by Theo Rion
“These are the words of those whose lives seem worthless,” retorted John. “The one who never lived the way he wanted, never got what he aspired to, or rather didn’t aspire to anything at all. Such a person needs no past, nor future.” John calmly moved his pawn. “Check.”
“Not at all, these people know what they are capable of without needing to be reminded of their merit.” As he spoke, Kurt made a move that averted the danger from his king.
“They try in vain to be what they aren’t, and all the time they just lose themselves. Check!”
“And your past commands you want to be!” Kurt tried again to save his king.
“Whatever you say, Kurt, but you’re just a slave of your past, just like me. Only you’re the blind slave and I’m sighted.” John’s voice was firm and calm. “Check and mate.”
Kurt silently pulled something out of the breast pocket of his jacket. It was a small bouquet of wildflowers. Cold autumn nights had already robbed its emerald of green leaves; they had turned to pale yellow, almost withered leaves. The corolla of the flowers had fallen, and yet it was a bouquet.
“Congratulations.” Kurt put the bouquet on the chessboard in front of John, and again the shadow of a smile was on his face.
John looked wonderingly at Kurt. The tower clearly didn’t have a greenhouse, so Kurt had been able to get out of here, but returned to continue the game. It was difficult for John to understand Kurt, capture the direction of his thoughts. Was it possible to predict the actions of a madman, or explain them? And now Kurt seemed like a madman to John. He didn’t believe in such a skillful pretense. Although he wanted to.
John made an indifferent face and didn’t even look at the bouquet. Rising from his chair, he lay down on the bed and made himself comfortable on the pillows.
As if offended, Kurt asked, “Won’t you even put it in the water? You’re always like that, John. Never taking care of anything or anyone. And without care, everything withers and dies. How truly rich we are when we can afford ourselves a sincere hug. We are both beggars, John,” Kurt said and climbed onto the bed. “Come on, John, don’t be covetous.” Kurt spread his arms, while John looked at him in disbelief. Hesitantly, still not understanding the essence of what was happening, John awkwardly hugged Kurt. “Oh Lord, John, I don’t bite! Hold tighter!”
John closed his hands on Kurt’s back and froze.
“That’s better,” sounded Kurt’s voice.
John could not explain his feelings, and didn’t really try. The moment captured him. Feeling Kurt’s hands sliding under his shirt, John didn’t say anything. Kurt’s hands were cool, his touch was soft and gentle, they soothed and at the same time aroused. His heart beat faster. He was sure that Kurt would feel it. But was it important?
Suddenly Kurt pulled back and kissed him and then pulled away again, looking at John, who didn’t have time to say anything, as Kurt again clung to his lips. It was like a flash somewhere in the depths. Kurt pulled away again. A vague smile played on his lips, and John felt his blood began to boil. With the third kiss he finally lost control.
Being overcome by his awakened passion, he let Kurt do everything himself. He caught his every touch, feeling the growing hunger. But John didn’t hurry, he teased himself, enjoying every moment. This time wasn’t like the previous one. Then John had felt the desire to possess, to conquer, to win. Now he wanted to get a response. This desire for reciprocity opened his weakness, but how could John think about it now?
And it was as if Kurt knew this. His touches were tender, light, and therefore John wanted him to continue. Kurt left John hungry, just teasing him. And at the same time, John felt every one of Kurt’s touches deep inside. He was always the center of attention, always awoke the desire of others easily, but never wanted to feel what it meant to be an object of desire. He didn’t want to accept feelings—no words, no touching. And now with Kurt, he craved them. This change put him on his guard, but its acuity was almost invisible compared to the intensity of all those experiences now embracing John.
At this time, John possessed Kurt differently; he didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted Kurt to feel the same as he did. And wanting that was new to John. He looked into Kurt’s face and still could not sate himself. He kissed him and still could not quench his thirst. He held him in his arms and didn’t want to let go. He wanted to stay in the moment, bricked-up in this tower, alone with his sudden happiness.
Afterwards, John fell asleep. He didn’t hear or see Kurt get up and leave. John wandered in the maze of his dreams…
He was in the hall of a huge castle, and before him there rose a staircase leading upstairs. On the first step there was a lady in a black dress. She hid her face behind a fan, but John felt her eyes on him, and it seemed to him she grinned behind the fan. Without saying anything, she began to climb the stairs. John hesitantly followed, and the higher they climbed, the less and less resolve remained in his footsteps.
They entered a large richly decorated ballroom. The lady moved away from him, and he lost sight of her in his amazement of what appeared before him. The room was full of dancing couples, stood frozen in one place. They didn’t move and didn’t even seem to breathe. But all their eyes were fixed on John, who felt uncomfortable. He studied the faces of these strangers, and a vague feeling stirred in his chest.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” John heard a familiar voice say, and immediately he turned around.
Kurt, dressed in a pure white coat, stood there. His face had somehow subtly changed. His eyes gleamed with lights, and he looked at John with not a shadow of a sneer, but with interest.
“Do you believe, John, that you can see the soul in the eyes of a human?” Kurt continued, going to one of the pairs. John followed him. “This couple will get married soon. See, how she looks at him, how much tenderness is in his eyes. And he’s worried, because he isn’t a very good dancer.” Kurt smiled. “And here, look,” Kurt walked to the next couple. “They were only introduced to each other today. He is overwhelmed by her beauty, still can’t see enough of it, but doesn’t want to be rude. He wants to keep up appearances, wants to show the best side of his nature, because she is his ideal. She, by the way, knows it,” Kurt added casually.
John was silent, watching as Kurt moved from one pair to another. He saw everything Kurt saw, before the words flew off Kurt’s lips. He had seen it all hundreds, thousands of times. For him, it was no difficulty. But, now he suddenly felt the elusive value of the moment caught on a frozen face. Their emotion could be felt. And when awareness of it reached John’s heart, it made him tremble. He wanted to look at the faces again and again. Those faces seemed like those of puppets, but their eyes retained life and depth, reflecting their fragile souls. “Who are they?” John finally asked.
“Don’t you know? These people were guests in your house,” said Kurt.
For a moment John frowned, as if in fact, he recognized in these pairs his guests.
“I don’t know everyone here,” John said, frowning.
“It’s not easy to remember those whose life you broke,” Kurt said with genuine sadness in his voice and came to John as the music started and the pair lived, but they only had time to make a few steps before they again froze.
“You are here, too,” John said and looked into Kurt’s face. It was difficult to understand why John saw the beauty on his face and it made his heart flutter.
“And you, too,” replied Kurt, looking at him. In his glance, there was a feeling of tenderness, kindness.
John almost got lost in his thoughts, but suddenly he saw a man in a black coat. Curiously, he resembled Kurt. He stood alone against the wall; and the lady in black approached him. Leaning forward, she seemed to say something to him without taking the fan from her face.
John grew wary.
Suddenly, Kurt gave him a mischievous boyish smile. “Don’t stand there, like your feet are rooted to the floor.” The couples began to dance again, and Kurt held out his hand to John. This gesture ca
lled to John. He looked down at the floor and saw he was barefoot. “I’m not dressed for the ball,” John said grimly.
Kurt just smiled and took his hand. “Now, it isn’t so important.”
A waltz sounded, and Kurt confidently led John through the dancing couples. John didn’t resist; for some reason, his mental confusion didn’t seem unpleasant. On the contrary, the feeling he experienced felt like a balm shed upon his soul. Although much remained a mystery to him and although anxiety stayed somewhere in his soul, every time he looked into Kurt’s eyes, he forgot about it. He was enjoying the moment.
“I feel…”
“Calm,” Kurt finished for him, smiling. “You feel calm and good. As never before.”
John nodded in response.
“All has its time,” said Kurt as the music changed into a cacophony of discord. Yet, the couples continued to dance, although their dancing degenerated into disjointed movements.
Kurt looked at John’s face with anxiety and sorrow, but said nothing. He seemed to be trying to keep the words unspoken.
“What do you want to tell me?” John asked, but Kurt didn’t answer. John looked around; his calm was lost, and fear took its place.
Suddenly there was a loud bang, like a shot. Kurt’s white coat stained scarlet. John ran to him, covering him and looking around, trying to figure out who had shot him. Kurt squeezed John’s hand, looking into his eyes. He seemed to want that every moment of his rapidly fading life would be filled with him.
“Kurt!” John screamed in fright.
The music continued to play, and the couples danced, while John was left holding Kurt’s lifeless body. His blinded eyes didn’t see the man in a black coat, who stood against the wall and watched him intently…
John awoke abruptly with an unpleasant feeling in his chest. Kurt wasn’t there. John immediately jumped out of bed. His eyes fell on the bouquet of flowers lying on the table near the fireplace. Anxiety gripped him as John got dressed and went looking for Kurt. The tower was quiet, when suddenly he heard the discordant sounds of the piano. At first John thought that he was still in his sleep, because the melody was the same as in his dream. John went up to the floor above and stood in the doorway. John remembered the dancing, and it revived a vague pleasant feeling in his soul. The music suddenly ended.
“Come in, John. There’s no need to stand in the doorway,” Kurt said calmly.
“You left…” John began but stumbled when Kurt gave him a mocking look.
“Are you serious, John? I’d never have thought you were such a vulnerable soul. How pathetic.” He looked at him for a few seconds and returned to the piano.
“Your eyes have changed, John,” Kurt said in a casual voice, playing a tune. It was as if John could not wake up. He was captured by feelings—vague, elusive, and unknown. He looked at Kurt and knew it wasn’t the man who could be the cause of it. But that man had been in his dream. And this Kurt was a stranger. This Kurt was sitting with his back to John, the same way his soul had turned away from him.
“Yours too,” John said after a long silence. “You’re not the Kurt I knew before.”
Kurt laughed. “What a pity. But you’re always like that, John. You started this game, and now, when you feel defeat, you just stop liking everything. You’re just a small spoiled child who believes the world should be his toy. But here it’s different. I’m like a bone stuck in your throat.” Kurt turned to John and smiled.
Outside, the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving the room lit by a single candle flame. And in light of it, Kurt’s face seemed cruel and frighteningly weird. He again started playing the discordant melody.
“You still don’t know anything about me,” John said firmly. “You’re struggling to lay yourself out, arranging performances, trying to take revenge on me because I turned you inside out. You don’t know anything about my life. How big your conceit is. If that’s all you can do, then maybe my efforts aren’t worth it. I’m even willing to admit I was wrong about you.”
“And you’re angry,” Kurt noticed with content, continuing to play. “So, do you want to be wrong or right?”
John didn’t answer. Kurt clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“I’m tired of it—the same skeletons in closets, the scenery doesn’t change, the main prima donna grizzles…all has become…somehow faded, dull. I think I should add fire into the scene,” Kurt said and smiled. He grabbed the oil lamp off the piano and smashed it on the floor. Fire escaped to freedom, pounced on the rags and dolls and on the remains of furniture. Kurt had obviously poured oil or kerosene all around because the fire devoured them incredibly fast, until John and Kurt were surrounded by a ring of fire.
“Are you absolutely out of your mind?” John exclaimed. He didn’t even let Kurt say anything. Grabbing his arm, he dragged him to the door. Kurt was clearly unhappy with the fact that he had created the entourage in vain. John knocked over some of the chairs with mannequins, retarding the fire, and before it could attack them, Kurt and John jumped out of the ring of fire. John pulled Kurt down the stairs. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the flames was already surging out of the room and heading for the stairs along what appeared to be a carefully drawn path. John went down to the first floor, opened the door to the dungeon and went down, clutching Kurt’s hand.
Fire from above was destroying wooden floors, gnawing beams like straws, and the smoke entered the dungeon. Kurt finally pulled away his hand and stopped, looking at John with a challenge.
“My my, is that fear I see in the eyes of the honorable Mr. Fenririr?”
“Kurt, you have gone too far,” John said firmly.
Maybe yesterday he would have thought that all this had been just brilliant buffoonery, silly to the point of absurdity, but today its absurdity turned into a frenzy. Kurt had gone beyond all the rules of ordinary humans. He was even outside the frames in which he lived. John could not even guess where and when Kurt’s limits had gone off the rails. The former Kurt played by John’s rules wherein he was motivated by the desire to beat John. So, his movements and thoughts had been clear to John. It was a competition, sometimes with surprises, but still it was understandable.
Now, John had become involved in a game in which the rules Kurt hadn’t bothered to give him. Kurt had managed to turn him into a puppet, but one quite different from those John created for his own entertainment.
“If we play with the souls, why not play with lives?” Kurt said.
“I don’t understand you. Hell, Kurt!” John cried.
“You don’t understand or is that you don’t want to understand?” Kurt asked, his head thrown back. “Oh, no, I think you understand everything perfectly well. You see, as you yourself said, we are akin.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Listen. Don’t you hear the amazing story the fire has to tell?” Kurt closed his eyes and seemed to really listen to the flames crackling above.
“No, I hear nothing but the fire consuming my castle,” John retorted.
“Shhh…just listen.”
“I can’t hear anything!”
“Because you’re deaf, John. Fire doesn’t leave anything behind. Just like it didn’t leave anything in my soul. Fire caused Archie to shoot, and made me come to you. Fire burned Mr. Hawk and Mrs. Hamish.” Kurt stared at John. “Your mother, John, burned in a fire!”
John was silent, looking at Kurt, but his eyes shone with unspeakable astonishment, as if suddenly the door into his soul had opened wide.
“My father…” John finally began to speak in a different voice.
“You very much like to talk about your father, John,” said Kurt. “But he didn’t like to talk about you!”
“You don’t know, Kurt.”
“Don’t I? You think you’re such a talented storyteller, John?” Kurt tilted his head and looked down a corridor filled with acrid smoke. John turned and walked away from Kurt; he entered one of the rooms with wooden floor and an unused fir
eplace. Kurt went after him.
“Because it’s de trop for such a prominent figure and investor to tell everyone he has a bastard from the maid,” Kurt laughed. John barely restrained himself from hitting Kurt in the face, but Kurt continued, as if not fearing John’s anger. “Your mother burned, but was it by accident? Who knows? Your father tried to get rid of you afterwards, put you in an orphanage, but no one wanted you there either—well, maybe except for one good-hearted nun. Fearful of disclosure and stigma, Sullivan took you back when he married for the second time. He thought you would be useful, but with all your power, you proved differently. Your face is so strikingly similar to his, every day reminded him of his shame, about his fall from grace. God, how he regretted you didn’t burn along with your mother.”
At this point, John lost control and rushed at Kurt, slapping him hard across the face. “You’re lying! This is just one of your psychoanalytic tricks!” John shouted.
“Ah, John, when have you ever known me to be a jester?” He smiled, wiping the blood from his split lip. “One of the advantages of being a respectable member of society…”
Kurt was interrupted by a roar from above as a massive beam pierced the ceiling above where Kurt and John stood and hit the floor, barely missing them. The wooden floor however could not resist the onslaught and broke through. Kurt and John fell to the floor below.
John quickly came to his senses. The glow of the fire from above dispelled the darkness, letting him discern several skeletons in dresses cankered with mildew and time. In the stale air the age-old dust shot up, stuffing his nose and mouth. Kurt lay on his stomach. John walked up to him and turned him over. A bloodstain marred his shirt front. John shuddered, remembering his dream. He lifted Kurt’s shirt and saw a bleeding wound, fortunately shallow. John lifted Kurt up and walked through the debris and ash falling from above. He headed down the stairs to the front entrance.
