The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  John paused for a moment and looked out the window. Kurt was waiting for something, but John looked at him, letting him know his story ended here.

  “What do you say, ladies and gentlemen?” Kurt turned to the silent audience. “Bravo?” He turned back to John. “Bravo, John. But cowardly,” Kurt smiled. “You deprived me of the opportunity to cut off your finger, squeezing just one little lie into your story.”

  John watched Kurt, who stared at him.

  “Yes, you’re right. There was only one lie,” John said finally.

  “It all was true,” Kurt lazily concluded. “After your kiss, he really shot, but only not at himself.” He smiled. “At you, John.” Kurt put two outstretched fingers to his chest in the heart area. “But you don’t have a scar there, so his gun misfired. But this doesn’t negate the fact that he wanted to kill you.” Kurt stood up and walked over to John, looking into his eyes. “Your love was unrequited, John.”

  There was silence, while mute observers gazed at the scene awaiting the denouement.

  “You can make a wish,” John said calmly.

  “Well,” Kurt walked across the room to the window, rolling up the sleeve of the shirt as he went. On the inner side of the forearm, on the bandage made from John’s shirt, a bloodstain reddened. Kurt took out a knife, cut the bandage and ripped it off his skin. Drops of blood exuded on the wound.

  “Kiss the scar you left me, John. Here is my wish.” Kurt sat down and turned his hand toward John. He was taken aback either from the desire, or from the fact that it was so easy. He walked over and leaned over to Kurt.

  “No, no, John. Not like that.” Kurt’s voice sounded serious and demanding. “Get on your knees. You shouldn’t be higher than the one whose hand you kiss.”

  John’s eyes flashed. Maybe it was just a reflection of the candle, but it seemed even the dolls quieted down fearfully. Kurt looked at John firmly; there was no hint of a smile on his lips. He was waiting. John clenched his teeth, then went down on one knee in front of Kurt. He took his hand, stretched forward slightly and placed a kiss on the wound in the shape of a “J.” Drops of blood remained on his lips. John looked at Kurt with impenetrable eyes and stood up. Kurt calmly lowered the sleeve and stood up too.

  “Now it’s my turn,” he smiled and went on the stage. John took his place. Frankly, the society of these dolls wasn’t pleasant.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Kurt greeted all with a mocking smile. “Mr. Fenririr,” he bowed his head slightly, looking at John. “On the right from you is Mr. Hawk, and on the left is Mrs. Hashem.” Kurt paused, as if waiting for John to really get acquainted with his neighbors, but he didn’t react to it. “I apologize for Mr. Fenririr; he’s always so capricious,” Kurt said, turning to the dolls. “Funny thing, John, Mrs. Hashem accuses Mr. Hawk of stealing—”

  “I thought we were to tell stories about our lives,” John interrupted him.

  “But I myself was a witness!” Kurt retorted ardently. John smiled and leaned back, relaxed.

  “Don’t hold back, Kurt. Because I won’t hold back,” said John.

  “Mr. Hawk is an honorable gentleman, and here a stain lies on his reputation!”

  “And what did he steal?” John asked Kurt. He smiled.

  “Mrs. Hashem accuses Mr. Hawk of having stolen a most valuable thing—her honor,” Kurt said and stared at John. “And this is such a theft that it is worse than murder. Mrs. Hashem was one of the most enviable brides in the whole county. Yes, she was arrogant because she was incredibly beautiful. And Mr. Hawk was a great lover of beauty; everyone will admit. He was rich and handsome, but Mrs. Hashem openly made fun of him, tormenting his poor heart. Look, gentlemen!” Kurt walked briskly to the rag gentleman on the right from John and opened his coat. At the spot, where presumably should have been a rag heart, was a gaping hole. “She stole his heart, ladies and gentlemen, and then accused him of stealing her honor! How is that fair?”

  Kurt spoke emotionally, gestured theatrically and walked across the stage. His voice sounded with resentment, then with tears and anger, then with joy. John just watched these metamorphoses, smiling quite frankly. Although the essence of representation wasn’t clear to him, the very idea seemed to him entertaining. And after all, he was counting on an unpredictable finale and eventually on his unconditional victory. Though this new Kurt was sophisticated, had a quick wit and insight, about which the previous Kurt could only dream of, John didn’t lose confidence in his abilities. At first it was difficult to capture the nuances of mood and thoughts of Kurt, but John became increasingly convinced that this was just brilliant buffoonery, but the true strength and power were still in John’s hands.

  “Mr. Hawk, I would be on your side, and yet the laws of our society wholly condemn you. And the only thing that will fix this situation? Marry Mrs. Hashem! Thus you’ll restore your good name, and she will return your heart.” Kurt stood next to “Mr. Hawk” and spoke as if only to him. “And you know what, gentlemen?” He turned again to the public. “I’m looking ahead, but I will reveal the secret that Mr. Hawk will do so! Will marry, egad! Marry the most beautiful woman of the county! And she will give birth to an heir!” Kurt clapped his hands and burst into joyful laughter. And suddenly, his face completely changed; it became contemptuous, and his look grew cold. He looked around silently at everyone. “But their marriage won’t last long. Mrs. Hashem will describe her son only as a bantling. Mr. Hawk will try to send his son away, but he will show his ability to drive everyone crazy. Again and again, he will be back, more and more embittered. And each time he will hear “bantling” behind his back. And Mrs. Hashem will leave this mortal world after her power and beauty withers.”

  Kurt paused.

  “Is that your whole story, Kurt?” John asked, breaking the silence.

  Kurt looked at him. The shadow of a smile appeared on his lips. “The most interesting stories, John, are always the ones where the listener must read between the lines,” he said calmly. “And it’s you who will tell me if this is the whole story, John. Ladies and gentlemen, the fetus of the union of Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Hashem is in front of you, sitting between his parents. Tonight we have become neither more nor less than the witnesses of a family reunion! Isn’t it heart-warming?” Kurt tilted his head.

  “It would be,” John said, “if it were true.” He got up and walked to the window. Night came into its possessions, wrapping all around in black velvet. Even the sky was completely black—no moon, no stars. “Your performance, Kurt, was outstanding. I didn’t know you had such a gift. However, I won’t give any concessions for it. Because everything from the first to the last word was a lie, and judging by your rules, you just put your life in my hands.”

  Kurt calmly approached the candles and began to extinguish them one after another. Having lost its guardians, the room was slowly captured by darkness. When the last candle was extinguished and the smoke, like thin weightless thread, disappeared in the blackness, Kurt waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “It’s not my prison, John, it’s yours,” he said. “And to take my life you need to get out of this prison.”

  Kurt charged out the door, and John ran after him. The hallway was dark and quiet. Kurt wasn’t there. John went down to the first floor, looking and listening. He walked up to the entrance of the dungeon and pulled the ring to open it, when suddenly he heard the discordant sounds of the piano. This melody he had heard before. In the quiet of a moonless night the sound of it suddenly became shriller. John ran upstairs to the room that he had just left. However, when he was on the second floor, the melody suddenly broke off, but the last note kept sounding, caught in an echo.

  John walked into the room. It was empty; only the rag dolls were still sitting in their seats. John thought he heard something elusive, like a whisper, but he could not understand the words. It seemed Kurt was hiding here in the room, that he was one of these dolls, staring at him, as if with a dumb grin on their blank faces. Suddenly the moon
appeared out of the clouds, and its silver light crept into the room. John went rapidly between rows of chairs, throwing dolls on the floor. Moonlight gently touched faceless bodies and seemed to be surprised by their lifelessness.

  John briskly walked up the spiral staircase. On the top floor, the moonlight, as if to help John, lit a figure hanging in a loop over the table. John stopped in the aisle when he saw it. The figure hung with its back to him and it wore Kurt’s clothes. John was forced to admit that fear touched him with cold breath, momentarily freezing his heart. John walked briskly to the hanging figure, stood on a nearby chair and looked in the face…of the rag doll.

  Chapter 16

  The night passed and took away the mystery of where Kurt was hiding. John searched the tower and the dungeon, but could not find him. And when the morning sun lit the tower, John fell asleep in the armchair in the bedroom.

  Before him, in a dream, a castle stately and proud soared skyward. It seemed to be created out of a single granite boulder. Its hardness seemed impregnable. John climbed the stairs. The entrance to the castle was preceded by two columns. They seemed unshakable pillars, and like two tireless wardens guarded the entrance. However, when John came to them, he was surprised to find himself barefoot and almost ankle-deep in water. The columns were melting, and so rapidly that a stream already rushed down the stairs. John lifted his head and terrifying thoughts possessed his mind. He staggered back and woke up.

  When John opened his eyes, Kurt was sitting next to him in the other armchair and, as if nothing had happened, was eating breakfast. No matter how John struggled, he could not hide his surprise. In addition, a vague feeling of what he had seen in sleep hadn’t left him. He was looking at Kurt with wide open eyes, and it caused Kurt to smile slightly. He was pleased with himself, and John had to admit that it was fair.

  “I think now it is your turn to come up with a game,” Kurt said, looking at John. He didn’t answer immediately, as if he were pondering something.

  “You owe me, did you forget?” he replied.

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot to say that the terms of all deals are cancelled at midnight. So, you’re late, and I don’t owe you anything,” said Kurt.

  John smiled broadly. “You beg me to leave my whole name on your arm.”

  “John, you may even cut me into strips or tear the heart out of my chest, you still won’t get my soul. And you constantly threaten me, because there’s nothing else you can do. You know what? Come on!” His last phrase sounded not with despair, but with a tone of revival, as if he liked the idea. He rolled up his shirtsleeve to the elbow, and John saw that on the forearm, where he had left his mark, there were fresh cuts. The letter “J” had been turned to the letter “K”.

  “What bad luck,” said Kurt with disappointment and shook his head. “But maybe I can offer you my other hand? In the end, you have a wide choice. I have two legs, belly, back, face…”

  “Stop it, Kurt,” John interrupted him. He suddenly stopped liking the changes in Kurt. “Why do you think I was holding receptions just once a week?” he asked in a calmer tone, but didn’t wait for Kurt’s answer. “Because the game can be tiring too. Yes, you’re an interesting opponent, and yet…I’m thinking about taking a hot bath. If you want, you can keep me company. If not, then I’ll be happy to spend time with myself,” John said and smiled.

  Going to the chest, he pulled out a large towel and left. This thought had come to John the night before, so he had lit a fire under the vat. The water was hot, and John climbed into the vat. His body instantly warmed, stiff muscles relaxed, thoughts retreated, and a pleasant languor covered his body.

  Kurt entered the room. John noted that even Kurt’s gait had become different; he moved softly and somehow imposingly. “Decided to join me?” John grinned.

  “I’m thinking of throwing a couple of logs under your vat,” Kurt smiled. He walked up to John and put his hand into the water at John’s shoulder. “Although it is warm enough.” Kurt paused, and his hand slid up on John’s shoulder, to the neck and back of his head, slightly ruffling his hair. “What I can’t understand,” Kurt said thoughtfully, “is what women see in you?”

  Kurt bent to his ear, and John tensed; this Kurt could easily slash his throat, but the closeness and sense of Kurt’s breath on his neck was enjoyable.

  “Let’s be frank, John. There are men more beautiful than you. Nobler than you. Kinder and gentler. I’m not talking about the fact that only the deranged can imagine you in the role of husband and father. And yet you attract them. A flame for silly moths. Don’t you feel ashamed getting so many favors from the stupid girls? I would consider it an insult—”

  “They should do for something.” John turned to him, the space between their faces was almost gone.

  Kurt looked at him askance; closeness didn’t bother him, he even swung forward, brushed John’s cheek with his lips. There was something fascinating, exhilarating in his movements. Perhaps John was too relaxed?

  Kurt walked around the vat. “Perhaps you’re a furious lover?” he mused, as if he reasoned with himself. “But it’s even worse. Sharing a bed with dummies; I’d rather wallow in the mud.”

  John looked at him with a little surprise. This Kurt either pretended or indeed had lost some of his memories. “I, as you put it, have shared a bed only with you, if you forgot.”

  Kurt looked at him slyly, bowing his head. He smirked at John and then left.

  Back in the room, John found Kurt sitting by the fire, at which he gazed thoughtfully and didn’t seem to notice John’s presence. John got dressed and sat down to breakfast, reading a book in a shabby cover with an indistinguishable title. They seemed to have agreed not to notice each other, and they spent a few hours in silence, which wasn’t oppressive at all.

  Putting aside the book, John pulled a chessboard out of the chest. He sat in a chair next to Kurt and placed the board on the table between them. Kurt didn’t immediately pay attention to this.

  “Want to play?” John asked, smiling.

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  John set up the figures—carved and wooden, made painstakingly and carefully covered with shiny varnish—on the board and turned the white figures towards Kurt, but he turned the board vice versa. John made the first move.

  “Why not cards?” Kurt asked, as if pondering his move.

  John grinned. “Chess isn’t fussy or emotional. When I play cards, I want to win. When I play chess, I want to think. Plus, this chessboard has a history.”

  John paused, Kurt made his move.

  “This chessboard was presented as a gift to my father from one bigwig. He never liked to play chess, but to avoid any embarrassment, he kept it on the table by the fireplace, so everyone could see it. The figures were placed on, as if someone was going to play. I was about sixteen, and I had a passion for annoying my father, but this chess set I liked myself, otherwise it would have finished its life in the fireplace long ago.” John smiled and moved his pawn. “I just had no one to play with. One day I just moved the white pawn forward on the board and then something distracted me. When I returned in the evening, the black had also made its move. I made mine. This game lasted a month, and I won it, and then it all started again. I don’t know how many parties I’ve played for almost ten years! But I never found out who my rival was.”

  “Touching,” Kurt replied indifferently and again made a move. “And what was stopping you from becoming a regular at clubs where you can play chess, rather than hold lavish celebrations in your puppet theatre?”

  John chuckled. “Have you ever noticed, Kurt, that sometimes the noise, on the contrary, helps you think? Sometimes something that distracts you, helps you stay focused on the main point? Here is the answer to your question. And also, those clubs are always unbearably boring.”

  “And what about Philip? Oh, I forgot, you dislike your brother.” The shadow of a smile touched Kurt’s lips. It seemed that he was totally focused on the gam
e; his eyes stared at the figures on the board, but John felt that Kurt was watching him.

  “Why did you decide I dislike Philip? On the contrary,” John smiled broadly. “I love him, and that’s why staying away from me is better for him.”

  Kurt smiled. John suddenly remembered his smile, when they were in Stella Ground, and Kurt was a little tipsy from the wine. John felt that this Kurt couldn’t smile like this. He looked down at the figures and cut the black pawn.

  “You probably already heard about his engagement. The wedding is appointed in a month and a half. But as I understand that you weren’t invited,” Kurt continued, eyeing his figures.

  “If my father were still alive, he would die right now,” John grinned. Kurt smiled, too, and made his move, still not looking at John.

  “You mention your father a lot,” Kurt said. “But I wonder what he would say about you?”

  “Well, first of all, he would not like you. He would call you a charlatan, because he didn’t accept any kind of medicine except for surgery,” John smiled. “Secondly, he would not like me either, because I get along with you. The only thing my father liked was fishing. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to take part in it. And the third thing, you don’t need to start talking about my father with me.”

  “But you yourself are talking about him.”

  “This is my past.”

  “And what do you need this for?”

  “I don’t renounce my past,” John said and moved his pawn.

  “And what’s the point of dragging it along? Replaying it, like a broken record? You know by heart every sound and every scratch and still continue to play it. Everything that passes, should simply disappear.” Kurt made a move, taking one of John’s pawns into his hand and, at the same moment, throwing it into the fire burning in the hearth. John looked at the fire, his hand involuntarily clenched into a fist.

  “When you know that everything will be lost forever,” Kurt continued, turning again to the board while the fire disposed of the white pawn, “you can either spend your life in a vain attempt to keep your past close, or you realize your full freedom, because there’s no what has been, and there’s no what will be. And all that is, is just now. Infinite and instant at the same time.”