Edgars Auziņš
Fall in love in a weekwe get by
– Miss Blair, you can go home. I don't think they're waiting for us in Edinburgh anymore.
– How's it going home? – Chester perked up. – For what? I didn’t even have time to offer coffee! Dougal, Mrs Ferguson is having mince pie today! I haven't tried it myself yet! You pulled me right out of the consultation! But this is fortunate – such wonderful specimens!
“The pie is enough for the two of us.”
It seems Norwood is determined to get me out of here. Even if this is a kind of concern in response to my complaint… No, that won’t do!
“I’d love to try your pie, Mr. Fully,” I tried to smile sweetly and sincerely, although I wanted to show my teeth more. – And especially coffee.
– Oh, please, no misters. Just not at home. Dougal, come into the living room, I need ten minutes.
“Twenty, if not thirty,” the professor stated gloomily, looking after him. And he added: “Well, let’s go.” Just don't complain later.
– For what? – I was surprised.
“You will understand when you begin to drown in the abyss of his plant enthusiasm,” he held the door, letting me go forward. – Sit down, any chair is at your service. Although I don't recommend sitting under the spitting milkweed, Chester allows it too much.
I stepped into the living room and froze, looking around in shock. The only free space in the center was occupied by a tea table and chairs around it. But behind the armchairs, and near the sofas standing against the walls, and on the walls themselves, on the windows and even on the ceiling, there was a jungle. All shades of green, crimson and gold, all imaginable shapes of leaves, interweaving of stems, trunks, vines… Bright spots of flowers and even – incredible! – fluttering butterflies.
Something tiny, azure blue, hovered before my eyes for a moment, and Norwood chuckled behind him:
“You were mistaken for a flower, Miss Blair.” Beware of cross-pollination.
– Is this a hummingbird?! – I exclaimed, looking at the tiny bird with a long curved beak.
– Of course. Chester took a very careful approach to recreating the biome.
–Can I have a look?
– Look, just don’t touch anything with your hands – they might bite it off.
I forgot about fatigue and even the presence of Norwood. I wandered around, looking at the bizarre curves of the trunks, the mesmerizingly beautiful leaves and flowers, butterflies, hummingbirds… I didn’t recognize any spoiled milkweed or anything that could bite off my hand, of course. Of all this wealth, only orchids were familiar to me, but even they very vaguely resembled what I saw in the flower shops of my native world.
I can’t imagine how you can do this at home! Charlotte's well-groomed front garden immediately ceased to seem too magical.
– While you are taking in the beauty, the coffee is getting cold.
I turned around. The professor was sitting at the table with a cup in his hands. Although I didn’t hear anything, the table had already been set for three, in the center was a tall, rosy cake, and the sides of the coffee pot, sugar bowl and cream jug were shining. I immediately remembered that it was high time for lunch.
I sat down opposite the professor. I poured myself some coffee. Asked:
– What about Mr. Fully?
– I have no doubt that it’s wonderful. And we deserve food no less than the tendrils of arenarius deserve care and attention.
“Well, if he’s not offended that everyone ate it without him…” I took a piece, my mouth filled with saliva from the mind-blowing aroma. She sank her teeth. The most tender, hot, incredibly appetizing! Chester is definitely at risk of being left without a pie!
I crushed the piece in a few seconds and immediately took another. Wandering through the swamps awakens a beastly appetite – I’ll say so if the owner comes to an empty table. Or again the professor will be there first. Moreover, he almost kept up with me and also took the second piece.
“Your face, Miss Blair, reflects an amazing mixture of emotions.” From pleasure to remorse. Don't worry. I'm pretty sure this isn't the only one. Mrs. Ferguson loves feeding everyone too much to deprive Mr. Fully of food.
“You calmed me down.” Laughing with your mouth full is bad manners, but I couldn’t resist. – At the very least, he’ll bake some more. It's terribly delicious, and I'm terribly hungry. Impossible to resist!
– Let's write it down. The invigorating air of Scotland has a positive effect on appetite and a negative effect on the number of pies in the surrounding area. Tested on two experimental individuals.
– Does the presence of Arenarius nearby preserve the pie for the mentioned individuals?
– Arenarius, scaly verbena, swamp pseudoclover, three magical varieties of heather, and you forgot the most important thing – purple stemwort. I think she may be the deciding factor in saving the pie.
And together we took another piece.
As expected, Chester came to the empty dish. And the coffee pot – the professor and I just filled another cup each. I felt almost happy – well-fed, dry and warm, enjoying the rest after the idiotic, there is no other way to put it, run through the swamps. Dr. Norwood seemed to feel something similar; he was almost complacent. I slightly teased Chester, who exchanged pie and coffee for an arenarius mustache, built theories about the reasons for the failure in the portal system, which were quite logical and beautiful, I even felt ashamed that I knew the real reason, but could not say.
“Here you are,” he saluted Chester with a cup of coffee. – Made it just in time for the wake.
– What are you talking about? – It seemed to me that Chester’s thoughts were not yet here, but with the same Arenarius and the rest of our prey.
“About the pie,” Norwood pointed to an empty dish. – As you can see, there are only a few sad, lonely babies left.
“Then I’ll ask Mrs. Ferguson to bring some more!” – the hospitable host was delighted. – And coffee?
And he ran away without waiting for an answer.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t confuse the way to the kitchen and to the greenhouses,” Norwood chuckled.
“All these,” I moved my hand, “magical heathers, arenarius, purpurea, what else, verbena?” Are they really that rare? If your friend is a botanist, he probably himself knows where they grow? I have a feeling that we brought him some incredible treasure, and not an armful of grass. It's nice, of course, just a little awkward.
– Of course he knows. And, of course, they are not that rare. Except for the purple one – it’s not easy to lure it into the light. But sending Chester to buy herbs is like forcing a snail to pass a speed test. He will be lost to society for at least a week. And this is if it goes no further than the neighboring lawn. So the herbs for it are usually collected by trainees or graduate students. If it is justified by their work, which happens less often than Chester would like. Therefore, you can, with a clear conscience, consider yourself a treasure hunter and gift-bearer.
I laughed and then shook my head.
– At first glance it’s funny, but in reality it’s sad. It turns out that he would be happy to go somewhere himself to collect all these herbariums, but his work won’t let him go?
– He loves his job no less, so don’t waste your pity and sympathy. This is not a suitable object for them. Just look, is this disgustingly satisfied and radiant individual worthy of sympathy?
As if to illustrate Norwood’s last words, two dishes, a coffee pot, and Chester, who was conducting this parade of goodies, floated into the living room, truly glowing with contentment and happiness.
“Here,” he proudly announced, “another meat one and, for dessert, plum.” Ah, my friends, how good it is that you were able to keep me company! Otherwise, I would have been left alone against the culinary genius of Mrs. Erguson, and this is an obvious defeat.
“Given the size of your belly, my friend,” Norwood mockingly mimicked, “you could easily cope with this minor difficulty.”
– Dougal, no! Not again! – Chester put all the wealth he had acquired on the table and settled down on a chair. – I won’t die from obesity, I won’t have a stroke in my prime and won’t have a heart attack. Of the two of us, I’m the healer, I know better, don’t even start.
– Oh well.
At the last moment I refrained from asking about the role of magic in preventing heart attacks. What would be the topic? Sensation. “Yes, yes, for THAT world,” a piece of plum pie helped to restrain first curiosity, and then the sudden melancholy. We would like to figure out what could become a sensation here, but first we will have to resolve more pressing issues. Life and death, so to speak.
“Tell me, Miss Blair, didn’t this impossible, callous man traumatize the purple girl too much?” I mean exclusively the moral side of the issue. Purple girls are gentle, trembling creatures, they love affection and cannot stand rough treatment. How did you pull her out, barbarian? – he turned to Norwood, – she has a constriction on the third internode. The juice circulates in slow motion. And this is an even lesser evil, it could break!
– Oh, I was all tenderness and trepidation. I have a witness.
“I think the purple girl would have gotten it if she was a student.” And since she’s just an innocent plant, the professor was really gentle,” I smiled into my coffee cup.
– Here you see. In this case, through the lips of the well-fed and peaceful Miss Blair, the truth speaks. So leave me alone with your internodes. I don't know and I don't want to know. Better eat before we repeat our previous feat of gluttony.
“Oh, yes,” Chester looked at both pies with an attentive, weighing and appraising glance and reached for the plum one. But, as soon as he transferred the piece to his plate, he perked up again: – ? time? How long did she stay without soil?
– Probably about half an hour? – I responded uncertainly. – Maybe less. We were rushing so fast that I definitely couldn’t have withstood this pace for more than half an hour.
– Thirty to forty minutes, no more. And by the way,” Norwood looked at his watch, “five minutes ago the second year of alchemists finished their classes. Since we're not in Edinburgh, it's time to do good and spread justice. Miss Blair, as I understand it, you are not in much of a hurry to get home today, so perhaps you will continue to bring gifts and inform the dear Mr. Applestone that he has a written test awaiting him first? In the left drawer of the desk under the Gregorian reference book. Will you give me exactly twenty minutes and make sure that this genius of poetry looks at the questionnaire? and only into it. I'll come to the end. We must inform Madame Headmistress about the sad portal incident.
“It’s true,” I finished my coffee in one gulp. “I completely forgot about our swamp adventures.” Chester, thanks for the treat. Please convey my admiration to Mrs. Ferguson. I have probably never eaten such delicious pies in my life.
She stood up and opened the portal as usual.
***
Applestone hesitated in front of the locked door of the professor's office. He looked at me with the eyes of a wounded kitten and seemed to want to say something, but I was the first to do so. There is no point in depicting a dying doe here, I too, an unrecognized poet.
– Good afternoon, Mr. Applestowe? Come in,” she opened the door and entered first. “Professor Norwood will be here soon, while you sit down and write the test.” You have twenty minutes, time has passed.
She placed a sheet of questions in front of him and looked at her watch.
– Is he really going to kick me out?! – this home-grown Romeo asked tragically.
– When he comes, ask him. But I think the answer will depend on what and how you have time to write, so don’t waste your time.
Applestone let out a heavy sigh worthy of a half-strangled bison – why is it that zoological pictures pop into my head?! – and buried himself in work.
A pen creaked, a clock ticked, and a spreading linden rustled with leaves outside the window. I suddenly thought – Charlotte gave Norwood and me a great gift. Even if wandering through the swamps cannot be called a pleasant activity, it is certainly more exciting than a social event. Norwood was… perhaps interesting? He looks not like a dry-haired professor, but like the Dougal that Sabella showed me. I remembered the time spent with Chester with a smile. Thanks to Mrs. Ferguson, her pies were a great conversation starter.
I didn’t look at Applestone and he probably took it as an indulgence. The creaking of the pen died down and was replaced by the rustling of pages. So-so. I went up to the table – the office was not an auditorium, the trembling young man did not have time to react – and took the thick reference book from his lap.
– Miss Blair! – Applestone was indignant in an offended whisper.
– What?
– Don’t you feel sorry for me at all?!
– No. Should it?
– Certainly. I'm not some Obli. I have one of the best overall results in the course. But if Dr. Norwood is seriously mad at me, he will find something to complain about. I have to check!
– “Easter Applestone.” I would like to remind you that it was you, not Mr. Obley, who caused this deadly situation. Because of my own frivolity and conceit, and not ineptitude. What do you think is worse? Ineptitude goes away with experience, if only there was a desire. And your best results and the negligence they generated almost landed both you and me in a hospital bed. Best case scenario. It's a shame if you don't understand this.
– I understand! But… – Applestone rubbed his face and stared at his sheet with an unseeing gaze. – Okay, it’s good that it’s in writing and not verbally. He would have smashed me!
“Four minutes,” I said. – Add what you know.
Norwood came in at the last minute.
– Good afternoon, Mr. Applestone. I won’t say that I’m glad we met.
– Mutually, professor. I mean… kind. Hope. – He moved his long-suffering sheet to the edge of the table. – All is ready.
– if you also hope that everything will be limited to this writing, then in vain. Hoping is harmful to a growing organism. Tomorrow you will come for the results, they will become admission to the oral examination.
– When? – Applestone asked sadly.
– After classes, of course. Or do you expect to amaze me with the depth of your knowledge during a ten-minute break? This is possible in the only case – if you have no knowledge at all.
“Got it, at half past six,” Applestone nodded and disappeared. Forgetting, by the way, my reference book, which I put on the edge of the table.
And Norwood turned out to have a keen eye for other people’s books – he noticed right away. He opened the flyleaf, admired the library stamp of the Academy, and asked:
– Really? Should the radiance of Mr. Applestone's irresistible charm have hidden this unromantic little book from you? Maybe he was also trying to pity you?
“Of course,” I walked to my desk and quickly looked through my mail. Nothing urgent. “Professor Norwood is such a beast that he will certainly find something to complain about, and without checking the reference book, the unfortunate young man will immediately become doubly unhappy.” But he has some of the best results on the course, not like some Obli.
– Did he say so? – Norwood’s eyebrow rose.
– Not literally, but close. For some reason he decided that I should feel sorry for him. After he almost hit both of us with sharp glass!
“Probably because his verses and fiery glances were supposed to melt your already not too icy heart.” But you and Mr. Applestone, of course, know better. Goodbye, Miss Blair. Be careful with portals. No Scottish moors will cancel tomorrow's working day.
“Anomalies are just anomalies because they don’t repeat themselves twice,” I answered frivolously. – See you tomorrow, professor.
***
"My home is my castle". Only when I found myself in Charlotte’s almost native living room did I give vent to my emotions.
– answer, unfinished Barbie, were you flirting with this… this trembling male doe? Also, probably, in front of the professor?! ? Now I have to sort it out!
– It’s hard to call this flirting. He showed signs of attention. Charlotte accepted them, nothing more.
“I accepted it favorably,” I clarified. – And now one thinks that he can afford too much, and the second…
I couldn’t even imagine what the second one was thinking. But hardly flattering for Charlotte. And I only have four days left to correct the impression, to somehow interest him, to make him fall in love… and to fall in love myself, but this may be easier than I was afraid. All the more offensive.
“Sending you into the swamp turned out to be a good idea,” the ghost said thoughtfully. “But it won’t work a second time.” There is another opportunity, but it is not me who should give it to you.
“You should think of sending me to the North Pole,” I snapped. – With one blanket for two. Four days. And he was running around this damn swamp for herbs. What's the point?!
“You turned out to be not such a burdensome company for him as expected.” He turned out to be more humane to you than usual. There is a point. But the North Pole… No, too many magical costs.
God, she also took it seriously! Never joke with ghosts.
“It was a joke,” I explained, just in case. Otherwise, if she digs up magical reserves somewhere, she will be done. And Norwood and I will have to act out a scene from a romantic comedy: “two Indians under one blanket did not freeze.” – What other possibility were you talking about?
– Sabella Norwood's birthday. Day after tomorrow. It is quite possible that you will be there. But not with my help.
September ninth. Ostrich leather gloves noted by Norwood in the ad. God, Sabella…what a terrible birthday she's in for. She knows everything…
– She knows. I think that if she celebrates, she won’t even have to impose herself, she herself won’t miss the opportunity to let us talk outside of the academy. But is she really interested in the holidays now?
– Precisely to give you an opportunity. Of course she will celebrate. And he will call you.
But it will be the day after tomorrow. And there will be two days left. Just two.
Melancholy and hopelessness – that’s what I felt now. And no amount of tricks and assurances from Charlotte could interrupt this.
– Everything is not as bad as you think. “Don’t despair,” she said finally and disappeared.
Otherworldly comforter! "Don't despair"! It's easy for her to talk. It seems that during these three days, Charlotte’s ghost managed to forget what it was like to be alive and experience emotions. And I didn’t want to become the same at all! Dead and soulless. They also say that ghosts are a cast of the soul. Or am I confusing something? I have never been interested in otherworldly mysticism.
To somehow distract myself, I decided to spend the evening in front of the TV. At least I’ll look at the magical new world this way.
She sat down in front of the screen and commanded:
– Turn on. Show me Sydney. Otherwise, it seems like I won’t really get there anymore.
“Inexpensive last-minute trips, order a guide, rooms in the best hotels…” the announcer tried to suggest, and I barked:
– No. Can you show a banal panorama of the city or not?! Without advertising!
It would be better not to ask. The Sydney of this world was beautiful. A white-green city on the shores of a blue-blue ocean. The famous opera house seemed a little different, but also impressive. And the damn too smart unit brought it closer and showed the portal platforms, so I probably could even now take a risk and open the portal. No airline tickets or long flights. You can generally spend the evening there, and go to work from there tomorrow. What's stopping me? Fear of getting confused with a portal halfway around the world? So I don't lose anything. Absolutely nothing. The remaining four days are such a small thing compared to the whole life that could still be lived, is it worth taking them into account at all?
Leaving the TV to show the beauty of Australia to the empty room, I went downstairs to get a beer. I had a picture of Circular Embankment in my mind's eye. Skyscrapers are reflected in the blue water, and someone waves from the side of a snow-white boat. And really, what is it worth to move there? One hand movement, one step. It couldn't be simpler.
But I don’t know if it will be as easy to open a portal halfway around the world. I don’t know anything about the visa regime and how they ensure border security here, if every child is able to open the portal. Maybe some kind of anti-portal “iron curtain” is standing, and without a visa it will smear it like… unappetizingly, in general, it will smear it. Or it will immediately transfer it “where it needs to be.” I mean, to the “competent authorities”. I just didn't have enough problems like this.
In four days I’ll take the risk, then it won’t matter.
Tears welled up in my eyes. Beer, TV and thoughts about a possible imminent death – a wonderful evening awaits me.
I wonder what Norwood is up to?
No, what’s interesting is that after Elsa, with whom he remained friends, did he have someone? Is there anyone now? Sabella probably knows, but this is where she could have been lying and remaining silent. Although, since he still believes that I will be able to interest him… I will assume that he is free now. So there remains at least some hope.
The TV showed a bird's-eye view of Sydney while I drank beer and tried to imagine what Norwood was like with women. It seemed like a slightly softened version of the usual poisonously ironic mode. “Saber-tooth driftwood” and “almost-evening-dress” are even cute, if you don’t expect any special tenderness from a man. Because Norwood seems to be capable of tenderness only in relation to the purple girl. “Look, baby”… on the other hand, if he called me “baby”… well, no, don’t!
But he also only has four days left, although he doesn’t know it yet. It's probably bad that I didn't tell him. Not fair. What if he also has some kind of dream that it would be a shame not to fulfill? You never know… maybe grow some more super turnips? Or take a yacht ride to the Great Barrier Reef – why not, after all? Should he have some hobbies besides science?
I would even keep him company. Surely it would be interesting. Although it is unlikely that he dreams of spending his last remaining days with Charlotte.
It's a pity.
Stop. What happens – I would like to spend these days with him? Not because it is necessary, but…
And because it would be nice for me? Am I suddenly attracted to his company? Are his sarcastic remarks interesting?
I finished the bottle and immediately opened another. It turns out that pirogues and swamps are very easy to bring together. Or rather, swamps and pies, but who cares. This kind of news definitely needs to be washed down.
And eat it. Beer is good, but beer with pizza is better. Down again. There are definitely some restrictions on moving the portals back and forth; it’s not for nothing that in Sabella’s house, like Charlotte’s, the portal leads to the living room. So for Sydney you will have to find out how things are with visas here.
I placed my order and sat in a chair to wait for my delicious pizza. She took another sip of beer and closed her eyes…
The lacy arc of the Harbor Bridge was reflected in the blue bay. Large and small boats cut through the blue surface, yachts were white, tourists were noisy around. And there is the roof of the Opera, looking like sails in the wind.
I jumped into a nimble boat standing at the pier, and it rushed across the bay, leaving a white foamy trail. The wind tried to tear my wide-brimmed hat off my head, I held it with one hand and grabbed the handrail with the other. She breathed the salty and iodine freshness of the ocean, so different from the musty air of the swamps, and regretted that Norwood was not nearby.
The boat brought me to a beach with white coral sand, and from the beach I was somehow carried into a bar, for some reason with German cuisine. Charcoal sausages and cold beer… isn't that enough beer for me today? I want some wine. Definitely Australian. I read somewhere that it is even better than Italian. It turned out to be true!
After a thoughtful tasting, I was whisked into the artist’s studio. I knew his name was Jake and he was eager to draw my portrait.
– Full-length nude? – I asked just in case. He burst out laughing.
– If you want, why not? But I only meant what I said. Portrait. A face in the moonlight against the background of the ocean. In blue tones. Do you know that there is something otherworldly about your face? It's like you came from a completely different world.
“I hope this is not your way of courting girls, because I only agree to a portrait,” I pretended that I had not heard the words about another world.
And there really seemed to be something otherworldly in the portrait. Not me and not a ghost – but as if both me and her at once. ? Blue, it turns out, has so many shades…
“You’re a wonderful artist, Jake,” I said, looking at my Charlotte’s face on the canvas.
It wasn't scary or deathly, it wasn't the face of a ghost. But it seemed to reflect another world. In subtle strokes and pale blue color. Strange, alien, as if illuminated from within. Consisting of thousands of different shades.
And it seemed that this frightening world was about to call the girl from the portrait. Will pick it up. It will absorb and will not release anymore. And against the foggy, barely traced background, almost invisible to the eye, strange dark silhouettes appeared, either mountains with sharp peaks or rocks. And they, too, were frightening.
– I don’t understand… How did you see all this? Did you feel it? You're a fucking genius.
“Empty,” Jake waved it off. – I'm just an artist.
– Yes. You have shown more here than any words could say.
“Thank you, Sally,” he nodded. – Come back tonight, we need to work on the details.
– Today? – I looked at the clock, out the window. The sun was rising over the ocean. – I have to go to work. But… I don't care. There's nothing to worry about, right?
He laughed and kissed me – lightly, almost in a friendly way.
“No need,” I asked. – I have Norwood.
“You talked about him half the night,” Jake said. – The half when I was drunk. Everything will work out, Sally. Don't be afraid of me, I only claim your face in the moonlight, one more night. Although I will be glad if you invite me to the wedding.
“Oh, what a wedding,” I waved my hand and opened the portal.
And she opened her eyes.
I was sitting in a chair, the ordered pizza was waiting on the table next to me, and outside the window it seemed to be deep night.
“Good morning, Sally,” I stood up and stretched. The body is numb, the chair, although comfortable, cannot be compared with a bed. – Go get some sleep like a human being. I'll dream about something like this… in blue tones.
The face of the girl from Jake's portrait, mine and not mine at the same time, was clearly remembered, although I usually don't remember dreams. And for some reason it was scary.
