Return to Innocence E-Book

Yuliana Misikova

• Herausgeber: Frankfurter Literaturverlag
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: August von Goethe Literaturverlag
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 501

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

It is summer on the Black Sea in the south of Russia. Mary, a beautiful and well-educated young lady from a distinguished family is wrestling with her feelings on the threshold to adulthood. After the untimely death of her mother she had been raised solely by her father, a wealthy banker; now, after his remarriage, she’s missing his undivided affection and absolute understanding. Scared about the adult world and looking for her first big love, she gets lost in a lesbian relationship with her girlfriend Sonya. When her father goes on an urgent business trip, Mary is lured to a faked date with Sonya into a deserted mansion on the outskirts of town, being held there as a captive. First, she believes herself kidnapped in order to force a ransom from her father. Then she gets to know Roy, one of the residents in the mysterious house; he’s a dangerous psychopath and an ice-cold killer. Mary has to watch him brutally slaughter all her relatives and also Sonya. But what is the true reason for this bloody battle? Why is Roy killing all of them? And who exactly is Roy himself? Will he kill even her and her father? Finally, the scene shifts to Montreal in Canada The place for a late happy ending?

Leseprobe

Yuliana Misikova

Return to Innocence

Night of the White Lilies

AUGUST VON GOETHE LITERATURVERLAG

FRANKFURT A.M. • WEIMAR • LONDON • NEW YORK

Die neue Literatur, die – in Erinnerung an die Zusammenarbeit Heinrich Heines und Annette von Droste-Hülshoffs mit der Herausgeberin Elise von Hohenhausen – ein Wagnis ist, steht im Mittelpunkt der Verlagsarbeit.Das Lektorat nimmt daher Manuskripte an, um deren Einsendung das gebildete Publikum gebeten wird.

©2014 FRANKFURTER LITERATURVERLAG FRANKFURT AM MAIN

Ein Unternehmen der Holding

FRANKFURTER VERLAGSGRUPPE

AKTIENGESELLSCHAFT

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Tel. [phone] ▪ Fax [phone]

E-Mail [email protected]

Medien- und Buchverlage

DR. VON HÄNSEL-HOHENHAUSEN

seit 1987

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek

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Lektorat:

Dr. Annette Debold

ISBN 978-3-8372-1392-8

Die Autoren des Verlags unterstützen den Bund Deutscher Schriftsteller e.V., der gemeinnützig neue Autoren bei der Verlagssuche berät. Wenn Sie sich als Leser an dieser Förderung beteiligen möchten, überweisen Sie bitte einen – auch gern geringen – Beitrag an die Volksbank Dreieich, Kto. 7305192, BLZ 505 922 00, mit dem Stichwort „Literatur fördern“. Die Autoren und der Verlag danken Ihnen dafür!

Dedicated to my parents. They are the best.

1

I was woken by the blindingly bright sun shining into my eyes, and rolled over without the slightest enthusiasm. My bedroom was drowned in the pearly glints of sunlight that burst through the open window and filled the room with the fragrance of summer. The reflected sunlight scampered across the ceiling and over my face, making me screw up my eyes and bury my head in the sheets. A light, warm draft stirred the heavy window curtain and ruffled my hair, which was tumbled across the pillow. I stretched lazily and turned on my other side, throwing a quick glance at the huge mirror that took up half the wall opposite the bed. The reflection there moved exactly as I did. I smiled and looked at my watch. It was noon, but I still didn’t have the tiniest inclination to get up. After putting it off just a little longer, though, I dragged myself out of bed, tossed a filmy negligee over my shoulders, and went out. I trotted downstairs, into the big, open living room that gave onto several corridors as well as the kitchen. The kitchen door wasn’t quite closed, and I could hear people talking quietly on the other side. At the last minute, I changed my mind and swerved off, pushing open the oak door and running into the garden, which was literally drowning in sunlight. Then I was squinting again, just for a moment, until my eyes got used to the light. My face was angled up toward the warm, caressing rays. It was a feeling like no other, as if someone’s gentle hands were brushing across my skin, skimming over my cheeks, tracing weird and wonderful patterns. That made me think of Sonya, and I smiled. My heart was suddenly flooded with the kind of joy that comes out of nowhere, and I wanted to yell to the whole world how happy I was with my treasure, the greatest treasure anyone could ever have. Sonka was always on my mind, and knowing that she was never far away made me happy every minute of the day. And I just opted not to think about the rest of it. I could see her shining face with its huge eyes, dark as night, and the dazzling smile that makes your heart beat so hard you think it’s on its way to jumping out of your chest. I loved my sweet girl so much, so very much. Without her, the world would have been gray and dismal, just an endless stream of bleak, empty days, one trailing after another and all the same. And I would have spent all my time just waiting for it to end.

I must have checked out, basking in the summer sunshine and smiling at the world for no good reason. Then a familiar voice behind me brought me back to reality.

“Daydreaming?”

I opened my eyes and turned around, not at all surprised to see Alik there, leaning against the wall and eyeing me with that same old grin.

“I’m just enjoying the sun,” I pushed back, wondering what the catch was, but surprisingly, my brother wasn’t out to get me this time. He didn’t say anything for a while, then he asked,

“Have you talked to dad?”

That caught me off guard, I have to admit, but of course I didn’t let it show. I just went on looking at the sun.

“No. Should I have?”

“Seems he’s about to take off again.”

“I doubt that. And even if he is, I know nothing about it.”

But the guy wouldn’t let it go. “So he hasn’t said anything to you?”

“No. And I’m not all that interested.”

“So what are you interested in?” Alik grinned. And then, before I could come back at him with something suitably snide, he started up again. “Oh, right. You’re not interested in anything except that underaged dyke of yours.”

“That’s none of your business!” And I swung away and bolted for the door.

That was pretty much Alik’s thing. He couldn’t let a day go by without jerking somebody around. It was like a hobby with him, making other people’s lives as sucky as he knew how. I had gotten used to it a long time ago, but sometimes he still managed to throw me off.

Just to set things straight, Alik and Max are my stepbrothers, meaning they’re my dad’s wife’s kids. She’d been married before.

I don’t remember my own mom at all. She died when I was three, but dad has told me that she was really beautiful and I look like her. She was very young in her photos, and I couldn’t see any obvious resemblance, but about her being beautiful . . . well, dad had got that right. Back when I was a kid, there was a huge portrait of her hanging over the living room fireplace. It was done by a famous artist, and he’d painted her on a terrace on a sunny day like this one. She was wearing a light straw hat, her hair was loose, and she had a mysterious smile on her face. She was leaning her elbows on a carved railing and looking into the distance, all the way to the horizon, with the sunlight playing on her face and making her look like some kind of goddess. Dad loved her a whole lot. He’d commissioned that painting for their first wedding anniversary, and he used to stand looking at it for hours, deep in thought. But when he married Elsa, everything changed. She insisted on having the portrait taken down, so now it was in the attic, all alone up there and gathering dust. A lot changed in our house when Elsa came, and not for the better, either. She kept messing with our life, tweaking and tampering until everything was the way she wanted it.

I’ll never forget the day dad came home and called me into his office. He was sitting at his desk and going through some paperwork when I went in. Hearing the door open, he looked up and gave me a tired smile.

“Come on in, Mary, and sit down.”

I was all of thirteen then, and the world seemed unreal somehow, just one big game. It was a storybook kind of life, and I thought it would never end. I plumped down into the nearest armchair, crossed my legs, and waited patiently until he’d finished with his papers. It was at least five minutes before he finally pried himself away from them and looked at me again.

“I wanted to talk to you, kiddo.”

“What about?”

“About you and me. About us. It’s been a long time since your mother died. I know how hard it is for you, how much you miss her and have been missing her all these years. God knows I’ve done what I could to take her place, but nobody could, right? You know I love you, Mary. You do know that, don’t you?”

He was really asking me, so I had to nod back at him. Then he went on, “All these years I’ve been living for you, trying to make your life fun and different, so there’d be no room for you to be sad. But now . . .”

He stopped and looked me in the eye, and I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to run away and not look back, so as not to hear what was coming next. In the back of my mind, I had guessed that something like this had to happen sooner or later, but still, I wasn’t ready. Dad was a young man, an interesting man, and he was appealing in the way women like most. But that didn’t make it one bit easier for me.

“It’s time for me to think about myself, kiddo. I’m not at an age when I can start all over again, but I think I’m entitled to a little bit of peace. I haven’t felt peaceful for so long. You’re all grown up now and you should be able to understand me - at least, I’m really counting on you to understand.”

He stopped again, waiting for my reaction, but I didn’t react. I sat silently, looking at the floor and rocking from side to side.

“I’m going to get married.” At last he said what he’d been working up to all this time. I don’t know what he was expecting from me - my congratulations or my OK, maybe - but I still didn’t say a word.

He stood up from his desk and walked over to me. He tipped my chin up, to make me look him in the eye. But when I raised my eyes, they were full of tears, big, pea-size drops that rolled down my cheeks, and I couldn’t make them stop.

“I need you to try to understand where I’m at, kiddo.”

And I tried, honestly I did, but I couldn’t. To me, he was about to cheat on mom, and me, and our family. I was hurt and I ached for myself, for mom, and for the dreams that would never come true. As long as it had been just the two of us, mom was there in everything around us, even though we couldn’t see her. It was as if she had left for a little while but would definitely be back, and we would just wait around until she came home. Everything in the house reminded us of her, and that thought was like the straw that a drowning man clings to. But now that illusion had crumbled, and in the blink of an eye everything was strange and cold, as if those long years of loneliness had never happened.

“I hate you!”

I yelled it right to his face and ran away. I locked myself in my room and stayed there for days, lying on my sofa, clutching a pillow, and sobbing my heart out. I felt betrayed, replaced by someone else, someone I didn’t even know. Life had become empty and pointless, and the only person I cared about had sold me out, had turned his back on me, and that was unbearably painful. I even thought about running away, but I soon gave up on that idea, because I didn’t know where to run to or what I’d do when I got there. Then, when I was no longer quite so hysterical, dad introduced me to Elsa. I detested her on sight, perhaps because I thought she was the one making me so unhappy. I blamed her for stealing my dad’s love from me. I didn’t want to share him with her, but I had no choice. Elsa was a beautiful woman, stylish and oh so sure of herself. She always knew what she wanted and how to get it. They were married a month later, and she moved in with us, bringing her sons with her. So I got not only a stepmother but two stepbrothers too, and I needed them like I needed a hole in the head.

Once she was in our home, my relationship with my dad changed. Now he never had any time for me. He was away more, stayed late at the office, and traveled a lot for work. And the few hours he was home, he spent with his wife. We hardly ever saw each other and never talked the way we used to. Elsa, though, was home all the time, laying down the law, changing everything, and acting like she owned the place. And no matter how much I tried to complain to dad about her, he didn’t want to hear it. Sometimes we fought, and there were tears and hysterics. And my brand-new brothers got on my nerves too, I have to say. I had decided they didn’t belong in the house, so I ignored them. But then Max and I started getting along. When I knew him better, I realized that he wasn’t such a bad dude, so we became friends. I had a faint, probably deluded belief that he understood me, and that was enough to make me reach out toward that ghostly warmth and treat it like a miracle. We would talk for hours, sharing our experiences and our thoughts. We told each other secrets. And it was so natural, it almost seemed normal. Max was as lonely as I was. At first sight he was a young, no-nonsense, glass-half-full kind of guy who was having a brilliant career and had done very well for himself. But if you looked more closely, the picture changed dramatically. Inside, he was a lonely drifter with a hungry soul, and a diehard romantic too - a simple boy with blissful dreams of happiness that could never come true. We had a lot in common, and no one understood how he felt better than I did. From the very start, I was amazed by how open and just plain nice he was, and how wildly different from his mother and brother. And then I realized that when it came down to it, he didn’t give a damn about them, the world, or himself. There was such a distance between him and his mother, it was like they were standing on opposite sides of a bottomless pit. And they probably were.

Alik was Max’s exact opposite. He was a self-centered show-off who didn’t have a care in the world so long as he was looking good and had money and wasn’t being bugged in any way whatsoever. He was his mommy’s favorite and he broke the hearts of women who suffered from a total lack of taste. I could go on about him to infinity. All I’d need is a good thesaurus.

For the longest time, I was living in zero gravity, hating everyone except Max - and him I pitied, which basically amounts to the same thing.

It was a little hell, and I hadn’t asked to be sent there. I was living under the same roof with people I hated, feeling betrayed, neglected, abandoned, and not being able to do a thing about it. And it would have gone on and on, but then I got a break. What came next dragged me out of that mind-numbing nightmare. I fell in love.

It had to happen. I couldn’t stay down and out forever. Things had to look up at some point, and when they did, I would beat myself up for wasting all that time and giving myself all that grief. That’s life, though.

I was sixteen when I met Sonka. We were at the same summer camp abroad and we made friends there. At first it was just friendship: like little kids, we swore to be besties forever, declared our love, cried, and promised we’d never be apart. But of course we parted, and I thought it was forever, but fate brought us back together, and this time with the clear intention of never coming between us again. That separation was a really big deal, because it made me realize I couldn’t live without her. When she wasn’t there, all the lights went out in the world, and I’d start struggling for breath if I ever thought I might not see her again, might have to spend the rest of my life missing her peals of laughter and her happy eyes. Her eyes . . . I could drown in them. I’d stop looking like myself and become a reflection of her instead. How else can you describe that giddy feeling, that something deep inside, that stupid high, and that enormous joy that fills you all the way up?

Sonka was the one person in the world who understood me. I didn’t have to tell her anything, didn’t have to explain or ask her for anything. She saw everything; she could read it in my eyes. The slightest whisper and she’d got it all, every single feeling that spilled out of my aching heart. She’s the one who taught me to be more patient with the people around me. And then, at last, I began to understand my father, to put myself in his shoes. And I forgave him for being unfaithful to my mom. When you’re happy, everything looks rosy. The whole world is bright and kind, just because you’re in a good place. Sonka crowded the hatred out of my heart and filled it up with nothing but love, a huge, boundless, burning love for her. And I will always be grateful to her for that.

I went into the kitchen without so much as a hi for anyone, and plunked myself down on a tall stool by the window. Elsa looked up from the newspaper she was reading and gave a brittle smile.

“Do you want breakfast? Although you’re actually late for lunch.” She glanced at the gigantic clock on the wall and shook her head.

“Just coffee.”

She stood up, put the newspaper down, and went over to the stove, while I jiggled my leg and looked out the window without a thought in my brain.

“You may not be aware of this, Mary, but your father’s very concerned about you,” she said after a while, putting a little china cup full of hot coffee in front of me.

The kitchen was immediately filled with the dizzying fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee that made my head spin and my mind race.

Still looking out the window, I took a little sip of the burning liquid.

“I wonder why. What reason could he possibly have?”

“It’s that girl, that Sophia . . . How can I explain this? It’s your relationship. I don’t think it’s right. You see, Mary, he’s worried because he wants things to work out for you, and so do I.”

She stopped talking but kept looking at me, waiting for something to happen, and I finally turned around.

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t mind her spending the summer with us, but then ...”.

“It’s got nothing to do with you! Anyway, what gives you the right to interfere in my life and tell me what I can and can’t do?”

“Maria!”

“I don’t lecture you for sleeping with Hans when dad’s away!” I was almost yelling now.

She couldn’t have been expecting that. She didn’t know if she was coming or going. Or, honest to God, that’s what I would have thought was happening if I hadn’t known her as well as I did. On top of everything else, Elsa was a pretty good actress. She had all the training for it.

There was an awkward pause that no one was in a hurry to interrupt. I wasn’t saying anything because I didn’t want to talk to her, and she seemed to be thinking very hard about something that had taken her mind off me.

“Why do you say such silly things? Who’s been putting those ideas into your head?”

“It’s not all that silly. I think dad would find it interesting.” I bit my tongue then, because the look in her eyes had changed. Now they were brimming with a hatred that had nothing fake about it.

“This can’t go on, Mary,” she said at last, and sighed. “You’re completely out of control, you don’t want to listen to anybody, you’ve latched onto that girl, and you’re not doing your school work. This has to stop. I understand you’re having a difficult time, but you need to try to understand us. You’re a member of this family, not some outsider, and your father and I can’t help being worried by your behavior. We’ve decided to send you to study abroad. It’s a closed campus, where you should get a proper education. I think it will give you a good opportunity to straighten yourself out and forget all this silliness.”

When she was done, I grabbed the cup with the dregs of my coffee in it from the table, slung it as hard as I could at the opposite wall, and watched it fly across the room faster than a speeding bullet. It arched through the air for several feet, made contact with the wall, and shattered, the shards falling with a bizarre tinkling sound into a thick black mess on the floor. Now there was a nasty dark stain on the wall, and below that, a puddle with bits of cup in it. But I was feeling a whole lot better, and the only thing I was sorry about was that the cup had broken against the wall and not against her head. I would have liked that even more.

Elsa looked at the remains of the cup for a long time, then turned and said, so quietly I could hardly hear her, “You’ll be sorry you did that.” And she literally shot out of the kitchen.

She was probably on her way to complain to dad or somebody else - again. That was pretty much her favorite thing, complaining about me, trashing me, bad-mouthing me for being an intolerable little brat, and threatening to dump me in a boarding school.

I grinned, imagining her with her face all twisted up with anger, and patted myself on the back for getting her so mad.

I had a quick snack of toast and cheese, then sprinted to my room, hoping to find Sonka there.

She was sitting in an armchair, legs crossed, and lingering over a long menthol cigarette. The smoke swirled upward, slowly filling the whole room.

“I’ve been looking for you all morning. Where have you been?”

“I woke up early and decided to go shopping. You were snoozing away, so I didn’t dare wake you, but . . . I bought you something.”

She smiled and gave a sly wink. Then, finishing her cigarette with two quick, deep drags, she stubbed it out in the ashtray and headed for the closet. I watched her, watched every move she made, and was wowed. She was perfect. So perfect that my breath caught and a huge lump formed in my throat, nearly cutting off my air supply and making my heart beat faster. Meanwhile, she had taken a package from a high-end store out of the closet and was trying to give it to me. The only thing I wanted to do was fling it across the room and kiss her, but I didn’t dare. Instead, like a good little girl, I opened it. And inside I found something that I had been mooning over for the past two weeks - the chicest ever black-and-white Armani dress, made of wispy-thin silk and accented with gold embroidery. I squealed with delight and threw my arms around her. She tried to dodge me but it was too late, and we tumbled onto the bed, laughing.

The Armani dress, all several hundred dollars of it, was on the floor, and in no time at all my mind was far, far away, because there were her eyes, right there in front of me and close enough for me to lose myself in their depths. My feet weren’t on the ground any more. I was floating away, being carried further and further from the shore, and her scalding breath, her lips, her hands, and her gentle, constant whisper washed into my heart, softening it like melting wax.

I was lying on the warm sand, completely relaxed, my face tilted up to the sun and to a fresh breeze heavy with the slightly salty fragrance of the sea. I could hear the Black Sea splashing just a few meters away, its rowdy waves breaking noisily on the shore, running nearly up to my feet and scattering a kaleidoscope of spray. If I lifted my head up even a little, I’d be treated to such a sight, such an amazing, enchanting picture - so delightful, so very beautiful, it made your heart stand still. The boundless expanse of the sea seemed to run to the very horizon, merging seamlessly with it and morphing into a transparently blue sky without a single cloud. And in the middle of it all was the sun, an enormous, blazing ball that gently warmed everything around. Over the sea and along the shoreline, seagulls were swooping and calling, weightlessly circling overhead, airborne comedians with flapping wings, doing a pas de deux, de trois, de quatre, you name it, up there. And in the far distance, almost on the skyline, were the miniature outlines of snow-white sailboats bravely scudding across the sea. And the bright yellow strip of beach stretched for kilometers along the shore, as if it could never end.

It was magnificent, and you wouldn’t find it anywhere else but in the south of Russia, in that little resort town with a funny name. Every time I’m there, I’m blown away by how beautiful it is, how unspoiled. It’s just one of those places where nature and man come together in the kind of harmony that’s what happiness is all about.

I half-opened my eyes and rolled over, with another glance at the vast blue expanse of the sea, so I could watch Sonka. She was splashing in the surf, spraying water everywhere and bursting into peals of laughter.

She waved at me, wanting me to go and join in, but I just shook my head. I didn’t want to get up; I would honestly rather have died right then than lift a finger. The sun was sending me back to sleep, and it took all I had not to close my eyes again. But Sonka was there and looking so happy I couldn’t really have dozed off.

After a long time, she ran up, to douse me with the cold water she’d carried over in her cupped hands. I squealed and tried to dodge it, but too late. The water spilled over my burning body, and suddenly my midday drowsiness was gone.

“Stop loafing around and come for a swim!” shrieked Sonka right in my ear, but I held out as long as I possibly could. In the end, though, I said to heck with it and allowed myself to be dragged to the water.

We started out racing, betting on who would reach the floating booms first, then on who could swim furthest out into the open sea. Sonka kept cheating, grabbing my legs and doing everything she could to hold me back, and then when I got there first, she announced that I hadn’t played fair. We thrashed about in the water, sometimes ducking below the surface to explore the underwater world, which was more interesting than I’d expected. This far out from the shore, the water was transparent and you could see the sea floor several feet down. We collected all sorts of things from there - odds and ends like pebbles and shells and sometimes even baby lobsters and little jellyfish. And up above was the sun, nestled in that azure sky, its rays caressing us with the lightest touch. That’s what I call happiness, a long, lovely fairy tale that makes real life so much easier to cope with.

We came out of the water exhausted but pleased with ourselves, and flopped down on the hot sand to let the sun dry our wet bodies. It evaporated the moisture away gently, as if licking the tiny, salty drops from our bronzed skin.

“You’re a good swimmer. Wish I was,” Sonka said dreamily after we had caught our breath.

“Dad taught me a long time ago, when we went to Bulgaria.”

“It must be good to have a dad like that. What more do you need to be completely happy?”

I grinned. She was right in a way, of course. It was good to have a father who’s a banker and can give you everything you could possibly want, but . . . On the other hand, there are things that money can’t buy. No amount of money can ever fill up the loneliness that comes slinking into your life when your dad forgets about you. And no amount of money can bring back your mom, when without her warmth and affection you sometimes feel like a little kid who’ll never be quite good enough. There’s a white-hot resentment, and it hurts when all the kids your age have moms who love them, care for them, bring them to school, and bake cakes on the weekend, but you have to wait for your father’s bodyguard to take you home, which he does without saying a word the whole way. No amount of money can make up for that or buy you what you’ve never had.

“What are you thinking about?” Sonka asked, giving me that look of hers.

“That there are things money can’t buy. I don’t know how often I’ve wanted to give all the money in the world just to have mom back. I still do.”

I turned quickly, so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.

“I know what you mean. Nothing in the world can take the place of a mom. But you have a dad who loves you a lot.”

“Not enough, apparently. He never has time for me now. And the few minutes when he is home, he spends with Elsa. Ever since she showed up, dad and I have never once had a regular conversation. He just tosses an odd word at me on his way out the door. He’s simply stopped noticing me.” I went quiet then, staring at the smooth surface of the sea and those little white sailboats in the distance.

“You’re wrong, Mashka. Your dad loves you and he’s really concerned about you. He’d rather not show it, that’s all. Some parents think it’s the best way to raise a kid. All the psychology books tell you so.”

That cracked me up, and Sonka made a funny, wry face at me. That’s why I love her, for her naïve, sort of childish take on the world and on what’s good and what’s bad in it. She’s such a charmer, though, that she can make anyone think she’s got a great point.

After a moment’s hesitation, I told her what had happened in the kitchen earlier, broken cup and all. As I went on with my story, her eyes got rounder and rounder until they were two huge, pitch-black saucers. That was funny too. I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, which didn’t go down well with her at all.

“What are you laughing about? That’s terrible!” She was so upset with me.

“What is?” I was still laughing but I did want to know.

“Pitching a hissy like you did today.”

“Hah! I’d have loved to have broken that cup over her head, except I don’t think my dad would have forgiven me for that.”

“It’s just not right, Mashka. You ought to respect her. I mean, she’s your stepmother. And if you ask me, she’s pretty fond of you and really concerned about you as well.”

That sent me into another fit of laughter. I couldn’t answer until I was all laughed out.

“Sure, she can put on a show like a pro. If I didn’t know her, I’d believe she had something other than money on her mind too. Try living with her as long as I have, then nothing would surprise you. You think she’s such a sweet, kindly old girl, who wants nothing better than to stand in for your mom, but it’s all bogus. I don’t care, though. I’m not scared of her.” I’d said all I wanted to.

“I still think you should try to keep a grip, if only for your father’s sake. This would have made him sad.” She was sort of begging me, and she looked so pathetic, I couldn’t say no.

“OK. I promise to keep a grip and not hurl any more cups,” I smiled, and gave her a wink.

Nobody said anything for quite a while. I lay motionless on the hot sand, my eyes closed and my arms flung out, almost physically aware of her looking at me. That look made me feverish, squeezed my heart into a mini version of itself, made it tough to breathe, and sent shudders coursing across my body. I wanted her to say or do something, but she just stared, and before long, it was sheer torture. I turned over to escape her eyes - trying hard not to think about her being there, so close, and looking at me so hard that the helplessness of it made me want to cry out - but that didn’t help. The hallucination didn’t go away.

I jumped without meaning to when her cool, gentle hand grazed my shoulder, sliding smoothly down.

“I’ve been wanting to ask . . .,” she began, and I stiffened inside.

“About that scar, how I got it?”

I laughed and turned to her, looking into her face until my eyes hurt, into that sweet, dear face, so caring and so endlessly loved. And the confession that was on the very tip of my tongue stayed there, forever unspoken - an echo of the ghostly thoughts that ate at me day after day and left only a dull ache behind.

“It’s a ridiculous story.”

“Tell me?” And when she asked like that, I couldn’t say no.

“It was a long time ago. Dad was having a birthday party with a bunch of people - bankers, politicians, businessmen. The party was outside, in the garden and on the terraces, and somebody shot at one of the guests from the roof of a nearby house. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I got it good.”

“How could that happen?” Sonka’s eyes were as big as they could be.

“My dad was talking to one of his guests, and I’d gone over to him and was in the way when the guy took his shot. Long story short, the bullet that was supposed to go into somebody’s heart went into my shoulder instead.” I grinned and then shut up and stared at the horizon. The memory had almost faded from my mind. All I had to remind me was a wound that had closed up ages ago, leaving a curved scar on my shoulder.

Sonka wasn’t likely to forget that story any time soon. She sat there like a statue, with a fixed stare. I don’t think she was even breathing. She was quite a sight - so naïve and defenseless, so funny and so able to turn me to mush, and I just had to smile.

“But you could have died if . . .”

I didn’t let her finish. “It all worked out. The wound was clean, just a soft-tissue injury. Two weeks in the hospital and I was good as new.”

“But what about the target?”

“I don’t know. His back was to me, so I never even saw him. But I guess he liked it better that way.”

“That’s so awful, Masha. I don’t even want to think about the danger you were in.”

“Then don’t. It was such a long time ago,” I said in a soothing whisper, putting an arm around her shoulders. Then one thing led to another, and we fell onto the sand, forgetting everything and everybody.

After I’d put on the finishing touches, I gave my reflection a hard once-over. Anyone else would have thought they were looking at something awesome, but not me. I was my own pickiest critic when it came to my looks. Staring back at me from the mirror was a cute, almost childish face with big green eyes, a cheeky little upturned nose, and lips set in a thin, moody line. Fair, shoulder-length hair fell in unruly waves, making a spectacular contrast to my vivid, artfully applied make-up. The soft marble of my skin harmonized perfectly with the evenly penciled eyes, giving them more width and depth, and with the beautifully contoured lips that had a flirty, pearly shimmer. The picture was topped off by a short and very tight dress with a plunging back, and stiletto-heeled pumps. Well whatever, but I was a head-turner, especially at first sight. I loved pretty clothes, expensive cosmetics, and ritzy accessories. I have since I was a kid. There were things I cared more about, of course, and I would gladly have exchanged it all for something truly worthwhile, but since I couldn’t, then I had to be satisfied with this. Some people might have called me spoiled and self-centered, and they may have been right, but I hadn’t chosen this life and I wasn’t to blame, either, for it being the only life I’d been given. It’s not as though anybody had asked me on the day I was born what I wanted, the kind of life I would like to have. If they had, though, maybe I would have said that I didn’t want the golden cage and the days full of heartache and loneliness that came with being a big-time banker’s daughter. Maybe I would rather have had a quiet, happy family life, a snug home, and the warmth and attention of two parents. Maybe if I’d been given that chance, my life would have turned out differently. But no one had asked me, so no one had the right to accuse me of being self-centered now.

I glared at my silent reflection, then grinned. Dopey thoughts are for dopey people. I was totally pleased with myself and my lifestyle and wasn’t planning to change a thing, and if anybody didn’t like it, too bad for them.

The reflection in the mirror did what I did, but unwillingly somehow and in slow motion. I laughed. This was going to be an evening of surprises.

I picked up a smart little crocodile purse, dropped in a pack of slim, very girly cigarettes, and went out, trotting down the stairs and turning into a side terrace. The door at the end of the terrace wasn’t quite closed, and a light draft from the street was barely stirring the gauzy curtain that hung over it. I slipped through the narrow opening, and a pleasant evening breeze hit my face, making an instant mess of my hair. I leaned my elbows on a railing and gazed at the last glow of the sunset. It was such a spellbinding sight, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The sun was a huge, flaming ball hanging over the horizon, casting pink highlights on the rags and tatters of snow-white clouds and turning them into freaky animals roaming across the sky. The horizon burned and glimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, while the slowly advancing darkness had already opened its arms wide, ready to swallow up that magnificent sight, instantly wrapping it in a bluish gloom.

I must have zoned out, because I jumped when I heard a familiar voice close by.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it? Only in the south . . . That sunset’s more like a fireworks display than a natural phenomenon. It’s lovely and it’s romantic, but it’s unbearably sad too, and hopeless somehow. Don’t you think?”

Max was standing behind me. He was looking at the horizon too, as if hoping to see something very important to him out there. His eyes were sad and lifeless, like the eyes of a man who has lost his way. And perhaps he had.

“Yes. It makes you sad, I don’t know why - makes you want to be quiet and day-dream. Not tonight, though. Tonight’s for fun.” And I winked.

“Anything special?”

“No, just kicking back. I’m sick of everything. I want something new. Do you get that way?”

Max laughed. “Only every day. Except I didn’t know what to do about it before. Now I know.”

“I’ve got something to ask you,” I started out in my best wheedling voice, making him laugh again.

“Here it comes. If you’re being nice, there’s got to be a catch.”

Then it was my turn to laugh, which I did with a backward toss of the head and a slight lean forward, making several loose locks of hair fall onto my forehead. I casually scooped them back into place and smiled at my big bro.

“You don’t even know what my question is, and you’re being snippy about it already. Shame on you!”

“Consider me duly ashamed. Now, what do you want this time? What do I have to do for my dear little sis - pull a star out of the sky?”

“Not a star, what would I do with that? But you can lend me your car.” And I gave a broad smile.

Max started laughing, so infectiously that I couldn’t help myself. I nuzzled my face into his shoulder and laughed too.

“Of course, I should have guessed! What else can you expect from a silly little ditz who thinks she’s all grown up?”

“Call me what you want but give me the car. I promise I won’t wreck it too badly.” I was getting whiny now.

“Oh, I’ll bet. Remember the last time you went joyriding in my car? You want me to remind you? It spent three days in a parking lot, completely unattended, with a mangled bumper and a broken windshield, and I had to fork over a wad of cash and pay a fine to keep the cops away from my airhead of a sister. Does dad know about your plans, by the way?”

“No, and I hope he never will. If he asks, tell him I’ve gone for a sleepover at Sonka’s. Max, don’t be such a pill. I promise I’ll be careful.”

“You don’t have a license,” he frowned.

“So what? I still know how to drive.”

“Hah! You’d never hear it from me. Only an enormous optimist would call you a well-disciplined driver, and, come to think of it, even an optimist wouldn’t go that far. When I see you behind the wheel, I get the impression that the car’s driving itself and you’re just along for the ride.”

“What do I have to do to get the car?” I decided to come at it from a different angle, and that did the trick.

“Wait a minute, let me think. OK, give your big brother a kiss right here and he’ll cater to your every desire, even the most bird-brained of them.”

I gave a peal of laughter and went up on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek, which made him smile back at me.

“Done deal. The car’s all yours.”

He reached into his pocket for the keys that he kept on a joke of a keychain and pitched them high in my direction. I caught them easily and, after kissing him again, ran out of the house.

Max’s dark maroon Alfa Romeo - luxury on wheels - was parked in the garage, which you entered from the courtyard. I reached around to press the little wall button, and the massive iron gates rolled open almost without a sound, letting me into a large, warm space that smelled of paper glue and shavings.

It was a pretty big garage that could easily fit four cars, which was exactly as many as we had. (True, dad owned an old Audi as well as his huge black Ford Expedition, but he didn’t keep it in the garage.) There was also a whole lot of open shelves with all sorts of tools and metal cabinets for the kind of junk that every garage is probably crammed with.

The Alfa Romeo was parked between dad’s Ford and Elsa’s little yellow Honda, looking like nothing else in the world, its polished sides glinting at me in the amber glow from a single bulb.

I opened the door carefully and settled behind the wheel. The cabin had a pleasant aroma of real leather and something else that I couldn’t put into words but that sent my mind into overdrive. The key turned in the ignition so smoothly that it might have been waiting to do exactly that. I eased up on the clutch and the car glided forward.

As soon as I was out of the courtyard, I made a sharp right and jammed the gas pedal to the floor, instinctively sinking down into the soft bucket seat. The car accelerated fast and shot silently down the empty road, slicing through the night with the slightest whirr of tires on blacktop. The speedometer needle was edging further and further to the right, while I was getting silently drunk on speed, freedom, and loneliness. I clicked a switch, and quiet music filled the cabin. The sound of a saxophone that was somehow gut-wrenching and wistful both at once slowly washed into me, filling me with a warmth and light that I couldn’t explain, and the voice of the divine Louis Armstrong, with its gravelly edge, was an almost physical pleasure. There were no thoughts. There was just an emptiness, a vacuum shot through with the light distantly radiating from the most beautiful orchestra the world had ever known. I was all set to drive for ever and ever down the deserted road listening to that eternal saxophone, just me and my loneliness. And it wasn’t important where I was going or why. What mattered was for the road to go on and on, without even a twist or a turn to destroy this neverland of mine.

Sonka and I had agreed to meet at the Meridian night club. We went there all the time, since there was nowhere better to go. I can’t say this was my favorite hang-out, but it was still better than sitting around the house. I love clubbing, not because it’s so entertaining, but because the sharp stabs of loneliness disappear as soon as I find myself in a huge crowd. I can let down my guard, and I feel sought after, welcomed, desired. When there are lots of people around me, it feels like everything is the way it should be, that everything has been arranged just for me and that at least someone in the world cares about me. This feeling doesn’t last for long, but at least it’s enough for a little wishful thinking. The most important thing is to believe in something. Whether or not that something actually exists isn’t important. The main thing is to just believe.

I pulled up to the main entrance, left my car on the sidewalk, and, pushing open the heavy metal door, walked into the club. I was immediately overcome by the cloying, slightly sweet smell of sandalwood and cigarette smoke mixed with jasmine, mint, and something else that I couldn’t place. Loud music was playing in the cavernous, poorly lit hall—usually a vast, empty space, but now packed with a seething mass of human bodies. Powerful spotlights revolved in sync and a kaleidoscope of lights flashed like lightning over the crowd, wrenching fragments of movement out of the darkness.

I was slowly making my way through the crowd to the bar, which was at the other end of the hall in a separate recessed area, when I finally caught sight of Sonka. She was sitting on a high stool, gently resting her elbows on the counter and talking and laughing with the bartender. To say that she was gorgeous would be to distort the truth. She was in a class of her own, almost perfect. Like me, she was wearing a short dress, but hers was bright red, and her elegant high-heels hugged the contours of her delicate ankles. Her hair was gathered up in a small, shimmering clip, which I immediately wished I could get rid of, but I suppressed this desire. The only thing I really wanted to do was tear those clothes off of her, even though they were so pretty. I was already starting to hate all the zippers and clasps on her dress, which would only put off the long-anticipated moment. I hated that scrap of material that shackled her smooth movements and hid her fantastic body. The happy thought that I would probably make myself into quite the pest that night flashed through my mind, and I smiled.

When I reached Sonka, who sat with her back to me, I didn’t even bother greeting her, but simply kissed her bare neck, sending a shudder through her. She turned and lightly touched her lips to mine. The kiss was almost impalpable - it was so light and airy that it seemed like a lie, like nothing had really happened at all. The only thing that remained from it was the slight aftertaste of her breath on my lips.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said softly, taking a small sip of a cocktail from a tall glass.

“Well, it’s not that easy to wangle Max’s car out of him and avoid a sermon at the same time.” I grinned, and she started laughing, but quickly became serious. I looked into her eyes and saw a reflection of quiet sadness in them. Sonka has amazing eyes - a mirror image of her soul. They’re like an open book - you can read all her feelings, thoughts, sufferings, and emotions in them. And now behind this quiet sadness hid the kind of deep despair that makes you want to scream at the whole world just so that you can be heard and understood.

“What happened?”

She turned away, and for an instant that expression in her eyes slipped from my grasp, as if the sky had suddenly been extinguished and everything had gone completely dark. I waited quietly for her to start talking, but she said nothing as she stared vacantly off into nowhere. Her silence frightened me, but I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt it because I feared learning what was so upsetting my friend.

She took a thin, fragrant cigarette from an open pack on the table and lit up, taking several jerky drags at once. I watched her and became more and more frightened, preparing to hear anything from her, all the way up to an announcement about the approaching end of the world.

Finally, she spoke, and what I heard seemed more terrifying than news of the apocalypse.

“I have to leave.”

She spoke softly, but I heard her, read her lips, and understood everything. I had subconsciously been expecting something like this, but I didn’t think that it would be so painful.

“When?” I asked, which was what concerned me most of all at that moment.

“Tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything, and she looked at me in a way that made me want to cry from my own helplessness.

“Forever?”

“Forever is too long.”

“We won’t see each other again?” I asked. It took all my effort to hold back the tears welling in my eyes.

“Of course we’ll see each other! You must know it wasn’t my decision. A piece of my soul will remain here, and I will come back, I promise.”

All of this sounded like a scene from a Mexican soap opera, and I laughed in spite of myself, even though the situation was quite dramatic. Sonka also smiled, and her eyes burned with a scintillating light that flooded everything around us in an instant.

“We can’t let ourselves feel sad. We have to have a good time. Let’s create some memories that will last a lifetime,” said Sonka conspiratorially, winking.

Soon we found ourselves part of the crowd dancing in the middle of the hall. The hot music, the frenzied gyrating, the wild looks, the flashing of bodies in the electronic light, the bronzed radiance of skin, the wild, almost barbaric movements, obediently multiplying in the mirrors placed around the sides of the hall - all this blended together in my consciousness to create some sort of strange, unreal effect, as if I had suddenly found myself on another planet where everyone lived according to unknown rules I would never understand.

I didn’t see anything but Sonka’s fathomless blue eyes and the plunging neckline of her dress, drawing nearer and then pulling farther away, as if teasing me and luring me in at the same time. I was aroused and totally riveted. She was so close to me that I could feel her breath, her light, barely perceptible touch, her silken hair brushing up against my face, and her tender caresses glancing off my shoulders, sending burning flames coursing through my body. I was drowning in the gleam of her pupils, her blinding smile, and her glistening ivory skin. The entire world ceased to exist, as if we were the only ones on Earth. I kept submerging myself in intoxicating delight, then swimming back up to the surface, where the greatest treasure a person could ever have radiated in the darkness. This went on forever. It seemed as though time was sailing by and that we alone did not change as we bravely stepped across centuries.

Then came the sweet, heady smell of vanilla and pot. The Earth stopped spinning like mad and fell away into eternity, while we ascended ever higher, watching its rapid descent as we floated and swayed on the wings of a pacifying nirvana.

Suddenly everything changed: the loud music, the snatches of conversation, the cigarette smoke, the flashing of shadows in the mirrors - everything disappeared, to be replaced with a deafening silence, a furious chase, and the whistle of wind in my ears, as the landscape flashed rapidly by beyond the windows of the toy-like Alfa Romeo. I was no longer swimming along the surface of an unstoppable torrent, but soaring recklessly above the Earth, feeling so free and happy that my soul seized up and tears welled in my eyes. Yes, this was happiness, but I wasn’t able to acknowledge it fully, drowning as I was in Sonka’s intoxicating eyes. She was at the wheel, tearing madly down the empty highway, hardly looking at the road, with her hand draped carelessly over the steering wheel. Her slender, elegant fingers with their long, frosted nails trembled slightly in time to an invisible beat. Now, sitting next to her, only one reality existed for me. It was the reality that ended at her bare shoulders, from which her light silk dress was about the slip. Her hair fell in unruly waves over her forehead, and she kept carelessly tossing her head back to keep it out of her eyes. Her elegant, high-heeled foot pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Now the car was flying over the surface of the blacktop, barely touching it with its sizzling hot tires. The only way I could tell we were moving was from the soft hissing of the tires, which caressed our ears, bringing us closer to our cherished goal by the second. I didn’t bother asking where we were going or why. What difference did it make when Sonka was at my side? She turned on the music with a light click and lowered the window. The interior of the car exploded with the earsplitting sounds of the inimitable Armstrong’s divine jazz orchestra and, at the same time, with the hysterical whistle of the wind, which made me tear up. For a second, I closed my eyes tightly against the unforgiving current that slammed me in the face, knocking the breath out of me, but then I melted in this torrent of rushing air, surrendering to it without any regrets.

Sonya laughed, tossing her head back and closing her eyes, while the road shot ahead straight as an arrow, drowning in the even purring of the powerful engine as it was eaten up by the car’s wheels. The next second, I felt the warm palm of Sonka’s hand on my knees, and my body involuntarily shuddered from the hot wave running through it. Her hand was so soft - as if it were made of silk - and her touch was so demanding that I had to smile. “Just not here, my beloved. You’ll have to wait just a bit,” I begged her silently. But this didn’t help. Apparently she had no intention of stopping the car, which left me with little choice. I tried not to look out the window, instead keeping my gaze on the speedometer needle, which was moving inexorably to the right. The wind continued to play in our hair and whistle in our ears, while the jazz orchestra undertook its great masterpiece with passion. It was only my mind that stubbornly refused to perceive reality in the way it was presenting itself. My consciousness was sending barely perceptible impulses to my brain that were becoming stronger and more urgent by the minute, until small fireworks started going off in my head and the remaining iceberg of my common sense melted entirely away. When this finally happened, Sonka turned towards me. Our gazes met, and I couldn’t tear my eyes off of her. I was drowning, melting, disappearing, turning into a mute, faceless “nobody,” losing my own reflection once and for all as I morphed into its mute extension. Now I was her and she was me, and there was absolutely nothing real at all in this strange game of reincarnation. What was real was something else: our desire, which had reached a peak and was already beyond our control.

I suddenly felt the poisonously sweet taste of honey on my lips, for this was the only way to describe it. Her lips tasted as sweet as honey, but were as deadly as lightning. My lips parted reflexively, allowing her red-hot tongue to enter my mouth, burning me with its light, teasing darting. A luscious liquid ran down my lips, face, and neck. Her fingers slowly crawled across the smooth, silky fabric of my dress, leaving it in place, but not neglecting any nooks or crannies where pleasure could be hiding. She guided the car with one hand, practically ignoring the road and not letting up on the speed. My hair flapped in the wind, falling around my shoulders in unruly curls, streaming over my face, covering my eyes, and pleasantly tickling my skin. I wanted to close the window, but her hand nailed me firmly to my seat. My seatbelt clicked, and the jazz orchestra was suddenly replaced with the gut-wrenching cry of a violin. This sharp drop in timbre made me shiver. My whole body writhed from her burning touches, and suddenly a mad thought got through to my inflamed mind. It came without warning and made my common sense go cold with horror. I finally noticed that we had flown over into the oncoming lane and were now racing along it at top speed, ignoring the road and failing to turn on our high beams. The road ahead of us was drowning in the kind of darkness where you can’t see farther than your arm. I knew the first oncoming car would bring us to a fatal end. I shook my head to drive off this hallucination, and tried to catch Sonka’s eye. When she finally met my gaze, I almost cried out with something like despair mixed with fear and pleasure. Her eyes reflected not one shred of reality, drop of common sense, or understanding of our situation. Yes, she was sitting next to me, but at that moment she wasn’t there. Her body was an earthly shell of her soul, which was soaring off somewhere, and this is what scared me more than anything. Catching my gaze, which was like an open book, she suddenly burst out laughing and let go of the wheel. I think I screamed, but then the next second I found myself gasping under a hot, passionate kiss, which made me forget about everything else in the world. I surrendered to this silent summons, detaching from the danger and thinking that dying like this wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. In fact, I would have been completely fine with it. This was the last thought I had before my mind turned off once and for all, handing the lead over to my body, which so desperately demanded love.