«Обе…», або «Подарунок до школи»

Спалах страху. Нежаданий. Нежданий. Стрімкий.

Пробудження.

І сіра півтемрява ковдри перед очима.  

Він відразу зрозумів, що Він тут – один.

Його залишили, забули, але Він не пам’ятав, із ким Він сюди прийшов.

То була не його квартира, або його власна – важко було згадати.

А тривога збуджувала.

Розгублений. Він підловив себе на думці: «Неправда, ніби люди чують биття свого серця, коли вони налякані». Бо Він злякався і не чув, і взагалі не відчував цей нещасний орган. 

Тіло втомилось від задовгих снів, або, навпаки, від безсонних днів. 

А тривога зростала наче ерекція зайвого розуму.  

Не знімаючи хибний захист легкої ковдри з обличчя, Він перебирав останні спогади. Літній день. Громади білих хмар. Озерні катери. Набережна. Дівчина.  

Дівчина стояла на пристані, одягнена у блакитну кошулю та штанці кольору кави з молоком. Рукави сорочки були закочені вище ліктів, підкреслюючи красу її рук.

А вітер грався з її темно-каштановим довгим волоссям, яке сяяло рудим на сонці.

Дівчина посміхалась, щиро та красиво.

Її усміхнені карі очі бажали охопити весь світ.    

Така красива.

Зараз йому хотілося б її з’їсти, чи хоча б укусити. Хоч би разочок.

І він намагався згадати ім’я красулі, але не міг, або наче ніколи не знав.

« – Я – Миха. Михайло Швець, Михайло Швець, Михайло Швець» – повторював він крізь важкий хаос думок.

Хотів сказати, але не вимовив.

Так бувало тільки уві сні.

Мабуть, сон.

Однак, що ж тоді було реальним – де він загубився?

Пригнічений, наляканий, він задрімав.

Упав у безмір забуття.

Він лежав, не розуміючи хід часу. Однак, у якийсь момент, відчув присутність.

Почув голоси – недобрі, незрозумілі.

Миха прислухався.   

– Тиждень тому була… таке відчуття… наче хтось дихає… важко дихає… І бурмоче… Просто, захотілось втекти…  

– Якби тут хтось ховався – я би його убила, – казала інша. – Я так утомилася.

Дві жінки. Подруги чи сестри, або мати і донька.

Вони не звертали на нього жодної уваги. Не бачили його.

Або вони були примарами, занадто живими і не схожими на сон.

Миха замружився.

Він знову, у думках, побачив дівчину у блакитній сорочці: тепер вона не посміхалася.

« – Обе…» – дивлячись на нього, вона розгубилась.   

Знову забуття.

– На стіні написано… – театрально почала одна з тих відьом, примара. – «Дев’ять дев’ять дев’ять»… Нижче… «Тому що дев’ять дев’ять дев’ять – це завжди шість шість шість»… Ще нижче… «АнтиПі. Срібний-Перетин-Життя».

Сонний параліч. Так невчасно.

Миха не міг поворухнутись. Тепер він лежав на спині, але ноги були зігнуті в колінах – застигли в тій позі.

« – Обе-е…» – голос дівчини зі спогадів пройшов крізь його сон-несон.

« – Що таке обе?» – намагався сказати.

Знову не зміг.

Заснув.

Чи один сон змінився іншим.     

Взгііік-інх. Складна драбина втаранила підлогу. 

– Скільки тут мішків з речами! І старі дивани! – голос чоловіка, ще одна примара. – «Мукання», «зітхання» – повітря виходить.  

– Я чула рухи, – сказала молодша жінка.

– Може, миші? – спитала інша.

Вони робили вигляд, що Михи не існує. Чи так гралися з ним.

Доки він про це думав, почав засинати.

« – Обе-ер-е-ежно!» – казала дівчина зі спогадів.   

І він заснув.

Йому здавалось, наче він перетворився на цілий всесвіт, пустий та мертвий, обмежений границями поганого тіла.

Зовні лежав зовсім інший світ.

– Навіщо ти без мене приходила?

– Вимірювала коридор, – відповіла молодша. – І таке… Видіння… Крізь стіни бачу:  людина, мертва чи хвора, почала підійматися з мішків… там… біля дивану… Я зайшла… Зрозуміла, що там коліно під тканиною… Підійшла, стала розгрібати все, і ось…   

– Мумія?

– Його рот… кров тут… бачиш, у роті?

– Викликаю поліцію, – почала старша.

– Яка «поліція»? Ви прогавили – півроку, чи скільки, воно тут лежало… – сказав робочий-ремонтник. – Хочете, щоби вони вас звинуватили у чомусь?

– Взагалі-то, казали, що хазяїн, божевільний, крав тіла жертв нещасних випадків, – помітила молодша жінка. – То не якісь «убивства».

– Треба віднести цього до вісімнадцятої школи… Праве крило… Там багато покинутих приміщень… А в мене – всі ключі. Бо я для них там-сям ремонтую, – робочий продовжив. – Він там багато років пролежить… – посміхнувся й додав. – Навряд він звідти вилізе…

– Мені ситуація максимально не подобається, – нервувалася молодша. – Таке відчуття, що він, мертвий, іноді хоче щось сказати і не може… Господар – хворий покидьок… Я не знаю, як тепер дивитися покупцям в очі…

– А скільки тут кг? – спитала старша.

– Думаю, десь вісімдесят, – відповів робочий. – Втрьох і віднесем.

– Віднесемо, – погодилась друга. – До школи… 

МАКСИМ ВАЗАНОВ, 2024

RAVEL. Chapter 5. LADY iN MURK

Livinia had forgotten own little rule, and opened her eyes.

Lying on right side, Li was gazing into the darkness. And, by that moment, silent walls didn’t hide any blight of gloom.

By the bye, two days ago, the lass had been scared by seeing. Li had seen the uncanny face looking at her from the gloom. The moment too long to be a game of her slumberous conscience.

That face from dark duskiness was withered and ghastly, dimmed by time, keeping the vestige of torments and ails.

Through the timeless moment, it had been fused in darkness to leave.

Indeed, Li was scared and excited, feared, and seduced by a thing from beyond.

So, by the moment, Livinia was pondering upon the clues of the weird tale.

Then she napped.

Li sank down into the thoughtless chaos.

Leastwise, it was better than mind’s torments of thinking about the nearing Day of Gramps.

“Livinia!” a short scream surged and fused.

Strange and swift.      

It was an unfamiliar woman’s voice.

Goaded, Li got out of the bed.

The lass didn’t mind wet waves of insolent winter cold.

Fenceless, almost naked, Li opened her room’s door and stepped down gingerly and slowly.   

Stair by stair, Livinia plunged into home darkness.

Long corridors and hallways met her with the lightlessness, once believed to be betrayalless. Nevertheless, they betrayed by the moment.

“I am here… in murk…” quoth the wind.

Li Greenkind turned around. Peeking, the lass found what she was seeking.

There was a dame. And she was as tall as the shell of the first storey.  

That face seemed to be sere and maimed by death. Meanwhile, the marrow’s clothes were weaved of murk.

Livinia could see the dame’s approaching, silent and strange.

As her lust last fluttered with fever, Li approached the end she had both dreamed of and feared.

“What are you?” the young lady asked.

Soaring, bereft of forms, the eldritch lady was not too nearby. Thereby, the corridor looked so small and endless at the same time.

“At least, I am not a blight,” quoth the ghost. 

“But you live here like a…”

“I have been living here since your summer,” the marrow uttered with a riddle.

“You had spoken with me at the lake. I remember.”

Li felt a fire inside. Her passion was rising from the spark.

The ghost didn’t answer, because of patency.

“The place of your abode is not chaste!” quoth the eldritch lady. 

“Since you are here,” Livinia was laughing before the face of ghost.

“Your house, its body, is dead…”

“And?”

“And spoiled by grimdiggers…”

“What do you mean?”

“That dark art took root in macabre eves of the Hidden Road’s cult…”

“Who are you?”

“Our world is a scene for so many roles…”

“Who are you?” Li was dogged like a talking raven.

“You are adventurous and so am I,” ugly ghost’s face looked like a fever raving.

As a blow, the eldritch lady soared inside Livinia’s body.

The lass felt strange as if her feeling was soaped by the purest rum.

Li didn’t rule her limbs. She was taken.

A corridor.

The darker one.

Then, the darkest.

A door, short and hidden.

And kisses of winter air.

Li’s body stepped outside.   

She turned the corner.

Thereat, the girl’s hands opened a small door in the bottom of the veranda.

And Li’s captured body sneaked along the rough timber, down the broad low path walled of better boards.

The young lady couldn’t remember all steps of own legs. And some moments were blackened by the darkness of the ghost’s sway.    

Girl’s consciousness was pulsating like an ebbing light of a lamp.

Li saw Ma and Fa bowing before the old carpet, thick and huge, which was covering the flattest wall built of stone.

That underhall illumed by few candles looked way more poorer than any room above. Wherein, it was an availed volume of their lamented house. By the way, Livinia had never been here.

However, Li focused on the wall rug unleashing out someone or something, as if the carpet’s tracery was a strange womb.

Then, the darkness unlighted Li’s mind again.

The lass fell into the chain of the moments cut by black oblivion.

Through the penumbra, Li saw own hands touching white offal scattered on the underhall’s floor.

“Bones,” quoth the marrow.

Ma and Fa gone. So, Li left alone with the ghost. 

“Old cows,” the young lady wasn’t surprised.

“And even older wolves,” the eldritch lady recited. “And all bones of the folks lost in the forests, and any other bones… Bones for bonefairies.”  

“So… fairies?” Livinia evinced ardence of the sleeping passion.

“Yes.”

“My parents earn gains by selling bones to the fairies… Am I right?”

Li turned to the carpeted wall.

“I see…” quoth the marrow.

“It’s tremendous!”

“You like it. Also, I have a negotiation for you…” 

Livinia didn’t answer, neither agree or deny.

In a nutshell, the eldritch lady had found a lever to steer the young lady.

“We need an item by bonefairies,” the marrow broached.

“Whom are you talking about?”

“You and me… Our interests…” the ghost was coaxing. “If I have what I need, you will obtain one wish.”

“Can I wish for anything I want?”

“Absolutely…”

Ghost’s words were truthful. Li saw that the eerie lady had the power to make it feasible.

“I need a bonefairie’s heartstone,” the ghost uttered and added. “Aging, old fairies have stones growing in chests... It would be wonderful if you could find one…”

The girl’s head was too weary to persist or agree.

“Don’t be hasteful,” quoth the marrow. “We have so much time… Time is our splendor… Yet I want you to remember that I will grant a Wish for you.”     

Livinia nodded.

“So much for so little…” quoth the ghost.

Then, the marrow melted in the murk...

MAXIM VAZANOV, 2024

RAVEL. Chapter 4. NEPENTHE

“When it rains, it pours,” quoth everyone in Trianvil.

By the way, by the moment, rising slowly, wuthering clouds were covering the sun. And the day was too warm for snow.

“It’s raining – it’s pouring,” an old porter repeated the old saying.

That man peeked at the Gi, twigged Gi’s nature, and turned toward the Sweet street leading to the Palace of Lords through all grand markets.

The porter and Gi were hiding under the salient eaves of the Grand Jester’s High House. And that undercarnice place was ample enough for both persons. However, Gi didn’t want to stand together with a stranger.

So, Gi continued his path, dashing from wall to wall, treading the vestige of the yester snow. Gi was afraid of rains even though the rain hadn’t begun. Anyway, this fear was not reasonless. In a nutshell, Ravel’s flutters always came with rain. As if there was a holey roof above, every pouring brought illusions, strange dreams, luck of misfortune. Unseen twines of the Ravel were everywhere.  

And so, by the moment, the dark canopy was finished. Water of winter’s sky was unleashed.

Fortunately, Gi had finished his way. He liked to be swift.

By the bye, Gi was known to be an “altaborn”, a questionable foundling resembling leisure altas. And they were either forsaken as a pitiful brat, or gifted to Trianvilians as a secret rite. Howbeit, most of altaborns could be mistaken for human’s folks. And so was Gi, being as tall as any human. But lad’s face was strange and somewhat unhuman in the eyes of beholder. Hence, many people in Trianvil saw his nature from the first sight.

“What are you? Are you welcome?” wearing arterial red clothes, inn’s doorkeeper looked very bright.

Innkeep known as “Red Inside” was carved from the flesh of a tall giant statue of a stocky bearded man, bald and sad, sitting with the crossed legs between which a portal was holed. That naked figure had been chiseled fifteen centuries ago to be a palace of the past. Then, too many pages of fate were turned.

“I seek orders,” the altaborn answered after a long pause.

“Are you waited here? Be welcome… if you know a name…” the sturdy doorman was an impassable wall for unwanted visitors.

The only good thing was that the doorkeeper did not understand Gi’s outhuman nature.

“Bread Unred,” quoth the altaborn.

The doorkeeper answered with a welcoming gesture.  

Then, Gi stepped inside to enter entrails of the baldheaded inn. 

And everything was red for truth. Russet walls of the carved rock were mantled by heavy scarlet curtains, while elegant marron tables were surrounded by crimson sofas. Thereto, porters, wearing bloody red clothes, had blushy somber faces.

So, finding Unred was an easy order for Gi’s eyes, because Bread’s clothes were too indigo to suit this place.

“I greet you, sir,” Gi murmured and nodded.

“Good hours!” Bread’s way to greet showed Lilewlen nature.     

Unred was a child of Lilewal, belonging to the Pantsless, a tier of people revered for their bravery, trickery and devious deeds of forebears. Meanwhile, Pantsless were not knightly by blood nor by their nature. So, living without pants was a mark of a tier as well as it was a chance to tether so desperate people every winter.

By the way, that rule was nothing outside Lilewal, but the Pantsless always tried to keep the old custom wherever they lived. And the pants were not the only missing item of their garments.    

Also, Pantsless people had the privilege of having their own Pantsless king. Thereto, Unred was an emissary of that fancy throne.

“Why so silent?” asking, Bread nibbled a piece of cheese, delicate, pale pink.

Feasting, Unred was sitting beside a dozen women and men, Pantsless and pantsful, Trianvilians and Lilewalians, Beerlanders and foreigners. 

“I was told to find you…” Gi shook head to get the greasy dark hair out of his face.

“You have found… And so?”

“I can work for you,” altaborn tried to be bold.

“Our guts aren’t a workshop.”

“I am a mercenary,” quoth the altaborn.  

“We have heard about you…” these words were said by the light-haired wench with naked winterly red legs. 

“Methought, I…” Gi was trying to say, but his speech was parried by Bread.

“We have heard about the deranged one walking here and there, wanting to be a mercenary,” Unred uttered and gestured.

Gi’s figure had been mantled by the spacy coat, that is why it was not obvious if he was armed or not. Nevertheless, Bread’s people were too eager to stay aside.

The swoop.

They pushed him down.

Hereupon, the fallen altaborn dropped the dark figurine, an embodied horse. The hefty thing was blunt enough to be a weapon. So, Bread’s people kicked it way.     

“Son of a wretch! You are weaponless bastard! You lie!” Unred’s utterance showed his ire.  

Bread was nearing to the trampled Gi.  

“I know! I feel, you are unreal!” quoth Unred. 

“You err…” Gi said, looking at Unred’s pantsless lower half, pale, with reddish blurs.

“Perhaps, he is a brat of Ravel…” the lass whose pantsless legs were also upkissed by winter returned with a round bulb and uncapped it. “Drink nepenthe!”

A hale Bread’s butcher unclenched Gi’s mouth.

Hereafter, a luminous trickle poured.  

“What if you are a guest from someone’s nightdreams? Drink nepenthe!” Bread had turned very serious.    

An eerie moment came along with last nasty dribbles of a Ravel’s rain.

MAXIM VAZANOV, 2024 

RAVEL. Chapter 3. WHY DiD I LOSE MY WiSH?

Twitchy nights.

Agog.

Twisted lacunas of thoughts.

And sadness begotten by passion’s waves.

Many morrows were shed.  

Li could only nap. Abed, lass was dreaming for the shortest day of the year. The day of Gramps. The day of burning wishes.

It was nearing, day by day.

Gramps came once every twelve years.   

Every lone hamlet, every lost townlet, every old farm, were waiting for his visits.

Very few people had seen Gramps and even fewer met him face-to-face. However, old Gramps was the one to embody an everyone’s wish, the burning wish.

Rumelia, the land of mellow rum, lived under the Gramp’s coat, warm and sheer.

Many kindreds were piling wishes together within own kin for dozens of years to feast All-Wishes-Day.

By the bye, Li’s ma had come from the land without a custom like this. So, Venerva carriaged her wish to be done one day. Thereto, Flance kept his burning wish too.

Alas, previous Gramps’ Day had been happened when Greenkind’s kids were too little to understand the grandeur of the moment.

Henceforth, Greenkinds nurtured all their gladness inside own deep oceans of consciousness.

Years passed.

By that time, the cherishing moment was nearby.

So, Li couldn’t sleep.

Lying in the bedchamber, calm and moonlit by all moons, Livinia was contemplating, looking at herself mirrored by the surface of the thoroughly polished oaken closet. Her beautiful thin lips and aquiline nose were chiseled so lightsome as if she was a daughter of air.

Yet she wasn’t.

Li was a daughter of Venerva and Flance Greenkind.

And she could not withstand the cold.

The heavy slow wave of bleak blow encroached on her bedchamber on the third floor. Thence, Li was to snuggle deeper inside the chaos of coverlets and rugs. But Livinia followed an own gust and escaped from the warmth of coverings.

Old boots and flimsy flaxen tunic were weak against all cold. So, she coated herself in the blanket.

Then she touched rough stones of chimney. And, indeed, it was tepid.  

Livinia knew the hearth in the hall was waiting for her canny hands.

Anyway, the girl hurried, opened the door and gingerly stepped down the stairs. 

The wooden hull was wincing by weaves of remains of inner warmth entwined with winter’s bleakness. Li felt its tension, flinch, inmost budging and jittery pulse.

Greenkind’s house was to be alive. So, it could withstand any sinister unhuman thing, as Flance once said.

“Li! Li! Come here!” it was ma’s whisper.

Livinia hastened.  

“Stoke the fire, please… Ma…” the girl strode through the darkness to the hall. 

Her mother was stirring embers, sitting at the hearth. Meantime, other nestlings were still hiding in their chambers.  

Li came here along with the first gleams of the dawn.

“Morrowing… And snowing…” Venerva uttered.

“Luntis and Ounce…” Li frowned. “Why do they hide behind the doors? Every night… For many nights…”

“They don’t.”

“Ma-a-a… I feel them when they are nearby.”  

“Thou is anxious. Some things are tenacious.”

“What do thou mean?”

“I have to say. But I beseech thou, please, Li, don’t follow the path of thoughts like these,” Ma added. “Li, thou brought here a story of ghost. And all grim stories beget bad things.”

“Yet our house is alive.”

“No... Its hull is well… But his… her… her inner timber bones were broken by the storm… she died with woe, as if she was an old house… two years ago… Don’t thou remember?”

“Yes, but I… Aye-e… I don’t know what is wrong with me,” Li was tense as a bowstring. “Gramps’ Day…”   

“Three weeks… Thou can’t wait for a few weeks… But why?” ma giggled kindly.

“I am so wistful…” quoth the daughter.

“Li worries about me and thee, and fa’s, and Lu’s wishes,” Ma laughed loudly. “But why?”

Li turned back and saw her drowsy sister. Thereto, she heard tapping trickling from the Luntis’ room. In a nutshell, Greenkind’s nestlings were wakening to meet a new morning.  

“Yes, I worry about all our wishes and my own,” Li spoke with passion.

“Thy own? What is thou talking about? We will devote all juiciest chunks of our wishes to thee,” Venerva Greenkind smiled kindly.

Li’s mother looked so bonny and young, blooming, as if she was Li’s twin.   

“I will do the same for you,” Livinia said, embracing her sister and ma.   

“Thou would… I know…” ma agreed.

“I will,” Li’s utterance was plucky.

“But how?” Venerva goggled and said. “Thou must remember”.

“What to remember?”

“Thou lost thy wish,” ma’s answer was terse.

Venerva touched Li’s face.

By the moment, girls and their mother bathed in the tide of the winter’s sun.  

“Thou was four years old... A little doe… It was a Gramps’ Day… We were sitting in thy room. We were praying to Gramps… And he was budging, stepping here, heavily breathing… here… in the main hall. He was assessing our life… And we were waiting… Don’t thou remember?”

“I have never kept…” Livinia would have been happy to recall to her mind.      

“Thou said thou wish to fly… thy heartfelt thing… And so, the window was opened as if it was sightless hand… or hands… Gramp’s will… These Ankharian panes looked so flimsy in hands of His… And so…  Li, thou was taken by the air… And we were agape… Then you overstepped the windowsill… Thou was soaring above, at the house… Thou was so joyful… Thou was laughing… Our blissfulness… And… Then… Thou fled away… within twilight… Since…  Li… Thou wanted… Thou wished for that… Yes… ” Venerva hauled it word by word.

“In a word, I was blessed,” quoth the daughter. “Yet I don’t have such memories.”

“Thou returned by the dip of night. Perhaps, in a word, thy mind hadn’t written that as if it was a nightdream. After all, we are humans. And humans sometimes forget own dreams.”

“Thank thou for the truth,” with these words, Li kissed her mother.

By the moment, Livinia lived in felicity. She felt.

Meantime, it was so much unfair to lose an own wish.

MAXIM VAZANOV, 2024 

RAVEL. Chapter 2. HE HAS NEVER SAID "NO" TO HER

Autumn came suddenly as always.  

The days were still falsely warm. While the oak thicket, enveloping Greenkind’s house, turned aureate.

Once, long before, it was Flance’s wife’s clause to live under the canopy of familiar treen. Since she was a lady from afar, she was always afraid to forget the sights from which she arrived. Although Venerva was a very young lass, almost a child, when she settled here, she had chosen this nobody’s foliated oasis bestrewn with knolls and rills. Venerva named it Invar-Inzaralan.

Thereafter, her fiancé, Flance Greenkind Ve Sandbank, steered to build a three-tier timber house there. Thereby he became to be Flance Greenkind Ve Invar-Inzaralan.

To “ve” was to live, but in a much more righteous and relished way, over an own sway.   

Being a noble, Flance Greenkind had four noble’s prizes given by highborn fellows. His chambers were full of insignias, trophies, holed helmets and old goblets, smited gorgets and father’s armors. All these items were kept along with graceful figurines, svelte candelabras and books.

All in all, Greenkind’s house was an abode where traces of love were interlaced with paces of courage.

By the moment, as always, these hallways were fulfilled with bountiful flavours of pine rum.        

Sure, it was the best time before rains. All pithful pinecones were picked, squeezed, finely hashed, and soaked. Drop by drop, rum had been prepared. Thereon, dusky glass bottles were set among other Greenkind’s goods in the main hall.

As every autumn before, these were the days of chaffers. Canny merchants were coming for the best pine rum in the southernmost angle of Rumelia, even though the house itself was a bit aloof away from the pinest woods.   

“Don’t you travel across the Snowdone?” it was a suitable question by Flance.

“For what?”

“For northern cider,” Greenkind’s answer was cogent.

“Only one reason?”

“And you have one reason to wagon here,” quoth the host.

“Pardon me, but I have two reasons, or even more,” the merchant persisted with a smile.

He twigged something behind the host.

Flance grasped that ogle, and turned around to look.  

Two stunning tall ladies were nearing the latticed porch. Livinia and Ounce, lovely Flance’s daughters.

“I was bestowed with luck to glance at such a divinity,” quoth the merchant.

He took off his hat to bow.

“Such a meed to meet you,” he was almost versing. “I am Ruth Appleswan.”

Looking into Ounce’s eyes, merchant bowed again.

“You are welcome… Ruth… And I am Ounce… Ounce Greenkind,” Flance’s daughter was faltered for her own shyness.

She was as beauteous as Livinia.

Though Ounce had softer features and forms, it was a riddle for trained eyes.

In a nutshell, sisters looked alike.

Alas, Ounce was eighteen years old. And it was Greenkind’s doorstep of the bride’s age. Hereby she had become to be a “wench-to-be-wife”.

The elder lass was before the face of the new life, constellations of conversations, endless tryst and wooing boys.   

Meanwhile, Appleswan had hinted to Flance, with delicate cues. Perhaps, Ounce’s father didn’t persist.

“Let me unveil to you the riper batch of rum,” Flance nudged the merchant to walk to the pith of the house.

By the way, Ruth was not a poor suitor. He had a tremendous double deck wagon, twelve horses and a small innkeep at the northern shores of the Mere Mearc.

Appleswan lineage was knightly merchant, he was twined to the oldest blood of Ankhara. Thereto, Ruth was a seasoned wanderer, knowing all mazy byways for the swift rides.

Also, being at his twenties, he was a very lucky trader.  

Ruth was acute.

Pinecones, nuts, acorns. Grinkind’s house was the storeheaven for him. There were too many baubles to be traded with all passion.

“You are loving the winds,” Appleswan said it abruptly.

Peering at old Greenkind’s relics, merchant didn’t look at Livinia. But she knew he was saying to her.

“Always loved…” Livinia’s piece of speech was groanful enough to unveil her eagerness.  

“Yes, yes, I know!” quoth Ruth, answering it passionlessly, yet with all swiftness.

Appleswan unbunged a bottle of rum to unleash its flavor. And the bottle looked like him, tall, dark and rangy.

“Some people name you Walkeress… some Lakewalker… some other… The Walking Lady of the Lake…” quoth the merchant, and continued. “I see you every summer when I come for wheat flour, and every spring… let alone autumn...”    

 “Yes,” she did not try to deny.

“Do you remember me? No? So… What about my garment? Don’t you remember? Black tricorn and a chocolate jacket… Like now… Or chocolate top hat and a black jacket…”

“I am sorry… I don’t remember all the people I have seen.”

“Have you seen a sin? Or more?”

“Sin?”

“The roads are the rivers of sinfulness. There are streams of malice… wrathful bigots… frenetic throngs… even stranger things…” it was recounted with a shade of passion.

“Strangest thing I have seen was a gist…” Livinia was bethinking something.

“Please, continue,” Appleswon stopped her as if he was Li’s tutor.

“It was yearning… The gist…”

“What do you mean when you say “a gist”?”

“I felt and heard something that I couldn’t see. It was a mind beyond… he or she… the strange feelings…” Li was trying to be truthful.

“It was a ghost,” quoth the Merchant. “Some name it “marrow”… I would call it a ghost.” His inmost ardor was awakened. “They are devious, voracious, numerous.”

“Numerous?” Livinia asked him with own lust.

“Twoness, human and unhuman,” there was boasting, Ruth’s claim of knowledge.

“So, whence do they come?”  

“Ghosts are the offal of mortalfolk.” Appleswan added. “Not because their being is a dirty thing, but because they were wretches within their lives, and they retain dirty intents even beyond after.”

Then it was a pause.

“It is a pure ravishment,” Li answered with a smile.

“Your straying is a pure peril.”

He was huffed, but Livinia didn’t twig it.

Ruth felt as if she had hinted to him about being a fabulist. Without a proof, without a harsh word or look, Li turned his words to be a fib.

“You are living in a handsome house,” Appleswan admonished. “Why is that you always walk?”

Livinia was pondering upon an answer.

“But I know,” Ruth continued. “Wandering is a remedy against withering dreams.”

“Rightly said…” Li nodded.

“You can escape your house. But you can not escape your dreams.” quoth the merchant.

“He is right,” Flance came all at once.

Li’s father petted Ruth’s shoulder as if the merchant was his son and sun.

“My dear friend has seen many fears and… things are to be fabled by him… through the coldness of long evenings…” Flance’s utterance was vivacious as it was a remedy of life.

The merchant took off his tricorn to bow.

Appleswan stepped away to see Venerva’s masterpieces made of acorns, embodied battles of the past, treacherous moments, tragedies and romances. These scenes were to be traded once. Thereto, Ruth was wanting to taste an opened bottle of rum.

“His wagon is called “Meander”. Some say he meanders ways like the twines… He is cunning…” Li’s father was sniggering in a mild way.

“Thou hurry her to marry soon,” she glanced at Ruth ravishing Ounce and Venerva. 

“Thou is groking at thy sister,” Flance said it with a smile.

“Her meed… Not mine…” she shrugged.

“Thou groke… eh-i-egh…” Flance giggled. “Thou is a child, she is a ripe lady.” He added after a pause. “But thou must be prepared. Since thy mother was much younger than thou is at the moment.”

“Fa, thou want me betrothed to a lad like him…” she whispered. “Leastways, not the worst one…”

“He is the bestest suitor.” Flance answered in all seriousness. “I forefeel…”

“I thought thou is the bestest,” Li giggled.

“Hence he is among the best,” her father smiled and clarified. “You can be huffy, angry, you can lie, but you must never say “no” to your dame.”  

“Ounce is happy at once…” Li smiled, looking into the fa’s eyes. “Shall be happy… Utter happiness…”

Then she giggled. 

“Don’t groke!” quoth her father. 

“I didn’t,” Li’s words were far from the falsehood.

“When thou is groking at someone, someone is groking at thee. Just because thou is young, thriving, breathe freely.” Flance finished with laughter, turning it to be a joke. 

Her father turned to the hall and went to there, strolled with whistle.

Fa was right, and so was the merchant.

Li was lucky to be born in such a beautiful house, full of love and fraternity.  

As Li loved, as always, Li was peering at her mirroring done by the handsomely polished veils of oaken walls.

Her rough green jacket, made of wool, looked very dark in that surface, almost black, like the naked winter treen.

Livinia was intaken by slow immense rivers of thoughts.

Meanwhile, twilights had come, suddenly, abruptly.

It was the time to listen merchant’s tales and father’s stories.

By the vesper, between other thoughts, Flance mildly said again. “I have never said “no” to Venerva.”

It was truth.

Li’s fa revealed a recipe of felicity.

MAXiM VAZANOV, 2024