Valerian Markarov
Everything Has Its Time

«Everything has its time,

there is a time for every purpose under Heaven,

there is a time to be born, and a time to die,

a time to plant, and a time to uproot,

a time to kill, and a time to heal,

a time to destroy, and a time to build,

a time to cry, and a time to laugh,

a time to scatter stones, and a time to collect stones,

a time to hug, and a time not to,

a time to find, and a time to lose,

a time to be silent, and a time to speak,

a time to love, and a time to hate,

a time for war, and a time for peace.»

King Solomon

1. Erin

«Happy birthday, Dad!»

Entering the hospital wardroom with a light step, a young woman dressed in a green scarf worn over an elegant red coat of cashmere wool, leaned over the sick man and took him gently by the shoulder, softly kissing him on the cheek with her plump lips. The wardroom in which the man lay was small, the bulk of the space being occupied by an airbed which bent out of shape when nurses changed the patient’s position. Buttons on either side of the bed allowed for its angle to be adjusted, and likewise for it to be raised or lowered.

Opposite the bed on the wall hung a small flat screen television, around which hung various pictures, and under it several cushioned chairs were neatly arranged for visitors. In the corner was a toilet and shower cubicle with all the essential hygiene accessories. A single white bedside table had been squeezed in beside the bed, alongside a remote control to turn the light on and off, or to dim it, to control the TV volume and change channels, and, in case of an emergency, to call the nurse. On the wall behind the headboard, the yellow indicators of various pieces of electronic equipment and dials with monitors were blinking incessantly, and there was a sort of contraption to hold the drip, which most likely served the function of preventing excessive sleep in the daytime. The loud and constant beeping noise came from it, signalling to the ward nurses that either a tube was drooping over perilously, or that a medicine in use was about to run out.

The woman who had just come in looked about 25. She was of medium height and had an elegant body, and she had something enticing about her, something truly Celtic. She loved her beautiful hair of a stunningly and intensely golden-red colour, a source of pride. She obviously considered her hair to be a gift, which she carefully looked after and saw to without much hassle. She possessed a pretty face and a smooth nose. The eyes with which she looked out so openly onto the world were deep and green, underneath which on her cheeks were scattered a few soft and perky freckles. On her temples, one could see her translucent blue veins under her thin white skin. Most men would likely not have had her down as a woman of beauty, however, a short time in conversation with her would allow the more perceptive and well-mannered to note her charm and attraction, her impeccable taste and her perfect mannerisms, which told of a true woman, and her ability to speak with such eloquence. If only they knew that she could also dance excellently, play the piano and guitar, was keen on photography, and could ride a horse with all confidence!

«You remember what day it is today, don’t you?» she asked, keeping her gaze on his darkened eyes, «It’s the 17th March! You’re 65 today, Dad!»

«I prefer remembering that today is Saint Patrick’s Day,» he said with pride, «how was the parade? Did you take photos?»

«Of course, Dad. I went up to the balcony at Bullring in Digbeth just for you. I got a great view of everything from up there.» She started to flick through the pictures for him on her new iPhone 8, one after another.

«Bring it closer, yes, there… It’s a good job they didn’t colour the canal green» he said. «And the pubs presumably weren’t serving green beer…»

«Yeah, that’d be over the top. This isn’t New York or Boston. It’s enough that most of the clothes and decorations are in Irish green, white, and orange. And the beer flows like a river, so that’s fine!»

«So, how did it get going?»

«Like they always do, Dad, the Lord Mayor opened the festivities alongside St. Patrick himself.»

«He’s Mr. Important today!» chipped in her father, looking at the photos, «so pompous and full of himself!»

«Then there was the Leader of the City Council. He led the parade, of course. The band of flautists and pipers were next. Then there were Star Wars characters, then soldiers from the Irish Brigade. And look, here are some of the School of Irish Dancing’s highly talented girls…»

«Hmm, judging by the look of them, Erin, I’d say they’re future candidates for Lord of the Dance. Those outfits and curly wigs, they‘re not cheap, about 500 pounds a set!»

«Then there were the leprechauns in their green caftans, red hair, and red beards… There was a tractor from a museum there, and one of them was dancing on top of it… And here is a peacock, and a garden man.»

«Very vibrant. Like a Brazilian carnival! There were Indian tom-tom drums too. And here are the Chinese, holding on to their dragon nice and tightly, probably to stop it flying off… Here are some other Chinese people carrying a lion, loads of them. Fortunately, it’s in green, white, and orange. And what’s this one?» his eyes indicated the next picture. «A procession of African children, with a dragon on little wheels?»

«Yes Dad. And here’s a real Native American chief on his iron steed. And finally, here’s some Irish gypsies in their caravans. A great day!»

«Everyone’ll be going their own ways now, but most of them will be going to the local, to raise a glass for Ireland! For our Ireland, Dad! And for the arrival of your birthday!»

«Has my birthday «arrived’?» he asked sadly, «or has it «caught up’ with me?»

«You’re only kidding, Dad.»

«That’s all I have left,» he sighed heavily, but still forced a smile so as not to upset her. «I probably look terrible, don’t I?»

«No, you look fine. Just let me comb you a bit…»

She reached into her handbag, one of generous proportions, producing a plastic comb and starting to carefully comb her father’s hair, which was almost as thick and red as her own, towards the back of his head, as he liked it. She then got started on his beard and ears. «A sight for sore eyes! You’re handsome now, dad!» she gave him a peck on the nose, which was funny to watch from the side on.

«By the way, Mum rang me, she’s coming soon. She’s bringing a hotpot of your favourite mutton ragù with her. It’s really nice, I’ve already taste tested it, like you taught me to…»

«She should’ve brought me a pint of Guinness,» Kevin grumbled.

«I think you can leave the beer, Dad. Don’t you like tea too? And that reminds me, I made your favourite barmbrack bread with cream…»

«With cream…» he repeated, gazing wistfully at the ceiling, which was as white as snow, and in the middle of which a crack was becoming gradually more visible.

«Yes, with handpicked raisins. Finger licking good!» having said this, she shuddered, realising that what she had just said was a mistake. Her father could not lick his fingers. Now he could do absolutely nothing. He, Kevin O’Brian, the biggest male presence in her life, a man once of a strong and athletic physique, was now a frail, pathetic, feeble existence, unable to move arm or leg. He could not lift himself up from the bed by himself even slightly. Illness had made him completely unrecognisable. He had had no appetite for a long time now, and only after persistent persuasion from his wife or daughter would he agree to eat even a few spoonfuls of food, holding it in his mouth for ages until it turned into a liquid and poured like slush into his stomach, a stomach withered from hunger. He had been right… Tormented by illness, joking was all he had left.

«Dad,» she said after a few moments’ pause, «Dad, I wanted to tell you, that I… I love you!» A few tears emerged from her emerald green eyes, despite all her efforts to hold them back. They left two clear, dark and grim lines running down her lightly applied make-up. Two of them fell heavily upon her high, silken wrapped chest.

«Is that true?», he looked at her and smiled. Noticing tears in her eyes, he decided to cheer her up, saying, «Was this even slightly more than you loved buttercream, Erin?»

«Of course, Dad. So much more than buttercream!» she snuggled up to his pale, motionless arm and twirled the bracelet on it used by hospital staff to identify the patient. Before giving him his medicine, the staff always scanned the bracelet bar-code. Then they almost always proceeded to ask the patient for his date of birth and surname, because you can’t be too careful.

«And I… I love you more than anything else on earth… I don’t remember if I ever told you this, but you almost died at birth. They brought you to me, a tiny little thing, swaddled in a cotton cloth. I remember how carefully I took you into my arms, and my eyes filled with tears of joy. Yes, a huge joy, even though I really wanted a son… hmm…» he broke off for a moment, but then continued, «…but when God gave you to me, I felt an exquisite happiness. And really, what difference does it make if you have a son or daughter!»

Erin sat and listened to this account in silence.

«I knew nothing about raising children, especially not girls. I probably wasn’t a very good father to you…»

«What are you on about, Dad! You were and are the best father on earth! You’re my hero! And you are still a loving husband to Mum. I want my future husband to treat me like you treat her.»

«You’re exaggerating, Erin.»

«No, I’m not! When I was a child, you lifted me up in your arms, and when you swung me around it took my breath away, you threw me up in the air and caught me, you never dropped me…»

«Yes, it was all well and good back then, when you were small, and I didn’t have backpains…»

«You were always by my side, dad. You always took a keen interest in my hobbies and were always ready to come and help me. We even kept secrets from Mum, remember how much we loved hide-and-seek? You taught me how to dance the jig and tell a reel from a hornpipe?»

«I remember it took you a long time to master the stepdance,» he said.

«Yes. You kept saying «feel the rhythm’, «keep your back straight and your head up’, «don’t look at your feet.» It was hilarious! Remember when they took the mickey out of me at school and called me a «red-headed broomstick’, you made me feel better, you told me I was the most beautiful in the school by a country mile… like a princess!»

«And you grew up to be a woman full of self-confidence, a woman able to achieve success.»

«I saw how you enjoyed every moment we spent together, although I think you raised me to be a tomboy.»

«How do you mean?» Kevin looked the other way, «probably because I took you with me to go fishing and watch horseracing? Or because I took you hiking in the hills with me to study nature?»

«Not just the hiking! We went to the circus together, and the theatre! Remember you taught me to play the guitar and the harmonica? And hurling! Those wooden bats are still waiting for us, Dad.»

Her father sighed again, but to her enthusiasm he did not respond. She continued: «That wasn’t all for nothing! Thanks to what you taught me, Dad, I learned to stand up for myself. You trusted me more, and gave me more freedom than Mum did.»

«But Mum wanted to keep you out of trouble, you understand?»

«Of course, but that’s no reason to restrict someone’s freedom… With a good upbringing, a daughter will know to keep out of trouble, right?»

«Right, Erin, you are an adult, a fully independent person, and the day is coming when you will leave our house and make your own way in life. But I just want to let you know that our door is always open for you to return if you want to. And it doesn’t matter what age you are or whatever your circumstances may be, you can always come back.»

«Thanks, Dad! And by the way, I have a present for you…» she reached into her handbag and produced a neatly folded green t-shirt. «Read the front…» she unfolded it, and Kevin smiled, reading with great pride the large lettering across the shirt: «Kiss me, I’m Irish!»

«Let me put it on you for this sacred day. For your day! You can’t say no! Otherwise, everyone not too lazy to get up will see and have a go at you for not donning the green for this day. Even Her Majesty is in green today…»

He closed his eyes, indicating consent, and the ensuing procedure took several difficult minutes.

«How are things in our pob?» he inquired quietly.

«Dad, you have to say «pub’», she softly corrected him.

«Not a chance! «Pubs’ are English boozers. Ours is an Irish pob! How is business going?»

«It’s all going well, Dad. Great, even! They all told me to give you their regards and wish you a speedy recovery. It’s just that…»

«Just what?» Kevin asked, a shade uneasily.

«The barmen are offended that we don’t allow them to take tips from customers. They complain that they give it their all like factory workers, but that if they worked elsewhere they’d be earning more money to live on…»

«You know, Erin,» he interrupted her, «some people think that just fulfilling their everyday duties at work is some sort of great feat. When generally, to be honest, I’m only ever satisfied with their work. You remind them that in Irish pobs you never ever take tips. Tell you what, daughter… Increase their pay by 20%. I want them to be happy… We’re like a family.»

«That is generous, to say the least. Fine, Dad, so it shall be,» she gave him an obedient nod of her head.

«Have you managed to hire another two waitresses? Remember? You told me you would.»

«Yes, last week eight hopefuls came. They filled in application forms. Going off how they described themselves, you’d think they knew this job well. But really, they couldn’t even hold a tray properly.»

«Erin, you’ve got to be more realistic; don’t try to find ideal staff. Where can they be found in a country as obviously imperfect as this one?»

«Eventually I did find two waitresses, but it wasn’t easy. I am not letting them serve people yet, I want them to have a bit of preparation first. One of them, to be honest, is not very bright, but she has cooking experience. It would be best if I could try to use her potential there…»

«You’ve become a good manager, Erin! And I’m glad that you have done a good job of covering for me for six months now, since these terrible headaches started.»

«I had to do it! Work brings me joy. In the end, this is our business, our family business. And I’m proud of it!»

«And I’m proud of you, Erin…» then he groaned heavily, closing his eyes as he did so, «the pain… It’s killing me…» a nurse ran in and injected something into his veins, and this soon relieved the pain. But for how long? When the nurse came back again about five minutes later and asked how the sick man was feeling, he smiled at her and responded with a question of his own:

«I’m fine, thank you! I was just wondering as to the chances of success if I hit on you, my Miss Lifesaver?» and what life suddenly returned to his eyes! Obviously, he was in suffering, but he retained his manliness and the smile on his gaunt face. Erin was aggravated by his words, and she feared the nurse would not see the funny side either. She lowered her eyes, and her pretty face blushed crimson.

«That someone as macho as you could succeed is beyond doubt!» the nurse answered without thinking twice, breaking into a smile. Seeing Erin’s agitated face, she added relaxedly: «It’s ok for patients to do that, Miss… Get well soon, Mister O’Brian! If you need me again, you know where the button is,» and leaving his white walled room, furnished with electronics, and the increasingly visible crack in the ceiling, she noiselessly shut the door behind her.

«By the way, Erin» he addressed his daughter. «At my funeral, I want you to pour a bottle of Irish whiskey on my grave.»

«Dad, there you go again!»

«Will you do that? Look at me!» he demanded half seriously, half-jokingly.

«Well, if you want me to…» she answered dutifully, not anticipating the wisecrack on his part, and hurriedly looked at the floor.

«Thank you, and in return, I won’t object if it has passed through your young kidneys first…» he laughed noiselessly, almost guffawing.

Erin perked up, «You’re cracking jokes now, that’s a good sign!»

«I see how you enjoy my irony. Or my sarcasm… But let’s be serious now, daughter, what is there left to hide from, you know my diagnosis. The massaging of my arms and legs torments me constantly, it has no other purpose than to stop premature atrophy. I’m so humiliated when strangers clean my teeth every morning, wash my head, feed me from little spoons, wipe my backside with wet wipes and change my nappies. And my condition can only get worse. By the day. Everyone knows this already… Soon I’ll start getting bedsores too…»

«Dad, please…» said Erin, with a pleading look.

«The future looks grim for me… Will you do nothing?» Kevin sighed and looked at his daughter carefully.

«Your masculine character always made you different. You had a lot to get through, but despite it all, you still came through it as strong as an oak tree. Support Mum, she is finding it very hard to take all of this. And promise me, please, that you won’t grieve my passing too much, whatever happens. Life is a beautiful thing, and you have to enjoy it. I love you…»

«We need you, Dad! We all need you!» She looked at her father with a pleading look in her eyes.

«Come on, stop crying! You’re a big girl now! And remember, I’ll still be with you, even after I have left this earth. I’ll be looking down on all of you from behind the clouds, and if any dark clouds come, I’ll chase them away.»

Erin sat in silence, she turned her head to the window, which looked out onto the hospital’s inner courtyard. Fragile rays of early spring sunshine continued to penetrate through the window into the wardroom. Thank God it was now mid-March, winter had passed! Nature, having grown tired of either the infrequent wintry snows, or the frequent showers of rain, had now begun its renewal. The surroundings had taken on an air of cheeriness, even joyfulness, and had begun to shine, as if in a new coat of bright paint. The sky was now blue, and the smell of spring was in the air. Even the birds had now returned, and the pleasant sensation of change had stirred them too. They were bustling and singing, overjoyed at the long-awaited warmth. The trees had cast away their grey coatings and were now basking in the sun’s heat. Soon the first little leaves would come, the grass would grow greener and there would come the long-awaited revival. Maybe all anxieties and disappointments would finally disappear along with the last of the quickly melting snow? Her disciplined imaginations were now being confronted by sobering reality, and, understanding that the result of this story was a foregone conclusion, she still, for the hundredth or even the thousandth time, hoped for an act of mercy from the gods, for a miracle, which had still got to happen, in the name of upholding a trampled justice. For it was only this miracle that could bring her dear father an unexpected escape from this horrible disease.

«When was the last time you saw Rachel?» the voice of her father distracted her from her dismal train of thought.

«I went to the hospital at the start of the week. But she didn’t want to see me. The doctors say her condition is slowly getting worse.»

«Again?» he asked anxiously.

«Yes. Delusional thoughts and hallucinations again. I was told she got alcohol from somewhere and was openly making advances on the doctor, and was trying obscene acts on people…»

«Stop it, please, Erin,» his face grimaced in pain, «I can’t hear any more of this about my own daughter… Can you adjust my cushions a bit, I’m too low down.» She carefully plumped up his cushions so that he could lie more comfortably, not forgetting to kiss him on the forehead while she did so. Then she straightened out the wrinkles in the woollen blankets, out from under which tubes of liquid led under the bed. «And, if you can, please give me something to drink, Erin.» Here she held to his lips a transparent container with a tube running from it.

«What is this?»

«Water, Dad, like you asked for», she answered helpfully.

«There’s not even enough here to christen a witch,» he joked, without success.

She raised his head slightly and he, hiding his strain, slurped a few sips of water from the tube. He then made a surprised face, but across which suddenly a smile appeared once more: «Yes, this actually is water…»

«What were you expecting?»

«I was so hoping that for his day, Saint Patrick would make a miracle and turn this water into whisky.»

Smiles appeared on both their faces again.

«And yourself, how do you feel?» he asked.

«I’m alright, Dad. I went to the doctor’s a few weeks ago. They said I am fine. They even permitted me to do sport.»

«You’re going to the horse-riding club again?»

«I really want to do it again! I really enjoy it, but I haven’t been there for a while. A world of horses… And I really miss my Beowolf!»

«Beowolf is the very same thoroughbred racer that you talk about so much?»

«Yes. And he’s missed me, I’m sure, and he will have missed the horseracing and jumping. He loves those things!»

«Thank God! And what about your personal life, daughter? Is there any news that I’ll be overjoyed to hear? You must have a bloke by now! Well go on, spit it out!»

«No. Things aren’t going as well there as at work. And I have no time for it at the moment.»

«It’s not about time. I know you. All the real, reliable men have simply disappeared. So… what, have they all died out? Like the mastodons? Their places have been taken over by self-indulgent adult-children. Don’t you think?»

«Dad, I promise that when my searching yields results, you’ll be the first to know.»

«So, you mean that you’ve decided to search for a mastodon?» he grunted unpleasantly, «If so then I fear you’ll not be having results soon.»

«To be honest, the men I meet are young, and pretend to be of impeccable upbringing and venerable background. But then I see they’re just haughty, blue eyed snobs with crooked teeth and, sorry, but bad breath. And some of them would be nothing if it wasn’t for their parents’ chequebooks. You know, the more I get to know the world, the less I think I can find a man I can love truly…»

«These youngsters spend twelve years at boarding school, where they are whipped for walking out of step, and so they lose their independence of thought. And as a result, they consider us Irish to be good for nothing except drunken dancing. You’re a very smart girl, Erin. You understand how people work. But you also must listen to your heart… Often it is only the heart, not cold calculation, that tells us what to do next…»

«Yes of course, Dad. I have decided that, when my heart starts to beat faster, this is a signal that the man of my dreams is in front of me, a real and whole souled man, like you, Dad… Someone who will not complain, won’t reproach anyone, or blame anyone for their failings.»

«I don’t doubt that you’ll find the right man in the end. Marriage is not a joke… It can change your life forever. But you will succeed. You deserve great happiness, Erin! Open your heart for the right person’s arrow. Just don’t forget, please, that whoever you choose, he must be…»

«Irish, Dad!» she stated firmly.

«Precisely! And what else?» Kevin quizzed her. His eyes stared straight into hers, reminding her that these criteria were of vital importance.

«And a Catholic!»

«Clever girl! These are the answers I was expecting. That you know them calms me,» he nodded with satisfaction. «Thank you, daughter!»

At that moment someone knocked timidly on the door, and came in without a hurry, his Kathryn.

2. Kathryn

«Happy birthday, dear! And happy St Patrick’s Day!» she kissed her husband first on one cheek, then on the other, and sat down quietly beside him, putting a stylish leather handbag on the floor, which was grey to match her dark blue dress. She reckoned the bag was big enough to accommodate all her essentials whilst being sufficiently elegant at the same time. It was noticeable, however, that in her choice of dress she was somewhat more conservative and preferred something more old-fashioned, colours towards the more modest end of the spectrum.

There are women of stunning beauty and charm, and then there are women who are simply adorable, the kind that one would not leave for anyone else. Despite the external coldness of her typically Nordic appearance, Kathryn was certainly one of the latter. Her air of aloofness, emphasised by her light skin tone, with hair to match, and her long face, made her look more like a being from Scandinavian folklore, be it a fairy, an elf, or a mermaid.

However, given her advanced age, one might even dare to call her a snow queen. She was of pure Irish blood, yet possessed none of the strong will, intransigence, or rigour which often characterise such women. Quite to the contrary, her character was sophisticated, gentle, and dignified.

«Why are we sitting in silence on such a marvellous day, eh?» she asked her daughter, turning to look at her. «Be a dear and put on some of Dad’s favourite music. You’d like that, wouldn’t you dear?» Erin looked at her father and suggested, «The Dance of the Elves to start with?» and she reached over to the tape recorder standing on the windowsill.

Here, however, in a neat little frame under a layer of glass, there was an old photograph, one of her parents’ most beloved pictures, from which they, still so young, beautiful, and perfectly happy, looked out at her… Her eyes fell on the picture, and her heart missed a beat…

Kevin announced his choice, «First I want Celtic Dreams, if it’s there. When I came to Birmingham, I couldn’t bring all of Ireland with me, so I just brought a longing for her…»

«I’ve brought you our trademark mutton ragù and Barmbrack cake shaped like a shamrock with emerald icing. Erin made cream to go with it. Tuck in! You’ll have some, won’t you dear…»

«Can I have a pint of Guinness?» he interrupted his wife impatiently, «I know you brought some…»

«Kevin, the doctors forbade you from having even a drop of alcohol, which includes beer. You’ll get worse beyond repair…»

«I can’t get any worse than this. If you don’t let me down a Patrick’s Chalice today, don’t even think about asking me to eat those culinary masterpieces of yours… I won’t even touch them…»

«Alright dear,» Kathryn caved in; she knew that arguing with him was pointless, especially today, «on second thoughts, you should be allowed a drop or two on this sacred day.» She began to place the items on the bedside table, and a minute later she had improvised a spread for the occasion.

«I have a little present for you dear,» she got out a small clay figure, it was a dumpy little man dressed all in green. He was mending his left shoe.

«Ah!» said Kevin and smiled, «A leprechaun! My favourite fairy-tale creature. Thank you, Kathryn!»

«May he make all your dreams come true!»

«When we drink, we get drunk…» quietly and weakly, Kevin started to sing, and then Kathryn and Erin joined in on their favourite song, one which had become a family tradition to sing when feasting, and then in unison they broke into a great chorus: «When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to Heaven. So, let’s all get drunk and go to Heaven.»

The singing and the consumption of beer served to ease the atmosphere, it became content and relaxed. Even Kevin perked up. The gathering was evidently in the highest of spirits.

«Dad, I’d like to propose a toast» said Erin.

«I’m listening, my girl» he said, and his eyes filled with even more love than before. And Erin raised her glass and began her speech solemnly, full of emotion and patriotic verve:

«Dear Dad! I wish you to live to 100, and an extra year for repentance… I drink to your funeral boat. May it be built of oak a century old, which I shall plant tomorrow… I drink that God may grant good health not just to you, but to the enemies of your enemies… And may no doctor ever make even a penny off your back… May God treat you with kindness… But not too soon, I hope! I wish that, when you do die, it will be in bed at the age of 101, of a gunshot fired by another’s envious wife.»

«A brilliant toast!» Kevin thanked her, but he noticed that tears had filled Kathryn’s eyes, despite her earnest efforts to hold them back. She kept blinking and forcing herself to smile, though since he had fallen ill, her smile was only ever one of sadness.

«I want to raise a toast to all of us!» Kevin looked at the two women sitting beside him, and for a moment Erin found herself seeing her father once more in the way she had always remembered him… the happy Irishman, wearing a tall, green hat like a puffball mushroom covered in three leaf clovers, red of face, with a red Celtic beard and nose like a potato, with bright and attentive eyes, a small and funny looking mouth, and a mug of beer in his hand. «God bless all those I love. May he bless all those who love me… May God bless all those who love the ones I love, and all those who love those who love me. And you, Erin… may your children’s children have children!»

The ailing man was not up to eating any ragù, citing absence of appetite, but he had some barmbrack cake with the ever-popular cream.

«Absolutely delicious!» he praised his wife and daughter.

«Dad, I’m off to work now,» said Erin hurriedly, putting on her coat and glancing at the clock. «We’re really busy. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, OK? Get some rest!»

«Thanks, Erin! Take care of yourself!» in his face there was a bottomless love and appreciation of her care. «Erin Go Bragh!» proclaimed Erin, with a smile on her face, for it meant: «Ireland Forever.»

«Long Live Ireland,» Kevin answered with solemnity.

Once alone with Kathryn, she took him by the arm and looked softly into his eyes. The expression on her face was attentive and charming, her expressive eyes could speak without words. And oh! How much endurance, compassion, understanding and love they held all at the same time!

«You’re engrossed in thought, what about?» he asked.

«I love you. I always have,» she said quietly.

«And I love you…» Kevin whispered.

«I know, dear. But I always like it when you tell me. And even if you didn’t acknowledge it, you would show it all the same…»

«I remember how our life together started. No one can take the past away from us. It might all be in the past, but it is still here. Inside us, in our memories. When you had just come to work in my pub… you were so simple and unsophisticated. So unique and wide eyed, and at the same time so sweet, that you conquered my heart at once, and I was overtaken by the desire to be your first love…»

«I had no interest in you. To be honest, all I noticed in you was that you were attractive, I didn’t notice anything special about you…» Kathryn shrugged her shoulders in a feminine manner, and readjusted the pearls around her neck.

«But over time, seeing how well the «Dublin Boy’ could cook, as if by magic, and using his own recipes, I was enraptured by how sexy you were.»

«I had found a woman who had fallen head over heels in love with me, I was completely oblivious to the wave of fortune rushing over us. Loving you was the greatest privilege God has ever given me.»

«You didn’t just accept me into your life, but my one-year-old daughter… And you were a good father to Rachel… Not every man is up to that, Kevin. And for that I am truly grateful.»

«Sometimes I find myself asking what would have been if I had never met you. I have yet to find an answer. All I know is that without love, life loses all meaning. A life lived without love is to not have lived life at all! Do you remember dancing under the moon with me? You said to me, „You’d be a great dancer, if it weren’t for two small problems…“ I asked: „Which ones?“ and you answered happily, „your legs.“ Then I started to take lessons, then all you could do was hang onto my shoulders. And do you remember when we went and placed bets at the horse racing? How did we make our way in life? We bought a nice little house and garden, and we got to work on it together… I trimmed the bushes into shape, and you grew those beautiful roses…» but behind his smile he hid a sharp pang of longing for the past, which was a bloody long time ago now. «And I remember how patiently you taught me to cook… You really hoped for me to become an outstanding cook, or chef, as you always said. You were so romantic. Still are to this day!»

«And to this day you still bake the best pies in all of Birmingham», said Kevin distantly.

«You know, Kathryn, I still have these dreams where I see myself standing at a white-hot stove, ordering the younger cooks around, taste testing sauces, and ordering the slower waiters to get a move on. And then I catch sight of you, always very feverish and utterly irresistible, carrying a battered tray in your hands, and it’s always a moment of joy. I stare directly into your eyes, and an invisible channel forms between us, connecting us and through which I speak straight into your soul. And in our souls we’re always so comfortable together. We always were a great team, right?»

«Not everything was so perfect, dear. We did argue about stupid little things, but we always made up afterwards.»

«Yes, sometimes it was really impossible to put up with you! A real monster! But I accepted that it was better to argue with you several times a day than to succumb to the heat-of-the-moment desire to take someone else, and to spend the rest of my life agonising over that decision…»

«I know what you’re on about, Kevin… again about that bow legged, blond trainee covered in makeup, who came to your pub for work experience and very soon had you on your back in the back room?» she said condescendingly. But in her condescending words there was a hint of offence.

«I was really upset by our fight that day. It was a difficult time in the infancy of our relationship… A sort of crisis, it seemed to me. That day a devil got into me, and I let passion and emotion take hold of me… But no… I felt absolutely nothing for her, she just had a great body… and it happened. But that was the only time that happened. And it meant nothing.»

«You don’t need to keep bringing up the mistakes of your youth, dear… Don’t let those memories torment you. We’re together now, and that’s what matters. And how lucky I’ve been in life!» her face suddenly became crimson.

«This morning I woke up thinking that I was the luckiest man on earth. That my life is complete… Life… how quickly it has gone…» Kevin was emotional and spoke quickly, as if speaking straight from the soul in an attempt to relieve it of some burden. She remained silent, her lips tightly shut.

«But along with the joy that came to our home when you first arrived with the innocent smiles of our little girls, Rachel and Erin, there also came fear, yes, fear. For their future. For life…»

«For their health,» she reminded him. «Rachel proved to be full of surprises, and Erin, my clever girl Erin, had to overcome that difficult operation…»

«Erin is going to be fine, Kathryn. You’ll see. But Rachel, I really want to see her get better. I pray to God for that every day.»

«They both live in our hearts, and in our prayers, Kevin…»

«I just can’t get my head around it, what’s wrong with her? Do you remember a few weeks after you returned from the maternity home, she turned Erin’s pram on its side and the tiny little thing screamed and fell out onto the floor? At least she was unharmed, apart from one scratch! And sometimes she pinched her so much that the poor, defenceless little thing couldn’t stop crying. Where did all that malice come from? I still can’t fathom it to this day, where did we go wrong? What did we do to deserve that?»

«You can’t blame us for all that, dear. We weren’t bad parents. I think everything will look up eventually. We need to be a bit more patient. We will leave it in the hands of God, and the doctors. She is in good hands. First, we must take care of you, Kevin. Tell me some good news, please… Or sing something…»

«I don’t want to sing, Kathryn. And as you know I am not an orator. Never was. I can’t articulate my emotions well. We men are tough creations. However, I can tell you this, you were my guiding star. No one can take our love off us! I am grateful to you for every day that we spent together. You deserved much better than me. All I can do now is beg for your forgiveness for every upset I inflicted on you.» His face remained motionless and grey, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

«And forgive me, Kevin. Sometimes I wore you down with my nit-picking, I really bugged you…»

«So, finally you admit it?» Kevin said triumphantly.

«Yes, I admit it. I remember our arguments, I always wanted to win because victory made me feel more self-confident. That’s why I always stood my ground, even though it damaged our relationship. It seemed to me that I had to assert my right to supremacy in the family. How was I to know that the happiness of the family was more important than our exhausting squabbling in search of an imaginary justice?»

«I’m glad to be assured that wisdom definitely does come with age, Kathryn!»

«But you were wise even at the beginning of our life together, dear! You could have turned your back on me and left a long time ago. But you didn’t. You always forgot about the most recent argument for the sake of making the peace, for the sake of love. Don’t you think that is amazing? And I am grateful to you for it.»

«I did not leave you, but this was only because I always remembered the words of the vicar at our wedding in St Chad’s Cathedral. He asked us if we were ready to „be faithful to one another, in illness or health, in happiness or sadness, for rich or for poor?“ We both answered we were. And then he pronounced us man and wife, adding: „That which God has united, man cannot separate,“ Kathryn, I cannot repeat this enough, remember this. I am happy… I am waiting for my time, and I’m not scared…»

«Don’t give me that nonsense!» and the emotional nature of her incorrigible soul boiled over inside her, «at least not on your birthday! Have you thought about us?»

«You need to face facts. I have cancer. I am completely disabled. Life, if this state of being can be called life, has taken a turn for the worst. The doctors shrug their shoulders and won’t even look me in the eye. They’ve already written me off.»

«Whilst your lungs have breath in them, Kevin, you are fighting. You are alive, even if only for our sake.»

«But why? Why should I go on without hope? If the pain killers are now useless? If new and intolerable suffering and gloom increases by the hour? But the law of life is simple: one must pay for one’s own sins…»

«Will you stop beating that into the ground?» she choked out through tears. «I forgave you a long time ago for that fling with the trainee… Although I swore once never to forget about it!»

«But you spent a long time exploiting my guilt… That exploit has left a small scar on my conscience… and shame… But I’m not talking about that.»

«What are you talking about then?»

«That’s not important, Kathryn…»

«Is there something else I don’t know about? Tell me, Kevin, sharing a problem halves it. Don’t let your conscience torment you.»

«I can’t. It’s a long story…»

«I’ll find out sooner or later.»

«Please be patient, Kathryn. Everything has its time. But today, on my birthday, I wanted to speak to you.»

«Well then, speak… I’m listening…» she looked at him patiently.

«My dear Kathryn, my love,» he said, and then went silent. It was obvious he was trying to gather courage. She looked at him, and her lips faltered in desperation and powerlessness. «I do not see a reason to keep on living. It can only get worse for me. Why should I be a burden on you, the children, and on myself?»

«You’re not a burden!» Kathryn said, trying to reassure him.

«Don’t lie to me, please. That’s the one thing you’re no good at.»

«Put yourself in my shoes… could this not have happened to me?» she asked, a lump forming in her throat.

«I have thought about that too. But imagination and reality have little in common…»

«But there is still hope, no matter how little… There is always a sliver of chance…»

«Rubbish! I don’t need a false saviour! Don’t you understand, I have no more will to live, at all! Yes, truth be told, this is principally for my sake. This is not about you or the children. It is very moving that you want with all your heart to ease my pathetic condition…»

She hid her eyes and stared into the far corner of the wardroom. He said her name, and there was an urging in his voice, asking for her to understand, to forgive him. «You’re a kind person, and that is important!» said Kathryn, after a pause. «You have so much warmth inside you! And you can love with your whole heart! I have always looked up to you! I have always admired your work ethic, I always admired how you worked towards your success.»

«I had a long and tiresome road to go down, Kathryn, you know that…»

«If it was not for your perseverance and endurance, your ambitious hopes…»

«That is the only way you can not only stand on your own two feet, but also reach for the stars…»

«But dear, you were not born with those things, but you reached the moon anyway… You never promised your family anything more than you were in a position to deliver.»

«You know, dear, who stopped us…»

«From reaching the stars? Yes, Margaret Thatcher…»

«The very same. The «Iron Lady’. With her inhumane policies and relationship with the people. Do you remember, her economic plans were meant to end up with high unemployment? She strangled the trade unions with her bare hands, she ended the subsidisation of unprofitable companies. She raised taxes and lowered spending on social development. How many people ended up on the streets, without a penny in their pocket. All because she judged inflation to be a greater danger than three and a half million unemployed.»

«Yes, those were hard times… The people went bust…» Kathryn answered sadly.

«And then in 1981, in Ireland our homeland, there was a big string of hunger strikes and riots, and the Baroness’ response was overly brutal. No wonder there was an assassination planned against her. Do you remember the bomb at the party conference in Brighton? If it were not for her victory in the Falklands War, she would have lost the 1983 election.» Kevin continued his endless search for historic justice. This seemed to be one of the few things that could intermittently take his mind off things.

«The next two years were overshadowed by the miners’ strikes. Without batting an eyelid, the lady premier destroyed the nation’s coal industry with a single stroke, and left tens of thousands unemployed, and the pound crashed. That was why, when she died, there were celebrations in many of our cities, London, Bristol, Liverpool and Glasgow. People had placards with Ding-dong, the witch is dead written on them, people celebrated with champagne…»

«But you cannot argue, Kevin, we both felt sorry for her… Despite everything she did…»

«Yes, despite all that, she was still a human being. And a woman. Of course, you remember that poor woman had several strokes and a broken arm. Before she died, she had to go to the therapist for hallucination and dementia. I felt sorry for her, of course. Only death could bring her escape from her anguish, and, I hope, forgiveness for everything she had done, even though she never expressed regret for anything…»

«They should stop feeding you and just let you discuss politics and economics all day and all night, dear, you understand the ins and outs like the back of your hand… I can see it brings you great pleasure…»

«It is good that we see eye to eye on these issues, Kathryn!»

«Well obviously! If I was not also of 100% Irish stock, these discussions of ours would always and inevitably end in an overblown argument.»

«That’s where you’re wrong, my love! It wouldn’t end in an argument, but in a speedy divorce! That’d be it!»

«I value your sense of humour! You could outdo Tony Hancock at this. You’ve always been able to make me laugh, or at least force a smile.»

«With a big more luck… I could have you rolling on the floor in laughter…»

«You were lucky enough to be an Irishman, is that not enough already!» she retorted.

«Kiss me, Kathryn. I want to be reminded of the taste of your lips for the rest of time.»

For a moment, she felt embarrassment. But then, a second having passed, she leaned over to him and firmly kissed him on the mouth with her kind and pink lips, and briefly picked up the partially sweet, partially bitter smell of almonds. Her heart was racing. As their lips parted, he noticed that her large, dark eyes held a sad smile, and that her soul seemed completely void.

At this time, it was getting dark outside. The day of the Heavenly Patron was coming to a close. The weather started to get worse, the sky became overcast with big, grey clouds, and then came a drizzle of rain. Gloomy and grey. Kathryn sighed heavily and exited the hospital, feeling an unexpected coldness. She opened her large umbrella over her head, which partially concealed her face from passers-by, her face which had in the course of her visit become pinched and worn, and also covered over her fragile figure, now permeated with a great sadness. It also hid her eyes in darkness, brimming with tears of salt, like a boundless ocean. A feeling of hopelessness enraptured her body.

Deep in thought, she wandered the streets of Birmingham, this great industrial English city. The streetlights had already come on, the shopfronts were shining brightly, tempting the city’s shoppers, drunk with everything from ale to whisky with green shamrocks, with brightly coloured celebratory wreaths, and discounts advertised on brightly coloured signs. But she noticed none of these sights at all. Her strikingly transparent eyes, with their indescribable grief, gazed off somewhere in the distance, and her head was filled with the realisation of the hollowness of her existence.

«What is life?» she asked herself. «A single moment. And everything must come in this moment, birth, a baby’s cry, their smile, their first timid movements and the unintelligible babbling, the happy and carefree childhood, the first love, laughter and tears, victories and defeats, loss of loved ones, the overcoming of all kinds of problems. All of this must be done in this single moment. And what is death? Alas, it is not a moment, but eternity itself. Its arrival is inevitable. Who on earth has the power to stop it? Or at least delay it? To succeed in savouring the moment, in which we were all so happy…»

3. Rachel

Erin began to tire from the journey to the Central Psychiatric Hospital in Northern Nottinghamshire. She had been driving her two-year-old, beige-coloured Peugeot 307 quite fast, and without stopping, but there was still an hour and a half until her destination, even if she drove quickly. She was enjoying the warm yet wet weather, despite a soft wind blowing, but inside she was somehow anxious, confused, and grim. For a moment, something like a ray of light caught her eye and she looked up to the sky, but she saw no sunshine. She saw a few single clouds and a small gaggle of sparrows overhead, followed by a small gaggle of rooks. Hills and uplands were replaced by lowlands and thick woods, fertile lands of broad pastures and wild grasslands with cultivated fields. Brave yet skinny deer appeared along the road, hungry foxes ran past in search of fat partridges, and fat wild rabbits crawled into bushes of boxwood…

Finally, Northern Nottinghamshire came into view, with its landscape of rolling hills and large ducal estates. Once there were mining towns here, they reached up to the north out of Nottinghamshire and into Yorkshire. But of these mines, workplaces for thousands of able-bodied men, almost all were closed by the Conservative government in the 1980s, and all that was left to remind people of their former existence were abandoned windmills standing over the mineshafts. On the bright side, another interesting attraction came into view, Sherwood Forest, or at least what was left of it since the Middle Ages. Robin Hood, leader of the forest bandits, took refuge in this forest along with his merry men… And there was the family home of Lord Byron: Newstead Abbey. Erin remembered that in Nottinghamshire once also lived the father of Lemuel Gulliver, who she believed was a minor landlord, and the main character of Jonathan Swift’s novels «Gulliver’s Travels».

She caught sight of the building of glass and metal off in the distance, rising menacingly through the trees and shining with a brilliant white. An unidentifiable magnetism emanated from the building, beckoning to nonchalant and careless souls. Erin stopped the car and felt a cold biting through her body, causing her to seize up and clench her teeth. This hospital was considered one of the best in Britain, and possessed the highest level of security, which gave a deceptive air of comfort and protection. These conditions were considered the most important, for it was here that patients were brought who had mental health problems making them a danger to those around them. The appointment with her sister had been booked in advance by telephone, and agreed to by Rachel’s doctor. And now, having arrived, the first thing she wanted to do was talk with Doctor Johnson.

Waiting for the doctor, and having made herself comfortable in an armchair in the visiting room, she got her new iPhone from her bag and began taking pictures of the room to show to her father later on. Before long, Doctor Johnson arrived, a woman with a no-nonsense appearance, she reminded Erin that her sister needed calmness and positivity, so she must under no circumstances excite her at all.

«Your sister, Miss O’Brian… can at times manage to make a good first impression on people, because she can be charming, enchanting, and witty. She thinks very highly of herself… But she is unable to build long-term bonds with people, since the more they get to know her, the more they begin to see her darker side,» the doctor was clearly tense, and her tension seemed to grow in the course of their conversation. She straightened up in her chair, bore into Erin with her penetrating gaze, and continued: «Miss O’Brian, I should tell you that as an experienced psychologist, I have managed to «get the hang of’ her, even though she is a master of trickery and manipulation. This is a common for sycophants like your sister. In addition, she is displaying signs of schizophrenia. She has no guilty conscience whatsoever. Quite to the contrary, she very often blames others for her own actions, twists others’ words, and is skilful at distorting a situation so that others are always to blame. She considers everyone else to be beneath her…

«How are you treating her, doctor?» Erin asked anxiously.

«I hope that you’re in the know, Miss O’Brian. You don’t think, contrary to common myths that have come about, that psychiatry is frozen far in the past? We haven’t been using lobotomies, electroshock therapy, or other dangerous experiments as a means of treatment for about 50 years now. Understand?» She looked at Erin in a kind of severe, anticipating way, fixing her cold, analytical eyes on hers, and the latter heard the clear stolidity and starkness in her question. Recognising medical terms the doctor had used, Erin felt a shudder run through her legs. She remembered that not long after Rachel was put in the hospital, Erin happened to come across a long article in a magazine, in which the darkest and most truly disturbing aspects of psychiatry were described.

This scientific field very often subjected patients suffering from psychological problems to horrible operations… Erin couldn’t remember the name of the Portuguese psychiatrist, Monish, maybe. This doctor conducted an operation on a chimpanzee to remove the frontal lobes of the brain, after which he claimed to have changed how it behaved, that he had made it become obedient and calm. Later, he proposed to drill a hole in a patient’s skull, and to insert a wire loop into the brain, rotating it to remove the white matter from the frontal lobes. For this he received a Nobel Prize in Medicine. His successors conducted tens of thousands of such «operations», using electroshock therapy as pain management. A new instrument was devised for this kind of operation, which brought an ice pick to mind. The sharp end was pointed at the eye orbit to penetrate the thin layer of bone with the help of a surgical hammer, and the instrument was inserted into the brain, inflicting irreversible damage, and turning every third patient into a vegetable. There was even a special «Lobotomobile’, a van in which psychiatrists travelled around different countries, offering miraculous healing and conducting operations in front of live audiences, in the same manner as a circus. They even put restless and simply uncooperative children under the knife, it changed them permanently… The operation permanently destroyed part of the person’s personality and individuality. Many of them then had meningitis and epileptic seizures, and if they did not become vegetables, then they committed suicide.

Erin remembered that victims were men with alternative sexual orientations, as well as women. Women, who never had as much social status as men, were more likely to suffer from depression, anxiety and hysteria, and the simple solution was to declare them insane and have them hospitalised, where a lobotomy keenly awaited them. These operations may have been arranged by their close ones; the woman lost her individuality, and she became far easier to control, she would become completely dependent and obedient, provided she survived the operation…

One of the women described in the article was Rosemary Kennedy, the oldest sister of the American President John Kennedy. Doctors concluded that she had made little progress in comparison to other children. For 20 years her parents did not know what to do, Rosemary became uncontrollable, she developed a nymphomaniac propensity and aggressive behaviour. The doctors convinced her parents that it was necessary to try a lobotomy, and this immediately became popular as the latest method of treatment for these patients. That was in 1941. As a result of the operation, Rosemary remained a feeble, incapacitated invalid until her death, with the developmental level of a two-year-old.

Remembering that chilling article now, Erin felt her skin become covered with sweat, her eyes darkened over, and her mind began to pound, as if an ice pick had penetrated her skull under the strike of a surgical hammer.

«Are you alright?» she heard the doctor’s voice. «What are you thinking about? Your sister?»

Erin forced a gulp and answered quietly, «Yes, about a sister… Kennedy’s…» In these endless seconds she felt as though the doctor’s glaring eyes had crudely penetrated her brain and seized control of her very consciousness. «Alas, the poor Rosemary, there was nothing for her in those days… Nowadays, I wouldn’t turn down such an opportunity… But you, Miss O’Brian, should really be thinking about your own sister…»

«Maybe she needs something else? Some sort of stronger medicine? I can have a look for something…»

«Don’t worry. We have the whole range of essential means. We have looked at her clinical picture, as well as the development and stage of her illness, to prescribe an effective course of therapy for her. This includes antidepressants and neuroleptics which, I hope, will help her overcome delirium, hallucination, and aggressive behaviour. But you have to understand that, unfortunately, a sure-fire method of curing schizophrenia does not yet exist.»

«No?» Erin repeated, and felt her wild heartbeat rising in her throat.

«No, it does not. But in most cases, carefully selected treatment can allow the patient to work, have a family, and carry-on life as they did before,» but her words were not convincing.

«And what do we, as her relatives, have to do now? How should we treat her?»

«It is most important not to push her away. Remember, it is the illness turning your sister into the unstable person she is at present. The world these kinds of people inhabit is entirely different to our own. It’s a different planet. At this point in time, she remains a threat to society, so there can be no question of discharging her home for some time yet. By the way, I wanted to ask, when did you first notice this abnormal behaviour in her?»

«She’s been like this since she was a child, Doctor Johnson,» Erin answered. «She was cruel to other children, she also liked torturing animals. When she got a bit older, she became violent, damaging others’ property and getting into fights. She stole things from school on two occasions. Then she ran away from home a few times, started to drink, and even use soft drugs… The paediatrician called it «social deviance’…»

«As I suspected,» the doctor cut in suddenly. «The clinical picture was very precise. I’m certain this is genetic.»

«What do you mean?» Erin was nonplussed.

«Was there anyone with a similar illness in your family? Amongst your very close relatives, members of your immediate family maybe? Is there anything you’d like to tell me about that?»

«No, there weren’t,» said Erin firmly.

«Are you sure?» the doctor narrowed her eyes, and it struck Erin how masculine she now looked.

«Yes, of course.»

«Strange…» the doctor remarked doubtfully. Clearly the conviction with which Erin had refuted her authoritative opinion had made her less certain. «Very well, if you don’t want to talk any further, then I’ll leave you. I have other patients… Goodbye!» she frowned one final time and then got up, marching out of the room along the large, yellow corridor with quick yet heavy steps.

Erin did not have to wait for long. Rachel appeared at the end of the corridor, moving slowly in her direction. Her frightened red eyes darted from side to side from under dishevelled black hair, as if searching for something. She was wearing a knitted jacket with a small collar with edging. She was also wearing trousers, and her hands were in her pockets.

«You’re right on time,» she said coldly, coming up to Erin.

«Rachel! Sis! Give me a hug!» Erin held out her arms for a hug. But Rachel recoiled, saying spiritlessly, «Must you?»

«What do you mean? I don’t understand…»

«Must you arrive bang on time?» she repeated her question in a demanding and meticulous tone.

«Punctuality shows respect to the person waiting for you.»

«You’re nothing but a killjoy, always on about your sense of duty. And who said I was waiting for you?» her initial coldness was replaced by a chilliness.

«Sorry, Rachel. Were you busy?» asked Erin apologetically.

«Busy? Hmm, sounds interesting… was I busy?» she asked again mockingly. «Don’t know. Give me a moment and I’ll ask for you…» she turned her head to the left and whispered loudly, «Hi Rachel, you busy?» this charade made Erin’s heart seize up. But then her sister turned sharply to face her again, saying, «No, the voice says she isn’t busy. As it happens, I have heaps of time. So, my dearest Erin, Daddy’s little girl, I courteously invite you into my world! Welcome, ha ha ha!» this mean-spirited jeering reverberated in Erin’s ears as a disturbing, repetitive echo.

Rachel rubbed the armchair very intensely three times with her hand, the same armchair on which Doctor Johnson had sat before, before sitting down on it. Dishevelling her black hair with even more force, she gazed at Erin with indifference.

«You’ve lost weight! Do you eat at all?» Erin asked with concern.

«That’s not my fault… that’s all them…» her hands began frantically waving along the length of her body.

«Who are «they’, Rachel? What are you talking about?»

«The tapeworms. They’re taking over my body, gnawing their way through and eating me from inside out.»

«Rachel! What are you on about? That’s all in your head.»

«You mean your big sister is lying? No, it’s not in my head. And my blood is not flowing through my veins in the right direction, it’s going in the opposite direction. Granted, that odious little doctor does not agree with me. I know her intentions…»

«What?»

«She’s a bad person, Erin. A real monster! She dreams of drilling into my brain and digging out my gyrus. But I won’t let her!»

«That’s rubbish, Rachel! She can’t do that! Please…»

«Have you brought Mum’s beads she promised me?» she suddenly asked quietly, changing the subject.

«Yes, here,» Erin reached into her bag for them.

«Beautiful!» she said, taking the amber coloured beads and studying them with interest. «Thanks! Help me put them on. Appearance comes first for a woman, right? You like them?»

«Stunning! No need to do yourself up now.»

«Really? It’s a shame you’re not a man saying that. I’d never leave you alone… Give me your little mirror, I want to admire myself.» Having studied her reflection in the impartial, oval-shaped surface of the mirror, she immediately pursed her lips, and started to get worked up:

«I don’t recognise myself anymore…»

«You’ve not changed at all. You’ve just lost weight…»

«You’re a great liar! Mastered it, have you?»

«But it’s true, Rachel!» said Erin, trying again to reassure her, but her sister remained unconvinced.

«Look at me! I see a completely different person. Are those my arms, my legs, my nose, my face, my body? Where’s my small and shapely nose gone? It’s massive now! I’m ugly now… From head to toe… Don’t you see, my bones have disappeared? Dissolved by Valium,» she raised her arms to the ceiling, and at once threw them down again. She was now becoming angry and aggressive.

«But it doesn’t matter!» she said belligerently, «I’ll get him back… no matter what…»

«Get who back, Rachel?» asked Erin calmly.

«Luke! Who else? You don’t know him?» she said surprisedly, «My man.»

«Who is he? Is he here too?»

«Yes, he’s a writer. If he gets his hands on even a single scrap of paper and a stump of pencil he’ll write anywhere, about anything… He says that, for a good novel, he really needs imagination. And he finds it in me. He says I’m his muse, and the other day, he said that I was the most beautiful… But Doctor Johnson says he says that because he’s ill, what’s it called… I think it’s „graphorrhoea.“ I heard that, a few days ago, she told him he has worms, but not like mine. A different kind. His are huge and dusty bookworms. They torment him and force him to write. But the doctor insists that his works have no cultural value. That she can cure him. To do that she is trying to cause him a writer’s block, a chronic block… But Luke told me in secret that he’ll write anyway, with his own blood, if need be, on the yellow hospital walls… But I don’t know if I should take his attraction to me seriously or not. It might all just be a joke…» her conscience was a ceaseless train of thought. «I know that Luke and Doctor Johnson make fun of how I feel, and he cheats on me with her behind my back… Jealousy is wearing me down, and I sometimes have an insatiable desire to strangle the pair of them with my bare hands, with great pleasure…» there was now no warmth in her eyes whatsoever.

«What are you on about, Rachel?» Erin interrupted her. «You’re acting like a headcase…»

«I’m living my own life. You wouldn’t understand. You think I’m stupid because I’m waiting for a shining engagement ring on my nameless finger, waiting for his kiss on my lips? You have to make the most out of life, it is so fleeting, and you have to share your body with someone! If I have one weakness, then it’s sex…»

«I don’t recognise you, Rachel! What I’m hearing, you’re going mad!»

«If there’s one thing I do not need right now, it is a high-and-mighty lecture from my younger sister… What do you know? I happen to be being tormented by hopeless love. Nothing on earth can come close to the bitterness of love rejected. But life goes on. Do you remember how to dance? The second partner changes places with the first, the third with the second… And you dance while you can, whilst you’re young! And live life to the full, whilst you can. But macho men, so untrustworthy and faithless, so depraved… I was depressed, and felt like a right moron, before I realised I had to forget about them! Put them out of my mind. Idiots! They rejected me!»

«I know, you don’t deserve that, Rachel…»

«Yes, I’m unhallowed. I prayed and confessed to all my sins in expectation of a miracle. And Jesus came to me, and he told me that I was the most faithful Christian myrrh bearer Mary Magdalene, and that I was worthy of his love. He gave me a jar of incense, and ordered me to pour myrrh over his legs and to dry it with my hair. Then he pronounced that it was for my sake that he died on the cross and resurrected, to cure me of the Seven Sins…» she nodded her head with certainty, continuing her nonsensical narrative, not letting her sister get in a single word.

«He warned me that my clothes will soon decay, but that my nakedness will be covered by my long hair. I am growing it now, and he said my haggard body will be flown up to Heaven by angels every night for healing.» Erin was silent. She observed the unfolding scene and tried to avoid making contact with those familiar and darkened eyes opposite her, and gradually fought back tears. An indescribable horror gripped her, horror and sorrow. It had finally happened, Rachel had gone mad! And her entire world with it! «What will I say to them when I get home?»

Then she saw something new, something she was hard pressed to believe, Rachel had now begun to grin like an animal. But to her surprise, Rachel asked with sadness and naïveté in her voice:

«You don’t believe me either?» and she burst into tears bitterly. «You don’t believe that Jesus came to see me, a sinner? You’re asking why he is with me, and not you?» and then she suddenly broke out into a disturbing laugh, almost a guffaw, and exclaimed loudly, «It’s because he would never have come to visit the world of believers…»

«Rachel…» Erin was trying all she could to calm her sister down, «you’re acting like a headcase. Sometimes I think you’re only putting on this charade, this ham-fisted farce, just to get back at me?»

«Thank God, you get it at last!» she triumphantly raised her hands to the ceiling. «You had me locked up in here! Shame on you!»

«We had to, Rachel! You‘re ill!»

«You’re the sick ones! You decided to get rid of me… Even our wise father… To whom I’m useless…»

«You’re angry with us?»

«Angry? Don’t ask stupid questions! You’re all long dead to me. As I am to you! You have no place in my life! I’ll never ever forgive you! I’m sick of being goody two shoes!»

«What have I ever done to you, Rachel? Why do you hate me… we’re sisters. For basically your entire life Mum and Dad ran around after you like a child.»

«They never loved me, especially not after you were born. They did nothing but cherish you and pamper you. And for me? Nothing! It made me furious!»

«That’s not how it was, Rachel! Stop it! How could you say that now? Now, with Dad dying. He has cancer!» but the other didn’t raise an eyebrow. She just bit greedily into a juicy, bright red, almost blood red apple, and asked with annoyance, «All you ever think about are yourselves. Did you ever think ever about me? What was I even born for at all?»

«That was God’s will.»

«It was more likely Mum’s and Dad’s sexual craving… And did they ever ask me if I wanted to exist on this earth?»

«A strange conversation. You know what, dear sister, I’ll tell you this, you‘re impossible! What are you trying to achieve here anyway?»

Suddenly she pressed herself up against the back of the armchair, burrowing herself into it, and requested sadly, «I want you to burn my slippers whilst I’m here. Otherwise they‘ll wither and die of lack of attention. And, if you want, you can sleep in my bedroom sometimes. It’s okay… Don’t you love me at least a bit?»

Joy emanated in Erin’s mind: «Hallelujah! Oh Lord, hallelujah! Is this anything less than a miracle?» It was as though there were several different versions of her sister which constantly fought with each other, buckling under pressure at first from the dark side of her, which was evidently more powerful, and then back to the lighter side. In that moment, her face perked up in a long-awaited and promising way, which laid bare the lighter side of her perception of life. This was a very good omen.

«I love you so much Rachel!» she answered joyously, «you’re my sister!»

«But sometimes I think you hate me…»

«Sometimes I really did begin to hate you. But even then I… I did love you. Wait, let me take a picture for Dad…» they hugged, wrapping their arms around one another, and tightly pressing up against each other. «Oh, your hair is caught in my earrings.» Erin, with an embarrassed smile, tried to disentangle her golden ear clip from Rachel’s dishevelled black hair. Rachel, helping Erin to free her hair, exposed her neck, upon which under her locks there was hidden a circular, brown birthmark the size of a small pea, so soft and coquettish. She had doubtlessly driven a few men, even those who had been round the block a few times, out of their minds with it.

«It’s never too late to start again! It’s most important for us to be together, Rachel. A burden has been taken off my shoulders and I’m so delighted. Peace?»

«Hmmm, not sure…» she was still slightly obstinate. «Maybe, but peace will take a while. It’s complicated. Do you remember when I taught those good-for-nothings a lesson in our pub?» Of course, Erin remembered the incident mired in scandal, which led to consequences so serious as to threaten the family business. Rachel had the job of helping the waiters in the pub. The incident occurred on a Friday night, when the pub was filled to the rafters. «Those two new customers, English ones, who placed that order? Remember? Those two little prissy girls did not like our Irish food!»

«I remember, I was serving their table,» thinking back to this incident made Erin feel uncomfortable, «then you came along and never let me get a word in!»

«Those Anglo-Saxons, so high and mighty, too proud to share a drink with me! Paid no attention to me! They were probably content just to be by themselves! Then they threw an off glance in my direction… Refused to pay for their food they wolfed down. Those beautiful pork ribs in gravy to induce drooling… They said they preferred vegetarian food, and demanded a vegetable salad on the house… A little voice inside me told me instantly how to ruffle their feathers…»

«You asked them what they were doing…»

«Yeah, those odious, pathetic penny-pinchers worked as archive rats in the London Museum of Modern Arts, and had come up to Birmingham for a romantic weekend…»

«To this day I have no idea what possessed you to offer them, these experts of modern art, the «masterpiece of culinary art.» How much balls to bring them faeces in the shape of a cracknel biscuit, calling this «dish’ spinach puree. And you happily wished them bon appetit! It’ll be a long time before I will have the strength to torture myself with awful memories like that. How much effort and how many means Dad needed to sort that one out!»

Rachel guffawed provocatively. People near them began to give sidelong looks in their direction. An older woman, a visitor, was listening in, and nodded her head, indicating understanding that it was inevitable for the inhabitants of the hospital to behave in this way. Stopping her laughter suddenly, Rachel opened her black eyes and, in a kind of secretive and conspiratorial way, whispered: «Listen! Do you hear a voice?»

«A voice?»

«Yes, Erin, a voice! A voice from the Heavens, they’re calling me, I must go… Leave me…»

Laden with a heavy burden in her stomach, Erin watched her leave. She then slowly exited for her beige Peugeot 307 and started the engine. Throwing a parting glance at the hospital, her eyes read the sign above the main entrance…

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…

She gave herself a shake and returned to reality, realising that this was a trick of her imagination.

That night, in a dream, she saw Doctor Johnson. Her masculine figure with her smooth, naked torso leaned rapaciously over her bed. Alongside her, looking at Erin sadly, there was the quietly pleading and petrified face of the writer, Luke. Suddenly, her bewildered, maddened eyes met the wild eyes of the doctor, who hissed acidly, exposing her toothless mouth and clearly striking every word:

«I will prove to you, red-headed darling Erin O’Brian, that this is genetic! And I won’t bid you farewell, because I’ll see you soon!»

4. Arthur and the gypsy

Arthur woke at dawn, screwing up his eyes immediately against the ray of sun beaming persistently into them, reminding him to get up. He unwillingly stretched out an arm from under the sheets and put on his wristwatch on a leather strap. It had just gone 7 o’clock. He still had 23 minutes remaining until his alarm clock went off. But this restless and irrepressible ray of warm, soft April sun continued to bear down on him, having set its sights on his sleepy eyes…

He stood up and began to move towards the bathroom. Brushing his brilliant white teeth with a thorough, circular motion, he examined himself in the mirror thoughtfully, «Nearly 33, but still in good form,» he thought reassuringly. A tall man stood looking at him from the other side of the mirror, well built with broad shoulders which demonstrated his strong complexion, with a bright, noble face and expressive, dark blue eyes. His hair was a light chestnut brown with a pleasant lustreless character, and which was naturally curly, attesting to his being well born, in the same way as the chestnut brown or, as is more common, black curly mane of a thoroughbred white horse. His eyes were set under thin, handsome eyebrows. Above them was his open, pale forehead on which, if one looked closely, one could notice the first signs of shallow wrinkles criss crossing each other. His straight nose, with a small but noticeable bump, told of his forthright character, occasionally tempered to the wise compromise, and pyjamas fastened only by two lower buttons, and which gave a glimpse of his strikingly pure whiteness. This told of a true gentleman, rejective of anything ostentatious, but loving of order, comfort, a fresh outfit, and a rich library.

Entering the room opposite his, Arthur tenderly kissed his soundly sleeping daughter on the forehead and caringly rearranged her bedsheets. From the next room there came the loud snoring of his aunt. Going downstairs into the kitchen, he expertly prepared himself the traditional full English of fried eggs, toast, sausages, tomatoes, and mushrooms. He had a strong black coffee with it and, dressing for the weather in a coat, and taking his briefcase, he set off out into the street with his usual unhurried step, moving in an easy and elegant manner. He wanted a bit of a stroll to take in the pure morning air, before foggy smog could descend on the city. He was in no hurry, since he had more than enough time before the working day started. It was only the previous day that he had beaten fierce competition in all manner of interviews and was finally offered a long-awaited and tantalising job at a big hospital with a very highly regarded reputation. His first day had now arrived, he now had to step up and fulfil his serious burden of responsibilities as a neurosurgeon.

«You blind? You just ran into an old lady, almost knocked her off her feet!» standing in the middle of the pavement, staring at him with offence, was a woman who was long-in-the-tooth, a brightly coloured headscarf flung carelessly around her head. She was holding her right arm to one side in which she carried a lit candle, every finger adorned with golden rings which glistened in the sunlight. Her other arm supported a big sewn bag hanging from her back.

She seemed taller than she actually was, and such a slim figure could only belong to a dancer. Or a former dancer. She did not look like a native of the British Isles, Spanish, perhaps. Her skin was slightly darkened and had a certain mirific, golden shade. Her face, which held a bygone beauty, was framed in blueish black, long, and curly hair, though if one looked closely, one could make out the several strands of grey. And her wide, bold eyes, shining in the yet weak morning sun, showed her strong willed and independent character, but she was at the same time, it seemed, kind and righteous. Everything about her reminded Arthur of the charming Esmeralda, the heroine of the Victor Hugo novel The Cathedral of Notre-Dame, who danced to the banging of drums. To be more precise, she reminded him of the actress Gina Lollobrigida, who had, a very long time ago, made a triumph of this role. The only difference was that the heroine of the novel was 16 years old and the Esmeralda confronting him was of a more respectable age, about 40 years older… How on earth could he have failed to notice this lady?

«Why you just standing there?» she boldly took a step towards him, as though challenging him to a duel.

«Forgive me, madam,» answered Arthur politely, bowing his head slightly and made to walk past, but it seemed the woman was not going to forgive him easily.

«Forgive you? I should think not!» she answered sharply, and proudly drew herself up to her full height, her necklace of golden coins and badges, pearls, beads, colourful stones, and corals jingling on her chest. Her bright red skirt of chiffon, long and flared, embroidered with lace and crystals, swayed in harmony with her movement, showing her plain sandals with straps which brought Greek sandals to mind, and painted tassels with buckles. Had Arthur not seen these, he could have been led to believe with certainty that she was barefoot.

«Are you blind? I’m here to sing Jelem Jelem for a sacred ritual, or don’t you know what that is. Or are you deaf? Keep walking, you scared me!»

«What ritual, madam?» asked Arthur without thinking, believing this entire episode to be just a silly coincidence, something of no concern to him at all…

«Don’t you know what day it is, young man?»

«I do know, ma’am, the 8th of April…» he racked his brains, trying to remember seeing any special occasions marked on the calendar on his kitchen wall.

«Exactly! The 8th of April! Need I explain? But you wouldn’t understand anyhow,» clearly, she was to beat around the bush with him no longer, and began to address him as ty, and to pointlessly wave her arm at him. But she had hurt this English gentleman’s feelings.

«Wait, madam… I… I ask for your forgiveness for offending you, I didn’t mean to…» he said quickly, but suddenly found he could not take his eyes off this woman, and was intrigued: «What significance has today, madam?»

«It’s World Gypsy Day!» she said with open pride, but in her voice there were underlying tones of aggravation. «Shame you didn’t know. Remember this day!» and she slapped him on the shoulder with the palm of her hand in a friendly manner. So that’s who she was! A gypsy, of all people, imagine that! So, he was right to be reminded of Esmeralda the Gypsy, though she was not borne of gypsies, but raised by them. Immediately he had memories of what he had heard about this people’s strange powers to cast evil spells, that one must never, under any circumstances let them touch you, or even look one in the eye!

«Don’t be afraid of me,» it was as though she was reading his mind. «I’m not unforgiving… Very well then, goodbye!» her kind and dark-skinned face was now very playful and full of life. She now seemed to be about to stick out her tongue at him.

«Thank you, madam!» he answered.

«Why do you keep saying «madam, madam, madam’? I’m not that old yet. My name is Lily. Just «Lily’», she introduced herself, and held out a half-draped arm. «And what is your name?»

«Arthur, Arthur Smith.»

«And are you a stylist?» she suddenly asked happily, admiring him appreciatively from head to toe.

«No.»

«No?» she was slightly surprised, «But your arms are so fine, so light and sensitive, although you have nerves of steel, and the heart of a lion… Well, that doesn’t matter, forget about it. Well, if you’re not a stylist, then are you gay?»

«Madam, may I ask you to be a bit more selective in the expressions you use…»

«Was it something Lily said?» she spread her arms blamelessly. «That’s just you being too well brought up. But not a snob either. Or maybe you’re both at the same time, well? Doesn’t matter, Lily is joking. Forget it. I believe in equality of cultures and religions. Unfortunately, our prissy modern society will not be sharing the same views any time soon…»

«Buy a seashell! Buy a seashell!» a slovenly-looking salesman walked past, carrying a tray with small shells from rivers and the sea in delicate shapes around his neck. Seeing Arthur, he stopped beside him and determinedly recited from memory: «Buy a seashell, sir! Go on! It’ll bring you luck.» Arthur, seeing that being rid of the salesman would not be easy, asked: «How much?» and pointed at the shell nearest to him, a small pink one.

«It’s yours for only five pounds, sir» the salesman answered, showing his yellow teeth.

«Daylight robbery! A pure rip-off!» Lily suddenly interrupted, turning to him confrontationally, «What’s your name, sir…»

«And what’s it to you?» the salesman said indignantly, waving his arms and spraying spit. «Back off, Mystic Meg… You’re getting on my nerves…»

«TELL ME YOUR NAME…» Lily repeated slowly, not taking her gaze off him, and moving her head from side to side, suddenly looking fearful, like a boa-constrictor hypnotising a frog to immediately, voluntarily, and with complete humility, jump into its gaping abyss. Arthur was struck by the tone of her voice and her powerful, determined expression, bearing into the salesman like a sharp dagger.

«Matthew,» he said quickly. Into his voice there had by some strange way come an unquestioning submission. «Your name is from the Bible,» she said meaningfully, «and it means „the gift from God,“ but your prices are sinful! You think money grows on trees? Remember to observe decency. And now, move on.» And surprisingly obediently he moved off without saying a word, taking away nothing but his portable plywood tray.

«Never buy seashells, Arthur! They don’t bring luck… They only cause their owner isolation… Remember what Lily has told you…» and the gypsy made to turn around and leave. But she happened to bump nose first into a young man in ripped jeans, a crumpled shirt, and old trainers.

«Hey gypsy, tell my future!» he hassled her boldly, and with a brazen smirk.

«You‘re just a child! Have you even completed your GCSEs, son?» asked Lily mockingly.

«What?» this insult incensed him. «I’ll «ave you…» Arthur watched as he hurled himself at her and loomed over her, but she shook her head, meaning not to escalate matters. «Calm yourself down!» she held out an arm as if to put some space between herself and the young man. «I see you’re a big boy. Listen, could you not get that close to me. I’m not your mother… I say what I mean… Get out of my way. So, I’ll bet my bottom dollar you too were a weakling once!» her eyes bore straight into his ugly face.

«You what, you old moron? What did I ever ask you? I know all that…» it was obvious that he was used to people doing whatever he said. Hearing the insult he used, Lily lost her temper and blazed with anger, «Arghh, you son of a whore!» her slender yet strong arms grabbed his crumpled shirt with the fearlessness and bravery of a lioness, and she shouted: «You bag of shit! You’d better watch your words with me, unless you want my foot in your balls…»

The young man freed himself from her grip but was now as quiet as a mouse, he recoiled into a little ball and raised his eyes in fear to look at the gypsy, who suddenly spat: «I don’t give advice to sexually frustrated perverts like you! Get on your way to wherever you were going! Unless you want me to tell everyone you wear a thong, and love being whipped in your privates…»

Arthur watched him start backwards and disappear in an instant. He had watched this entire incident unfold as though in a trance. And Lily, giving him a wink, said softly: «They wear jeans with holes in them, and then are suddenly surprised that I know they wear a thong,» and a deep crimson of embarrassment rose through her dark skin. «Phew, I’m shattered. This is every day for me… And no one sympathises… But it doesn’t matter, at least I made good on my promise for a triumph of justice. But now I’m paying the price for all that with a headache. Never visit a fortune teller, we have so much pressure on us these days. Arthur, don’t be angry at me because I used the word «gay’. You know I was horsing around. But could you please help me, you’re a doctor, are you not?»

He felt her pulse and opened his suitcase, in which he always carried a small leather pouch containing a first aid kit of all the essentials for all possible situations. Having taken a tablet, and having been given a few minutes, a different pair of eyes looked at him already, calm and thankful… «You saved my life, Arthur! I can see that you’re a good man…»

«But you’ve only known me for 20 minutes.»

«I only need a few seconds, and I can see you would never hurt a fly…»

«And what else can you see?» he asked, now curious for some reason.

«You are an unfortunate man; I can see you have had much to endure…» and at that moment Arthur thought her eyes were looking right inside him.

She continued: «But life will go on… What else… You also love solitude, music, and watching TV lying on the sofa…» everything she said was the truth, and Arthur was astonished by her amazing insight.

«You are a true catholic,» she continued, «a strong believer. And God sees this. But when God values a person, the Devil sees opportunity in him too. Never forget that! And, finally, I’ll tell you something else. Today you will meet someone special.»

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