Бесплатный фрагмент - Aragon Masks

Greetings, dear reader. My name is Inga Soborova. I am the author of this collection of short stories. Named by the first story, «Aragon Masks».

Each story allows you to reflect on the world, on people, and on relationships in an interesting way.

Enjoy your reading, dear Reader.

Contents

ARAGON MASKS

Old woman:

Well, I’m an ancient woman, but only three times in my life I have taken the mask off my face. My first time happened as a girl when I drowned in the lake. The mask came off on its own. It was wooden and thick. I was left floating on the water. All the masks used to be made of wood. Glory to the first, I didn’t have time to see my reflection in the water without a mask.

The second time the mask cracked on me and fell down at my feet. I almost lay on the ground, I felt faint. It was good I found the second one in the bag. I put it on at once. Covered my shame.

Our family was one of the first in town to honor tradition. Ancient family. My grandmother gave me the mask. When my grandmother died, they took it off. They buried it in the salt mountain on the square and a year later, on the day she died, they took the mask out of the salt mountain and put it into a trunk. And the children’s mask of the grandmother’s youngest granddaughter is put on in public.

The child is standing there wearing his child’s mask. The Priest puts on the child’s mask immediately after the birth. He puts the mask on the child so quickly that neither mother nor those who help him can see the child’s face.

And when the child’s mask is changed at majority, a black cloth is thrown over the head, and the Priest changes the mask under the cloth. They throw back the cloth — everyone congratulates. She’s all grown up now. And the child’s mask — in the salt. And after a year you can put it in a trunk with masks at home.

So my mask, who knows how many generations passed on. Maybe my ancestors wore it when they were Firsts, Glory to them. That is why it cracked from old age. I knew the law well, «If the mask has come off you, put on the other one immediately. If there is anything wrong with the second mask as well, cover your face with your hands, and run home quickly, so that during your disgraceful run people could not see your disgusting shame.»

Then I was lucky enough to put the second one on. I don’t even stay home without the other one. And my second mask was older than all my masks. It was at the bottom of the trunk. The beetle must have drained it all away. I didn’t notice. I put on my second mask, and it was crumbling to dust, in little pieces.

I ran all the way, thinking only about the trunk with the masks.

The law says, «To change the mask at home for another, stay alone. Turn your face to the dark corner. Quickly change the mask. After that, you can go to the mirror.»

I ran into the house. Fortunately, there was no one there. Opened the trunk. The masks were in it. All wooden, heavy. There’s a small hole for the mouth, just enough for a little spoon to fit through. The smaller the hole is for the spoon, the more respectable the girl is. And now, the young ones, they put on masks made of straw and black glass. The holes for the mouth are as small as a fist. What a shame.

All sickness comes from wearing the mask in the wrong way. But those who honor the law, and remember every word of it, know, «Wear the mask not so tight that your face hurts. And not loosely, that the wind may blow beneath the mask. To attract sinful looks.»

In the past, masks in respectable families were kept in a trunk. Every single mask was kept in a salt mountain for a year. One by one. Now they hang them on the walls of the house. What’s that for? There’s no law against it, of course. But I feel this is not good.

Oh, and now they’re making masks of different colors. They say there was no prohibition on different colors from the Firsts. What’s that? They started bending the edges of the holes for the mouth upwards. We remember the edges have to go down. The corners of the eyes on the mask are also directed towards the ground. The earth feeds us and hides us. And it is proper to walk by looking into the ground.

But I’ve heard people say.

«Put on, darling, the mask you asked me to marry. Put it on, let’s remember the old days.», a wife says to her husband.

«No, I won’t. What was, is gone,» he said.

Then the wife took the mask, put it on the bed, and sat admiring it. The husband saw it, took away the mask and put it into the stove. She screamed and cried. And the husband saw his mask on fire and how he screamed. She looked at him and saw his mask was burning, and there was fire and smoke coming from under it. That’s scary.

Here the Priest was carried away. They buried him. He could not stand it. He was honored to become a Priest. But he didn’t endure.

I remember when they chose him. In the square, near Salt Mountain. Three of the oldest citizens of the city held fresh meat in their hands — no blood. And in the center was a wolf, in a wooden cage. A rope was tied behind the door of the cage. It is thrown over a dead tree and stretched to the top of the Salt Mountain. An innocent maiden stands on the mountain. Pull the rope, the door goes up. The wolf has not been fed for seven days. Comes out of the cage. Which old man he approaches, that one will give him the meat. And that old one will be the Priest. The wolf was deprived of life and put near the stone of Firsts, Glory to them.

I cried with happiness. I wasn’t the only one. The Priest does not only change the masks of the living. When the time comes, if someone dies, the Priest is called. One must take off the mask of Life and replace it with the mask of Death.

They used to be beautiful Death masks. No holes for eyes and mouth. They were decorated with broken glass and charcoal. When the people turn their backs, the Priest replaces it. And the mask of Life goes straight to the Salt Mountain.

If a Priest changes his first mask of Death and holds it, not lying next to a dead person, then he will be the Priest. Until his death. And if madness seizes him from such confusion, he will be placed in the honorary temple of Priests. People go to this temple to worship. If the Priest laughs under the mask — it’s for luck. Cries — expect misfortune. You can stand for a long time in the temple. To see if the Priest is crying mad or laughing.

Old Maskmaker:

For as long as I can remember, I’ve thought about masks. More than anything else. I used to make masks as a boy. My masks were quickly sold at the fair. Others nearby were selling masks too. But they took my masks all at once. I have a secret.

You blow on the mask and give a piece of your life to the mask. When my masks are ready on the shelf, I can always hear them whispering.

Wedding masks are clean and light. Always kept separate. Children’s masks are closer to wedding masks. Soldier masks are menacing, sturdy and heavy, away from wedding and children’s masks. Otherwise they will lose their fierce power. Then how can you fight wearing them?

The prettiest are for young women. I revere the law of the Firsts, Glory to them. But there’s no word that says you can’t adorn a mask with precious stones. And stones and gold around the edges.

But for a man, for every day, at the bottom of the mask, there’s a void. The beard that has grown back must be placed there. The law says, «Cut the beard that’s coming out of the mask.»

I don’t break the law. I don’t have beards coming out of my masks.

The Death mask I make when I’m in a special mood. It’s as if I’m fraternizing with Death himself. I feel triumph and majesty. The greatest demand for these masks. If someone wears this mask, there’s no one else to give it to.

But there are those who do not want to wear the mask. They put a closed mask on them, Glory to the First Ones. They take the key of the mask to the middle of the lake and throw it there. These rebels leave the city. They wander around the world.

Aragon:

I have a child’s mask. It’s beautiful. The head teacher gave it to me for my birthday. He bought a new one. We went with him to the Maskmaker’s shop. He has many beautiful masks. They whisper to each other. But the teacher doesn’t hear. I recognized my mask at once. And it recognized me, too. I hear someone calling me. It’s my mask.

In one mirror, the mask looks like mine. And in the other, it looks like someone else’s.

In this, the other mirror, I’m not allowed to look at. Old nurse saw herself in it without a mask. They say it was an accident. That’s all she’s talked about ever since. Even in her dreams.

When the teacher and everyone who lives in the orphanage lose sight of me, I go to the mirror. I looked at it for a long time. Even once, it seemed to me that someone was standing behind me. When I turned around, no one was there.

I scratched my face under my mask. Scratched and moved my mask a bit. My skin is white under the mask. Beautiful. Soft. They say my cheeks are there.

I put a piece of sugar in my mouth under the mask today. Not in the mouth hole. The mask let me do it. But I can’t tell the teacher. He’ll scold me. But, Head Teacher, if he finds out, he will bind the mask so tightly for the day so you can’t eat, drink, or even breathe.

I saw my mouth in the mirror, my tongue in it. Turns out to be a big one. Sometimes, when someone shows his tongue in a mask, through a hole, only a little piece can be seen.

And I could see teeth. Like white beads. I got a lot of them.

I’ve been told I breathe through my nose. I want to see. What’s it like?

The aged nurse, in that mirror, behind my back, told everything about what she saw under the mask. I am used to seeing this nurse in the mirror all the time. She’s wearing the kind of mask no one wears nowadays.

I saw my nose. It is very ugly. It’s not even pretty. I’m afraid to lift the mask any further.

I saw one of my eyes. It’s beautiful. Like a goat’s, only smaller. The white skin covers the eye, and it’s as if it doesn’t exist. The hairs on this skin are small.

If I lift the mask, I only lift it from the edge. Either my mouth, or my nose, or my eye. You can’t see them all together.

Today I and all the children in our orphanage went to worship the Firsts. The Stone Firsts. They are wearing masks of stone. There are two of them. Their masks are special — square.

No one is allowed to wear square masks. Today at school we were taught, «As soon as you think of a square mask for yourself, pray at once, Glory to the First Ones, Glory forever and ever! And immediately those thoughts will go away.»

Today is a big celebration. All of our city’s young men who have come of age will take off their «child» masks and put on their «adult» masks. The city council gives masks to those who live in the orphanage. We don’t have a chest of masks that are passed down from our ancestors. Maybe that’s a good thing. The masks are new. Smells like fresh wood. They’re all the same. The law says, «Everyone can decorate his own mask. But modestly, in the same color.» This is to distinguish a thief from a good citizen.

I am an adult now. When I build my own house, I will no longer live in a shelter. I won’t have long to look in the forbidden mirror.

I go to the mirror every day. Yesterday I got scared. I looked at myself in the mirror and I didn’t have my mask on. Two eyes, like a yard dog’s, looking at me, my face white, and two cheeks at once. And this scary nose. And my mouth is open. I ran away.

It reminded me a lot of what I had seen in parts under the children’s mask.

Priest:

Now what I feared the most. I was one of the three oldest residents of our city. The two that were older than me left just before the Election. Lucky for them.

The day the Priest was chosen, they came for me at dawn. They led me. I walk slowly. They did not rush me. Even the convoy knows where they’re taking me.

Three of us. All had known each other since childhood. We had a silly saying, «I wish you became a priest.»

Sitting. Me and two other old men. Meat is in hand. A wolf is in a cage. The crowd is in the square. The first stones are standing. Wolf, if he pounces instead of meat on a man, he will not be a Priest.

They lifted the bars. The wolf came out. Slowly so. He headed in my direction. He grinned. Either the wolf would bite me, or I would become a Priest. I threw the meat into his mouth. The crowd screamed, «New Priest! Glory to the First Onest!». As if it was not with me all this. I look at the Firsts. Praying. Hope no one dies.

Adulthood. They call to replace the mask. Convoy brings the Priest and takes him home. That’s not surprising. The legs do not carry me there, nor back.

They gave me the holiest veil of the Firsts. For centuries it has covered faces during the removal of the mask. I covered the young man’s head. I untied the ropes of his mask. I took off the child’s mask. I put on a new adult mask under the veil. I touched his face. Almost made me vomit. It’s soft. Wet. Still feel sick to my stomach. Tied the ropes. Got me home.

The day had come. The death mask must be changed. Why haven’t I died yet? I’m standing next to a dead man. The mask of life is on him. I have to take it off. I can take it off, but how to not see the face. I wish I could take off this mask of life and die at once. It would be a good ending. Glory to the First Ones! Then the convoy must cover the dead man’s face with a cloak. And so bury him. The convoy, they’ll take him out of the city gates. And they’ll forget forever.

I did it. Strange. It’s not scary. It even feels like I’ve seen it before. Maybe in a dream. I know the face that reveals itself from under the mask. Not the man himself. But so. To see a face. Put on the mask of death. They took me away.

Aragon:

«I take my mask off every day now. I got a good look at myself. I wonder what other faces look like under the mask?»

Priest:

I take my masks off for others. I’m used to it. Why was I so afraid? But I do not show that I am not afraid. I walk, I can hardly drag my feet. Whimpering like a fox in a trap. That’s better.

What if I took off my mask and looked in the mirror? I have nothing to lose. If madness takes hold of me, they’ll put me in the Honorary Temple of Priests. In honor I shall live out the rest of my days. And if I die of fear, let it be so. I am very old.

The mirror is old. It’s muddy. It’s from my great-grandmother. It’s good that it’s cloudy. Maybe it won’t be so scary.

Glory to the First Ones! Just like a dead man’s. Only the eyes are open. It’s just the same. I’ll put the mask back on. Anyone else will see it. I covered the windows in the house before I did it. I shut the latch.

Old Maskmaker:

Different masks I have made. In each mask I left a piece of my soul. When I made a wedding mask, I imagined myself as an innocent maiden. When I made a mask for a battle, I imagined myself as a fierce and sullen soldier. No mercy, no pity. But when I made the mask of Death, I was Death himself.

Terrible thoughts come into my head now. I’m afraid to even think. Glory to the First Ones!

I wish I could make a square mask of the Firsts. But I’m afraid to even think about it. More and more often I imagine myself carving a square Mask of the Firsts out of gray stone. Here are the squares for the eyes. Here is for the mouth. So many times I have imagined it, that it seems these masks are already on my table. Glory to the First Ones!

Aragon:

There’s the Priest’s house. Since he became a Priest, nobody comes near his house much. Even old friends cross to the other side of the street to avoid bumping into him. It’s always like that. Respected and feared very much.

I’d like to talk to him. After all, he’s seen other people’s faces. Dead, of course. Kind of scary to go to him. Will he talk to me? Maybe he’s already mad about his position. I’ll look in his window. Is he at home?

Glory to the First Ones! He stands in front of the mirror without his mask. He’s drawn the curtains, but there’s a slit left. Now I’m even more afraid. He put the mask on. I’ll knock.

Priest:

I began to think. Maybe we don’t need masks at all. I was thinking that if I died, no one would know that the mask was useless. I should tell someone. They will put on a closed mask. The key goes in the lake. It’s the worst thing for me, now I know that it only obstructs me.

Aragon:

The Priest opened the door for me. He let me in. He stands. Silent. I must have tied my mask badly. I bowed to the Priest. And the mask fell off me. I picked up the mask and wanted to put it on. But the Priest stopped me. Came close. Looking at my face without the mask. I thought he’d call for the convoy.

But the Priest says, By the power vested in me, Glory to the First Ones, I command you, come to the mirror. Behold your face. The time has come!»

I came to the mirror. I forgot that I had to pretend to see my face for the first time. I stood there and looked. The Priest realized it wasn’t the first time I’d looked in the mirror. I felt I had not come to him in vain. I stand before him without a mask. I look into his eyes. I see he’s crying.

«I’ve seen you through your window. I’ve seen you looking in the mirror,» said I.

The Priest took off his mask. And then it was so funny to both of us. We both fell down laughing. Good thing the curtains on the windows were well drawn. Since then, I began to visit the Priest often.

Old Maskmaker:

I began to make Masks of the Firsts. Somehow my feet took me to the quarry. I found two stone blanks. Took them home. Started making them. It was as if I was back in my fantasies. My hands, as if they were making the masks themselves. I only watch.

Aragon:

I come to visit the Priest, and on calls, too. I began to accompany him. He needs support, I am just curious. When he changed the Mask of Life into a death mask, everyone who was there turned away. I did not. I looked at the dead man. His face was exactly like mine and the Priest’s. Only pale. And his eyes are closed.

That’s the news!

Old Maskmaker is dead. Now all the masks he has in his house, by law, will be brought to the Priest’s house. And he’ll put them on for whoever needs them. Until all the masks run out.

Helped the Priest move the masks from the house of the old Maskmaker. Glory to the First. What I found in his bags in his room! Away from the shelves with the masks, these bags laid. The Masks of the Firsts were there!

We took them to the Priest’s house. I dread even thinking what would happen if anyone found out. And the Priest, though he’s old, he’s funny. And brave. «Come on, try the Masks of the First Ones,» he says. I even got scared at first.

We got these masks of stone. It’s hot all around, but the masks are as cold as ice. Leather straps instead of ropes. Where did the old Maskmaker get them? Did he make them? Glory to the First Ones!

Old Woman:

A great holiday is coming up. The Day of the Firsts. According to the calendar, on this day hundreds of years ago, the Firsts left us. Now once a year, at the foot of Salt Mountain, we wait for them.

As a child, I was very afraid to go to this festival. Between Salt Mountain and the stone First Ones is a huge bonfire. The crowd. All the people of the town are at the bonfire. Those who can not walk, they are brought. Children with babies in their arms. No one must stay in the city. Whoever has a cracked or broken mask is thrown into the fire. The masks burst with different colors in the fire.

They say if the mask flashes yellow in the fire, it means a good man wore it. If it’s green, he’s cheerful. If red, that person’s love is strong. But if smoke goes black from the mask and sparks, then evil thoughts of the one who wore it. People see all this. They are silent.

If the mask is cracked, only into the fire on the First Day. If you bury it in the ground or hide it somewhere, all the worst that has been and will be will happen at once.

I feel if the Firsts come back, changes might happen. I’m afraid to think about it. I don’t want it to happen on my time.

It’s getting dark. All the people of the city are slowly making their way to the bonfire. I came before the others. I have plenty of time. And I love this holiday. It’s beautiful. The priest stands by the fire. In front of the face of the Stone Firsts.

Whoever brings a cracked mask, gives it to the Priest first. And goes back to his place. The Priest shouts loudly, «Glory to the First Ones!» And the mask goes into the fire. I almost cried then.

The fire burns. The flames are higher than the Firsts. That never happened before. The priest is gone.

What is it!!! The first ones are back! I can’t get off my knees. Glory to the First Ones!

The First Ones:

Here we are, all who waited for our return. All of you have honored the law. The day of the Great Change has come. By the power of the First, today at the Great Fire, under the city wall, each of you must remove the mask in front of the oldest Mirror, that of the city orphanage. Behold your face and throw the mask into the fire.

Those who have taken off the mask, have seen their face, and have not overcome their horror, can put on the mask again. And exactly one year later, repeat this trial.

Those who comply with the order and remove their masks forever leave the Old City. Just beyond the city wall, you must build a New City.

Each year, on the Day of the Firsts, this trial will take place again. Until not a single inhabitant of the Old City wears the mask. Then the wall between the Old City and the New City will be destroyed.

Aragon:

That is how it turned out, as I intended. The city now consists of two parts. Every year, some of the inhabitants move to the New City. Fewer and fewer people remain in the Old City. The postmasters of the Old and New City put letters in the hole in the wall every day. It has become easier for criminals to escape legal punishment. Underneath the wall in secret places are undermines. In the subterranean tunnels are rooms underground. They contain masks, weapons, and food. They go in and out now.

Old men are the only ones left in the Old City. Old men are always the most obedient to the law. It’s hard for them, but every year they come to the mirror in the square

Old Woman:

I was alone in the city. I was lonely as it was. I’ve been lonely as it is. The law is the law. Though it’s not easy for me, the law is the law. Several times on the First Day I wanted to pass the trial. I’m in the mirror now. Now I’ve taken off my mask. But I can’t open my eyes. I remember when I opened my eyes, I don’t know what I had seen. At home, I only woke up in my mask again. I must not be destined to go to the New City.

Aragon:

The last Priest is dead. The City of Masks does not exist. An old woman lives there.

I’m leaving this place today. I wandered the streets of the Old City. The orphanage where my childhood was spent. Old Maskmaker’s house. Salt Mountain. Stone of the Firsts. Mirror. Leaving. I will look from afar at the walls of the Old Town. There is a sentry on the wall.

Shouting something. I hear it, «The Old Woman is dead!»

SWAN HEART

Third-level mage, hereditary sorcerer Nubis, took clients to his office in the center of Moscow. The pen name he chose sounded like that, simply for the easier spelling, and not because he hesitated to use the name of his favorite ancient Egyptian deity.

Some objects that furnished his office were purely for entourage. For instance, a white owl, Fyodor, sat motionless in a cage and looked straight ahead. The owl never bothered Nubis, however, distracted at times. Especially during feeding time, when the janitor cleaned the cage and put live mice into the narrow door. One by one. When a mouse fell to the ground he closed it at once. At that moment there was a fuss and a brief mouse squeak.

There was a stuffed bat, frozen in a ridiculous pose, and like dragging its withered wings around. However, no one knows in which pose a bat should stand, this stuffed bat seemed not bad at all, especially in combination with the human skull standing next to it. Nubis had picked this skull up at the riverbank. He washed it, cleaned and was glad to find that the lower jaw was well preserved.

But besides all these items, which functioned to create an ambience, on the shelves in jars, leather bags, and ancient chests were stored things that the mage actually used during the rituals.

Arthur was crumpling in front of the mage’s door. Nubis, looking at the screen which showed everything that was going on outside the door, had no hurry to invite him in. «Let him mature.»

«May I?» Arthur opened the door and peeked into the office.

«Come in,» said Nubis. His pale gray eyes stared at the entrant.

«Hi. I have a question for you. Well, not really one.»

«Sit down,» the sorcerer pointed to an armchair for visitors, and Arthur sat down without leaning over and keeping his bag in his lap.

«Well, here’s the thing. I’m alone. But I’m not alone in the literal sense. I have close people. Relatives and friends. Mates and just good people I know. And despite that, I feel very lonely. Maybe because everyone around me does not understand me the way I would like them to. Or don’t understand at all. I need a fellow. I need a friend who gets me. The same way I want to understand him.

«Do you want a friend or maybe a girlfriend?»

«A girlfriend? Not so bad. But would she understand me? Women simply can’t climb into a man’s skin. They have no sense of male solidarity.»

«I see what you’re asking. With magic, everything is possible. But you have to clearly specify what traits your friend must have.»

«Okay. Well, I want:

1.A girlfriend who thinks like a man.

2. Not less fun and not more serious than me.

3.No more, no less than me, shows passion, kindness, anger, interest.»

«All right,» the mage said, «Let’s begin,» and he walked Arthur over to the altar, where there was a sacrificial glass bowl resting on four whitewashed bones. Nubis seated Arthur in a chair next to the altar table. Moved a small mirror to Arthur so he could see his face in reflection. He put a glass ball in his hands and told him to gaze into his reflection until someone else’s face appeared in the mirror. As soon as it happens, break the mirror immediately with the ball.

Arthur gazed into the mirror. First the reflection didn’t move at all. But suddenly the unknown face with holes instead of eyes appeared clearly in the mirror. Arthur quickly hit with the glass ball, held tensely at the ready, the mirror. The glass cracked and shattered into small pieces.

«Now collect these splinters,» said the mage, moving a dark metal mortar to Arthur, and grind them into dust.

Arthur coped with this task as well.

«Well, now, let’s call the traits of your friend-girlfriend,» looking at the sacrificial bowl, Nubis said softly, «Male-female, you say?»

The mage walked to the shelf filled with different small items. He took a little ballerina dolly, dressed in a black tutu and black pointes. And a toy car with disproportionately large rubber wheels.

He gently lowered the dolly and the car to the bottom of the sacrificial bowl.

«I also want a faithful friend.»

«Here is the black dog’s ear. Take it and put it into the sacrificial bowl.»

Arthur hardly touched the ear. The dried ear seems warm. It was probably because the mage’s room was very cold. It was too low temperature for such a hot day as it was outside the window. And there was no air conditioning in the room. It seemed like this cold was coming from the mage himself. The ear fitted at the bottom the sacrificial bowl between the ballerina and the car.

«I want to like her as a woman. You know.»

«I see,» the mage said, pulling a red cat’s tail out of the bag. Fluffy on top, withered and hard at the base of the fur.

Arthur took the tail, long and hard. He dipped it into the bowl, and to his surprise, that tail curled up and occupied the empty space left between the items already lying there.

«I want her to love me. Let her love me,» Arthur stared at the items in the bowl without looking away.

«Want to be loved, good. Put a swan’s heart in there.»

If the mage hadn’t told it was a heart, you might never guess it. It was gray-brown, looked like a stone, but was very light in weight. Fully dried swan heart seemed almost weightless. Arthur held it in his hand, examining this dried item. It twitched in his hand, then again. Very quickly, with horror, Arthur placed it in the sacrificial bowl.

«Now sprinkle your crushed mirror on the top. And repeat the spell after me.»

Arthur repeated the spell, standing over the sacrificial bowl and looking at everything inside was now covered with the crushed mirror. The sorcerer covered the bowl with a black cloth.

«Take it and bring it home. Don’t talk to anyone on the way home. Once you get home, go to bed. Oh, and here. Take this candy.»

Nubis handed over the candy, with a label «Сoolness» on it. Nothing else about the contents or manufacturer was written on it.

«If you get cold, very cold. As cold as you’ve never been before, you can eat this candy. It will make you feel better.»

Arthur took the bowl in his hands. For a second he felt bad. Sick and dizzy. The sorcerer held the guy up by the elbow. To say that the sorcerer’s hands were icy is to say nothing. It seemed that the place he touched was frozen to the bone. Even at home, as Arthur fell asleep, he felt the cold on his arm where the sorcerer touched.

— 2-

Arthur opened his eyes. There was a girl sitting in the chair across from him, smiling. When she saw him awake, she smiled wider, «Tais. Or simply Taya.»

Arthur liked Taya. She was pretty. Too good, even. Arthur liked to do everything with Taya. Sleep. Eat. Talk about serious things and nothing. Waking up and falling asleep. Walking and coming back home. Making plans and suddenly realizing they are worthless. Change them for others. Know that you don’t have to do them. And have no regrets about it. Taya was always with him. Followed Arthur around like a ponytail and seemed happy.

At some point Arthur got to work. It wasn’t urgent. He could do it later, too. But Arthur felt absolutely focused on Taya. It was nice to focus on her, of course, but Arthur felt like he was losing himself.

Last night he had merged so much with Tais that he felt unable to keep him out of her. In that moment he felt divine. But in the morning, Arthur sensed some growing tension.

Taya came up to Arthur, who was sitting at the computer, and hugged him by the shoulders from behind. Arthur was possessed by a mingled feeling of pleasure and a feeling that some external force had grabbed him. He didn’t like to think the pleasure he was getting in any form could be some kind of leverage over himself. «To go along with your pleasures is to show weakness. If you take only pleasures all the time, you can lose your strength and yourself. Tais. Who is she for me? She’s only my creation. A figment of my imagination.»

Arthur stood up. Unnoticed by Tais, he went to the sacrificial bowl and pulled out the tail of the red cat. Then he walked over to the girl and embraced her closely with his arms. Tais pulled away in a confused and questioning stare. Arthur smirked. Slowly he returned the tail to the bowl and sat down on the couch. Tais, passing by, jumped in Arthur’s lap. She laughed and kissed him a few times.

«You are a redheaded cat.»

Arthur moved Tais from his lap to the couch and sat down at the computer. Taia was talking, joking, and asking something trivial. Kept quiet and talked again. Took funny photos. Showed them to Arthur. She had fun. She enjoyed Arthur’s company. She didn’t stop, guessing Arthur might need to rest.

Several days passed. Arthur was working on the computer. Tais, in her typical manner, kept on inventing, joking and laughing at her own jokes, asking Arthur to play the games she had invented. Arthur could spend hours or even days not answering or even reacting to Tais’s joyful appeals. «She’s not real. Not real. But she pulls attention like she’s alive.»

Arthur’s tension was growing. He answered Tais less. She noticed it. Slacked off, but not for long. She saw his reactions well, but once she felt how much she loved him, she couldn’t stand it and approached him again.

— 3-

One morning, looking at Tais asleep, Arthur went to the sacrificial bowl and began to take out, one by one, the objects that were lying there. He took them out and placed them next to each other on the table. A tail, an ear, a ballerina, a toy car, a swan’s heart. Sleeping Tais began to look translucent. She began to shimmer, like a shoddy hologram. The last thing, the pile of crushed glass from the mirror was placed next to on the table. And Tais disappeared completely.

The room became very silent. Although the sleeping Tais made no sound, it was the silence without something that had just filled the space.

«Now I am free. As alone as before, but free. That closeness almost consumed me. If I give up pleasure, it will make me stronger. Only weaklings go along with pleasure.» Arthur reasoned that every time he passed the table with the empty sacrificial bowl and the pieces extracted from it lying on the table.

Sometimes Arthur thought Taya was sitting in the chair behind him, smiling. Even thought, if he doesn’t turn around for a long time, he could hear her breathing.

«Tais,» Arthur said quietly, not noticing he was speaking aloud. All the pieces were placed in the same order at the bottom of the bowl. When the last speck of crushed mirror fell into the bowl, the familiar voice came from the middle of the room.

«Hi»

Taya was smiling as if nothing had happened. Arthur admitted to himself he missed her.

For days, Arthur kept Tais close to him. And the more he sank into his affection for her, the more resistance grew to capture this «unfree,» which created tension. Tais had the memory of how Arthur erased her from existence. And the awareness of her creation by him also clearly stayed with her. But she wasn’t mad at Arthur. Only sad about it. A swan’s heart and a dog’s ear kept her from leaving Arthur forever.

Tais knew for sure that after that night with Arthur, such a beautiful night, he would erase her again in the morning. It had happened more than once before. Each time, before Arthur had erased Tais in the morning, she wept quietly, without showing it. «What am I crying about?» Tais asked herself, «Yes. I’m so afraid of never seeing Arthur again. Stupid swan heart.»

— 4-

Yes, that was the night after which Arthur would erase Tais again. Looking at the fire, either from the light, or from realizing Arthur did not want to see her and hear her near him, and from annoyance at the way the swan heart lying in the sacrificial bowl was used for, tears flowed down the Tais cheeks, and dripped somewhere on the floor.

«Taya, could you keep an eye on the fire?» Arthur asked, falling asleep.

Tais couldn’t hear him. She looked at the fire with tear-filled eyes.

«Tail. Tail first,» said Tais. She got up and brought the sacrificial bowl to the fireplace. Through the bowl’s clear glass she could see the tail changing its position. Twisting now into a bagel, then into a spiral, straightening and curving again. Ballerina looked at the fire through the bowl glass and did not stop spinning the wheel of the toy car. Her ear lifted upward and turned to sound. And the heart. The swan’s heart was beating more often than usual, expanding and contracting, pushing with rhythmic beats whatever came into contact with it.

Tais took the tail. She threw it into the fire. A sheaf of sparks and the smell of burning wool. The black dog’s ear, too. More sparks and the stench of burning meat. Tais breathed heavily. No more tears covered her eyes. Now the heart. Over there it. The beating heart didn’t flare up at once. Its beats faded slowly, and at the edges of it began to burn a faint fire. The ballerina dolly and the toy car burned very quickly. Tais could hardly hold the bowl. She tilted it over the fire and poured the glass sand on the burning embers. In that second, she was gone. The sacrificial bowl, hanging in the air for a moment, fell, shattering into small pieces.

— 5-

Arthur woke up in the morning with a severe cold. The chimney was out. A window that had been opened by a strong breeze was filled with fine snow.

«It’s cold. Very cold. Just unbearably cold.»

Arthur remembered the sorcerer’s words. «When you get really, really cold, eat this candy.»

The candy, wrapped in a black wrapper, was in Arthur’s purse. He trembled from the cold and, with trembling fingers, took the candy inside the mouth. After a few seconds Arthur stopped feeling the cold completely. Now his body temperature was lower than the coldest environment temperature. Forever.

4 HANDS MASSAGE

Helen had been in school since the first grade. During her years at school, she has gained a high level of general and subject-specific skills

She is proficient in modern IT technologies. Helen is distinguished by her general erudition and desire for self-education. She is a value-oriented person with the potential of intelligence and high culture. Kind and compassionate person, responsible for her deeds. Not verbose, sometimes reticent. A modest girl, able to firmly express her position. Talks smoothly with classmates and teachers. Mostly polite.

Positive girl with a lot of possibilities. She perceives criticism calmly. Family psychological and emotional atmosphere is favorable. Parents had full control over the girl’s free time. Listened to the advice of her class teacher.

Reference to the place of demand.

School Principal.

Class teacher.

— 2-

Getting into a pedagogical university was easy. Helen was even surprised how little knowledge she had gained during her school years came in handy for admission. «Where’s all that knowledge going now? «It’s definitely not going to come in handy at this school. And now, school is over.

Helen was standing at the window. The sunset was reflecting beautifully in the glass of the house across the street. It was her grandmother’s inherited apartment. Close to where she studied. The desire to feel independent. Become an adult.

It was sunset, and the light was on in the house across the street. Helen stepped away from the window. She turned on her grandmother’s old floor lamp. The soft light filled the room dimly. From the ajar closet she could see a wide-brimmed hat that had half fallen out. Helen moved to the closet. A murky mirror, the edges of which had lost their luster over time. Slid opened the closet by pulling the jamming door to herself. A hat and a pile of things fell to the floor. Helen picked up the hat. It was a slightly rumpled, mothballed, gray hat with a veil.

Helen put it on. Glancing in the mirror through the veil, she felt like a blue-blooded, prideful lady. Put on lipstick. Her eyelids were covered with dark eyeshadow. Helen didn’t usually use any cosmetics. However, she kept the cosmetics gifted to her, just in case.

Grandma’s long manto. Made of a thin fabric. With fur. Even cold for the fall. Looks good with a hat. Umbrella. Not sure how to open it. Wooden spokes. Opened. Still need to look for shoes. Now they call them booties. A bit tight.

Helen twisted, opened and closed the umbrella. Elegantly she lifted the veil. Nodding lightly, she greeted imaginary guests. Maintaining a straight posture, she walked back and forth across the room, squinting at the mirror from under the veil.

Passing her reflection once more, waving her umbrella and honing her graceful gait, Helen glanced out the window. In the house across the street, against the backdrop of the lighted window, the dark figure of a man clung to the glass. Clearly he had been keeping an eye on the girl for a long time. The heavy curtain and the fallen ledge covered the girl. Helen rapidly moved to the window and forcefully pulled back the curtain. The heavy curtain and the fallen ledge covered the girl. Escaped, she lost her hat, and stepping over the open umbrella, Helen rushed to the lightswitch. In total darkness, away from the window, her eyes were now on the window across the street.

«This is awkward. Stupid. I guess he saw the whole thing. And how the ledge had fallen, too,» thought Helen. The man stepped away from the window and switched off the light.

— 3-

A month has passed. Helen always kept the curtains closed in the evenings, glancing toward the window. But since that night the light had never come on again.

One day, when it was quite dark, pulling back the curtain, Helen noticed two white lights, close together. Glinted in the dark window across the street. They flashed and disappeared at once. Then again. «I thought…»

The next morning was clear. The sun was shining through the open window, and a fresh breeze was blowing.

Helen was exercising and enjoying the morning. She approached the open window with a cup of coffee and began to explore, now clearly visible, «that window». The frame was for a long time unpainted. The glass was dark in the daylight. At the underside of the glass you could see some kind of picture. Was a picture of this window. Just like in that first evening. It was the dark silhouette of the man leaning against the lighted window. A chill ran down. Helen’s spine. «A maniac? Maybe a jester? Though, there was nothing to hold on to. After all, it is not illegal to show pictures in one’s window. I won’t look in that window again.»

After class in the evening, Helen came home without turning on the light and pulled back the curtain. Just trying to keep the window across the street in sight.

Her favorite dinner seemed tasteless. Having analyzed the situation, Helen realized that she had lost her peace completely.

Choice No. 1:

Spit it out, forget it and never look at that window again. (Doesn’t work).

Choice No. 2: Let myself look at that window. (This does not solve anything, no

peace anyway).

Choice No. 3:

Set up a camcorder. (Doesn’t solve the situation, but maybe it will clarify something). Now, when she came back home in the evening, Helen firstly watched the video tape. And just then, she dressed and ate dinner. The picture was still in the lower right window corner. Helen was mad she couldn’t stand by the open window and have her coffee in the morning. «After all, I’m at home. And I can stand at my window whenever I want and as long as I want.»

Helen made coffee. Walked over to the open window. While drinking coffee in small sips, she kept her gaze on anything except that window. «Don’t think about the white monkey.» Finishing her last sip, the girl gazed straight at that window. There were no curtains behind this window.

Down the road, two drivers were quarreling, not letting each other pass. Assessing which one was right, Helen was taken away from her attention to the window. When she looked up to the window again, the picture was gone against the glass.

«But, I just saw it!»

Helen ran to replay the video. The disappeared picture in the tape looked as if it was blown away by wind, and, having fallen on the window sill, was no longer visible. There was nobody in sight at the window.

— 4-

The early doorbell rang woke Helen up. The courier was standing on the doorstep.

«But I didn’t order anything. Perhaps it’s a mistake,» Helen said.