Coolness

Coolness

Erick Poladov

© Erick Poladov, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0065-0478-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Prologue

Few people in the village lived past their seventh decade. Friedrich was the first person to do so in the last half century. He was sixty-two, sitting on the porch of a barn on a clear autumn day, with a dozen and a half children crowded around him – the oldest of whom was not yet twelve. They asked him only one question: “Why work so hard, only to throw away huge reserves of harvest that could feed the entire village for a month?”

Studying the children’s curious eyes, Friedrich began:

– I will tell you, but I hope you hear this story only from me, and that you never have to witness anything like it. I was thirteen then. I heard this legend… Or rather, it seemed like a legend, because everyone spoke of it all the time, and adults mentioned it with grave expressions, but nothing like that ever actually happened. My peers and I never saw any evidence that Nix existed.

– Nix? – nine-year-old Penelope repeated, questioningly.

– Yes, darling. That is the name of the evil spirit. He controls the element of frost, and the souls of the dead obey him. He appears every year on the first full moon after the first snow. As soon as the first snow falls, the entire village collects a hundred bags of ripe fruit, loads them into carts, and takes them deep into the woods on a cold, frosty night, as far as possible, so as not to let Nix get close to the village. This is how the evil spirit receives an offering, in return for which he does not plague the residents of our village.

– What if he doesn’t receive the offering? – Penelope pressed.

After these words, tears welled up in Friedrich’s eyes, as he recalled the events he had witnessed in his youth. He tried to find the strength to continue the story, a lone tear tracing a path down his left cheek.

1. Borrowed Warmth

Summer was always short in these parts, and while the warm days lasted, they hurried to lie down among the tall grass near the riverbank in the sun, where no one would disturb them. Erikson was twenty years old, and he had already laid out his plans for life. The following spring, he and Penelope decided to get married. In the meantime, he could not take his eyes off those blue eyes, her straight chestnut hair, and her full lips. Erikson often called her Squirrel because the local forest had squirrels the same color as Penelope’s hair; in the entire village, only her mother and sister shared that color. She was a year younger, but slightly taller than Erikson.

He pressed his lips to hers again and kissed her, feeling the sun warm the skin on Penelope’s face. She reached out to return the kiss, then rolled onto her side and, propping her head up with her hand, said:

– Maybe we can go to the lake tomorrow?

Erikson sighed with annoyance and replied:

– No, Squirrel. I’m afraid not. Tomorrow is our shift.

Penelope was not upset at all.

– Well, no big deal. My father seems to be working for several days in a row. I’ll go with him tomorrow. – Then Penelope leaned in close to Erikson’s face and almost whispered: – So you won’t get away from me anyway.

Erikson abruptly pressed his lips to the girl’s neck and, feigning an animal bite, laid her on her back. Penelope screamed, choking back her laughter, and Erikson, playfully pressing his teeth to Squirrel’s neck, once again felt the girl’s skin warm beneath the sun’s rays. He continued to hold Penelope’s wrists pinned, stopping her from resisting, and kept devouring her neck with his lips, moving as low as her dress allowed. Squirrel shook her head and pressed her chin to her chest, but it was all useless. Erikson found vulnerable spots and pressed his lips there lightly, then let Penelope feel the edges of his teeth. As soon as he left her neck alone, Penelope abruptly stopped screaming. Now muffled laughter escaped her lips, giving way to a joyful smile. The sunbeams falling directly on her eyes prevented her from clearly making out Erikson’s face. He couldn’t get enough of her full lips for a few more moments; then he pressed his own to hers and began to slide across them.

Meanwhile, Andreas, Erikson’s father, had finished carving a wooden boat for his youngest son. They were walking along the bank near the field, where the boy launched the boat. The water level in the river had dropped noticeably over the summer, the current was weak, and the boat was not moving as fast as seven-year-old Willie wanted. Noticing the boat’s sluggish movement, he looked at his father and said:

– I wish winter would come soon.

Willie’s favorite pastime was sledding. Back in the spring, when a board on the old sled cracked, Andreas promised Willie he would make him a new one before autumn. But once it became clear that the drought would require working in the fields twice as much as usual, very little time was left for other things. However, Andreas was determined to keep his promise, as this was the only way he could persuade the youngest of his three sons to be patient until winter, when the first snow would fall and cover the hill, making it ready for the village children to rush down.

Meanwhile, the work in the field was in full swing. The rains did not come, and the river level continued to drop. Once again, forty-three-year-old Karl filled the buckets and was about to head toward the crops, when Wilhelm, who was eight years his junior, approached him and said:

– Go on, take a rest. I’ll take over for you.

Despite the fact that Karl did not say a word – which was typical for him – he was nevertheless glad to see Wilhelm. The third day in a row was taking its toll on his body, and Karl already doubted that he would be able to return to the field tomorrow.

The villagers sowed, weeded the soil, and watered the crops together. It was a single common field, the harvest from which was similarly stored in a common barn, and from there, everyone took provisions when necessary. Individually, the villagers kept only chickens and horses, as livestock was also raised through common effort. Nix was the reason for all this. To appease him, the offering had to be presented by the entire village, and so, to ensure no one had to give more or less than another, the residents worked together on the common field, selecting the most suitable soil for sowing.

His legs were already weak, and he was not able to carry water for another day. But Karl was truly sorry that he would not be able to work in the field tomorrow. In the village, everyone was taught from childhood that they had to work like the devil if necessary, and try to collect as much of the harvest as possible. Now, for Karl, this was a true commandment. However, only a few like him remained among the villagers. As generations passed, practicality and cold calculation prevailed. Karl always wanted a son, but God blessed him with two daughters. Having suffered a terrible fever after her second birth, Regina was unable to conceive a third time. Karl was not destined to father a boy, but he tried to raise his daughters to accept a man’s will as unquestionable. Even in his relationship with Regina, he began to behave more harshly so that their daughters would internalize this kind of relationship between a man and a woman as the only acceptable norm.

Meanwhile, Karl’s thoughts were preoccupied with how hard things would be for the entire village. He was worried about the lack of rain and how meager the harvest would be this year. And the sun was too warm this year.

2. Sweetness of Dusk

Dusk had settled. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon, and Erikson and Penelope were walking back to the village along a forest path. Penelope folded her arms across her chest, feeling the cold begin to creep in. They walked in silence until Erikson spoke:

– Hey, Squirrel!

Penelope looked at him and said:

– What?

Erikson pointed his index finger forward and said:

– I said look, squirrel!

Penelope glanced ahead and saw a squirrel dart past, then nudged Erikson in the shoulder and said:

– Oh, you!

Suddenly, a crack sounded. Something flashed behind the trees.

They slowed abruptly, stopping completely. Penelope stepped to the side, hiding behind Erikson and peering out over his shoulder.

The figure flashed through the trees once more. A continuous series of sounds – of breaking branches and rustling leaves – followed.

– Who’s there? – Erikson asked in a half-whisper, a tremor in his voice.

The unknown figure began to move in their direction, and then a voice rang out:

– What are you two doing out so late?

Ludwig stepped onto the path. He looked to be about twenty-five, though he was actually only sixteen. From an early age, the young man had been large for his years. He was three years Penelope’s junior and four years Erikson’s, yet he stood a head taller than both, with broad shoulders and impressively sized hands.

Hearing the familiar voice, Erikson and Penelope breathed a sigh of relief. The autumn before last, they had stumbled upon two wolves in these parts, but they were lucky then because Andreas had been with them, and he carried a double-barreled shotgun. Predators were almost never encountered in this part of the forest, where the path to the lake, river, and fields ran. They mostly lived on the side opposite the village; if someone went hunting, they had to cover a huge distance to find a wolf or a bear among the hares, deer, and wild boars.

– If you sneak up on me like that all the time, I’ll definitely stop walking out here after dark – Erikson replied.

– Oh, come on – Ludwig said soothingly. He held the strap of the rifle slung over his shoulder with his left hand, and in the other, he carried a sack, which he immediately opened. – It’s good that I ran into you, by the way. – He reached into the sack and pulled out a shot hare, which he extended to Erikson. – Here. I hope this smooths over our little misunderstanding.

– Oh! Now this I thank you for – Erikson said in a satisfied tone.

– And for you, beautiful – Ludwig said to Penelope, handing her the second hare. – Its skin will make a fine hat for the winter.

In response, Penelope kissed Ludwig on his cheek.

– I don’t understand – Erikson protested, feigning offense. – Are you trying to steal my girl?

Before Ludwig could respond, Penelope cut in:

– The day you learn to hunt, I’ll kiss you a thousand times.

Despite Ludwig’s menacing size, the young man had a good heart, which everyone knew well. He had spent half the day hunting, shot four hares, and easily parted with half his catch, making him a little happier in that moment. If a soul could be given size and viewed, then Ludwig’s would be as massive as he was. Greed and selfishness were alien to him. The only thing he was ever stingy about was the ammunition for his rifle, which he tried not to squander while shooting.

The three of them continued walking towards the village.

Just as they emerged from the forest, they saw ten-year-old Ursula running toward them. Before she even reached Penelope, she began to shout:

– Dad said to tell you… – but the sight of the hare’s carcass in her older sister’s hand interrupted Ursula’s speech: – Ohhh…

Ursula had instantly forgotten the important message she was supposed to deliver, but Penelope already understood what Ursula had meant. At such a late hour, the only thing their father could be ordering was for them to hurry home and stop wandering God knows where.

– Okay, – Penelope said, turning back toward the boys after taking a couple of steps forward. – See you tomorrow. – Then she addressed Ludwig personally: – Thanks again, Breadwinner. – With that, Penelope quickened her pace, taking Ursula’s hand.

When Penelope was already a good distance away, Erikson spoke, not without sarcasm:

– She called you a Breadwinner. You’ll definitely steal my girl soon.

– What do I have to do with it?

– Even though she doesn’t call me that. Now I’m starting to think she doesn’t consider me a man.

– Ah, come on. We can go for a bear tomorrow, and then tell her you shot it.

Erikson slapped his palm on Ludwig’s huge shoulder, then they laughed and continued on their way.

On the outskirts of the village, Penelope and Ursula met eight-year-old Wanda. She was carrying a basket full of wild strawberries that was almost as big as she was.

She ran to meet them, and Penelope immediately asked:

– Hey, what are you doing out here so late?

– Mom knows. I just stayed out a little late.

Penelope glanced around the evening gloom and said:

– A little?

Still, Penelope perfectly understood the girl; at that age, she herself had run anywhere that was more interesting than her own yard and had likewise been in no particular hurry to return home.

– Help yourselves – Wanda said, holding out the basket.

Ursula took a couple of berries from the heaped top, while Penelope ran her fingers over the wild strawberries, estimating the quantity by touch in the semi-darkness, before she asked:

– How much time did you spend gathering all this?

– I just pick fast. – Wanda giggled for a moment, then added: – And I also know all the secret spots.

– Come on, confess! – Penelope threatened playfully, pinching the tip of Wanda’s nose with her fingers. The girl laughed. – I’m stealing just one – Penelope added, taking a berry from the basket.

– Take more – Wanda urged.

– Well, since you insist…

Penelope put a couple more berries in her mouth, then hurried the girls on their way home.

As they approached the house, Penelope handed the hare’s carcass to Ursula and said:

– Go on inside. Tell them I’ll be right there; I just need to walk Wanda home.

Ursula ran toward the house, clutching the hare’s carcass to herself – a carcass that seemed almost bigger than she was.

Meanwhile, Penelope continued down the street, and Wanda continued to share her wild strawberries.

Noticing Penelope pass by, seventeen-year-old Ian, their neighbor, hid behind the trunk of an apple tree, unable to take his eyes off her even in the dim light. Since childhood, he had been unable to stop admiring her. In his innermost dreams, he envisioned their future life together, where she would bear his children and share his bed every night. Ian’s mind was reluctant to return to reality, though in truth, it never returned entirely. A part of him already literally lived apart from his body – where he held the neighbor’s girl and walked with her under the moon. Penelope herself never engaged in long conversations with her neighbor. She always greeted him, like everyone else, and sometimes even asked how he was doing. Ian felt that when she asked about his day, he was being given a perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation with the beauty and take the first step toward making his fantasies at least a little bit closer to reality. But Penelope only asked about his day out of politeness – when she was tired of simply saying “hello” every day and wanted to say something new. But every time, Ian froze when the beautiful girl asked about his day. He was overcome with trembling, his thoughts confused, and he could only utter “fine” or “okay”. After those replies, Penelope walked on, and Ian felt ready to hang himself because she left so soon. He painfully felt every inch the chasm separating him from his dream widened. And now he watched the distance between them grow, as Penelope’s silhouette became less and less distinct in the twilight.

– Ian! – barked his father, Martin.

The boy started in surprise.

– Get inside.

He started toward the porch, continuing to glance back every few feet, though Penelope’s silhouette had already dissolved into the gloom.

At that very moment, Wilhelm was approaching the house, returning from the barn. He noticed two approaching figures, recognizing his youngest daughter in one of them.

Seeing her father, Wanda quickened her pace and ran, calling out as she went:

– Dad, look! – Wanda held out the basket, beaming over the quantity of berries she had managed to collect.

Wilhelm squatted down, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and said with feeling:

– Wow! Admit it, who did you steal these from?

– Hey! – Wanda huffed. – I’m not a thief.

A smile flickered across Wilhelm’s face. He kissed Wanda again and hurried her inside.

– Thank you – he said to Penelope.

– Hi, Penelope! – Ava called from the doorway, hugging Wanda. – Will you come in? We’re having fried chicken and pheasant.

– Thanks, but maybe some other time. I have to go; they’re already waiting for me.

3. Lead Eyelids, Steel Hands

– When I say it’s time to go home, it means you have to go home. Straight home – Karl scolded his eldest daughter in a low but menacing tone.

– I was walking Wanda home. She…

– I DON’T CARE! – Karl shouted at the top of his lungs, slamming his palm on the table. His shout was so loud that Regina, sitting nearby, and Ursula, at the far end of the table, flinched. Penelope, standing right next to her father with her eyes fixed on the floor, barely flinched. – It’s enough for me that I have to work in the fields like a dog every day! Enough!

Penelope continued to stand, her eyes fixed on the floor. Regina and Ursula tensed, their hearts pounding in the moments of Karl’s wrath.

– Sit! – Karl ordered.

Penelope quietly went to the plate that stood to her father’s left, across from Regina, and sat, maintaining a guilt-ridden appearance. Her eyes were difficult to see, even in the light of the oil lamp on the table, as strands of hair partially covered her face, and so Karl missed her almost peaceful gaze.

– When we finish, you’ll clear and wash all the dishes. – Karl then looked at Regina: – And you, straight to bed. – With a tired sigh, Karl concluded: – Let’s eat.

Penelope only reached for her spoon after everyone else had started eating, ensuring her father wouldn’t think she was sitting down to dinner as if nothing had happened, uncaring of his disciplinary shouts.

Karl did not often vent such displeasure toward his eldest daughter. It typically stemmed from accumulated exhaustion, and as Penelope matured, both physically and emotionally, she began to notice and understand the root cause of her father’s sudden rage. Consequently (whether from habit or the developing patience of a young woman), she no longer took such outbursts of indignation to heart. Penelope admitted she gave more reason for his displeasure than anyone else in the house. She was far from puritanical manners and behaved too freely to be called the modest girl Karl desired. She was not a shrinking violet; she effortlessly connected with everyone, readily engaged in conversation, loved to chat, smiled, and laughed. Crucially, she went on dates, having decided on her own fiancé rather than waiting for her father to choose for her. She understood that her father needed to find someone to vent on and relieve his tension in those moments. She didn’t complain that he always chose her as a target, since she would have disliked it even more if he had addressed her mother or sister in the same manner. Furthermore, as Regina had told her since childhood, Karl had always dreamed of a firstborn son, and Penelope, by her mere existence, reminded her father every day that she was the one who had stolen that dream by being born. Karl understood that no one was to blame, and Penelope knew she was not at fault. Yet everyone also understood that people bury their dreams very reluctantly, and sometimes a lifetime isn’t enough to accept the will of fate.

Regina, unlike her husband, did not try to impose any qualities on her daughter, nor did she harbor any specific expectations. Penelope helped her with the housework; she never objected to the tasks Regina assigned and was very quick in her work. She had willingly helped when Ursula was small, babysitting her sister from morning till night. To Regina, her eldest daughter had grown into a capable girl – hard-working, silver-tongued, and without bad habits. She desired nothing more. Whenever Penelope wanted to slip out but knew her father would object, she would ask her mother for permission. Regina would always agree to cover for her, telling Karl she had sent their daughter on an errand that would take nearly half a day to complete.

While Penelope walked home, having politely declined the dinner invitation, Ava hurried to the girls, who were desperate to pounce on Wanda’s wild strawberries. Wanda set the basket down on the floor to show off to her sisters, who instantly swarmed it with wide eyes and excited cries. Ava immediately rushed to tear her daughters away from the berries:

– Now, quickly wash your hands and get to the table.

– Oh, Mom! – Irma, the thirteen-year-old eldest, pleaded in an indignant, yet imploring tone.

– Quickly, I said – Ava repeated in a firmer tone, taking the basket of berries. – You’ll ruin your appetite. We’ll have dinner, and then you can gorge on the wild strawberries.

The second oldest was eleven-year-old Astrid, followed by ten-year-old Frida, and finally, Wanda, the youngest. All four ran to the basin to quickly wet their hands; no one planned to fuss over washing, eager to swallow a couple of small bites at dinner just to tick off the box and move on to the wild strawberries. Meanwhile, Ava hid the basket of berries away from her daughters’ sight. At the mere sight of them, she herself felt a fierce craving for at least a few berries. More accurately, it was the child in her womb that wanted them. She was thirty-two and still desperately wanted to give Wilhelm a son. Whenever she brought this up with Wilhelm, he always replied that he was perfectly happy, being the only man in the entire village who lived in a “garden of five women”. He came up behind her, wrapped his arms tightly around her, cupped her stomach with his palms, and pressed his nose into Ava’s neck. Taking a deep breath, he murmured:

– How about YOU become my dinner tonight? You smell much better than this pheasant.

Ava was smiling, but it was more from the tickling sensation of Wilhelm’s nose on her neck than from his words. She barely managed to suppress a laugh, whispering:

– Alright, stop. Let’s sit down already. You can devour me in bed. I’ll be your dessert.

Wilhelm jutted out his chin. Ava turned her face toward him, kissed him on the lips, and added:

– Okay, let’s go.

– Boys! Time for dinner! – Charlotte called out loudly so that each of the four men in their family would hear her.

Willie was already at the table, his chin pressed against the tabletop. A grimace of boredom still clung to his face. He longed for winter to arrive, and his boat no longer held any interest for him.

Just as Charlotte placed a dish of vegetable stew in the center of the table, the middle brother, fifteen-year-old Morten, approached. Erikson followed, and then Andreas. Before taking his seat at the head of the table, he stroked his fingers through the hair of his youngest son, who was inwardly consumed by melancholy.

Everyone embarked on the final task of the day – emptying the food stores.

– I saw Penelope – Charlotte began, serving herself a porridge of rice, nuts, and beans. – She was returning without you. Did you two quarrel?

– No. Ursula just came running and said her father ordered her to haul butt home.

– Couldn’t you have hauled butt faster and walked the girls home? – Charlotte countered indignantly.

– We ran into Ludwig. He gave us a hare, and out of the deepest respect for him, I simply couldn’t leave him alone, thereby offering him a personal insult. So I decided to keep him company.

– Yes, – Charlotte replied with a hint of sarcasm, – Penelope will certainly get a fine husband.

– Leave it – Andreas said calmly to his wife. – Penelope is a modern girl. There’s little that scares her.

– See? – Erikson interjected in a satisfied voice.

– But the fact that our son grew up without good manners… – Andreas added, looking at Erikson. The father’s words caused a smirk to appear on Morten’s face, who sat across from his older brother.