A few weeks ago I bought a country house. My play had just started, and there were many more acts to come. That's why I needed a place for intermissions, so that I could just rest, regain my strength and move on. In choosing the style of the house, I favored the Gothic. I've always been drawn to unrestricted space, and the high ceilings, which seemed to reach for the sky, and the huge stained glass windows gave a feeling of complete freedom. Every ray of sunlight hitting the stained glass windows created an endless play of light and color; I felt as if I were inside a kaleidoscope, catching a blue or red ray on my face.
At first I was hesitant about the choice. The reason for my hesitation was that other people had lived in the house before me. I always believed that walls absorb information and emotions, so I favored only newly built spaces that had not yet been tainted by any occupants. But I fell in love with this house. The decisive point was always attracting me to the house from the prying eyes of people and the marvelous nature around. In its bosom my tormented soul found refuge and rest. This majestic temple of energetic purity, emanating from every tree, flower and herb, had a calming effect on me, which helped me to concentrate on important issues.
I bought only the most necessary furniture for the house. And it's not because I like minimalism. The shelter was desirable, but it was temporary. I was well aware that sooner or later Zlata and Kristina would realize that what had happened to them was not a nameless evil fate, but the work of a human being. To cover my tracks and hide, I will have to change my place of residence more than once. I didn't want to wander around rented accommodation. Like I said, I didn't like the aftertaste of the previous tenants.
The sun was already slipping toward the horizon when I finished laying out my few belongings. The bright light from the majestic luminary was fading. Night was approaching the doorstep of my temporary shelter. After a long grueling move, I decided to take a stroll through the garden near the house and fill my lungs with the tonic evening chill. I wanted the light warm breeze to touch me with its serene calmness. Tired with an inflamed mind, I tried to muffle its too loud voice in my head and listened intently to the birds singing, the rustling of leaves on the trees. The natural motifs calmed the rambling thoughts a bit. A couple minutes later, the sunset hung around the neck of the sky like a delicate blue necklace. The glittering gilding of the sun hiding from human eyes slid across my skin. It became cooler and quieter. A chorus of crickets replaced the silent birds. The prima donna, the moon, took the celestial stage. After calming my obsessive, heavy thoughts, I returned to the house.
A soft leather armchair stood alone in the middle of a large room. The composition "Morning" from the ballet "Romeo and Juliet" by S. Prokofiev was playing. The clash of a gentle awakening with the onset of sleepiness. A glass of cool wine. Exotic fruits. Dimmed light. Soul-curing solitude. Harmonious silence filled only with the sounds of a gentle melody. There were no clocks anywhere in the house. I didn't like them. I wanted time to stop its inexorably frantic pace where I lived. Past, present, future. Everything turned into a notebook on which, like notes, I strung the fates of those who were "lucky" enough to be on my blacklist.
The score I had created was waiting for its destined time to play out in their miserable lives. Performing all the parts, I was going to create an expressive composition of retribution for every tear that spilled from my eyes. I held the sheet in my hands. All the strings of my heart trembled as I looked at each neatly written name. Two names were crossed out. One of them was Zlata. I'll talk about the first name a little later. Strangely enough, I had no feelings. There was no hate, no anger, no pity, no guilt. Everything had burned out. What remained was a calm acceptance of the fact that everyone gets what they deserve. Of course, I had a choice: punish or forgive. I thought about it hundreds of times as I prepared to implement my plan. It was important for me to understand: where and what is acceptable. Where is the measure? Where is the line and the limit of retribution? You wouldn't challenge a man who stepped on your foot to a duel. But if someone intentionally makes your son crippled or kills your wife - it is another matter. The main thing is not to impose forgiveness on the offender just because you are afraid or cannot fight back.
I looked at the sheet again. The enveloping melodic silence was broken by the next name on the list, spoken aloud. I repeated it several more times. Each time it sounded louder and louder. I wanted to hear this name clearly, to understand what feelings were evoked in me by a person whom I, unlike my other characters, did not know and had never met in my life.
For a long time, I hesitated whether to put his name on my list or not, crossed him out several times and put him back in again. On the one hand, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't exist. On the other hand, the life he had given me had turned into hell without him. The emotions swirling around him made my head run amok. I was afraid of making an impulsive, wrong decision, so to delay the moment of revenge, I put his name last on the list. In this way I wanted to approach retribution with a cool head and calm thoughts. Circumstances, however, forced me to take him sooner than I had intended. He was going to leave the country for good, and my plan required that the next character never leave the borders of the homeland. Fate itself had made the decision for me. Now there was no doubt, only action. His name moved to the third position.
***
This man had always stirred the psyche of the little people. He had no authority but himself. It was not uncommon for me to be impressed by such personalities, but not in his case. For me, he was a tempting object of revenge that had been eating me up for years. I needed to satisfy that hunger. I wanted to stuff my vengeful womb full of his suffering. But his immunity to the misdeeds of others had to be honored. So I had to think of a special way to deal with this Parasite. My revenge was not going to be served cold, no. It had to be a hot dish. Hot enough to scorch his rotten nature. It needed a personalized recipe. And I found it.
I had to do a lot of digging in the archives of his amorous victories to make it believable. There were many women, but I could not find the right one. Time was running out in my favor. In three months he was going to sell his restaurant business and fly to America. Tick-tock... Tick-tock... I had to rewind time and memories back to find the one I needed. I was looking for women from his past who had daughters. And I wanted the young girls to be the same age as his affairs with their mothers. In short, I wanted a girl who could pass off as his daughter. And in spite of all the difficulties, I found her. She was 19 years old. She was beautiful and ambitious. The small town she lived in with her single mom didn't give her a lot of room. So she was willing to sacrifice anything to escape its confines. Moth dreamed of dizzying flights and a colorful life. She was also the perfect dish to poison the Parasite's life with. Time was short, so we had to make our restaurateur put it on his main menu as quickly as possible and without tasting it.
I started with the preparations. The first thing I did was to give Moth a "faith" in miracles, luck, and other nonsense for lazy people. A series of my prearranged actions helped her get to the capital and get a job as an administrator at the Parasite's restaurant. It wasn't hard to do. I helped a former restaurant administrator get a management position in a five-star hotel. For this, he recommended to take in his place the person I needed - that is, Moth. Before that, the girl had repeatedly made attempts to get a job as someone in the capital, but could not find something sensible. Therefore, when she got a call and was offered a good position and a solid salary, she agreed without a second thought and took everything that was happening as a favor of fate.
Having moved to the coveted city, Moth quickly began to settle in. At her new workplace she met a young woman and quickly became friends with her. My faithful assistant became Moth's new friend. She offered the seeker of a bright life to rent a room from her for a small amount of money. Moth agreed and quickly moved in with a man who watched her every move for me not only at work, but also at home.
Moth tried her best to resemble a glamorous capital city girl. In a matter of days, she had changed her closet, her manner of speech, and her style of behavior to look seductive, fashionable, and spectacular. Now she wore only expensive boutique clothes. She was serviced from now on only in good salons, where specialists watched her appearance. Moth even stopped taking out the trash without a manicure, pedicure, makeup and hairstyle. She tried very hard, but the more diligent were her efforts to hide her origins, the more read in her provincial. Buying expensive clothes, the girl did not know about brands, quality and compatibility of fabrics. Sometimes her choice fell on high stilettos and frank outfits. Visiting expensive beauty salons, she made herself such a battle paint nails and face that she could safely be mistaken for a girl of easy behavior. But even this did not deprive her of the main virtue for which I had chosen her: innocence.
As soon as Moth had shown up at the restaurant, word of her virginity had spread quickly to Parasite. I, of course, had to take credit for that. A greedy waiter for half a thousand willingly agreed to help me in this and quickly spread the word about the new employee. But, to my surprise, Moth didn't stand idle either. She quickly gathered information about the owner of the restaurant. Learned all his tastes and preferences. And not just in food. He was 55. He was in great physical shape. To have a pretty good figure, Parasite went to the gym three times a week and watched his diet. So at 55 he looked like a pretty well-groomed and attractive man. His weaknesses were women, big tennis and dry red wine. His fears were speed and heights. He didn't like them because he couldn't control them.
The Parasite and the Moth quickly developed a liking for each other. For him she became an object of unrestrained sexual desire to deprive the girl of her innocence. In him she saw a pass to the world of wealth and luxury. He was ready to do anything to get the right of the first night, she - to become his faithful companion in the high society to which he belonged. There was no question of morality before them. Each had his own tricks and strategies to get what he wanted. The moth played the innocent maiden. The parasite - an attentive and gallant cavalier. Moth was delaying the moment of intimacy with all her might. That she has an urgent meeting and she has to leave the date, then during a passionate kiss and a strong embrace, she started a song that she is not yet ready to give herself to a man. By her inaccessibility, she was raising her price. Or, more simply, she wanted to sell herself more expensive. The parasite was in no hurry. He was amused by this game. He knew perfectly well that he would get what he wanted, because every commodity has its price. And perhaps each of them would have gotten what they wanted if I hadn't added a pre-prepared seasoning to the dish. At the height of their affair, Parasite received a secret letter supposedly written by Moth's mom. In it, I asked on her behalf to leave "my" daughter alone, as he was the biological father. This was, of course, untrue, but Parasite took it at face value. He didn't even allow for the thought of contacting Moth's real mom to sort things out. Going back in time and talking to his exes was not in his rules. He wouldn't break them this time either. Dumping his women always burned his bridges to the ground. But still, he had one real child. And that was me.