The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Bitter coffee in a small cup had cooled down a long time ago, and Kurt was busy staring at the visitors.

  “Waiting for someone?” John sat down without invitation, putting a bottle of wine on the table.

  “Just drinking afternoon coffee,” Kurt replied, raising his cup and putting it back. For some time, John studied Kurt’s face with predilection.

  “You, by the way, owe me a revelation,” said John.

  Kurt looked at him. “I keep my promises. What do you want to know?”

  “Who attracts you more—men or women?”

  “An interesting question,” said Kurt as if he found nothing peculiar about this question. “For me it’s difficult to answer, because I’ve never been close enough with anyone to experience joy or rejection. The act of intimacy itself is sacred for me, and I didn’t paint the ideal images. But I understand you care more about another aspect of the issue. And I’ll say, yes, I find you attractive and appealing as a man. You’re a great player and strategist, but an ugly human. Don’t take offence.”

  It seemed Kurt’s words didn’t surprise John or offend him. He didn’t say anything for several minutes.

  “I don’t like Madeira,” Kurt said and smiled, nodding at the bottle.

  “I know,” John said calmly. “I think you’re into something more refined. Claret, for example. Sometimes I think I could create a theory about the relation of human nature and the wine that people drink. Or has Mr. Psychologist already outrun me here?” John grinned, calling for the waiter, who came and opened the bottle. He poured the wine in the glasses.

  “No, John, I have a lot of things to do. Your theory could be interesting.”

  “Let’s drink to this.” John clinked the glass, which was intended for Kurt. Kurt picked it up, looked at the wine’s sparkling red color, splashing it around in his glass. He irresistibly wanted to experience the taste. Surprised at himself, Kurt sipped from his glass.

  “Do you know that it’s not just Madeira, it’s Malmsey. It is also called the Seducer’s Weapon.” John winked and again took a sip.

  Kurt just smiled. The wine was dark, tart and sweet; he could not understand why he was attracted by this taste. And suddenly, looking at John, Kurt understood. He almost smiled at his thoughts, although in the next moment, they scared him.

  John has just told me about his theory of the relationship between a person and wine, and now I understand how true it is. Why do I think that this is his taste? Is that why I’m trying to quench my thirst? thought Kurt, placing his glass on the table.

  “Still studying me, Kurt?” John asked with a grin as he refilled Kurt’s glass. “Is there any progress?”

  “I’m not standing in one place, John, hence there’s progress. However, I can’t predict where it’ll lead me.”

  “I have always been confident that the only truly valuable feature of any science is a forecast.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “The world is full of charlatans, Kurt. Another madame opens her salon of sortilege. Don’t get me wrong; I believe that fools should be fooled. But science always puts itself in contrast to these religious fanatics, these oracles. It says that relying only on the true facts, it will see the future, or better—it will create the future.”

  “I didn’t know that you’re interested in sciences, John.”

  “I’m interested in many things,” he smiled. “As you can see, I still haven’t become completely fed up with this world. So, Kurt, if you don’t know what will happen, then you’re either a charlatan or don’t see the truth. And as the wise say, in vino veritas.” John grinned.

  “It would be fair if I had something to hide.”

  “There’s always something to hide,” John said and smiled predatorily. “What, in fact, we know about each other. You’re an eminent psychologist; I’m the son of a wealthy investor. You’re an orphan, and in fact I am, too. You love to study people, and I like to check them. I don’t need to learn about anyone; I know what I need to do to get the response that I want.”

  “Presumptuously,” said Kurt.

  “Sincerely,” John retorted. “Want to bet right now? Choose anyone in this restaurant.”

  “I don’t want to turn these people into your puppets for a stupid bet.”

  “Stupid? Wouldn’t you like to see my new revelations? Choose,” John repeated insistently. “Otherwise I will choose myself.”

  Kurt was forced to admit that curiosity touched him. The wine had played its role; Kurt couldn’t convincingly object to John.

  “That beauty over there will do, I think,” John squinted, looking at the other corner of the room.

  “No, no, no,” Kurt protested. “Ladies aren’t to be considered; you always seduce ladies. This isn’t a worthy target!”

  “Maybe you want to try yourself?” John grinned.

  “Why not?” Kurt smiled suddenly. His smile turned out extremely charming and warm, like a boy’s. “I can try.” He began getting up, but John pushed him back on the spot, looking earnestly into his eyes.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I said I would show you my skill. Choose.”

  “That man in the frock coat. He has a wrinkled face; it looks a bit like dried apricot.” Kurt laughed. Alcohol adversely affected his ability to refrain from expressing such comments aloud. Usually he didn’t allow such observations even in his thoughts.

  John contentedly followed Kurt’s glance. “And what do you want him to do?”

  “Make him hug you, John,” Kurt smiled slyly. “With all his heart.”

  Kurt finished his glass of wine, though he felt a vague pang of doubt whether it was the right thing to do.

  “What’s at stake?” asked Kurt.

  “If I win, you’ll give me the one thing that’s most valuable to you.”

  “And if you lose?”

  “I’ll give you my most valuable thing.”

  After thinking a moment, Kurt agreed. He was still plagued by doubts about the correctness of this behavior. However, he hoped for the best. The Madeira had awakened in him the passion for pleasure, for winning, for life. He wanted to win this bet and see what John might cherish. In the old gentleman at the end of the hall Kurt recognized the Marquis Alfred Kroumby. Once he had the honor to be introduced to him. He had never seen a more prim and supercilious man. An air of coldness was in his every gesture; he spoke with people arrogantly, as if his title elevated him above mere mortals. And it seemed he was completely unable to manifest warm human feelings.

  Kurt watched with interest as John walked down the hall directly to the Marquis, bowed slightly in greeting and started a conversation. In the beginning, it seemed the conversation was secular and non-binding. However, a few minutes later, John’s facial expression suddenly changed so that Kurt barely resisted the urge to run up to him to hear what he could say with such a face. He had never seen it before. First a deep sorrow froze on John’s face, his eyes glazed over, and then he began to say something to the Marquis eagerly and his face brightened more and more, and finally his eyes blazed with desperate joy. John looked into the Marquis’s face with incredible devotion and love, and the Marquis looked confused, and suddenly Kurt observed as his ice shuddered, and it was as if his arrogance and hubris melted under the gaze of John’s lambent eyes. It seemed to Kurt that in a second the old man would begin to cry and throw himself into John’s arms. But with dignity, he put down his glass of brandy, rose and pulled John to his chest. John looked at Kurt and smiled. However, when he looked again in the face of the old man, his face changed again, he politely said goodbye and returned to Kurt.

  “Enough of the heart?” John asked, sitting down opposite.

  “What did you tell him?” Kurt asked impatiently.

  “I usually don’t reveal my secrets,” John sneered. “I can only say in such cases it goes perfectly with the card of a deceased father and the bright example I could hold on to and not go astray.” John winked at Kurt. “It was even easier than with any girl. I
won, and I wait for my prize.”

  Kurt chuckled. “To be honest, John, I don’t really have a thing that’s precious to me. So, I don’t have anything to give you.”

  “Are you serious? Was I showing off for nothing?” John played offended.

  “Well, I can tell you something…”

  “Go ahead.” said John and sat back.

  “My parents died when I was ten years old, and for some reason I remember almost nothing of them. As if my memory, trying to protect me from the pain, erased my reminiscences or hid them under cloudy glass. I remember some moments, but it seems like a dream. My mother sang lullabies to me; she had a wonderful voice, so entrancing.”

  “I’m going to cry right now,” John said ironically, but Kurt didn’t pay attention to it. His eyes were as if covered with haze. He went into himself, where in the dim corridors, pictures of his distant past life hung covered in dust, with faded colors, but still retaining the gentle warmth and tenderness of past days.

  John looked at him indifferently, but Kurt clearly saw in his eyes something else hidden inside.

  “Do you remember your father?” John suddenly asked.

  “Very vaguely. He worked a lot.” Kurt willingly told John about his family; he was pleased to immerse in his memories. He didn’t even look at John, didn’t see how he reacted to his words. “But he was always in a good mood. I don’t remember that he was ever angry or raised his voice. He knew how to make me laugh, to soothe, to cheer. Perhaps he just loved people and the world around him. I remember him like that.”

  John was silent. He looked to the side, as if he wasn’t listening to Kurt, but, in fact he’d devoured every word and threw sidelong glances at Kurt. Something like disbelief slid in his gaze, as if something didn’t fit in Kurt’s story and caused suspicion.

  “How about a bottle of Claret?” John suddenly asked.

  “No, John, I feel that even the Madeira was too much. I think I’d better go home.”

  “I’ll walk you.”

  “Not necessary.” Kurt gestured with his hand and stood up.

  “It wasn’t a suggestion,” John said and stood up too.

  It was dusk. They walked along the alley past John’s mansion, but this time they were on the north side, where a small racetrack abutted John’s possessions. “Are you a rider?” Kurt asked, as they passed.

  “I have ridden horses since childhood,” John grinned. “I’m not an amateur; I’m a professional.”

  “Who would have thought? I’ve never seen you on a horse.”

  “That’s easy to fix,” John said with resentment, as if Kurt didn’t believe his word. “And we can compete at the same time.” John’s eyes flared up again with ardor. The inebriation hadn’t left Kurt yet. Of course, it was easier to concentrate outdoors, but he wasn’t sure he could sit firmly in the saddle. He wasn’t a skilled rider, but it wasn’t new for him either.

  “Come on.” John had already jumped over the fence and was heading toward the stables, where he ordered two horses to be saddled. Kurt didn’t even have time to argue, as John handed him the reins.

  “So,” he said. “We need to overcome four barriers,” John pointing to the left. “Who will take all four wins.”

  “I’m not sure that in my condition, I should even try,” Kurt protested weakly.

  “Stop pretending! What a big deal? You drank a little!”

  “But you didn’t!”

  “So what?” As if to confirm his words, John mounted a big beautiful Andalusian as black as coal. The stallion radiated pure athletic energy as it pranced in place under John’s commanding hold of the reins. He sat in his saddle easily. Kurt, on the other hand, had barely mounted his brown and white paint gelding before it shied away from the black stud, nearly unseating Kurt in the process.

  “Who will start?” Kurt asked after settling his mount down.

  “I give you the right of precedence, my highly respected guest,” said John with a shadow of mockery in his voice. Kurt didn’t pay attention to it; he was busy keeping his balance and trying not to fall out of the saddle.

  The evening sun gilded the tops of the swaying trees. Kurt looked at the sky and slightly spurred his horse. The first barrier he took without difficulty. On the second barrier, he hesitated for a moment, and the horse knocked off the upper beam. On the third Kurt jerked the reins too much, and the horse reared and threw him. Kurt fell on his back, scraping his shoulder against the stone. In addition, a sharp pain pierced his left ankle. John ran up to him.

  “If you don’t know how to ride, why the hell did you climb on a horse?” John raged.

  “Damn! It hurts!” Kurt shouted. He swayed from side to side, holding his leg. Blood dripped onto the grass from his shoulder.

  John clenched his teeth and frowned. “Call the doctor to my house,” he ordered the groom, who nodded and disappeared from sight. John picked Kurt up and carried him to his mansion. John brought Kurt home and laid him on his bed. The doctor arrived within short order to bandage the patient and order bed rest.

  “It was very kind of you to bring me here,” Kurt said after the doctor left, “but can you do me another favor and help me get home?”

  “You feel bad here?”

  “This isn’t my home.”

  “That isn’t your home either.”

  “I don’t have my things here, and after all, I don’t want to interfere with your plans.”

  “In your condition you need rest, so make yourself at home here. I will look after you.”

  “I can’t imagine you as a nurse.”

  “Well, wait and see.”

  “I don’t want to be an intruder.”

  “Then stop bickering!”

  There was a pause.

  “It was stupid,” said John suddenly as he sat next to Kurt. “Couldn’t you just give up?”

  “Of course, I could,” Kurt said, watching him.

  “Then why didn’t you back down?”

  “It’s boring. I need to open so many secrets in your heart, every match counts. And your ardor is contagious. It’s a pity I lost.”

  John was silent for a few seconds.

  “I think you deserve a revelation.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve decided it.”

  “What will you tell me this time?” Kurt asked.

  “You’ll see,” John said and left.

  Alone, Kurt thought, Well, I have been doing everything right. Now I no longer even have to win a match to know something about John. This is what happens when the wall is broken—revelations, thoughts and feelings, as if the river flowed, pouring into the crevices, and a person can’t help but share them. He needs a vessel that will take it. And now this vessel is me.

  Kurt sighed and leaned back. Could he have imagined how this day would end? In the morning he was at home, gathering strength, and now he was lying on a bed in John’s home, and what was this vague feeling that captured him again? Kurt had never been in this room before, and something told him that he was the first guest here. It was unlikely John let anyone else in.

  Kurt looked around. The bedroom was quite usual, well, of course if you consider a high level of luxuries to be usual. But it was for John, so Kurt wasn’t surprised, not even about the bed—it was like two of his—nor the abundance of silk cushions, nor the canopy embroidered with gold thread. Kurt was drowning in silk softness and tenderness; he was besotted by subtle flavor, like the fragrance of perfume.

  And then Kurt shook himself. He absolutely could not lose his head, but he couldn’t do anything about the fact that he was pleased to be the only guest here, that John took such care of him, though, in fact, John himself was to blame for what had happened to Kurt.

  How Kurt wished at that moment that his heart was made of smooth silk, embroidered with gold thread, so it would have remained indifferent to everything. Kurt could not. Little by little, fatigue overcame him, and he fell into a sweet sleep, where he dreamed about John sitting at his bedside, wi
th only worry and concern in his eyes.

  The parlor clock struck midnight; three minutes later, someone came into the bedroom where Kurt was sleeping. He didn’t even have time to be scared, as a broad palm was clamped over his mouth. The first thing Kurt could see in the dark—John’s eyes staring at him. If Kurt said he wasn’t afraid it would be a lie. In the darkness he could not see John’s face, but his eyes seemed to glow. John put his finger to his lips, and Kurt nodded.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Kurt whispered.

  “I love surprises,” John grinned.

  Kurt noticed that John had a canvas bag behind him.

  “Come on,” he said confidently and grabbed Kurt’s arm.

  “John, for God’s sake, tell me what’s happening?” Kurt protested. His ankle still hurt, so he walked with a limp.

  “I promised you a revelation.”

  “And it should be done at night?”

  “Some things are better in the dark.”

  John unhesitatingly left the bedroom, keeping hold of Kurt, who still could not determine whether this was a dream or reality.

  Seating Kurt in his carriage, which stood at the door, John took the place of the driver. They drove away from the mansion and for fifteen minutes went down a dark road. Only the moon and the swinging lantern lit their path. Finally, John stopped his horses, helped Kurt out of the carriage and carried him up the hill to the top. Before them lay a field stretched like an endless restless sea, silvered by moonlight. A river flowed close by, and its peaceful murmur sounded like a lullaby. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

  “I like to be alone here,” John said. “But this isn’t what I wanted to show you.”

  “What then?” Kurt looked at him in surprise.