The Devil and the Red Ribbon

by Theo Rion

  Outside, the tower blazed like a torch. Servants, who were to return on the third day, had apparently noticed the fire and had rushed to find out if everything was all right with their master and his guest.

  As he sat on the lawn with Kurt’s head in his lap and everyone else went about extinguishing the fire, John watched the pale sunset. Behind him, sparks scattered as the castle tower burned.

  Chapter 17

  Soft silk sheets caressed Kurt’s skin. He wanted to ignore the fact he was waking up, but he unwillingly opened his eyes. He found himself in the same bedroom of the castle he’d been into upon his arrival. A cloudy day loomed outside the window. He wondered how long he’d been unconscious, and for a moment, he wondered if everything that had happened was one long dream.

  Someone knocked on the door, and Kurt replied lazily as he pushed himself up to sit against the pillows. A young maid came into the room, holding a tray filled with a generous breakfast. John walked in behind her. His face was gaunt, as if sleep and rest hadn’t touched his face all night. The last person to enter the room was a white-haired old man with a bag, whom Kurt guessed was a doctor.

  “I didn’t expect so many guests first thing in the morning.” Kurt grinned, glancing at John. Surprisingly, this phrase caused John’s face to grow sadder and more haggard.

  The maid sat the tray on a side table and walked out. The doctor briefly examined Kurt, focusing on the wounds on his arm and abdomen. Kurt was amused by how the old man was trying to find an explanation for the marks. When the doctor concluded that Kurt’s health wasn’t in danger, Kurt casually thanked him and began eating his breakfast. All this time, John stood staring out the window.

  Before entering here, John too had cherished the same hope that everything that had happened had been just a nightmarish dream. But the first phrase escaping Kurt’s tongue, or rather the manner in which he said it, forced John to say goodbye to this hope.

  “I need to go back to London,” Kurt said, finishing up the last of his breakfast.

  “Why the rush?” John finally turned and looked at Kurt.

  “Your hospitality has tired me even more than your face, John,” Kurt replied, corroborating John’s fears.

  John blanched noticeably; Kurt’s words could not have been more cruel. John could not even find an answer to them. He felt the abyss that now separated them, and worse, he knew he was the one to blame.

  * * * *

  The road to London was long and dreary as the sky didn’t clear up, and Kurt was silent all the way, not even deigning to look at John. It seemed he didn’t have any interest in him anymore, even as an object of ridicule. John didn’t speak either, but his silence was restless, full of thoughts—fussy and wearisome. He wanted to speak to Kurt, but could not. His world was changing rapidly, and John didn’t want this trip—even as dull and silent as it was—to end. As soon as the door of the coach burst open, and Kurt slipped out into the busy London street, it would be the end for them, and nothing he could do or say could change that.

  Instead of heading home, Kurt asked the coachman to stop at the main square. He stepped out, briefly saying goodbye to John and giving him a scornful look before walking away.

  When John looked out the window, the distance between them growing larger by the moment, John bestirred himself. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, his thoughts kept returning to the tower and the revelation he had heard there.

  He had changed. He could neither ignore or deny it.

  Part Three

  The World

  Chapter 18

  Kurt’s first morning of the new month began as usual. A servant brought a newspaper, letters and set the breakfast. With an obliging smile, she went away, and Kurt got out of bed. He looked out the window at the busy square. He now lived in an apartment on the fourth floor in the most expensive hotel in London. The decor was of no concern for Kurt, but everything here was of excellent quality and taste. Kurt himself also looked different. He had gotten his hair cut. At a tailor’s, he had ordered several suits that fit him flawlessly. His eyes had taken on a cold shine and strength.

  But what was his strength?

  It took only a month for this young man to become a new favorite of London. In just one month his brilliant appearance, manners and style of behavior earned him everyone’s favor. Everyone wanted to see him. He received invitations to balls in batches, from which he chose a name and became a true adornment of the evening to the delight of the hosts. But Kurt was getting fed up with society faster than he could’ve imagined. Whenever he entered into a new living room, he was surrounded by people whom he had seen before.

  Ladies started to blush and whisper, men came to pay their respects, and Kurt always took them with a calm generosity, answering greetings. It was so easy to win their favor that he didn’t even try; it came out by itself. His charm and charisma instantly fascinated, especially the young. The older ladies he fascinated easily with a gentle smile and polite conversation, in which he showed a deep respect for the views and lives of the older generation. It got to the point that after a month every mother of an unmarried English lady dreamed that Mr. Rhein had shown favor to her daughter. But Kurt was courteous, polite, but he didn’t have a close friendship with anyone.

  Boredom was beginning to overcome Kurt. A month was enough to surfeit him with his role as London’s beau monde. Even balls had become boring. Kurt’s life had begun to resemble a brilliant piece of drivel passing along the clatter of conversation and music of orchestras playing minuets, mazurkas and waltzes. Kurt circled in dances with one young lady after another, gracefully won the disputes with the young men, gained favor in one conversation after another. Kurt stopped liking this game. He could not understand if it was the cold or emptiness in his soul that had started to torment him. He remembered this feeling from the past; everything had begun from it. The tools shone in the sun with clarity, and Kurt knew their time had come today.

  If he were an empty rake, hungry for entertainment, this life would be enjoyable. He could be satisfied with the favor of the world, travel, and finally get married to the finest beauty, but Kurt didn’t see any sense in all that. And he sorely needed that sense. He never understood why he was given such power, if he was unable to use it as it should be used. He wanted some greatness, a coup. He was no longer a student. Now he had much more influential puppets in his hands, and it woke an inescapable excitement in his chest. And he was going for this excitement, because without it, the painful and dreary emptiness seemed unbearable.

  Often his thoughts rushed back into his past, where his life had been painted in bright colors, portraying the feelings he experienced. It was a pity they were merely the result of the game, which John Fenririr had led back then. And anyway, no time for regrets. Kurt bestirred. A brand new day awaited him.

  * * * *

  “Lady Taylor.” Kurt gallantly bowed and kissed her lace-gloved hand. Rosalie Taylor was the Dowager Baroness and held a high position in society; she had even been granted an audience with Queen Victoria. Her balls were the most illustrious in London, and only the highest society attended.

  Kurt’s meeting with Lady Taylor had supposedly happened by accident during Lady Taylor’s afternoon stroll. Only Kurt knew otherwise. He had lashed the horse of a dozing coachman, and it had rushed straight at the pair of strolling ladies—Rosalia and her friend, Lady Fraser. Kurt, showing amazing agility, had saved them both. Though in fact no danger had threatened them, the created agitation and hoopla had convinced Rosalia and her friend that the young man with such gentle blue eyes was a real savior.

  Rosalie had no children; her only son died ten years ago, so she wanted to introduce Kurt to high society. He was a constant visitor at all her receptions, and to her great delight, he was a true adornment on her arm. He was gallant, polite, courteous, educated and fine-looking. And there was a struggle in Lady Taylor’s heart. On the one hand, she wanted to find a decent match for Kurt, but on the other hand, someti
mes it made her feel remorse; she didn’t want to lose his company. However, the young ladies of high society always appeared at her balls, but Rosalie noticed that none of the beauties interested Kurt.

  * * * *

  “Dear friend,” Rosalie smiled, trying to maintain a patronizing look. “I wanted to ask you to accompany me to the theatre tomorrow.”

  “With great pleasure.” Kurt smiled at those he and Lady Rosalie passed, taking and giving welcome bows as they moved into the hall. He sat in the salon; the ballroom was perfectly visible from there. The view reminded Kurt of a huge puppet theatre. Dressed ladies and gentlemen, each more pompous than the other; to Kurt they seemed grotesque in their desire to deceive others. This desire seemed silly to him, because it only served to amuse their miserable self-esteem. What else could these people afford, except hypocrisy and arrogance? Their lands, titles and capital could not buy them a share of the appeal Kurt possessed.

  Kurt thought for a moment he had seen John among the guests. This vision often haunted him. Kurt stood up, took a glass of champagne and joined the guests, confidently engaging in conversation and still looking at the place where he thought John was standing.

  “Mr. Rhein, you’re so young!” spoke one of the ladies. She looked quite young, too, and was dressed with a moderate elegance. “It’s amazing in how many scientific works you have been involved with, and you have a private practice as well.”

  “What can I say, Lady Willow, nothing attracts me more than the mysterious human soul, because I’m convinced that psychology can comprehend the soul,” Kurt replied with a polite smile.

  “Kurt,” Rosalie called to him. A girl stood beside her; she was amazingly beautiful, tall, with luxurious dark hair. She watched Kurt with ill-concealed interest, though she wanted to look indifferent. How often Kurt had seen this look. On the contrary, he portrayed interest and succeeded much better. “This is Miss Mary Ann Willow. Mary Ann, this is Mr. Kurt Rhein. I hope, Kurt, it won’t be difficult for you to open our ball with a dance with this young lady.”

  “Of course.” Kurt bowed and offered Mary Ann his hand. He noticed she was nervous, but tried to hide her excitement. Kurt didn’t give it much importance, though he noted it.

  They went to the center of the room. The orchestra played a waltz, and Kurt spun Mary Ann in dance. It was like the beginning of a performance, when the entertainer made an announcement. Now it was as though Kurt were showing everyone around who would be the heroine of the next act.

  * * * *

  Another sleepless night passed. Departing from Kurt’s home, where he had watched for Kurt throughout the night, John went to the Ellington’s restaurant to drink coffee, and get warmed, and, of course, to verify again that Kurt wasn’t there either.

  For a month, Kurt had appeared neither at his house, nor in that rented mansion opposite his. John’s letters remained unanswered. Yet John constantly heard Kurt starred in such and such a reception, or at such and such a ball made a furor. He appeared and went out like a wandering star in the sky. John could not keep up with him. His thoughts ceased to serve him; they were filled with Kurt. His feelings ceased to serve him; they sought to be with Kurt. All his life had suddenly begun to revolve around Kurt, when he had chosen to leave John’s life with no doubt or regret.

  John drank hot coffee, catching the sympathetic looks from the hostess towards him and realizing how miserable his appearance might be. The door opened, and a plump woman in a blue-grey suit came into the restaurant. She wanted to sit down at a table, but, glimpsing John, went straight to him.

  “I never would have thought,” she shook her head sadly, looking at John, who began to feel like he was asleep. “No matter what I know about fate, it can’t do without surprises,” the woman sighed and pulled a tarot deck out of her purse.

  “Want to tell my fortune?” John asked ironically. This dream became even more bizarre.

  “I want to return something,” she said, and took a card out, and put it on the table face up. Meanwhile she stood up and started to leave. “You will soon meet someone for whom it is intended,” she said at last, with a glance at the card, and walked away. John silently finished his coffee and stood up. Outside the window, the sky was already light, and in the morning blue-grey haze, snowflakes were swirling. John looked at the card and took it. It was The Devil card.

  John wanted to go back to Kurt’s house, but he was incredibly tired. So, he returned home to sleep for a few hours. When he woke up, it was already late in the evening, and snow circled in the dark-blue sky. John ordered a coach.

  He could try his luck at some ball, but in many homes he didn’t have admission, and it was almost impossible to predict who would be honored by a visit of the main favorite of London. John came to the Bridge of Lovers. There really were strolling couples, but John’s attention was attracted by a lone figure standing at the railing.

  Snowflakes were swirling in the air, slowly approaching the earth. It was as if the scene were an illustration of life itself. Born in the sky, unique and inimitable, a snowflake began its way, circling in a dance, and on the ground it was awaited by imminent death. But none of them knew that, and they circled and circled, bewitching with beauty. And their fragility made their beauty even more valuable.

  But Kurt didn’t look at the snowflakes. He stood at the railing of the bridge and looked into the black water where tiny creatures were drowning, like the hearts of those whom he had long conquered. He was dressed lightly, not for the weather, but it seemed the cold didn’t bother him. Nearby, a young couple was arguing. Catching snatches of the phrases, Kurt invisibly appeared at the conversation.

  “I’m constantly waiting for you! Sometimes it seems to me that all my life I haven’t done anything but wait,” the young man spoke in outrage.

  “Waiting?” the girl replied, perplexed. “All I hear from you is reproaches!”

  “You deserved them! When we met with my family, you showed them such disrespect I was ashamed of myself for bringing you into their midst! Do you think father will approve our engagement now?”

  “Waiting for someone?” A recognizable voice sounded from behind Kurt.

  “Just enjoying the beauty,” Kurt replied without turning around. Even without looking at John’s face, he’d caught joyful notes in his restrained voice, though he tried to hide them behind the stinginess of the phrase. “This place has the beauty and history.”

  “I thought I liked history more than you.”

  “Is that why you’ve been watching my house for a whole month?” Kurt looked askance at John but didn’t turn around. John grinned and threw his coat over Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt felt the smell of perfume. He had never noticed John wearing perfume before; after all this time he sensed the fragrance truly acutely, and instead of getting warm, Kurt winced as if from the piercing cold. “I’ll bet this immaculate coat holds a lot of stories too.”

  “Now it holds you,” said John calmly as he leaned on the bridge rail next to Kurt. He could see his face in profile now. He needed all his self-control, not to look at him too openly, but John felt how much he missed Kurt’s face. Now his hair was shorter, and his features had become sharper, as if reflecting a deeper transformation, but they held everything John appreciated.

  “Are you bored with balls? The crown of the main favorite of London getting heavy?” John asked after a brief silence.

  “Do you dream of having it?” Kurt smiled. “Believe me, it’s absurdly simple, and therefore absolutely meaningless.”

  Kurt suddenly turned his face to John and looked into his eyes, but John didn’t even have time to enjoy this moment as Kurt took off the coat and handed it back to John. He went to the couple, who continued to argue so ardently they paid him no attention.

  “Look, sir,” Kurt said to the young man. “Your ardor has cooled as chilly as the railing of this bridge. You’re taken with your own life, and she by hers, and your glance is already sliding around in search of new faces. And you, miss…” he tu
rned to her, his face compassionate, as if he really wanted to help them. “You’ve seen it, right? His merits annoy you even more than his demerits. I’m sorry, but you both know where this is all going.”

  The young couple looked at each other. John thought he even heard the crackle of invisible threads breaking.

  “Wait,” intervened John, as Kurt walked away. “You don’t need to take any hasty steps. Nobody is perfect. But you feel the love in your heart, otherwise you would not have to worry about the engagement. And after all, you,” he turned to the girl, “love him with all your heart. You’re terribly uncomfortable with the impression you have created about yourself in the eyes of his parents. You just don’t know how to fix it. And you,” he turned to the man again. “More than anything, you want her to become your wife. And even if your family doesn’t approve of her, you will still be with her. You just want to see that she cares. That’s it. Don’t be stupid!” he cried. “Remember why you love each other!”

  Passers-by looked puzzled at John and the frozen couple who hurried away. And John was surprised to find that Kurt had disappeared too.

  * * * *

  Kurt sat in a chair by the window watching the snow fall outside. Loneliness remained his constant companion, as he grew more and more fed up with others. Their aspirations about money and their vanity annoyed him. Sometimes he wanted to destroy everything and everyone, but he wasn’t ready to look for new exhibits.