«Has she come back?»
***
A year before
Some boxes of shoes I opened them one by one and took out three pairs of brand-new orange sandals. A man approached me. I could clearly see his figure, but his face was foggy I embraced the stranger and I woke up.
«A man with a small belly appeared in my dream last night»
«Im losing weight! Review the dream! Probably he is already without a belly!»
«When are you coming back?»
«All flights are cancelled! The borders are closed! Ive got tickets for August, but Im not sure. Thank God Im alive and okay»
«How long have you believed in God?» I thought sarcastically and involuntarily remembered Ray, and then, for some reason, Roman. So stealthily the Autumn used to creep up on me and, as usual, caused bouts of nostalgia.
***
«Where does Your Majesty wish to stroll?» asked the King of Swords.
Like all «Kings», he was married, as for the suit of «Swords», he was a military man, and for some reason the military men were fond of me. Sometimes he walked me culturally in the city.
«Take me to the Mansion,» I answered suddenly.
«Maybe its better»
«To the Mansion!» I kept insisting.
The rain was mixed with the evening mist. We turned into the courtyard, and I was ready to open the desired Door to my left, but the King of Swords didnt allow me that.
«Its the wrong door. You need the Right one.»
I needed the Left Door! I no longer had the strength to stay in our Reality completely alone useless
However, I obediently opened the Right one.
«Not now. Or not with him?»
I slowly climbed the stairs, went inside and floated along the corridor to the kitchen and then into the room, absorbing not sounds, but memories, kept by the walls of any space.
My grandmother, my fathers mother, with her sister and father, my great-grandfather, often visited his friend, the Writer, in that flat.
There were two museums in the Mansion. One was behind the Right door, the other was behind the Left door.
I didnt hear a word of what the obviously superfluous tour guide was saying. I fell there to my grannies in their Time, to drown out the pain and to suppress another bout of nostalgia
***
Six months before
The Guardian of the Portal exhaled finally, his diary was published in a human way. In every sense of the word. He opened the book to a random page and landed on «The Gloves».
«She will be back! Yes! Yes! Shes about to show up here!»
***
May holidays
The magic name popped up on the phone.
«If you knew how glad I am to hear from you»
He reminded me too much of Ray, and I smiled something warm and fluffy touched my heart. Roman was an invisible (and perhaps the only) thread connecting me with the already irrevocable.
«I recalled my Soviet past today,» it sounded like a sudden insertion into a business conversation on an off-business day.
«Did you have it?» I smiled again and reached for the Tarot cards.
«Ive read your book Confession of a Ghost about the Matrix, as I promised. Remember?»
«Really?!» I took out my cards.
«Back then, yes I went on vacation and took the book with me.»
I got «The Knight of Cups» and
«How do you like it?»
«I recognized everyone! The Emperor and The Sorcerer. Sorry, The Magician! You write in such a way that»
«But you are not there, are you?» I asked with a sad smile, looking at the cards: «The Knight of Cups» and «The Magician»!
«In your book or in your Matrix?» Roman chuckled and confessed, «To be honest, in magic I feel like quite a child!»
«Would you like to become Him?..»
***
The Guardian of the Portal should have taken that important step a long time ago, leaving the old Mansion and walking only a few houses to the House of Literature, where Where what? Or who? He was called to bring his book. The Guardian didnt know why. It would be worth clarifying, although he understood that it was necessary. However, was he waiting for the right date? A number? A symbol? What was he waiting for?
***
August
Since last autumn, when the King of Swords allowed me to open the Right Door of the Mansion, I had been forcing myself to go back to open the Left one, because the main city Portal of transition to Another Reality was hidden right behind it. I was too tired, bored and tormented by a premonition of something that must definitely happen as soon as I opened THAT DOOR. What exactly?
«Alice, you shouldnt enter that Mansion. Its dangerous! Do you want me to show you the place where» а familiar poet, once the Page of Cups, offered suddenly.
«I need to go to the Mansion. I have to open the Door on the Left,» I pleaded, looking into his eyes pitifully.
«Well, then tomorrow?»
«Yes, tomorrow, please!»
At the same moment the poet cried out and turned me around to face the house, on the facade of which there was a gigantic portrait of the Writer from that Mansion.
«Nearby Alice there is only mysticism Its a sign!»
However, it started to rain «tomorrow», and the trip to the Mansion was postponed indefinitely.
Meanwhile, the Left Door was attracting me stronger and stronger. From time to time, I was sent strange people writers who asked me to arrange literary parties in the Mansion, as a great opportunity to combine the desired with my direct work, but because of the epidemic, the Mansion was closed for a long time
***
Repeatedly I tried to return to that sweet dream about three pairs of orange sandals, to find there the man with a small belly and a foggy face, with whom I felt happy.
In vain, I always found myself in the past, where Roman appeared sitting next to me on my right. There were a lot of people there.
«If not for the age difference,» I looked at him almost jokingly and sighed.
«Whats the difference?» he immediately interrupted me. «There is no difference!»
«I would have fallen head over heels in love with you,» I finished my sentence.
How many times did I say goodbye to him? Even in my dreams I could not allow myself anything I didnt want to hurt, maybe. One or both of us?
However, in a little while my Sun would have set in the last, the 12
th
***
September
«Who are you?» I asked when another Autumn crept up on me with another strange man who had come to the Union of Writers to submit his book for a competition.
The man introduced himself, whispering something in addition as quietly as passwords.
I glanced at him briefly without remembering either his first or last name, and I didnt even catch what he whispered, because he reminded me of Roman and Ray at the same time.
«A glitch in the Matrix!» the thought flashed through my mind.
«Did you bring us the book?» I decided to clarify.
«No Yes But»
«Alice, havent you heard?» my colleague suddenly interrupted my thoughts, tugging at the sleeve of my dress and adding distinctly in a mysterious voice, «This man is from your Old Mansion!!!»
«Are you really from that Mansion!?» I asked, not believing my ears.
«Yes,» the man nodded calmly. «Ive been working there, behind the Left Door, since the very beginning. Come to visit us this Sunday! And I will give you my book for the competition. I forgot to take it with me.»
***
The day before
It was very cold. I was already leaving the store when the saleswoman ran up to me, holding out the package.
«This is a gift for you!» she said mysteriously.
I opened the package and saw a gray scarf. I took it out and twisted it in my hands. A noose I was too tired, and my Sun was already on the threshold of the 12
th
I put the scarf back.
Having arrived home, I opened the package again, but along with the scarf I found
GLOVES
the black ones
***
The Beginning,
in which there was a Word
and not only
Yes, there was a Word in the Beginning, and that Word was «Gloves», and also it was very cold, the right time for them to appear. Though, all I wanted to do that day was to stay at home and bask under a plaid by the fireplace with the Moon Cat and a book about ghosts, because the idea of going to the Mansion suddenly made me scared. Yes, I was scared of what would finally happen.
However, with a heavy sigh, I forced myself out of bed, grabbed the 9
th
With a sinking heart, I pulled the Left Door towards me and took a step inside.
There were many people there, pacing back and forth without noticing me. No one asked my entrance ticket, although the entrance wasnt free of charge.
I floated to the coffee shop and sat down at a table next to a sprawling giant black cat. The Cat scanned me carefully and greeted me, meanwhile people came and went away, paying no attention to us at all in the place where the Past and the Present and the Future? were merging together.
«Do I no longer exist among all these people?»
Suddenly, the man, who had invited me to come in, appeared next to me.
I stood up and touched his hand. He turned around. I silently looked into his eyes. Unlike other people, he noticed me (as, indeed, the Cat) and said hello. I held out my book. The man read the title and shuddered involuntarily.
«This is my gift for the Museum,» I explained. «And the book of poems, The Moon Cat, is for you.»
I was in a hurry to leave my mark before everyone, including that man, would stop noticing me.
He disappeared and reappeared with his book, handing it to me. I opened the book to a random page, and the title of the story caught my eye, «The GLOVES that fell from the Sky». I shuddered, too.
We sat at a table across from each other. In silence. He got my «Magic» and «The Moon Cat», and I got his «Gloves». He worked in the Mansion as Guardian of the Portal. Definitely, all these people around existed in some other dimension, where there were neither me nor the Guardian, who still reminded me of Roman and Ray.
I returned «the Gloves» to the author, asking him to sign it for me.
«Hmm today is a magical date,» writing it under the dedication, the Guardian said either to me or to himself. Dates and numbers had some meaning to him.
«Has SHE come back?!» the Guardians mind raced.
«Show me the Mansion, please!» I asked him mentally.
The Guardian stood up from the table and held out his hand to me. Having grabbed an antique lantern along the way, we slowly descended into the Dungeon, and I felt more and more strongly that the Portal was there, and I would find it for sure!
«To the right is the Theater, where our performances take place,» the Guardian looked at me with genuine interest, «but I prefer to show you something unusual. You see, extremely strange stories constantly happen in this Mansion. Perhaps you help me to reveal the meaning of one of them!»
The Guardian took out a bunch of keys, opened the door to the secret pantry on the left side of the corridor and put the lantern on a small antique dressing table with a mirror and some drawers.
«In the left one» the Guardian whispered mysteriously, letting me know with a look that I could open the box myself, which I did, but it turned out to be absolutely empty, and for some reason that fact alarmed the Guardian.
He rummaged through the pantry for a long time, scanning it up and down with the lantern, his eyes, and hands. In vain.
Then I took out of my bag and silently handed to him
the GLOVES
1. Трель Дьявола
Это был первый из сорока вечеров Союза Писателей, которые мне предстояло провести здесь, в легендарном Особняке за Дверью Слева, где находился действующий в XXI веке Портал в Иную Реальность. О презентациях договорились ещё осенью, однако из-за эпидемии произошёл временной сдвиг все ждали начала массовой вакцинации для получения разрешений на проведение культурных мероприятий. Так Осень незаметно исчезла со сцены, уступив место Зиме.
Здравствуйте, Королева, окликнул меня Страж Портала, когда я поднялась во внутреннее кафе здесь, в комнатке музея, объединённой с кофейней, и пройдут наши сорок вечеров.
Да, некоторые шутя, а некоторые с издёвкой, называли меня «королевой» когда-то я победила в турнире «Король поэтов» аналогично Игорю Северянину в Серебряном веке, впрочем, и по линии моего отца (у его бабушки и деда, друга Писателя, в своё время отобрали особняки у Кремля) я практически княгиня, но сегодня, «здесь и сейчас», меня интересовало совсем Иное местный действующий Портал. Каждый литературный вечер традиционно (когда-то давно я проводила аналогичные вечера и в других точках столицы) состоял из двух частей: в первой презентация книги одного из многочисленных современных поэтов/писателей, во второй после перерыва-перекура на автограф-сессию и панибратство желающие могли выступить в «свободном» микрофоне. Собственно, на «свободный микрофон» все и слетались, как мотыльки на свет, и без него вряд ли можно было рассчитывать на присутствие масс в первой части «марлезонского балета», ведь в 20-е годы XXI века практически каждый человек на планете Земля научился грамоте и что-то писал, а вот читателей почти не осталось.
***
Первый вечер я открывала загадочной писательницей со сборником рассказов «Трель Дьявола», в котором персонажи активно менялись душами и телами, застревали между Этим и Тем Светом, вызывали Дьявола и, вполне возможно, уже за рамками рассказов, делали привороты на кладбищах в жажде человеческой взаимной любви, но, не получая таковую, упивались кровью, превращаясь в вампиров
Пока я раскрывала личность автора, задавая каверзные вопросы присутствующим в зале и самому автору, выступая в роли мостика-проводника (впрочем, даже дети сразу бы догадались, что писательница колдунья настоящая, а не фиктивная, собственно, все писатели маги), Страж Портала молчаливо наблюдал за мной из-за прилавка уже дремлющего кафе оно находилось прямо напротив сцены. Справа от сцены за занавесками вздыхали основные музейные комнаты, к которым мы не имели доступа официально, а слева на нас глазело Гигантское Зеркало.
«Забавно, подумала я, поглядывая на Стража. А ведь он узнал мои Перчатки»
«Забавно, подумал Страж. А ведь она принесла мне те самые Перчатки»
На сцене, помимо меня и писательницы, находился стул, на котором дремал местный чёрный Кот огромных размеров. Уверена, он делал вид, что дремлет, а на самом деле
Так Вы действительно занимались магией? раздался вопрос из зала.
И писательница сдалась:
Ну хорошо признаюсь-признаюсь! Да, я закончила Школу Магов!
Вы практиковали переселение душ, как в Вашем рассказе?
Нет смутилась она.
А правда, что духов проще подселять к людям, находящимся в алкогольном опьянении?
А Сезон Песка существует только для Нечисти?..
А Вы бывали на Том Свете?..
Я вздохнула, вспоминая Рэя и закрыла глаза.
И открыла их снова И
«Нет! Этого не может быть!!!»
Моментально забыв про подселение духов и обмен душами, я разглядывала до боли знакомого человека: прямо напротив меня, у барной стойки, слева от Стража, появился Роман.
Всё, что происходило далее, казалось сном. Я помню только, как объявила перерыв, и гости вечера набросились сначала на писательницу, явно успевшую их приворожить и теперь имеющую возможность не подарить, а продать «Трель Дьявола» с личным автографом, а затем на Кота, дремлющего на стуле
Все они остались в каком-то другом измерении
Напротив меня находился мужчина, напоминающий мне Рэя. И я боялась подойти к нему, будто он мог запросто исчезнуть, как когда-то исчез и сам Рэй, в Иной Реальности.
Неужели все авторы Союза Писателей состоят в сговоре с Дьяволом? внезапно вывел меня из оцепенения Страж Портала.
Непозволительная роскошь, почему-то вырвалось у меня в ответ, в то время как я продолжала смотреть на Романа, продолжающего смотреть на меня из глубины зала.
А когда Вы планируете? но Страж не договорил, я оборвала его взглядом:
Как только, так сразу, и, пересилив себя, подошла к Роману.
Он улыбнулся. В его улыбке было что-то странное. Уже известное мне, но, вполне возможно, неизвестное ему самому. Я перевела взгляд на столик, предлагая присесть.