The Unnamed Violin

I was afraid that the next moment the elevator would stop, and I would never see her again. I absolutely had to know what floor she would get off on. I didn’t know why – but I had to.

Another story – and the doors opened, the electronic bell rang. Stepping onto the floor, the girl disappeared beyond my field of vision, without turning around.

I overcame the irresistible desire to rush after her. My deep, huffing breath made other people in the cabin look at me quizzically, and I was already smiling stupidly.

I stepped out of the elevator with a spring in my step. The stranger got off on the thirteenth floor.

20. Fight Fire With Fire

Baphomet had not spoken to me for three days, and I did not dare come to the club. I did not want to fall out with him, but how could I do otherwise? Besides, the violin – this damn violin – was mine.

I turned the wheel, hooking a right into the street that led home. The weather was appalling, to match my foul mood, the rain pounding the windshield, leaving streaks that sparkled in the dim light of the streetlamps. It would snow soon – with November snow, the one New Yorkers wouldn’t notice, since it would melt in the morning as if it had never been there.

It would be better if I had never come here, it would be better if none of this had happened. Sometimes it seemed to me I already hated these identical blocks and regular crossroads in Astoria, this seething fashionable Manhattan, these Brooklyn clubs … Gloomy thoughts and premonitions, despondency and autumnal hopelessness – like in the Bowery gallery.

Wherever I went, I felt someone’s gaze on me; a month ago I would have ridiculed my paranoia, but not now.

I had strange dreams. Strange, not scary, pleasant – as colorful erotic visions can be pleasant, which would seem disgusting in daylight.

I dreamed about her – that dark-haired girl. The infatuation was rapidly growing into an obsession, something that had never happened to me before … She was just a stranger – I didn’t even know her.

I didn’t dare to meet her, it would have been inappropriate – especially after such fantasies.

In my dreams we had known each other for a long time, we had lived many lives together. The scenery and eras changed, but she remained the same … As in reality, she could come to me, each time I thought it was not a dream, because here I am – lying in my apartment, on the bed, and the same walls surround us, and the autumn rain knocks on the glass of the curtained window … And when I woke up from my own moan, all wet with sweat, I felt disgusted with myself.

I couldn’t resist the delusion. It was stronger than me.

Damn succubus! The Fractured Star in multiple variants … My demons would laugh if they knew what kind of night visions I had.

If I stop thinking about her constantly, if I forget her, then she will no longer come … She has become an intrusive image, more terrible than a monster with glowing yellow eyes.

I grinned crookedly as I turned the key in the front door. Tonight, I would drink half a bottle of whiskey in one gulp and fall into a dreamless sleep – and neither a beauty nor a black shadow would be able to wake me.

I put the glass on the floor and was already sitting on the bed, having pulled my jeans down halfway – but suddenly I jumped out of bed. It dawned on me: fight fire with fire!

In an attempt to walk across the room to the nightstand to collect the contents of my pockets, I got tangled up in my own pants, which dangled between my legs like shackles. Soon, I was zipping up my fly.

When I have to take my jeans off again, it’s best to take them off completely.

…The music thundered under the Good Room’s vaults, and I was already regretting that I had given in to the impulse to come to the club. At any moment, someone I knew could notice me, it was wiser to go where no one knew me.

I leaned against the bar, peering over the heads, nodding to the bartender.

“Hey, look, it’s Victor!”

Through the gurgling fry of the band’s vocalist, who usually performed as our opening act, I could already make out voices from behind me. The approaching shrill, drunken girlish laughter foretold that in a few moments I would be joined by lovers of dancing, drinking, and fucking.

Today I am no different from them, I also came to unwind and enjoy my time.

I never remembered their names, they laughed, sharing their impressions of the previous concert, I looked at them without embarrassment – like at goods. One looked like a Barbie doll, made according to a standard pattern, a blonde, who could laugh loudly at dirty jokes and suck well. The second, a brunette, looked like a dead bride from a Burton film. She bared her white teeth behind her cherry lips predatorily, and I would not be surprised if in her bag, in addition to a pack of condoms, there was a strap-on.

Some time later, Barbie, realizing that I had already made my choice and that two girls were too many for me, quietly disappeared, leaving me and my friend alone. She had a pleasant voice, she could keep up a conversation, and even – playfully, not seriously – discussed a recent London theater production in which they staged a ritual of the Fractured Star cult.

It seems to me that everyone around is crazy – either with violins or with the Mother of Demons.

The girl licked her lips, stroked my knee – with a hand with long nails, like the claws with which vampires crawl along the walls – and I still doubted, only treated her to a cocktail. I did not know what still bothered me – everything about her was the way I liked it.

Part of me wanted to go home, part of me was disgusted … We were drunk enough to not notice the hum of voices and the noise of music: we were sitting at the bar, she had beautiful slender legs, for some reason she threw one over my thigh.

I offered her another cocktail, she declined – and rose from her chair, drawing me along with her. I walked backstage, pulling her toward me by the waist with one arm.

She pinned me to the wall, I grinned, running my hands under the top edge of her tight leather corset. Her breasts, half covered by clothing, were soft. She reached out to me with her scarlet mouth, but I stopped her, pressing my index finger to her lips.

I didn’t want her to kiss me.

While she was fiddling with my belt and fly, her long nails tickling my abdomen, I was trying to figure out why I always felt like something was wrong. She was trying to pull my member out of my partially unzipped jeans, I was holding her hair, she was kissing my neck wetly.

The persistent and rough caresses aroused me, but at the same time, I felt uneasy. I peered into the face that once in a while turned to me, and caught myself thinking that I was comparing … Comparing with her.

They were both my type. They had something in common, too much, but not enough to—

We didn’t say a word, and she was already kneeling down, still holding my cock in front of her face.

“I’ll be right back,” I croaked, lifting her from the floor and zipping up my pants right away.

She followed me with a puzzled look.

A moment later, I was already rushing to the exit, cursing myself.

21. Disgust

How could I?! How could this idea even come into my stupid head?! I felt disgusted with myself, I regretted not having crashed my car on the way home.

I barely made it to the toilet without splashing the contents of my stomach all over the entrance hall floor. I was turned inside out, and clutching the edge of the toilet with my hands to keep from sprawling out in a puddle, I howled at the top of my lungs in between the sounds of alien civilizations.

This went on for an excruciatingly long time – and when the incessant urge to vomit finally began to subside, trembling with weakness, I sat down on the floor, leaning my back against the bathtub.

Having caught my breath, I opened my eyes and stared at the lamps in the ceiling, the light was burning, I had to close my eyelids again. My head was still spinning, a feeling of disgust rose in my throat, and I once again crawled to the toilet.

I waited for the torture to end. My abdomen muscles were twisting, my stomach was jumping out through my throat.

When I was able to get into the shower – without undressing, still fully clothed – it got a little easier. I nervously pulled off my wet turtleneck and pants, I shouted curses into the silent void, leaning my hands against the wall. I soaped myself and washed the foam off several times – it seemed that this damn lipstick had eaten into my skin, had been absorbed into my blood like poison, and I would never be able to get rid of it … I no longer felt nauseous, but it was sickening, I hated myself, I hated what I had become.

My eyes stung, either from the soap or from the tears that had come, I was sobbing, I couldn’t stop. I whined, trying again to wash away the invisible prints of hands and lips, I rubbed my face, I scratched my skin to tear off this disgusting mask, I bit my lips until they bled to stop sobbing. I squatted down, hugging myself by the shoulders with my hands.

The thought that I would have stayed with that girl scared me.

Why is everything different in a dream, why does the thought of another one make my chest and stomach tremble, why does this pleasant heaviness in my groin immediately appear? I am already leaning against the shower wall with an odd smile, my hand reaching for my member.

As if she were real.

What am I doing?! A moron who is afraid of his own shadow and jerks off in the shower, fantasizing about a stranger!

I pulled myself out from under the hot stream of water and walked into the room without drying myself, then wrapped myself in the blanket on the bed.

I was shaking, either from weakness or from the cold, but I continued to sit and stare blankly into space. If the monster in the cloak had appeared at that moment, I would have been glad to see him – I would have torn off his mask, scratched out his yellow eyes, strangled him … But a shadow has no body … Which means he won’t be able to get me …

I realized I was falling asleep when a black shadow morphed into me, walked past me into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Wrapping myself tighter in the warm, cozy blanket, I dropped my head onto the pillow and mentally told the shadow to go to hell, and he made a fist and middle finger gesture at me.

22. Day Off

“Victor, are you listening to me?”

Gray looked at me worriedly, I realized that I had missed everything he was saying.

“No, sorry, my mind wandered,” I muttered, shivering.

I was cold all day, the weakness did not go away. Damn hangover.

“Are you alright?”

I shrugged. His questions were no use … My head was splitting, I really wanted to go home, take advantage of the day off before the five-day workweek of an office ant – and go to the store, buy something to eat. Usually my refrigerator is like the cupboard of old Mother Hubbard from the nursery rhyme.

Only then I’m unlikely to come back to life like her dog if I die of hunger.

I glanced thoughtfully at the murky gray sky of the Financial District outside the window, then turned my attention to the lawyer patiently awaiting an answer.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Gray sighed.

“To challenge the auction deal, you’ll need to show the instrument to an independent appraiser – to confirm that it’s the same violin.”

“Why can’t we leave it as is?” I objected. “I don’t care whether it was bought or inherited, it doesn’t matter at all.”

“Mr. Reichenberg, I will take care of this. Your task is to make only one single visit. I will give you the address a little later. It is south Brooklyn, the Coney Island neighborhood.”

Hell, he’s such a pest! I’m not going to visit anyone – especially since I don’t have the violin anymore. Why do I need another trouble?

“I already told you: I don’t need my money back.”

I almost let it slip that I wasn’t even at the auction, and that the sly Hedman was to blame for everything, having put my name on the participants list.

I was shivering, pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down over my wrists and fidgeting in my chair.

“Perhaps there is a reason why you don’t want to show the violin to anyone or claim that you own it?” The lawyer narrowed his eyes.

I shook my head.

“No. I just don’t understand why there’s so much fuss over a stupid violin.”

He leaned back in his chair, reached for a pack of cigarettes, and clicked the lighter – with a picture of a boar hunt in a pattern of white five-petal lilies. I would’ve had a cig too, but my throat was sore, and for some reason I couldn’t even look at the cigarettes.

Gray kept talking about insurance for the instrument, but I wasn’t listening: I was lost in thought again.

At some point I started coughing from the smoke, interrupting the lawyer’s monologue in mid-sentence, said an inarticulate goodbye and hurried away. I was already feeling cold and hot, I was in a lousy state.

On the way home, already in Astoria, I stopped at a grocery store. My hands were reaching for chocolate bars, human food disgusted me as much as cigarettes. I couldn’t cook, so I usually ordered pizza or grabbed Mexican food on the way; less often I bought food that was easy enough to heat up – and I happily forgot about its existence in the refrigerator until the expiration date.

With boxes of ready-made products and chocolates sticking out from under my arm, I was already walking along the stands to the cashier, feeling my strength running out. Suddenly, someone grabbed me by the shoulders from behind, shouting a name in my ear, and in surprise I dropped the groceries on the floor.

Kaftzefoni was smiling from ear to ear – but my hands involuntarily clenched into fists … The customers and cashiers had already noticed us, peering out from their workplaces at the noise, as Sandström, in turn, for some reason held me by the shoulders, not allowing me to move.

“Let go!” I muttered, discontentedly breaking away.

“Glad to see you.”

“Did you miss me?”

Kaftz nodded, opening his arms.

“Of course, you haven’t shown up since that night.”

I have, I responded mentally, taking a step back, but it would have been better if I hadn’t been there …

I bent down and started collecting the groceries, my head buzzing.

“It would have been better if you had helped,” I snorted grouchily.

When the bars and boxes were back in my hands, and Kaftz condescendingly patted the packages with his palm, checking the piled-up structure for strength, one cashier counter became free, and I stomped over there.

Sandström followed, giggling. It seemed to me that everyone in the hall was staring at me when the wallet, not without difficulty extracted from my pocket, fell to the floor with a dull, mocking slap. Kaftz blorted with laughter.

“What the hell are you laughing at?!” I exclaimed with annoyance, bending down to pick up my wallet.

Everyone silently watched me pay, rustling the paper bag, and then silently leaving the store.

“You’re acting strange today,” Kaftz noticed, catching up with me on the entrance staircase.

When I got into the car, I swore I would never go to that store again. Who am I trying to deceive? I’ll forget about it the next day.

23. The Tale of the Monster

She adjusted the blanket on me, intending to say goodnight and leave, but I persistently pulled her sleeve with a silent request to stay. I understood that, already being an adult, I was not supposed to be capricious, but I did not want to sleep.

Using my favorite trick, I whined, “Mo-o-om, please …”

She sighed and sat down on the bed next to me, kissing the top of my head.

“And what do you want? You said yourself, you didn’t like the book about the inventor.”

She smiled, settling down next to my pillow. I turned to her so I could see her pale face, and the light from the nightlight made her black eyelashes even longer.

“Tell me a tale.”

“A tale?” she was amazed and leaned towards me, smiling wider; I smiled unwittingly too. “Well, if you want me to …”

I nodded in agreement, and she ruffled my hair, straightening the blanket that had fallen to the side again.

“Okay, then listen,” she sighed.

For a moment it seemed to me that her beautiful face became sad, but it was only a play of shadows.

I smiled at her, closing my eyes and leaning back on the pillows: if the story was interesting, I would definitely listen to the end. When I couldn’t read yet, she read aloud to me, and no matter how exciting the adventures of the book characters were, I fell asleep almost immediately. I liked listening to her voice, with it, I felt peaceful and good – I could listen to anything.

Sometimes I imagined that my mom was a wizard, and her voice and words were magic spells, because sounds are the same as touches.

She stroked my shoulder, and I watched from under my lowered eyelashes as her hands tucked the blanket, wrapping me in an envelope. I felt warm and cozy, I blissfully closed my eyes, resisting smiling, but my mouth still stretched into a smile. I waited for her to start, but I knew: until she was sure that I was securely wrapped up, there would be no fairy tale.

Finally, she began, “Once upon a time there was a princess …”

I stirred, putting my hands under my head.

“Smart, kind, and beautiful. Like all princesses.”

I was silent, taking in every word.

“The princess had a hobby: collecting rare things from all over the world. In her castle there was a real museum of unusual works of art, music boxes, jewelry. But for every birthday the princess gave herself something special – something that can’t be bought, something that no one else has … She loved to make her dreams become reality.”

“Did she give herself presents?”

I turned over on my back, confused, trying to get out of the blanket.

“Yes,” Mom answered after a moment. “The princess was alone, the only one in her kingdom. She had no one to give her presents.”

I felt sorry for the princess: she was beautiful, smart, but she had neither parents nor friends with whom she could play and walk. How unfair life is, even in fairy tales!

“And on her twentieth birthday, she saw in a dream a beautiful five-petal white lily flower that sang a wonderful song. The princess loved music – she sang beautifully, played musical instruments—”

I interrupted the story again, fidgeting restlessly in the blanket that was immediately thrown over me, “And which ones?”

“The piano, the guitar, and the drums.”

I nodded approvingly, and she continued.

“This flower captured the imagination of the young princess, and she decided to find it at any cost. She got ready for her journey and set out in search of the singing lily. She wandered around the world for a long time, asking everyone about this exotic flower, but everyone she met on the way only shook their heads: no one had ever heard of such a wonder.”

The princess looked for this flower everywhere where human paths passed, she asked the animals in the forest, and the birds in the gardens of paradise, and the mice in the farmers’ fields, and the fish at the bottom of deep lakes, but no one ever knew what kind of marvelous flower could sing wonderful songs.

The night came – one of the many nights and days that the princess spent wandering. She did not know how many months or years had passed since she set out on her journey. She was exhausted, and the flower kept appearing in her dreams, and its song would not give her rest. The princess fell exhausted on the grass in the middle of the dense forest, lost, despairing of finding her way, and cried bitterly … She fell asleep in tears, realizing that she would never find this beautiful flower that sang songs of love and happiness to her every night. Even the wolves, children of the night, their yellow eyes sparkling in the shadows of the forest dark, walked in circles, but did not touch the girl.

The morning greeted her with a scarlet dawn – a new sun entered another day, but the princess was no longer happy with anything, she had lost hope. Her heart grew cold, as if it had died, and she wandered wherever her eyes looked, noticing nothing around her. She passed forests and swamps, endless steppes, and wide meadows … In her ears sounded the voice of the beautiful five-petal white lily, which she would never be able to find.

She herself did not understand how she found herself in a wonderful garden, she did not know how her feet brought her there. Birds of paradise fluttered in the treetops, from the branches of which ripe fruits hung, pulling to the ground, forest animals played games of tag … The princess was hungry, but she did not pick the fruits from the branches – she knew that this garden was someone else’s, she did not need someone else’s.

The midday sun played in the bright green foliage, warming the air, and the princess almost forgot about her sadness. Her heart beat timidly in her chest. She walked through the beautiful garden, inhaling the aromas of grass and flowers, she talked to the animals: little squirrels, little bunnies, little field mice …

But something happened that the princess had not dared to imagine even in her wildest dreams. When she found herself in the center of the garden of paradise, she saw the very lily that she had been dreaming about all this time … Her breath caught, and she, trembling with joy, ran up to the flower and plucked it … It should belong only to her, she had been looking for it for so long … Here it is, the desired and long-awaited one!

“And what happened next …?” My voice broke the silence, I was curious, but for some reason Mom fell silent, she only thoughtfully tugged at the hem of her dress.

She looked at me and then hugged me tightly, and I clung to her, waiting for the continuation of the story about the princess.

“… But suddenly the sky turned black, it seemed that all the suns of the world had disappeared. A voice, inhuman, terrible, like thunder, cut through the air, and a chill gripped the princess’s body. The terrifying voice said: ‘How dare you invade my domain, stupid girl?! How dare you pick my favorite lily?! Now you will never leave this place, you will forever remain my captive!’”

The princess lost consciousness in horror, and the lily fell from her hands.

She woke up in a room that resembled her own castle, and at first she thought it was just a dream – but soon the princess realized what she had done. She was very ashamed of her impudence, but she could do nothing … The room in which the mysterious host had placed her turned out to be a golden cage in the tower of a strange, unfamiliar castle, the door was locked, and there were bars on the windows.

Day and night the princess cried from fear of the unknown, day and night she languished in ignorance, she spent all her time alone. When she woke up, there was delicious food on the table, and when she fell asleep, the empty plates disappeared, only to be filled again the next day. She never saw the owner of the terrifying and terrible voice – he avoided her.

But someone brought her food, someone made sure that she didn’t die of hunger …

The princess was not grieving over her own fate as a captive, she felt guilty before the one who, just like her, loved the lily that she wanted to appropriate for herself.

One morning, a little bird flew into her window. The princess immediately began to question it about the mysterious inhabitant of the castle, but the little bird only said that it was not allowed to fly even close to the princess’s window. Then the princess, claiming that she regretted what she had done, begged to know at least something … And then the little bird told the terrible secret of the castle’s host.

“Maybe that’s enough for today?” Mom suddenly said, looking at me questioningly.

Her last sentence didn’t fit with the narrative. I even had to make an effort to emerge from the fairytale world with the princess and the scary voice that imprisoned her in a golden cage.

I shook my head, showing with my whole appearance that I was not going to sleep at all, and the story really interested me.

“Please … I’ll never sleep without knowing what happened to the princess.”

I made a pleading face, and she kissed my forehead.