Тигрис Рафаэль
Letters from beyond
Robert's heart overflowed with surging feelings.
–I promise,– he answered involuntarily.
– Then wait for me, I'll be right back.
Rosie ran into the house and returned with a piece of paper folded into four.
– What it is?
– This letter is for my mother. Give it to her as soon as you meet, – Rosie said and handed Robert a letter.
– Don't forget?
– Of course not.
Robert quickly withdrew, barely hiding the tears welling up in his eyes.
The southern sun of France beat down mercilessly and he sat down at a table in a street cafe. The waiter brought him cold water and a cup of coffee.
Robert opened the girl's letter, written in a small child's hand, and began to read.
“Dear, beloved mother! Please take me away from here. I have grown up and the hand does not interfere with me anymore. An uncle doctor came to us and said that when I grow up, he will make an artificial hand for me and it will be no worse than a real one. So if you don’t come for me because of her, it’s very vain. Loving you always your daughter Rosie.
Most likely, the letter was written in advance and carefully kept for a convenient occasion. It is very possible that other children in the orphanage had similar letters.
"I swear to you, I will find your mother and come back for you," he said to himself.
Without knowing it, he swore that it was practically impossible, because Robert had no idea who Rosie's parents were.
– Do you want something else, monsieur?– the waiter asked him.
– No, no, thanks.
Robert got up and walked towards the hotel, but then changed his mind and turned towards the post office. It was necessary to call America, and a telephone conversation from the post office was several times cheaper than from a hotel.
After the conversation, the postal worker called out to him again.
– Mr Jackson! There is a letter here for you.
Robert was surprised.
– Letter from whom?
– From Matilda Kshesinskaya.
– Again they write to me from the other world, – the journalist muttered and immediately began to open the envelope.
"Dear Robert. If you got to the post office in Nice, then you got to Nika's grave, but I guess you did not dare to disturb her otherwise you would have called America from the hotel and would not have gone to the post office in order to save money. You did the right thing, because I will tell you a secret – there are no jewels there and never have been. It was my bluff. I spent all my fortune on myself. Yes, there was a lot of it, but I lived a long life and during this time I managed to squander everything. Yes, I am a terrible swindler and my countless suitors knew about it. But here's what's interesting – the more I spent their offerings, the more generous they became. But for your prudence you should be rewarded. Go back to Paris immediately, find that jewelry store where I sent Monica to get her ears pierced and ask for documents for it. Let it be known to you that it belonged to me, but now you own it. I wrote in your name. Goodbye Robert. I hope we never see each other again."
It was difficult to imagine the state of Robert. He went to the post office of the city of Nice as a simple American reporter, and left from there as the owner of a jewelry store. He did not even dream of such a twist of fate.
And then Robert remembered Monica's diamond necklace and earrings. Where are they now? After all, it is obvious that the mortuary worker removed them from her, and what he did with them next is a big question. We must urgently return to Paris.
Robert rushed to the hotel, packed his things and took the first flight to the capital of France. From the airport, he went straight to the jewelry store, which by right of owner belonged to him.
The first person to meet him was Pierre.
– Mr Jackson! How nice of you to come.
– Dear Pierre! From today I am your new…
– I found her. Can you imagine, she's here in Paris, at St. Patrick's Hospital.
– WHO???
– My Monica!
Robert's jaw literally dropped in surprise.
– Why did you then say that she went to America? It's not hard to guess though – you just didn't want me to see her in that state.
Robert stood stock-still in surprise, unable to even move.
– It turns out that Monica fell from the third floor and nearly died. But God was pleased that she survived and that I found her.
Pierre said this with such enthusiasm of an ardent lover that there was not even a shadow of doubt about the sincerity of his feelings.
Yes, indeed, heaven wanted Monica to stay alive, if only for the sake of this wonderful Parisian boy. Together they immediately rushed to the hospital and found her saved and smiling. The diamond pendant and earrings presented to her on the eve of Kshesinskaya were already showing off on her as amulets.
And then Robert remembered that on that fateful day he had not even bothered to look at Monica's body, even if it was dead. But a fall from the third floor is not necessarily fatal. That evening he got drunk to the point of stupefaction, and in the morning he rushed to Nice for the alleged treasures of Kshesinskaya. Did the glitter of gold cloud his mind so much that he completely forgot about his faithful companion?
But unlike him, Pierre, following the call of his heart, found his beloved, and this was their main difference.
– Monica! I am guilty before you, – only Robert could say in justification.
Already on the first night after sailing from French Brest, a wave of depression swept over Robert from loneliness. He was used to having Monica around during the day and especially at night, and although they were not in any official relationship, this did not prevent her from being his integral companion.
Robert remembered with what a happy smile Monica saw him off on a long voyage. How they joyfully waved after him with Pierre. There was not a shadow of sadness on the face of his assistant. But she remained forever in a foreign country, away from friends and relatives. This was due to the presence of true love that broke out between Monica and Pierre, and Robert could only envy.
With the first rays of the sun, he went out on the deck of the ship and decided, having taken up graphomania, to dispel the night depression.
“Dear Madame Kshesinskaya! I am a reporter for the weekly North American Review, Robert Jackson, writing this message to you on the deck of the ship «New World», on which I am returning from France to America. I deliberately did not fly by plane and chose a sea trip. There are good reasons for this, which I will now explain. In life, I am most afraid of two things: ugly women and flying on airplanes. I try my best to avoid these two things. But I will not prevaricate – this time I preferred a sea voyage also because I decided to comprehend alone a lot that happened to me lately, and not without your participation.
Let it be known to you that Monica survived and stayed in Paris. Yes, don't be surprised. Whether you like it or not, she survived all the deaths out of spite and thanks to the love she found in Paris. It was with her that you acted too cruelly. If Marek and Josephine deserved punishment, then Monica should not have died, and therefore the arbiters of fate in heaven intervened in time and did not allow this. On the contrary, they gave her love.
Surprisingly, it was you who contributed to her love. In that jewelry store where you sent her to pierce her ears, she met a nice guy named Pierre, and they fell in love at first sight. I will not hide – until the moment Monica, at your instigation, fell out of the window of the third floor, she began to have all the signs of rebirth towards female greed, vanity and the subsequent fall into sin. But as they say in the Russian proverb – there would be no happiness, but misfortune helped. Monica after this tragedy returned to her previous state. Well, I had no choice but to leave the jewelry salon that you transferred to me as the property to young lovers, but on the condition that they would always patronize an orphanage in the city of Nice.
I have no regrets about what I did. The only thing I regret now is that I lost such a partner, companion and assistant as Monica, although I understand that with me she could not find the happiness that she found with Pierre. But there is also consolation. Having lost Monica, I have the opportunity to regain my own, my own happiness».
After writing the last line, Robert became thoughtful. How does he intend to bring the letter to the addressee? After all, Kshesinskaya has long been in the next world, which means that someone is needed to take her there. Does that someone have to be him? Well, I do not. After all, he had just finished the letter on a life-affirming note. Then, the question is why did he write these lines, if no one will read them?
“All the same, you, sir, although a capable scribbler, are a complete graphomaniac,” Robert thought to himself with a grin.
He looked at the bright sunny sky, at the azure waves overboard, at the seagulls noisily accompanying the ship, and realized that life is so beautiful that no paper depression could drive him to suicide in order to convey this stupid letter to a hundred-year old woman.
Yes, he does not know how to swim and, like an ax, he will immediately go to the bottom, but this does not mean that he will take and leave this whole magnificent world full of love and joy and become food for fish.
At this time, a young lady appeared on deck with a parasol. She was wearing a long white dress. A high hairstyle, exposing a delicate neck and a nose honed in the Irish manner, immediately attracted the attention of a failed drowned man.
Before the eyes of an American, a typical oil painting arose: the vast expanse of the sea, azure waves, a white ship, on the deck of which a young charming woman dressed in white walks around with a colorful umbrella.
For the first time in his life, Robert regretted that he was not, in addition to the master of the pen, also the master of the brush. As the great Pushkin would say, such a woman cannot be described in fairy tales, nor described with a pen.
“So it was God's will that I did not remain alone for long,” he rejoiced.
Robert's legs themselves went towards the lady sparkling with all the colors of life. The first thing that caught Robert's eye was her stately posture.
– Are you bored? – he asked.
– There is some. And you?– she asked, pointing to Robert's writing.
– Very much, – he answered, tearing Kshesinskaya's letter into small pieces.
In the next moment, the surging wind carried away the remnants of the message to the deceased, either to the depths of the sea, or to the next world, leaving the idyll of the newly-made couple alone.
– Let me introduce myself! Robert Jackson, journalist from New York.
– Very nice Helen Vertinskaya – ballet soloist. Invited to tour at Carnegie Hall.
So that's where such a posture and a body like a string come from. Wow, again a ballerina and again a prima. Robert noticed expensive jewelry on Helen – and there is a similarity, the presence of rich admirers is obvious – he thought.
– Did I surprise you? -Helen asked, sensing Robert's confusion.
– No no. On the contrary, they rejoiced. I was lucky enough to have time to interview in Paris the former prima ballerina Matilda Kshesinskaya herself.
– Oh, how interesting! Let's go to the salon and you tell me everything in detail about this over a cup of coffee. Although I was born in France, my roots, like those of Kshesinskaya, are from Russian emigration.
The cabin of the ship was cozy and warm. Journalist Robert was, by definition, an excellent storyteller, and Helen was an attentive listener, plus – there is a commonality of interests and mutual topics.
Outwardly, Robert liked Helen, but Kshesinskaya reeked of her: ballet fame, rich fans, expensive gifts, and this repelled the journalist.
Robert told Helen in detail about the events of recent days, without concealing details about the life of a ballerina and the origin of her jewelry.
– Robert! You probably think that I am the same as Matilda?
– Why do you think so?
– It's written on your face, – Helen said with a smile, – I'm wearing family jewels, I'm not spoiled by fame and admirers either. So drive away old Kshesinskaya from consciousness. It interferes with our communication.
– Tell me then about your personal life.
Helen's face immediately became serious.
– It's a long story, Robert. I'll tell you sometime in closer communication.
The ship continued to cross the Atlantic inexorably and the nautical miles rushed after the time that Robert and Helen whiled away, continuing to communicate and talk sweetly, which made their relationship warmer and sympathy gradually increased. In the evenings, they were smartly dressed in the salon and drank various drinks to the relaxing music of the pianist.
– Let’s drink something strong today – suggested Robert.
– For example?
– Good cognac.
– You can’t get rid of Kshesinskaya’s lifestyle in any way?
– Matilda has nothing to do with it, dear Helen. I have always loved cognac. Would you prefer whiskey and soda?
– No. If you drink equally, then preferably the same drink.
Together they emptied a good bottle, having a bite of sweets, which is why their cheerful, carefree conversation was sometimes interrupted by laughter.
–Now is the time to share the personal,– Robert reminded him.
Ellen immediately became sad.
– You don't want to, you don't have to.
– Well, why not, but how could it be without it. But it needs more intimacy. Who do you think will have a wider cabin?
– I don't think they are different.
– Well, then let's go to mine. I need a familiar environment.
– Let's go, but first we'll have one more drink.
– I don't mind, but this time I propose to brotherhood?
– Great idea!
After a fair portion of cognac, the mutual kiss on the lips turned out to be more than frank and long.
– And it's nice to kiss you.
– Mutually.
Despite the lights being off, the cabin was not dimmed in any way. The reason for this was the bright external illumination of the ship, which made it look as elegant as a Christmas tree from afar.
– We'll have to undress in the light. Does not it confuse you?
– Not a bit.
– Then I'm the first to take a shower.
Helen pulled off her dress and a small bra showed her compact chest, which was not needed in the ballerina's dance. Then she rolled down her pantyhose for a long time and scrupulously, demonstrating strong muscular legs. Pear-shaped calves descending to the feet, protruding knees and the whole mass of hips rushing upwards, turning into massive breathtaking buttocks, which are the main driven force of ballet dance.
