Edgars Auziņš
Fall in love in a weekwe get by
It's good that Norwood was silent. Now I could react too violently to even the most innocent remark.
But cupcakes can still lift your spirits even in such a terrible situation. I ate all four, and the last one no longer seemed salty. Great chocolate cupcake.
Before the couple started, Norwood had just time to change clothes – no, it’s still a good thing, portals. When they are not remembered in the context of accidents and danger to life… The picture of a boat rushing rapidly towards a waterfall without oars never left my mind. I once read a similar story: two people in a boat and a waterfall, something from American science fiction. There the heroes managed to escape. Will we succeed?
Time was passing, and I was almost glad that Norwood was at the lectures. Because men don’t like women’s tears and transfer this dislike to crying women. The “sea battle” turned out so well, there’s no need to interrupt the impression. Although what am I talking about, I already interrupted with my epic flight to the floor. The painting of Miss Blair in the Coffee Puddle, oh yeah.
The work was falling out of my hands, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Maybe also because the mail belonged to the next week, but will there be that week? UK Pharmacists' Conference, Wednesday to Friday, on what date should Dr Norwood's talk be scheduled? ? is there a difference, which one? The conference is not going anywhere, but will there be a report? Or will they publish it with the author’s last name surrounded by a black frame? Invitation to the presentation of a new line of medicinal cosmetics next Saturday. Ingredient supplier advertising brochure. VIP invitation to a new exhibition at the Royal Botanic Gardens with a note from Chester. Oh. He sent two invitations for me too!
I pushed the mail to the edge of the table and buried my face in my crossed arms. An invitation from Chester – so nice of him! – became the last straw. Just don't cry. There is very little left until the end of the working day.
Time generally tends to fly by too quickly. Just this morning it was four days, but now we can already say that it’s three.
– Miss Blair! Please tell me that I am admitted!
I raised my head, looked into Applestone's worried face and said:
“For now, I can only tell you one thing: you have to knock.” The professor didn't say anything about admission. I'll see now, he should have checked your work.
Indeed, yesterday’s questionnaire was lying on the professor’s desk, inserted into a reference book forgotten by Applestone. Across the front page, in red ink, was written, "Acceptable for the start of the year." I gave the sheet along with the reference book.
– Wow, he really did. I was already thinking – that’s it, pack your things, transfer somewhere to the botanical department. Thank you Miss Blair, you literally bring happiness!
– As far as I understand, before you are happy, you will also have to pass an oral examination.
– It's a tragedy, right. But if he didn’t kick me out right away, then there’s a chance!
I didn't want to answer. I looked at my watch – there were still five minutes until the end of the class, how did my trembling doe gallop up in advance? Doesn't it matter though? I shielded myself with a newspaper and pretended to read.
Suddenly I remembered the first morning at the department, Norwood, fenced off with a newspaper in the same way. Could it be that he was hiding from Charlotte? No, it's me. Why should he hide? There is nothing surprising about a man who reads the latest newspapers in the morning. This is fine. Unlike the girl who, in the middle of the working day, has her face buried in a flyer from the day before yesterday, and even holding it upside down.
And I wouldn’t even notice if it weren’t for another note in black ink across the ad.
I turned the newspaper over.
“Salon “Eternal Youth”. New arrivals of elixirs. From the best masters! "
The little lady-vignette of flowers and leaves, as for me, in combination with the name “Eternal Youth”, rather evoked cemetery thoughts. Or is it my current mood that is to blame? Okay, what did Norwood write here? “Remind Chester. Elsa. Check dates and echinops tincture. Bart is a fool and a charlatan."
Elsa? The same ex with whom they remained friends? This is her salon, isn't it? Or competitors? Maybe that same Bart, the fool and charlatan?
Or does that no longer matter?
– Miss Blair, what are you reading that is so interesting? – Applestone unceremoniously sat down on the edge of the table. – Ads? Oh, look: “Exchanging coordinates of portals for outdoor recreation.” Don't you think this is a sign of fate? You and I definitely need to spend this weekend somewhere under the bright sun and sultry sky, on the shore to the accompaniment of the rolling waves. If, of course, I have a reason to celebrate. But even if it doesn’t, you are already an extremely good reason!
– If you have a reason, you, of course, will celebrate, but how did I get involved in your plans? I have my own plans, Mr. Applestone, and they do not include your company.
– But if your plans do not include the azure sea, the rustling of palm trees and a couple of glasses of mojito, you can change them! Think for yourself, Miss Blair! You only live once!
– Mr. Applestone, the seating in this office is chairs, not tables. And be so kind as to discuss your grandiose plans with Miss Blair in a more appropriate place.
“Yours and Miss Blair?!” I jumped up:
“I already told Mr. Applestone that my plans do not include his company!” Not in any place or in any form! I don't dare disturb you! – opened the portal and rushed home. My home is my fortress, and I don’t care that it’s not really mine at all, the main thing is that I can finally let myself go and wear myself out to my heart’s content. Sometimes it is necessary. And I certainly have a reason. Lots of reasons. A mountain of reins the size of Fuji and Everest, stacked on top of each other. A sea of reasons, the tides of which will reach the top of this mountain. And let it all go to waste!
I sobbed, sitting on the floor in front of the chair and folding my hands on it, stupidly, awkwardly, but I had no strength left to walk to the bedroom. No washing, no changing clothes. Why is everything so stupid? Why are men so… like this? And Charlotte, the real one, is so… so that all sorts of… all sorts of wrong people flock to her!
And why is there no time at all to do something, fix it, improve it? Three damn days. They will flash by just as stupidly as today, with Applestone's thoughts about life and Norwood's remarks about my joint plans with this idiot. "You only live once"! What do you know about life, brat?! I found a great tragedy – a survey with a professor! And that one… too…
My thoughts completely ran away, leaving only sobs, and then I had no strength left to sob. I sobbed and howled, then it was as if I heard myself from the side and… got scared.
I've never been so unstuck before. Even when the sneaky asshole Mike traded me for Sydney. Even when I had to leave the first good job in my life. Or is this also a greeting from the real Charlotte? But it wasn’t enough to become a hysterical fool!
Although… I won’t have time.
And I cried again, this time quietly, horrified by the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.
I don’t know how much time passed when I realized that some kind of obsessive noise that distracted me from tears and suffering was a knock on the door.
And who could be there? I wasn’t expecting anyone, except perhaps some acquaintances or friends of Charlotte? Do I need them here? I don’t know them, so how am I going to get out?
But there really is enough crying. There was a handkerchief somewhere in the bag. Or should I still make it to the bathroom? Or some tea first?
– Miss Blair, open up! Don’t force me to yell at the whole street and tear down your doors.
What? I mean… who?! Norwood is here?!
By the time she reached the door, she crashed into the door frame and almost knocked over a hanger in the hallway. My legs couldn't hold me up. And what brought it now? I would like some strong sweet tea, maybe even throw in a sip of cognac, and go to sleep. Don't explain yourself to your superiors. Probably dissatisfied with my sudden departure from my workplace.
So I’ll take it and tell him the whole truth. About three days. Let him also understand, why should I suffer and worry alone?
I opened the door and silently stared at Norwood's face. No, it doesn’t look like he came to scold me. Why would you, really? I could speak out about discipline and working hours tomorrow morning. And what does he need then? Silent. He just looks at me like he first saw me. Well, yes, such a roaring and probably swollen beauty, perhaps for the first time.
“I see,” Norwood finally said. – Bag. – He shoved my own bag into my hands – I only now realized that I had run away from work, leaving behind both my bag and my raincoat with boots. Taking him by the shoulders, he gently pushed him out of the way. – Where do you have the potions?
– What potions? – I remembered the first point of my plan, took a handkerchief from my bag, furiously wiped my eyes, blew my nose and stared at Norwood.
– different. First aid and others. First aid kit. Medicines,” he explained, as if mentally retarded.
“I don’t know,” I answered indifferently. – I think it's in the bathroom. Or in the kitchen.
“Great,” Norwood entered and closed the door behind him, as if he doubted that I was able to do this. He opened a portal and disappeared.
Well, why did you come? Okay, I'll find out later. Or I won’t find out what the difference is. So, what's next in my grand plans? Wash and tea? I also don’t know where Charlotte gets cognac and whether she has it at all. So, we'll look. Just like a first aid kit, you really need to find out where it is and what it is. Maybe there’s something there for a hangover, then I’ll get drunk.
Then Norwood appeared again, with a flat black case, and silently walked into the living room. And from there, it seems, to the kitchen. What is going on? Ask? No, wash your face first.
I locked myself in the bathroom and splashed my face for a long time with either warm, then cool, or completely icy water. She was flushed as if from the cold, but the general swelling had not gone away. Nightmare. My eyes wouldn't see this. No, crying is still a disgusting habit. I'll go have some tea. By the way, you should offer Norwood too, if he hasn’t left. If he refuses just like that, it will be as compensation for spilled coffee.
Tea was waiting for me on the table. And Norwood is at the window.
“Drink,” he said without turning around.
– Pour it for yourself too. Drinking tea alone when there is a guest in the house is, to say the least, unsightly. I'll look for cognac now. Or I'll order it.
– Sit down and drink. You won't want cognac after this tea. And don't worry about me. Today is my coffee day.
“Then coffee,” I agreed easily. She took out a jar from the cabinet. – Here. Ground, Arabica. Now. And I wasn’t going to drink cognac after tea, really. A sip into the tea. By the way, how much sugar did you put in? I put two spoons.
– Miss Blair. “He finally turned around, was next to me in a couple of steps, took the can from me, took it by the shoulders and sat me down on a chair. – Drink, I say. What kind of attack of verbiage against the backdrop of hysteria? Did you get infected from Volger? Let's. Should I spoon-feed you?
“The hysteria is over,” I said, wrapping my hands around the hot cup. – Perhaps temporarily. She didn't report.
– I already understood that.
The tea smelled strange. No tea. Did he add something there, or what? That's why I asked about potions. I took a careful, very small sip.
It's unusual, but you can drink it. Perhaps no worse and no better than with cognac.
I drank slowly, trying out the new taste. About halfway through the mug I decided – no, I don’t like it. Some kind of non-sugar and non-honey, sticky sweetness. Asked:
–What did you pour in there?
– Do you want all the ingredients in alphabetical order?
– Let me think. If you ask a person what kind of book he is reading, would you be satisfied with the answer: “Do you want all the letters in alphabetical order?”, or would you prefer the title?
– Name of all potions in alphabetical order? – Norwood grinned distinctly. – It's a mixture.
“Mixture number three, with pepper,” I remembered a quote from the film. I wonder if Lemonade Joe was filmed here?
– Without pepper. Number two thousand two hundred and forty three. Fifth prototype. Very valuable information, isn't it?
“Informative,” I agreed. – If you are interested in the impressions of a guinea pig, then it is too cloying.
“Otherwise it would be too bitter.”
– Maybe we should really add some pepper? Although, in tea… But in coffee it would be a different matter.
Even I don’t drink coffee with herbs. Disgusting taste.
– And coffee with pepper is unique. I was treated to something. Is it possible to eat this mixture of yours? By the way, can I ask you? If you don't want coffee, just sit down. It's not very convenient to talk to someone who looms behind you.
– It’s easier to control the process while standing. Although it is unlikely that you will manage to blow up anything now.
Judging by the sound, Norwood opened the refrigerator. He chuckled and closed it.
– And in any case, you have nothing to eat, so accept it.
– You can order pizza. Do you know how delicious the pizzas are in Little Italy?
– Judging by the number of boxes in the living room, they are very tasty. I'll take your word for it. – He still poured himself some coffee and sat down opposite.
– Why the word? I still need something for dinner. Four muffins all day is not a diet you can be proud of.
–Have you decided to starve yourself to death? For what, I wonder?
– I decided? I think you're the one trying your best to get away from pizza.
– You don’t have breakfast, skip lunch and don’t have lunch when you come home from work, of course, it’s also because of me. – Norwood pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He turned the light green business card over in his hands. – We'll have to atone.
– What nonsense! – I was indignant. – You know about today’s lunch as well as I do, and breakfast… I just had a nightmare, and I got drunk on coffee and decided to take a walk before work.
“In the rain,” Norwood nodded understandingly. – The umbrella flew away. The portal failed. Herr Volger has arrived. The coffee spilled out. Well at least there are some cupcakes left. What about lunch?
“Depression,” I answered vindictively. – Belated search for the meaning of life.
– To be or not to be? To eat or not to eat?
I grabbed the mug. My hands began to tremble.
– You didn’t guess. And we won't. ? then your mixture number two thousand two hundred forty-three without pepper will not help.
– Mine will help. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be sitting here, but gaining experience somewhere in Tibet. And I also searched for the meaning of life.
The food appeared right there on the table. And even served, and not in boxes or plastic containers. A huge steak, emanating with fragrant steam, golden slices of potatoes, green peas. Sweet rice pudding topped with jam. Toasted croutons.
That is great. No talk about the meaning of life. Because I can't tell him. I just can not. For some reason I feel like this would be wrong.
The first normal meal of the day awakened a ravenous appetite. I downed my portion in no time and was seriously considering supplementation. It seems in vain that I limited my acquaintance with local ready-made cuisine to “Little Italy”.
Although, okay, eating too much at night is harmful. And to be honest, I was quite full. And somehow I even quietly finished the tea with the experimental mixture.
“It’s delicious,” she told the professor the obvious. – Thank you.
– Now continue to satisfy my professional curiosity. Describe feelings and desires.
“Satiation,” I grinned. I listened to myself: isn’t I feeling hysterical again? Of course, there is no reason to have fun, but you won’t be able to cry either. Even if I want to. “I don’t know whether to consider it an achievement of your mixture that I no longer feel the urge to cry; you came when the tears had already ended and I was about to wash my face and drink tea.” But it doesn't work. What was left was… devastation, I guess you could say. Not even sadness, because being sad is an emotion, and emotions have all disappeared somewhere. Or no, don’t share it, but… how to put it…
I fell silent, thinking about how to most accurately describe my feelings. Norwood waited, looking at me with interest.
“It’s like looking at a solar eclipse through smoked glass.” Yes. That's probably true. And I almost didn’t want to sleep at all; for some reason I thought that all the sedatives were making me sleepy. And I want to chat. And… – I thought again and for some reason yawned. – I want it somehow rationally. With the understanding that chatting now is useful, because otherwise the very thoughts that make you feel hysterical will begin again. Here. Probably everything. Was there anything else you should have paid attention to?
“Give me your hand,” the professor ordered. – Pulse.
I didn’t pretend to be pretentious, my pulse was just that. He counted and nodded:
– I wouldn’t launch you into space now. But for a different reason. But the mixture does not affect the desire to “chat”. This is your own reaction to stress, obvious even before tea. Well, what are you so drawn to rationally talking about?
I thought: really, about what? In fact, thoughts about the damned three days can arise now from any topic. Even just because Norwood is nearby. But maybe it makes sense to take advantage of such a kind invitation to communicate?
– Tell me, do you have a dream? Not in the sense of “becoming a world-famous pharmacist”, but… how to explain… – Thoughts flowed too sluggishly, inhibited, as if half asleep. – Something that you definitely want to do, try, or visit somewhere, or say something to someone. Something that is scary not to have time.
“A desert island,” Norwood answered instantly. – For personal use. At least for a week. At least in old age. Palma. Hammock. Cave-laboratory. Coconuts and shark fins on the horizon. I would become a kind romantic, communicate with Venus and Saturn and would probably be inexpressibly happy.
“It’s sad,” I agreed.
“As you’ve probably noticed, I don’t like people very much.” Especially some. And these some have the marvelous ability to reproduce at the speed of a fruit fly.
– I noticed. Well… you won't be sitting at the Academy forever, will you? Maybe not even in old age, but sooner, you will have your own island for personal use. If you take it seriously, this is probably not the most difficult goal.
– ? yours? Extremely difficult?
– No. Too simple. It probably can't even be called a dream. Just a place, a city that I really want to visit. An obsession, yes. That's more accurate. But it will be all the more offensive if… – I fell silent and looked into the empty cup. “I could walk around Sydney all this week, but I have Volger, Applestone, piles of daily mail and melancholy. And you, dear Doctor Norwood. And in a week it may be too late. It's hopelessly late." No really. I'm not ready to go to that level of frankness. – You know, there is something else. I would leave the Academy. Travel the world and write. About everything. It would be great.
– So leave. True, some dreams are better off remaining dreams, but I wouldn’t guess in advance which one shouldn’t come true.
“Let’s get out of there together,” I yawned again and shook my head. Drowsiness was creeping up, overtaking, and for some reason I thought: I wonder if I will see a continuation of yesterday’s dream? ? What details did Jake say? – It seems your mixture still works as a sleeping pill.
– Very gentle, but effective and without side effects. Come on, get up, sleeping with your nose on the table is not what you need.
He appeared next to me and pulled me out of the chair. Very opportune, because I reminded myself of a piece of the same pudding that I had recently eaten. I can flutter, but I can’t move meaningfully. I would actually fall asleep with my nose on the table – amazing progress after sleeping in a chair yesterday.
I grabbed the professor, almost hugged him. Somehow, lately he has often served as my support – in the literal sense. Thank you, it doesn't flinch. He even grabbed me around the waist. Probably to make it more convenient to guide my carcass in the right direction.
“The bedroom is upstairs,” I said.
“Extremely valuable and timely information,” noted Norwood, who had just stopped near the stairs. Why are there such steep steps here? I haven’t noticed it until now, but in my current state the only way to overcome this climb is by crawling! Probably, the house was built for teetotalers and people leading a fashionable “healthy lifestyle” in my world. The professor also appreciated the obstacle. He chuckled and said: “So, we solve the problem in the most acceptable way.” Hang in there.
And I took off into the air. Oh! I grabbed Norwood by the neck, and he held me under my back and knees, like a child. And with such a load he cheerfully stomped upstairs. Strong.
“No one has ever carried me in their arms,” I said for some reason.
– Enjoy. So, where to now?
– To the left. I'm enjoying it. It's a shame that this is a one-time event. I'm not the type of woman you like, am I?
– Yes, I just like to carry all the suffering ladies up the stairs in my free time. You know, miss, if you weren't in a faint state, I would think you were flirting. Yeah. Here she is!
“I’m not flirting,” I objected offendedly. – Honestly, I'm deadly serious. By the way, you can already put me on my feet.
– Well, I do not. You in an upright position and without mixtures can be dangerous to yourself and others. Our goal is the bed. The most reliable and safe place.
I didn’t understand how he threw back the covers and blanket. A movement of his eyebrows, no less – what would have happened to him? He laid me down. Said:
– The shoes are definitely unnecessary. The rest can be dealt with.
I didn’t care anymore; I would have fallen asleep in my shoes if he hadn’t taken them off. It was as if the contact of the head with the pillow had triggered the hypnotic effect of the mixture of two-thousand-and-so-on in full force. Through the approaching sleep I heard a quiet voice:
“Good night, Miss not-Blair.” Rest.
And I fell asleep. Softly, smoothly, as if rocking on the waves of a warm sea and slowly plunging into them.
