Love

Their mutilated bodies were buried somewhere among the countless lakes.

The small town of Lake Town, south of New York, began its Saturday morning in an utterly ordinary way. The night had been frosty, and surely last yearʼs grass had been covered by a light blue frost. If you stepped on it and listened closely, you could hear a quiet crackling sound. The mud on the roads had frozen, so the carts would shake, and the traders rushing to the market would curse loudly and amusingly gasp as they bumped over the large ruts. The air was pleasantly fresh and crisp, as it should be in the first ten days of March.

A man, seemingly in his fifties, rolled over onto his right side and shivered in displeasure, furrowing his brows. The warm blanket didnʼt help, though he fully relied on it to protect him from the cold creeping into the bed. Mary opened the window to air out the room — there had been a row yesterday about the awful smell of something past its prime. The man shrugged, unwilling to mention the forgotten socks somewhere under the bed — they were the culprits.

Soon, the room became so cold that the man began to shiver. He opened his cloudy gray eyes and stretched, yawning — he had woken up earlier than he had wanted. He got out of bed, took two steps toward the window, and, feeling his way, closed it. His everyday clothes — pants, shirt, and warm woolen sweater — were right where he had left them. Returning to the bed, he moved his feet across the floor, soon stumbling onto something soft — slippers. He reached out with his hand, searching for the doorframe, and found it, realizing that the door was open – Mary had definitely been in, for he always closed the door at night, fearing drafts. Grasping the banister, he descended the stairs, counting the steps in his mind, and, out of the corner of his ear, caught the faint rustle of a skirt — Mary.

— Good morning, — the man said, looking toward where his companion was presumably standing. — Are you going somewhere?

— Good morning, Father! — came the bright, cheerful voice of a young woman. — Of course Iʼm going somewhere, itʼs Saturday! Iʼm heading to the market. Do you need anything?

— No, thank you, I donʼt need anything, — he gripped the banister more tightly, — be careful.

— Certainly! — she said, opening the front door. Judging by her tone, she was smiling.

The man stood still, listening to the creaking floorboards, the rustling of her skirt, and the wicker basket in her thin but skillful hands. He stepped out onto the porch, formally seeing off his daughter, since he hadnʼt seen what she was wearing, what she looked like, or in which direction she was going.

From the right, the sound of a cart and the quiet braying of a donkey could be heard. A familiar hoarse voice, periodically muttering «Come on, letʼs go» became a pleasant surprise, so the man turned with a smile and waited for the cart to stop.

— Good morning, John! Is Mary going to the market?! Maybe I can give her a ride? — It was Henry Erdell — a fishmonger who brought goods to the local market every day and only occasionally ventured to the big city. He was a fisherman, just a good man, and a friend of Johnʼs.

— She just left, maybe youʼll catch up with her! — the man replied, bundling himself in his sweater, — Maybe weʼll go to the lake today?

— I was just about to suggest that! — Henry shouted. — Iʼll swing by to pick you up in a couple of hours!

He heard the donkey snort and the wheels of the cart creak again.

It was a shame that Henry was already old, and he had only daughters. John wouldnʼt have minded becoming related to him. Mary was of age, and it was high time she got married, but, in her opinion, there were no suitable candidates. John loved this little town; he considered it a piece of Paradise on Earth, but it wasnʼt a place for the young. They simply withered here. That was why the man still held onto hope that a successful marriage would open the way for Mary to move to a more suitable place for a young family. However, his daughter insisted she loved Lake Town and would hardly ever leave.

John Robinson and his daughter Mary had lived in Lake Town their entire lives. After her mother Barbara passed away four years ago, Mary began working as a nanny, and then learned to sew and joined Mr. Garciаʼs workshop. Mary had inherited her motherʼs hard work and self-control: Barbara was born and trained as a nurse in New York, and then, through an assignment, ended up in Lake Town. John adored this woman with all his heart, harboring only tender feelings for her, secretly hoping that Barbara felt something similar for him and not just formal respect. Barbara had married him only because there were no other options: one man was a hopeless drunk, another was a dwarf, and the third — the son of a carpenter — had never had the chance to court her as he fell ill and died. Barbara had forgotten her childhood dreams of a prince and a big apartment on Times Square, closed off her girlhood whining, and worked double shifts, knowing that her husband was blind as a mole and almost useless. John was extremely surprised by Barbaraʼs lack of a strong reaction during their wedding or when they moved into a new home. It hurt him deeply, so he did everything he could with his imperfect body: tried to keep the house tidy, often bought pies from Mrs. Shale at the bakery next door, and even made several attempts to cook dinner, though his rough fingers couldnʼt identify some of the ingredients, so the meat ended up boiled in milk a couple of times, and the sandwich was made with a piece of Mrs. Shaleʼs infamous pie.

However, nature had gifted John, as he put it, “in exchange for his eyes” with phenomenal hearing, so during the summer, the man helped guard the fields — he could hear the sound of hooves or the rustling of leaves from several miles away, pointing out the source of the sound to the watchman, and, honestly, he never made a mistake, catching unwanted guests at the chicken coop and cornfield.

Barbaraʼs sudden and mysterious illness, which no one in the village knew anything about, was a strong blow for both John and Mary. He locked himself in his room for several weeks, not even coming out when his daughter called him for dinner. John blamed himself for everything — from his blindness to his lack of medical knowledge. Only when he heard a quiet cry from his daughterʼs room did he realize that now he had to devote himself and the rest of his life to Maryʼs well-being, for he was sure Barbara wanted a better life for her.

Finding a pot of barely warm corn, John brightened noticeably. A plate appeared beside it — Mary had thoughtfully left it for her father. He was dying to salt the corn, but the salt had run out yesterday, and he didnʼt have the patience to wait for Maryʼs return, so his breakfast turned out bland and cold. The water ran down his hands, making him shake droplets from his elbows, and the seeds stuck unpleasantly to his teeth and got stuck between them, so the man kept grimacing in displeasure, trying to pick out pieces with his fingernail. He loved having breakfast alone because it was the only time he could be carefree and act in a way that was far from proper.

The plate with the ears of corn was returned to the kitchen table next to the pot, and John put on the only hat in his wardrobe and went out onto the porch to settle into his favorite rocking chair, greeting passersby with a «Good morning», and, finally, starting his day as it was meant to begin.

Although John couldnʼt see, he loved listening to the world around him. For example, every morning Mrs. Shale, who lived next door, would shout at her good-for-nothing son Stephen. Itʼs strange that she still keeps scolding him, considering Stephen has been somewhat slow since birth: silent, pliable, directly dependent on his father and mother, skittish, and generally strange. A couple of times, they found him wandering at the cemetery in the middle of the night, aimlessly strolling, and when asked what he was doing there, Stephen couldnʼt answer — he was frightened, hid, and babbled nonsense. Tomorrow, at the Sunday service, theyʼll tell about his new unusual adventures in places that are not meant for strolling, and then hundreds of voices will pray for his release, while the priest will once again try to exorcise the demons that are poisoning his body. John was lucky with his wife —he would never tire of saying it — Barbara had given him some insight into her profession and said that Stephen was simply ill, but who, in this deeply religious and utterly conservative society, would believe that? John felt sorry for Stephen.

From the house across the street came the deafening squeal of a pig — Mr. Wilson was late, the market was already open. Gregory Wilson was one of the wealthiest residents of Lake Town and, so to speak, the townʼs main butcher: nearly a dozen cows, just as many pigs, and over forty chickens, among others. He had even bought two neighboring plots to expand his farm, something that his neighbor Mr. Garcia, the owner of the earlier mentioned weaving workshop, loudly and long complained about, as now, on one side of his house, there were pigs and cows, and on the other, an empty old house where no one had moved in, and where, according to frightening rumors among the youth, the floorboards creaked at exactly 3:14 AM.

Yes, on this street, besides the homes of Mr. and Mrs. Shale, Mr. Garcia, Mr. Wilson, and their families, and John himself, there was a dilapidated and untrustworthy house. As far as John remembered, it had been inhabited by a crazy old man, and then, no one. A few times, teenagers had gathered there or children snuck in, but the outcome was always the same — they left scared and pale. It felt as though the house chose its own inhabitants, as if it was waiting for someone special. And a miracle happened — not long ago, Mayor Mr. Valbas announced that people were needed to patch up the house, as it had been bought.

From the right, the sound of footsteps was heard. John furrowed his brow and listened — the person was limping — he understood who it was. The man turned his head and smiled:

— Good morning, Stephen, — he waved his hand in greeting.

— Good morning, Mr. Robinson, — the boyʼs voice was soft, squeaky, and stammering, — Today the weather is nice.

— Yes, indeed, — John replied, turning his head toward the gust of cold wind.

— Is…Mary home? — Stephen asked, almost timidly and quietly, as though John were sighted, he would hardly have heard him.

— No, she went to the market, I donʼt know when sheʼll be back, — said the man, and the light smile disappeared from his face.

Undoubtedly, he would have approved of his daughterʼs choice, whatever it was, but he had no desire to bond with the Shale family: the sickly son, the perpetually dissatisfied mother, and the incredibly aggressive father who beat with sticks until his victims had blue welts, for any reason or no reason at all. Though Mrs. Shale wasnʼt a bad person, it was clear that the farm and the small bakery were entirely held together by her. But John still tried to keep Stephen away from Mary. His girl was smart and understood that this poisoned-by-demons Stephen was far below her level.

As soon as the limping steps faded away, John got up, considering making tea. Mary would surely appreciate it if a warm drink awaited her upon her return, so she wouldnʼt think her old man incapable of anything.

The girl returned about half an hour later. The tea had cooled, which disappointed John, but Mary reassured him that everything was fine and she was still happy.

He sat at the kitchen table, listening to his daughter chopping cabbage and setting water to boil for the corn. John loved corn, probably just like every American. At least, thatʼs what the whole town thought.

Lake Town was quite far south of New York, surrounded by dense forests and a large number of lakes. The local priest, Mr. Steinbeck, had said that when Lake Town was first established, they hoped it would grow quickly, but few wanted to move to the wilderness, which caused the town to stagnate to the size of a large village. Even the word «town»was used only by locals; if you asked anyone in New York, theyʼd answer theyʼd never heard of such a village. The economy was primarily based on the fish found in the local lakes, of which, at first glance, there seemed to be an endless supply. Lake Townʼs traders occasionally competed with the New York ones, selling their goods at markets in the big city. In general, life in Lake Town was peaceful and almost impossibly quiet.

Fishing was exactly what John planned to do today. He had told Mary about it the day before, so there was no doubt that fishing gear was waiting at the front door. To be honest, the man was a bit tired of the surrounding noises — the modern world was insane, especially on a Saturday morning when everyone was headed to the market, so getting away to fish seemed like a perfect idea. The lake was empty now, only the sounds of the forest, the fish, and silent Henry.

But now John once again wanted to ask his daughter something that irritated her:

— Mary, my dear, — he felt for the empty basket on the table for some reason, — tell me, is there really no one you like from your peers?

— Father, — he heard her sigh deeply and squeeze her skirt, patiently responding, — no one at all.

— What about Will, Mr. Wilsonʼs son? Think about it, heʼs a polite young man with great dedication —an entire farm, and he lives nearby, youʼve known each other since you were little, — John recalled the pig slaughtered today.

— Father, — Mary repeated, but her voice was already more irritated. — Will only cares about money, cows, and chickens. I canʼt imagine him as a husband. Besides, heʼ s eyeing Margaret, and sheʼs not indifferent to him. What would I do, get in between them? And besides, who in their right mind would name their kid Will Wilson? I donʼt remember Mr. Wilson ever being particularly clever, and I donʼt think Will is any different, — she drained the water into the kettle. And she did it so aggressively that John winced.

— Alright, — the man continued. — What about the sheriffʼs son, Odley? He definitely has brains.

— Brandon Odley is a spoiled womanizer! He changes girlfriends like gloves! Do you think he hasnʼt confessed his love to me? He chased me like a puppy, just last week at Margaretʼs birthday party at «Nancy» and as soon as I turned him down, he immediately switched to Lily, forgetting that sheʼs engaged to James. Donʼt even consider that option, — she pressed the knife so hard that the cabbage squeaked loudly and spilled across the table.

John furrowed his brow and stood up, walking toward his daughter:

— Iʼm not coming from bad intentions, — he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, — I want you to have your own home, your own family, take care of a husband and children, not an old man. Mary, I love you and I donʼt want you to spend your life here, in this wilderness. I’m sure Barbara…

— Father, — the girl sighed deeply and smiled, — I understand, but I haven’t found the person I want to spend my life with yet. You know, I have this feeling that I’m going to meet someone soon.

— You will? Don’t you know everyone in Lake Town? — John raised an eyebrow in confusion. — Oh, are you planning to go to New York?

— No, — she smirked, straightening her back, — I’m not planning to. But lately, I’ve had this feeling that I’ll meet someone. Who knows, maybe the people who bought that old house have a son?

— Mary, I wouldn’t count on such a miracle, — the man leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. — Young people wouldn’t move here, they must be old folks who bought the place to get away from the city noise, and if they have a son, he’s probably already married. Of course, dreams and hopes aren’t harmful to health, but still…

— Father, — Mary sharply interrupted, wanting to end the conversation. — Mr. Erdel will be here soon, I’m sure you don’t want to upset him, — she pushed him toward the stairs, — get ready, all your fishing gear is waiting for you by the front door, and I’ll make lunch and fix the button that came off your Sunday suit. We need to look presentable tomorrow, Mr. Steinbeck said he has news.

***

— I’m hungry.

— I know, but you have to wait.

The crimson rays of the sun were sinking into the city landscape as the train moved faster and faster, pulling away from it. Two young people settled in the compartment and sat next to each other: one gazed despondently out of the window, while the other straightened the brim of his seemingly expensive hat.

— Are you sure… everything will be alright? — the one sitting by the window turned to the other and bit his lip.

— Yes, don’t doubt it, — he threw his hat onto the seat beside him and leaned back, tiredly closing his eyes.

— Alright, — he whispered, finding the other’s hand and interlacing their fingers. — I trust you.