The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Kurt was pleased to know the conversation was in his hands, and he had managed to win John’s curiosity.

  “No need to be a psychologist to notice your special greeting with a few people at your receptions, which I had the privilege to attend.”

  John’s eyes studied Kurt’s face with interest as he took a sip his tea, his eyes twinkling over the brim of his cup. He looked away from Kurt for a moment as he set the cup down. “Well, since you brought it up, I might as well tell you…I have a gift for you,” John’s voice sounded as if he were doing Kurt, a mere mortal, a great honor. “I want you to join our society. Special membership card, free drinks, girls – all entertainment at your service.”

  “Why such generosity all of a sudden?” Kurt asked.

  “You earned it,” John replied. “I like that you look and see, and also your observations entertain me and I’m fed up with old conversations. The society needs fresh blood,” he said and smiled greedily.

  “All right,” Kurt agreed surprisingly easily, astonishment appearing for just a second on John’s face. “With one condition,” said Kurt, again leading the conversation in the necessary direction.

  “What condition?” John asked.

  “A lot is said about you, Mr. Fenririr.”

  “I never thought you were hungry for gossip.”

  “I often hear you’re a betting man.” The game was on, and Kurt didn’t want to miss taking advantage of the chance that had fallen into his hands. He thought for a moment. “And at the same time, you’re called a man of your word.” Kurt lied without batting an eye, but John didn’t seem to pay attention to it. “An unusual combination, don’t you think?”

  “What can I say, a card debt is a debt of honor. So, that’s nothing unusual,” John laughed. “Although I’m sure you’ve heard something else, Kurt,” John looked at Kurt askance, but Kurt continued unabashedly.

  “My suggestion is…” Kurt became serious and put down his cup of now cold tea. “…to play matches. The matches can be about anything. For each victory over you, I want to get innermost knowledge about you, memories or stories, all the things that you don’t want anyone to see, all those precious things you don’t show to anyone.”

  “What makes you think I have those things?”

  “Without them you wouldn’t be such a wonderfully rich man who is so fed up with the world around him.” Kurt continued to look unwaveringly at John. “For each of your revelations, without any hypocrisy, I’ll tell you one of my innermost secrets.”

  “I don’t agree,” answered John and stretched out in the armchair. His eyes went somewhere inside, as if he were checking his treasures, making sure they were in the same place, undisturbed and untouched.

  “Well, I understand, Mr. Fenririr. In any gambler lives the fear of failure, otherwise the thrill of victory wouldn’t be so strong.” Kurt calmly and politely smiled. Then his eyes instantly faded, and his face became impassive. John raised his head, watching this change. “Then keep your invitation for someone else who is more suited to you, Mr. Fenririr,” Kurt said and pursed his lips.

  “No,” John said firmly, fury raging in his gaze. Anxiety touched Kurt’s soul, but he didn’t give it a chance to take control; too much was at stake, and he made every effort not to give away his concern.

  John stood up and prowled closer to Kurt, like a mad wolf, but instead of attacking him, John handed Kurt his broad palm. “It’s a deal,” John said.

  “Deal.” Kurt smiled as he shook John’s hand, but he quickly smothered his sense of excitement, so as not to give himself away with trembling voice or hands. His face again acquired a pleasant liveliness and interest.

  “You can try your luck today, Kurt. At seven, we play poker,” John grinned and glanced askance at Kurt, but he didn’t budge. It seemed John’s figure, hanging over him, didn’t bother him, although in fact it did. However, Kurt noticed how easy it was to hide his displeasure; his face had gained the ability to wear a mask with the most unconstrained and polite expression, confronted with which John apparently became furious. And now this promising knowledge was at Kurt’s fingertips.

  “In this case, wait for me today at seven for poker.” Kurt stood up and shook John’s hand again. This handshake lingered as they stood facing each other like two fighters. Two rivals. There were two ladies behind Kurt’s back, black and red, and they touched his shoulders with delicate hands in silk gloves. Finally, John released Kurt’s hand and headed for the exit.

  When the door closed behind John, Kurt called for Edna. “Are you all right?” he asked her as he guided her toward a chair.

  “Yes,” Edna lied as she sat down.

  “Are you glad Mr. Fenririr is gone?”

  “Yes,” she said after a pause.

  “So, I was right, and you’re afraid of him. You don’t want to tell me anything, because you don’t trust me and you don’t want to cause any harm to your daughter. Well, I’m not going to force you. However, I will ask one more question. Is Mr. Fenririr really in a secret society?”

  “You asked him yourself.” Edna broke off, realizing that she had given herself away, but Kurt didn’t seem to pay attention to it.

  “Yes, I just assumed and I was right. But maybe, you know…what kind of society is it? Any members? Rules?”

  “Mr. Rhein, I have no right to talk about it either. Sorry.”

  “Do you want me to help you or not?” Kurt said sternly.

  “Mr. Fenririr also was going to help!” Edna exclaimed desperately in response. “Excuse me, Mr. Rhein, I’m sorry . . . Please don’t involve me.”

  “Okay.” Kurt retreated. “Then I ask you for a favor. Don’t tell Mr. Fenririr about this conversation.”

  Edna nodded.

  “Now go and pack your things,” said Kurt.

  “Are you f-firing me?” Edna asked quietly, taking it for granted.

  “No, we are moving closer to my dear friend, Mr. Fenririr.” Kurt smiled.

  * * * *

  In the dim light of the room, tobacco smoke soared over the oak table, which was upholstered in green cloth. John was thoughtfully smoking a cigar and occasionally tapping the table with his fingertips. All the guests were assembled, all the seats were occupied, except for one. Kurt still wasn’t here. The clock struck seven; the dealer picked up the cards, looked at John as if to ask whether he could start. But John shook his head, looking around meticulously.

  “Well, where is your wonderful player, John?” said one of the men sitting at the table.

  “Stanley, you must miss your hospital bed? I can arrange something for you,” John said strictly, and Stanley chuckled. At that moment, Kurt walked in from the hallway.

  “Gentlemen, I’m glad to see you all, sorry for the delay, let’s start,” Kurt said in the same breath and sat at the table, rubbing his hands together excitedly, as if nothing had happened. John’s eyes softened, and anger gave way to excitement.

  The dealer dealt the cards. The first betting round, everyone tried to raise, so it might seem that everyone had the priority. Kurt wasn’t even looking at his cards; he looked at John, who was frowning slightly. But sometimes he threw glances at Kurt. After a couple of rounds, the players began to retire. The initial rate increased a hundred times. Stanley, John and Kurt kept cards.

  “Gentlemen, let’s make the game more interesting,” Stanley suddenly offered. “If I win, Mr. Rhein will be at my service. You can’t get away with your lateness.”

  Kurt looked at Stanley mildly; this attempt to be like John amused him.

  “Hospital bed, Stan,” John reminded him in a cheerful voice, while staring intently at Kurt as if he wanted to catch the nuances of emotion on his face, but Kurt’s face was absolutely expressionless.

  “Why not?” Kurt suddenly grinned, glancing at John. “I think this is a very ticklish bid. Crazy, like everything is here, but I’m willing to take the risk. If I win, Stan will be at my service,” Kurt said carelessly, and Stanley laughed.

  “
If I win, I’ll break both of your noses,” John said contentedly.

  “Deal,” Kurt easily said, and Stan got nervous.

  “Open up. And prepare yourself.” John grinned and turned the card over. “Full House.” John leaned back, satisfied.

  “I’m afraid that luck isn’t on your side today.” Stan revealed his cards. “Quads.”

  “You’re dead, Stan,” John’s eyes flashed; he was sure that no one could beat him. “He’s mine,” said John loudly, and it was more like a savage roar. Everyone looked at each other, but John didn’t care. “This is my house, my game and my rules.”

  John got out of his chair, and some of the men who sat near became pale, with the exception of Stan, who was taking the pot. “Don’t be such a baby, John. It’s not always you who gets to win.”

  Kurt was calmly watching the scene. It seemed that in seconds he would see bright flashes of John’s anger like flames lighting up the faces of all the people in the dark room. The pulsation of his veins filled with rage seemed to create waves of hot air and Kurt felt it on his skin, the air heated almost to the limit, and only then did he calmly say, “Royal flush, gentlemen.” He spread his cards out on the table. “I win.”

  With pleasure, Kurt watched one emotion change to another on John’s face. First, he was amazed, then that gave way to angry tension, and in the end John laughed. All this happened so quickly, no one but Kurt noticed John’s changing emotions, but everyone was relieved when he laughed, returning to a good mood.

  “I like good players,” John said with satisfaction, watching Stan put back his winnings.

  Kurt stood up from the table, taking only his contribution to the pot.

  “Stanley, I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at twelve.” Saying goodbye to everyone, he went outside. John quickly caught up with him at the garden gate.

  “That was beautiful!” John said enthusiastically.

  “You exaggerate, Mr. Fenririr. Your house is beautiful, your new jacket is beautiful and the sparkle in your eyes is beautiful. I just won the game.” Saying this, Kurt looked at John with interest, like an appraiser at an antique bagatelle. John was jarred a little by this look.

  “And I’m beautiful, because I’m John.” He laughed. “But the way you played that was absolutely beautiful.”

  “I have to go.” Kurt’s voice sounded distantly polite. “I have to work.”

  “I can walk you home, Kurt,” John answered as they went through his gate. “And I remember our deal. Although there’re things about me I’d like to keep to myself.”

  Kurt looked at John, but didn’t comment, despite his curiosity, on whatever it was John had chosen not to disclose. Kurt moved forward, skirting John’s house.

  “Where are you going?” John asked, interrupting his consideration of what revelation about himself to disclose first.

  “This is my new home,” Kurt said, smiling slightly. Pushing the door open to a small garden, he looked back at John. “I hope you don’t mind that my office windows look directly out onto yours.”

  “Why such a drastic decision?” John asked in surprise.

  “I want to know you better.” Kurt smiled. “And I like it here.” He turned and looked straight into John’s eyes. “I really have to go.” Having said this, Kurt turned and headed for the front porch.

  “Kurt…” John hesitated a little.

  Kurt turned around with a flat look on his face, as if his thoughts had already soared away to other places.

  “I’m a virgin,” John said at last, his wolfish eyes looking at Kurt with interest, as if he expected to see a reaction from Kurt registering shock. Instead, Kurt merely nodded.

  “Your turn,” added John with a confident voice.

  “Me too, Mr. Fenririr, me too,” Kurt said. Turning, he walked into the house, hiding a smile. John stood for a few minutes and thought about something, looking at the door. And then he went home. Kurt watched him from a dark room, as if trying to read his thoughts, which of course, wasn’t possible.

  * * * *

  The moonlight didn’t try to overcome the darkness in Kurt’s new office. Their wonderful union begot a haze of silvery silk, where the silver glow of moonlight rested on a velvet lining of darkness. And the darkness only made it shine brighter, and the moonlight was emphasizing the depth of the sumptuous velvet of the night.

  Kurt stood at the window and looked at John’s house; no lights burned in his windows either. Edna had told Kurt about the rooms in the Fenririr house, and Kurt waited for light to appear in John’s room. But there was no light. Kurt stared into the darkness, silver silk wrapping him as if it would make him invisible to prying eyes.

  Standing in the middle of a huge scene in a spot of bright light, where your every move is eagerly captured by the curious audience, it has never been easier to hide what’s inside of you.

  The lady in black stood next to Kurt, her face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat and a light veil. She seemed to be waiting for something along with Kurt. But for her, neither distance nor darkness was a hindrance. She seemed to know exactly where John was now, what he was doing, what he was thinking, but she was in no hurry to share her thoughts with Kurt. And Kurt’s thoughts weren’t interesting to her. With slender fingers, hidden in long, shiny black silk gloves, she touched the window glass and drew a big heart. Kurt felt like a boy and repeated her move, outlining hers with a larger heart. After standing for a few minutes in thought, Kurt sat down at his desk, which was standing right in front of the window. What he couldn’t know but wondered…was John standing in the darkness of his own room watching the windows of Kurt’s house? He felt him there.

  The moonlight sufficient illumination, Kurt took some sheets of paper and a pen and began to write…

  Paper is a luxury that allows us to talk to ourselves. Without masks. Without unnecessary stress. And I can trust it with my disappointment that only recently seemed bitter to me, but now I find it quite commonplace and natural. Because your emptiness, John, is gaping inside, and your madness is only your shield, which protects you from the fear of looking inside yourself and seeing all your ugliness. In your theatre, you have taken the role of the shining star and everyone’s favorite, but in reality, you will never be given to know what love is. Because true love is always behind the scenes, away from the bustle; it doesn’t expect applause from the crowd, tries to avoid any ostentation and vulgarity. And beauty is devoted to love, like love is devoted to beauty. But only if they are both true. And you would never take any other feeling for love, because when Love comes, she changes everything.

  * * * *

  Waking up in the morning, Kurt was surprised to find his new home seemed more comfortable than his old one. Of course, his old house had a special atmosphere and romance, but his new home struck him as being more in unison with Kurt’s condition and mood.

  Edna left for the city, so when he heard a knock at the door, he went downstairs to receive an unexpected guest.

  “I demand a rematch,” John announced instead of greeting him.

  “What? Right now? Why?”

  Kurt was caught off guard. But John didn’t pay attention and continued. “How do you like boxing, Kurt?”

  “Want to lay a few bets, Mr. Fenririr?”

  “No, no, what nonsense! I’m talking about fighting.”

  “You want to spar with me?” Kurt was surprised by such a proposal, however, he didn’t have time to think it through.

  “Today at six. I think you, as an educated person, are familiar with the form and rules of the Marquis Queensberry.” John grinned and turned to leave, but then turned back and said, “And don’t wait for Stan, he won’t show up. Urgent business, you know. He apologized.” John sneered and left.

  Kurt stood puzzled for a few minutes, then he closed the door and went back to the room. He didn’t let himself hesitate. I am ready for whatever Mr. Fenririr has prepared for me, thought Kurt. If audacity is the absence of fear, I’m audacious as ever. Otherwise I’m ill. For
even my mind refuses to warn me about the danger…

  * * * *

  Kurt went into town to buy equipment for the night’s fight. The carriage stopped at the leather workshop, and as Kurt emerged, he almost collided with Philip.

  “What a meeting, Kurt!” Philip rejoiced.

  “Good day!”

  “What brings you here?”

  “I’d like to buy something,” Kurt said and nodded at the leather shop.

  “Yesterday I didn’t find you at home.”

  “Excuse me, for God’s sake, Philip. I forgot to tell you that I had moved to another house.”

  “What?” Philip was surprised. “Why? When? Where?”

  Kurt gave him the address.

  “Wait, it’s very close to John’s! Kurt, what are you doing? Didn’t I warn you? Didn’t I tell you?”

  “Calm down, Philip. I already know your brother.”

  “You don’t know the half of it! I beg you, come to your senses! Think again! Why do you need all this? You can’t take revenge on him, you can’t reason with him. And even if you resort to violence—and I pray you won’t—John will certainly retaliate with something even more violent!”

  “Philip, I’ve already decided!” Kurt’s voice sounded differently. Philip looked at him amazed, then he nodded politely and took a step back.

  “You have become so much like him, Kurt. Frighteningly,” Philip said slowly. “He broke you. Like all the others.”

  Nodding goodbye, Philip left. Kurt watched him a few seconds and then entered the shop.

  Returning home, Kurt found a note on the table with the address where Kurt should meet John

  The sun was setting, gilding the old and faded walls of the houses. And the sun, as if in mockery, painted them in bright golden-orange colors. Kurt and John slowly trudged down the street.