and hastily passed through the garden. Now the smell of roses seemed special to him; it woke obscure memories and didn’t leave his heart indifferent.
Kurt noted with surprise that all his melancholy and confusion had settled down, and he felt only joyful anticipation. It grew with every second, as Kurt walked through the garden, and reached its zenith when he noticed John on the stairs. For a few seconds, Kurt stopped, allowing his heart to rejoice. Again, he felt the sweet languor, and in that moment, he realized why he had been so annoyed all these days, why he was consumed by confusion. It was as if he had suffered from hunger or thirst, and now he finally satisfied it. After realizing this, Kurt’s joy died down.
But his heart kept cheering.
The appearance of John at such an early time promised something unusual. When Kurt caught up with him, he noticed that John was in a very good mood. Kurt immediately became suspicious.
“Finally!” John slapped Kurt’s shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for you! This evening will be great!” John smiled predatorily. “Interesting—that I can promise you for sure.”
Trying to cope with his trembling heart, Kurt painted an expression on his face of mild surprise and interest. In fact, he was consumed by curiosity and anxiety. John’s promise could not bode anything good.
“What will it be?” Kurt asked as calmly as possible.