AN ENERGETIC ENTITY, C, who acted as a guardian angel for various people, was complaining to its manager about problems in its work:
‘This is the first time I’ve been dealing with something like that, you know? He isn’t amenable to my persuasion. I’ve rewound time again and again, sending psychologists and police officers, homeless people and his peers to help him. I’ve even tried to involve his best friend and a beautiful woman of his type in this situation. He still jumps into the river and successfully drowns as if racing against his rescuers. Once, I got a good idea of calling an ambulance. They managed to lift him out of the river in time, but he did commit suicide after a while anyway.’
‘Have you tried sending him specific thoughts? Dreams?’ asked the manager with the simple but meaningful name, Gamma.
‘He’s shut down to all sorts of that, not believing in us, God or the devil. The river has completely occupied his dreams. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t cope!’ C cried in despair.
‘Hush, hush, don’t get so upset, my dear C,’ Gamma hugged the subordinate entity with its wings.
‘I looked through his life,’ C continued after a while. ‘He had a glitch in the very beginning, at the distribution. We should have assigned him to other parents. Now, whatever I do, the result stays the same.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s getting bored. His parents were always extremely proud of him and had very high expectations. He’s lived up to those expectations, and by age thirty-five, he’s just lost his interest in achieving new heights.’
‘We couldn’t assign him to other parents. Only these two could bring him up properly, according to his Main Task. He needs to get over his urge to die, and only then will he do what the Highest expects of him,’ said Gamma.
‘Is there anyone else suitable for this role?’
‘No, C, and you know it. You’ve been doing this for centuries.’ ‘Yeah, and for the first time, I’m failing.’
‘Have you tried sending his parents to the river?’
‘It doesn’t work. He times his suicide well, and they are too far to interfere.
I have to act through other people. Nothing helps, though.’
‘In that case,’ Gamma rubbed its transparent chin. ‘We have to send Cerberus.’
It raised its hand gently, and a huge, flaming beast shaped like a shaggy dog with three heads appeared before the entities. The beast rotated its six scarlet eyes and cheerfully dripped fiery saliva at the feet of C, burning uneven holes in the firmament.
‘And you’ll have other tasks to profile,’ Gamma said, stepping up to the upset guardian angel and drawing it toward the azure door that had appeared out of nowhere.
‘So, did I fail?’ C looked up in despair.
‘You’ll succeed,’ the elder entity promised, gently pushing the guardian angel through the Heavenly Door. ‘You definitely will.’
‘Have you tried sending him specific thoughts? Dreams?’ asked the manager with the simple but meaningful name, Gamma.
‘He’s shut down to all sorts of that, not believing in us, God or the devil. The river has completely occupied his dreams. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t cope!’ C cried in despair.
‘Hush, hush, don’t get so upset, my dear C,’ Gamma hugged the subordinate entity with its wings.
‘I looked through his life,’ C continued after a while. ‘He had a glitch in the very beginning, at the distribution. We should have assigned him to other parents. Now, whatever I do, the result stays the same.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s getting bored. His parents were always extremely proud of him and had very high expectations. He’s lived up to those expectations, and by age thirty-five, he’s just lost his interest in achieving new heights.’
‘We couldn’t assign him to other parents. Only these two could bring him up properly, according to his Main Task. He needs to get over his urge to die, and only then will he do what the Highest expects of him,’ said Gamma.
‘Is there anyone else suitable for this role?’
‘No, C, and you know it. You’ve been doing this for centuries.’ ‘Yeah, and for the first time, I’m failing.’
‘Have you tried sending his parents to the river?’
‘It doesn’t work. He times his suicide well, and they are too far to interfere.
I have to act through other people. Nothing helps, though.’
‘In that case,’ Gamma rubbed its transparent chin. ‘We have to send Cerberus.’
It raised its hand gently, and a huge, flaming beast shaped like a shaggy dog with three heads appeared before the entities. The beast rotated its six scarlet eyes and cheerfully dripped fiery saliva at the feet of C, burning uneven holes in the firmament.
‘And you’ll have other tasks to profile,’ Gamma said, stepping up to the upset guardian angel and drawing it toward the azure door that had appeared out of nowhere.
‘So, did I fail?’ C looked up in despair.
‘You’ll succeed,’ the elder entity promised, gently pushing the guardian angel through the Heavenly Door. ‘You definitely will.’
⸎ ⸎ ⸎
ROBERT PARKED HIS CAR at the curb that separated the pedestrian part of the bridge from the road. He automatically switched the hazard lights and put the vehicle on the alarm, slipping the key into his trouser pocket. Soon, very soon, this dreary reality would be over for him. It was hateful, empty and dragging like molasses. No, there were people and events in his days and nights, of course, but they were full of falseness and weariness, bringing Robert no joy. He didn’t know how to get out of this sticky web of monotony, how to escape it, what doors to knock on. His world sucked all the life out of Robert, forcing him to pretend to be someone he had never been – a successful man, a business wolf, a financier with a capital letter. Dad had always been proud of Robert’s mathematical skills, not realising that the son hated maths. And finance had been a rotten swamp, a mire of perpetual stress…
Robert walked thirty steps away from the car and leaned against the bridge’s railing. Cooled by autumn, the metal burned his bare palms with freezing flame, and Robert yanked his hands away. He quickly climbed over the fence and stood on the fairly wide concrete edge, looking into the dark water. The streetlamp’s orange lights reflected in it, and the river beckoned Robert to dive, appealing directly to his soul. ‘Come to me,’ it whispered with the waves splashing against the bridge abutments, ‘I’ll embrace you with all my love. You’ll breathe me in, and we’ll be together forever. You wanted to be my water, dancing in my waves under the moon. Forget those hateful numbers. Let’s dance.’
Robert bent down a little, gazing into the depths. He seemed to have taken that step down a thousand times. He couldn’t feel the drizzle from the sky, the windfrom the river and the coldness of the autumn night anymore. Robert had to make only one last movement.
Robert walked thirty steps away from the car and leaned against the bridge’s railing. Cooled by autumn, the metal burned his bare palms with freezing flame, and Robert yanked his hands away. He quickly climbed over the fence and stood on the fairly wide concrete edge, looking into the dark water. The streetlamp’s orange lights reflected in it, and the river beckoned Robert to dive, appealing directly to his soul. ‘Come to me,’ it whispered with the waves splashing against the bridge abutments, ‘I’ll embrace you with all my love. You’ll breathe me in, and we’ll be together forever. You wanted to be my water, dancing in my waves under the moon. Forget those hateful numbers. Let’s dance.’
Robert bent down a little, gazing into the depths. He seemed to have taken that step down a thousand times. He couldn’t feel the drizzle from the sky, the windfrom the river and the coldness of the autumn night anymore. Robert had to make only one last movement.
⸎ ⸎ ⸎
ANNA-JAY WAS WALKING through the night city, cursing like a drunken docker. She hated those bloody cattle that were misunderstoodly called human beings. Some prick had thrown a one-month-old puppy into a dumpster with a plastic bag over its head! They even tied the poor thing’s paws together! How did Anne-Jay manage to hear that half-suffocated squeak? What guardian angel had helped the puppy tear the bag a bit and get some life-giving air? Now, the puppy sniffed calmly from under her jacket. Because of it, Anne-Jay missed the last bus and had to walk home, shuddering at any rustling in the suburbs. Previously, she had to free the puppy from the rot restraints and wash the stinking slop off using bottled water and some paper towels she bought in the nearest supermarket.
‘I’ll call you Cerberus,’ Anne-Jay promised the puppy, who was obviously going to grow into something small and amusing, and certainly, not menacing. ‘It’s a good name for the dog of an owner like me.’
Her black ankle boots slapped confidently through the puddles when she emerged onto a lit, deserted bridge over the river. Anne-Jay had to walk across this bridge and turn off to her housing estate. No one would attack her here for robbery, but someone might try to push her into a car to rape her. However, Anne-Jay didn’t fear that scenario. Women like her never get raped.
Before leaving for home, she tucked her long, pitch-black hair beneath an autumn hat, which she pulled low over her un-makeuped eyes. A teenage boy’s jacket with voluminous inserts was hiding her already unladylike figure. Wide trousers with many pockets rattled with something metal, making one think of spanners and other men’s ‘junk’. Her gait was heavier because of the already- mentioned pair of boots, which made Anne-Jay look like a guy late for the last subway train. She was short, and her thin, slender hands cradled the puppy in her jacket to keep it from falling out. However, who would look at her hands when passing by in a car?
‘I might find you a good master, eh, Cerberus?’ Anne-Jay asked quietly. ‘I can’t imagine my landlord’s reaction to your appearance in their flat. ‘No pets allowed’, you know? I haven’t even thought of taking pets. Why should I? There’s not enough room even for me in that lift, mistakenly called ‘an apartment’. Look at me, Cerberus. I’m short and plain, but I hardly fit in that property.’
It started drizzling again. Anne-Jay shivered and looked up reproachfully into the dark autumn sky. The lamplight, somehow very suddenly and therefore solemnly, flashed a lonely male figure behind the bridge’s railing. Anne-Jay flinched as her brain assessed the situation instantly.
‘Damn it! Another ‘puppy’,’ she muttered. ‘Why are you punishing me with this, God? I’ve rescued different beings my entire life. Come on, Cerberus, let’s get this one out of his personal ‘dumpster’, too. Ha, he’s a handsome and purebred ‘puppy’ dressed in expensive clothes. What’s he doing over the water?’
‘I’ll call you Cerberus,’ Anne-Jay promised the puppy, who was obviously going to grow into something small and amusing, and certainly, not menacing. ‘It’s a good name for the dog of an owner like me.’
Her black ankle boots slapped confidently through the puddles when she emerged onto a lit, deserted bridge over the river. Anne-Jay had to walk across this bridge and turn off to her housing estate. No one would attack her here for robbery, but someone might try to push her into a car to rape her. However, Anne-Jay didn’t fear that scenario. Women like her never get raped.
Before leaving for home, she tucked her long, pitch-black hair beneath an autumn hat, which she pulled low over her un-makeuped eyes. A teenage boy’s jacket with voluminous inserts was hiding her already unladylike figure. Wide trousers with many pockets rattled with something metal, making one think of spanners and other men’s ‘junk’. Her gait was heavier because of the already- mentioned pair of boots, which made Anne-Jay look like a guy late for the last subway train. She was short, and her thin, slender hands cradled the puppy in her jacket to keep it from falling out. However, who would look at her hands when passing by in a car?
‘I might find you a good master, eh, Cerberus?’ Anne-Jay asked quietly. ‘I can’t imagine my landlord’s reaction to your appearance in their flat. ‘No pets allowed’, you know? I haven’t even thought of taking pets. Why should I? There’s not enough room even for me in that lift, mistakenly called ‘an apartment’. Look at me, Cerberus. I’m short and plain, but I hardly fit in that property.’
It started drizzling again. Anne-Jay shivered and looked up reproachfully into the dark autumn sky. The lamplight, somehow very suddenly and therefore solemnly, flashed a lonely male figure behind the bridge’s railing. Anne-Jay flinched as her brain assessed the situation instantly.
‘Damn it! Another ‘puppy’,’ she muttered. ‘Why are you punishing me with this, God? I’ve rescued different beings my entire life. Come on, Cerberus, let’s get this one out of his personal ‘dumpster’, too. Ha, he’s a handsome and purebred ‘puppy’ dressed in expensive clothes. What’s he doing over the water?’
⸎ ⸎ ⸎
‘DO YOU HAVE A LIGHTER?’ a remarkably sexy, hoarse woman’s voice snapped Robert out of his death throes.
‘Uh,’ he groaned, looking up at a short chick in a huge man’s jacket, oversized trousers, and heavy boots. A boys’ sports cap was pulled over her black eyes, beautiful even without makeup. The chick seemed to appear here from a desert folklore; her dark skin, distinctive nose, and charcoal-coloured eyelashes hinted at it. ‘Do I look like a smoker?’
‘You look like a suicide guy,’ she said sternly, and Robert shuddered to hear such words of himself. No, of course, he knew what he intended to do, and he didn’t care what other people thought of him or what headlines would appear in the news tomorrow morning. Yet, hearing the words spoken in that voice and with those lips was unpleasant for him for some reason. ‘Well, and a bit like whoever had a lighter. Just in case. For example, if a business partner wants to smoke his cigar during a break at a negotiation or to please a lady. I’m almost a lady; will you give me one last treat?’
‘Listen, but you don’t smoke either,’ he squinted, leaning back against the railing and looking at her sideways. ‘Why do you need a light?’
‘What makes you think I don’t smoke?’ she wondered. ‘You don’t smell like tobacco.’
‘What do I smell like?’
‘Rain, oriental spices and soap.’
‘Soap, yeah. See how cold my hands are? I want to warm them up. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do my job tomorrow as my fingers won’t bend,’ the stranger pressed one hand tighter against her stomach and held the other under Robert’s nose, showing him her blue, curled fingers. ‘I promise I won’t keep you long. I’ll warm my palms and go home, and you can dive and rest in peace. Those who want to live must get on and make a living somehow. Hands are my everything.’
‘I have a lighter,’ Robert took an expensive zippo in a leather case out of his coat pocket. He really kept it there for a nice gesture. ‘But how can you warm yourself with it? And why are you pressing your hands to your stomach? Are you in pain?’
‘Yeah, my soul is bleeding,’ she muttered, struggling to take a long scarlet scarf from under her jacket with one hand. ‘I hate humans. Help me!’
Robert reached over to assist her with the scarf. Deep down in his mind was a stirring of forgotten curiosity and interest in life. The crazy Asian girl, dressed like a contemporary chav, with her blue-from-cold hands and sore stomach, seemed to embody everything Robert had never allowed himself to do and show – hooliganism, rebelliousness, lack of authority and outright disregard for those around her.
‘Come here, ladies’ man,’ she snorted. ‘I need your hands now – both of them. Mine, as you can see, are useless. Why does that always happen to me, God? I’m going to starve to death, you know?’
‘What do you do for a living?’ Robert couldn’t suppress his curiosity, rushing to return to the fenced-off area of the bridge. Late vehicles passed by occasionally, and there was a drizzle from the sky. Robert suddenly began to feel that piercing, nasty breeze from the river and its not-so-pleasant smell. The magnetic call of the depths was replaced by something less enticing - the cold and vapour emanating from the water. He didn’t feel like jumping in anymore.
‘I’m a violinist,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I missed my bus after the concert. If I don’t get my hands warm, I might kiss my unenviable career goodbye. I’m not doing it for my career, though; I just like to play. Fold the scarf in a pile and light it while I prepare.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Robert remarked, crouching down and following her instructions. He had to try his best to light the fire despite the wind. At least the rain had almost completely stopped. The chick was sniffling above his head, seemingly trying to unzip her jacket with her teeth. Robert thought he should help, then decided that such a gesture would be too intimate, so he didn’t dare.
‘I got it from my mother,’ she said indifferently. ‘Won’t you regret it?’
‘I got my hands from my mother, too; I’ll regret them more.’
‘Here,’ Robert firmly picked up the unburned scarf and slipped it into her pocket. He took off his coat, hung it carefully on the bridge railing, then pulled off his jumper, landing it there as well, unbuttoned his shirt and took it out of his trousers, feeling a desire to show off in front of her. She was watching his movements furtively. The autumn wind cooled his naked torso, and Robert hurriedly put his jumper and coat back on. He crouched down, arranging his shirt to make a small tent out of the folds of the fabric and then flicked on his lighter. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Anne-Jay,’ she answered.
‘Unusual name,’ he covered the light with his palm and held it to the fabric. The shirt’s fabrics contained cotton and polyester, so it should burn well. He also had his socks as a last resort.
‘My parents named me Angela. Like an angel, you know? What kind of angel am I with my appearance of a devil woman? Well, I could also be a good witch – a black and nosy witch. Anyway, I’ve been called Anne-Jay since I was fifteen. What’s your name?’
‘Robert.’
‘Hold this, Rob,’ she asked, suddenly slipping something fluffy and warm into his hands. Robert gasped in surprise. A little puppy was looking at him with its frightened eyes. ‘Don’t hold it in your outstretched palms; shove it under your coat! Why are you so scared, for God’s sake?’
‘And if it shits on me?’ Robert asked cautiously.
‘The river will wash it all away,’ she replied indifferently, sitting down over the fire and stretching her hands out to the flame. Robert grimaced. He suddenly realised that he no longer wanted to dive into the river. ‘Don’t worry, though. It had already peed and pooped in a plastic bag, lying in a dumpster with the paws tied and the face wrapped in film. I hate humans!’
Robert was taken aback. In his world, no one threw puppies into a waste bin to die a horrible death. In his world, dogs were purebred and incredibly expensive. Who would think of throwing away the two or three thousand they could get for a pedigree puppy? This one, however, seemed to be a mutt. The little one was looking in Robert’s eye and wagging its tail.
‘Put it under your coat, Rob,’ Anne-Jay commanded in an iron tone, not raising her head. ‘I’ve already cleaned it; you won’t get dirty.’
Robert quickly shoved the puppy under the left flap of his overcoat and covered it with the heavy drape cloth. The cub wiggled there, getting more comfortable under his arm, and Robert suddenly thought he’d never had a dog. His father was allergic to fur, and later, when Robert began to live alone, he didn’t even think about pets. The half-remembered childhood wish for a dog fluttered in his soul and, for a brief moment, flashed so intensively that his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
‘Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ Anne-Jay yelled suddenly, and Robert flinched, distracted from the warm lump sniffing under his armpit.
‘What?’ he asked, hastily squatting down beside her. ‘My hands are warming. It hurts!’
‘Don’t put your fingers over the fire,’ Robert advised her. ‘You must keep your wrists warm to stimulate the blood moving.’
‘I don’t have time for it,’ Anne-Jay resented. ‘The shirt is already burning away.’
‘Why didn’t anyone meet you?’ Robert asked, hurriedly unlacing his shoe with one hand to pull off a sock and throw it into the fire. He didn’t tie the laces back, childishly shoving them inside the shoe so they wouldn’t dangle. He did the same with his other foot, then took a handkerchief from his trousers pocket to feed the fire. For some reason, he forgot about his car, where there were many things to burn and a place to get warm.
‘Well, my parents are far away,’ Anne-Jay shrugged, watching his actions. She reached into one of her trouser pockets and pulled out a small notebook with a thick cardboard cover and an amber lump, adding it to the fire. ‘How clever of me to keep my bow rosin in a pocket. It’s good fuel, too.’
‘And what about your husband?’
‘Look at me, Robert,’ Anne-Jay grinned. ‘What husband? I’m twenty-nine; I look like an awkward teenager who managed to grow only her nose and nothing else. My favourite clothes are the ones I’m wearing now. Men prefer women with big breasts and long legs under a nice skirt. And I should have been born a boy because I’m a C-girl. C’s always been my grade. It’s like a curse.’
‘Well, I like you,’ Robert said, giving her another look.
‘I like you, too,’ she hummed. ‘Even though I don’t like suicides.’ ‘I’m not a suicide,’ he scowled.
‘Come on,’ snorted Anne-Jay. ‘When I asked for a lighter, you were about to dive in.’
‘But I didn’t. That’s why I’m not a suicide.’
‘Ok, whatever you say,’ she rose from the fading remnants of the burnt-out stuff.
‘Cerberus, we’ve got to go.’
‘Who?’
‘The puppy. I don’t know what to do with it in my rented lift, but we’ll manage somehow. My fingers seem to be working again. We’ll be fine.’
She stepped toward the puzzled guy, slipping her hand under his coat. She embraced him for a moment with her scent of oriental spices, making him wish this cuddle to last forever. Then, picking up the dog who was dozing again, she walked away over the bridge.
Robert was staring after her and fighting the urge to catch up with her. He glanced into the dark waters and shivered. What had got into his head? What death?
There was so much more to see in the world. Dogs… And girls…
‘If she looks at me, I’ll catch her up,’ he thought, gazing at Anne-Jay’s back again. She was walking at a steady pace, not even trying to give her glance to the sides. What to say of looking back at him?
‘Uh,’ he groaned, looking up at a short chick in a huge man’s jacket, oversized trousers, and heavy boots. A boys’ sports cap was pulled over her black eyes, beautiful even without makeup. The chick seemed to appear here from a desert folklore; her dark skin, distinctive nose, and charcoal-coloured eyelashes hinted at it. ‘Do I look like a smoker?’
‘You look like a suicide guy,’ she said sternly, and Robert shuddered to hear such words of himself. No, of course, he knew what he intended to do, and he didn’t care what other people thought of him or what headlines would appear in the news tomorrow morning. Yet, hearing the words spoken in that voice and with those lips was unpleasant for him for some reason. ‘Well, and a bit like whoever had a lighter. Just in case. For example, if a business partner wants to smoke his cigar during a break at a negotiation or to please a lady. I’m almost a lady; will you give me one last treat?’
‘Listen, but you don’t smoke either,’ he squinted, leaning back against the railing and looking at her sideways. ‘Why do you need a light?’
‘What makes you think I don’t smoke?’ she wondered. ‘You don’t smell like tobacco.’
‘What do I smell like?’
‘Rain, oriental spices and soap.’
‘Soap, yeah. See how cold my hands are? I want to warm them up. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do my job tomorrow as my fingers won’t bend,’ the stranger pressed one hand tighter against her stomach and held the other under Robert’s nose, showing him her blue, curled fingers. ‘I promise I won’t keep you long. I’ll warm my palms and go home, and you can dive and rest in peace. Those who want to live must get on and make a living somehow. Hands are my everything.’
‘I have a lighter,’ Robert took an expensive zippo in a leather case out of his coat pocket. He really kept it there for a nice gesture. ‘But how can you warm yourself with it? And why are you pressing your hands to your stomach? Are you in pain?’
‘Yeah, my soul is bleeding,’ she muttered, struggling to take a long scarlet scarf from under her jacket with one hand. ‘I hate humans. Help me!’
Robert reached over to assist her with the scarf. Deep down in his mind was a stirring of forgotten curiosity and interest in life. The crazy Asian girl, dressed like a contemporary chav, with her blue-from-cold hands and sore stomach, seemed to embody everything Robert had never allowed himself to do and show – hooliganism, rebelliousness, lack of authority and outright disregard for those around her.
‘Come here, ladies’ man,’ she snorted. ‘I need your hands now – both of them. Mine, as you can see, are useless. Why does that always happen to me, God? I’m going to starve to death, you know?’
‘What do you do for a living?’ Robert couldn’t suppress his curiosity, rushing to return to the fenced-off area of the bridge. Late vehicles passed by occasionally, and there was a drizzle from the sky. Robert suddenly began to feel that piercing, nasty breeze from the river and its not-so-pleasant smell. The magnetic call of the depths was replaced by something less enticing - the cold and vapour emanating from the water. He didn’t feel like jumping in anymore.
‘I’m a violinist,’ she said grudgingly. ‘I missed my bus after the concert. If I don’t get my hands warm, I might kiss my unenviable career goodbye. I’m not doing it for my career, though; I just like to play. Fold the scarf in a pile and light it while I prepare.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Robert remarked, crouching down and following her instructions. He had to try his best to light the fire despite the wind. At least the rain had almost completely stopped. The chick was sniffling above his head, seemingly trying to unzip her jacket with her teeth. Robert thought he should help, then decided that such a gesture would be too intimate, so he didn’t dare.
‘I got it from my mother,’ she said indifferently. ‘Won’t you regret it?’
‘I got my hands from my mother, too; I’ll regret them more.’
‘Here,’ Robert firmly picked up the unburned scarf and slipped it into her pocket. He took off his coat, hung it carefully on the bridge railing, then pulled off his jumper, landing it there as well, unbuttoned his shirt and took it out of his trousers, feeling a desire to show off in front of her. She was watching his movements furtively. The autumn wind cooled his naked torso, and Robert hurriedly put his jumper and coat back on. He crouched down, arranging his shirt to make a small tent out of the folds of the fabric and then flicked on his lighter. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Anne-Jay,’ she answered.
‘Unusual name,’ he covered the light with his palm and held it to the fabric. The shirt’s fabrics contained cotton and polyester, so it should burn well. He also had his socks as a last resort.
‘My parents named me Angela. Like an angel, you know? What kind of angel am I with my appearance of a devil woman? Well, I could also be a good witch – a black and nosy witch. Anyway, I’ve been called Anne-Jay since I was fifteen. What’s your name?’
‘Robert.’
‘Hold this, Rob,’ she asked, suddenly slipping something fluffy and warm into his hands. Robert gasped in surprise. A little puppy was looking at him with its frightened eyes. ‘Don’t hold it in your outstretched palms; shove it under your coat! Why are you so scared, for God’s sake?’
‘And if it shits on me?’ Robert asked cautiously.
‘The river will wash it all away,’ she replied indifferently, sitting down over the fire and stretching her hands out to the flame. Robert grimaced. He suddenly realised that he no longer wanted to dive into the river. ‘Don’t worry, though. It had already peed and pooped in a plastic bag, lying in a dumpster with the paws tied and the face wrapped in film. I hate humans!’
Robert was taken aback. In his world, no one threw puppies into a waste bin to die a horrible death. In his world, dogs were purebred and incredibly expensive. Who would think of throwing away the two or three thousand they could get for a pedigree puppy? This one, however, seemed to be a mutt. The little one was looking in Robert’s eye and wagging its tail.
‘Put it under your coat, Rob,’ Anne-Jay commanded in an iron tone, not raising her head. ‘I’ve already cleaned it; you won’t get dirty.’
Robert quickly shoved the puppy under the left flap of his overcoat and covered it with the heavy drape cloth. The cub wiggled there, getting more comfortable under his arm, and Robert suddenly thought he’d never had a dog. His father was allergic to fur, and later, when Robert began to live alone, he didn’t even think about pets. The half-remembered childhood wish for a dog fluttered in his soul and, for a brief moment, flashed so intensively that his heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
‘Aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ Anne-Jay yelled suddenly, and Robert flinched, distracted from the warm lump sniffing under his armpit.
‘What?’ he asked, hastily squatting down beside her. ‘My hands are warming. It hurts!’
‘Don’t put your fingers over the fire,’ Robert advised her. ‘You must keep your wrists warm to stimulate the blood moving.’
‘I don’t have time for it,’ Anne-Jay resented. ‘The shirt is already burning away.’
‘Why didn’t anyone meet you?’ Robert asked, hurriedly unlacing his shoe with one hand to pull off a sock and throw it into the fire. He didn’t tie the laces back, childishly shoving them inside the shoe so they wouldn’t dangle. He did the same with his other foot, then took a handkerchief from his trousers pocket to feed the fire. For some reason, he forgot about his car, where there were many things to burn and a place to get warm.
‘Well, my parents are far away,’ Anne-Jay shrugged, watching his actions. She reached into one of her trouser pockets and pulled out a small notebook with a thick cardboard cover and an amber lump, adding it to the fire. ‘How clever of me to keep my bow rosin in a pocket. It’s good fuel, too.’
‘And what about your husband?’
‘Look at me, Robert,’ Anne-Jay grinned. ‘What husband? I’m twenty-nine; I look like an awkward teenager who managed to grow only her nose and nothing else. My favourite clothes are the ones I’m wearing now. Men prefer women with big breasts and long legs under a nice skirt. And I should have been born a boy because I’m a C-girl. C’s always been my grade. It’s like a curse.’
‘Well, I like you,’ Robert said, giving her another look.
‘I like you, too,’ she hummed. ‘Even though I don’t like suicides.’ ‘I’m not a suicide,’ he scowled.
‘Come on,’ snorted Anne-Jay. ‘When I asked for a lighter, you were about to dive in.’
‘But I didn’t. That’s why I’m not a suicide.’
‘Ok, whatever you say,’ she rose from the fading remnants of the burnt-out stuff.
‘Cerberus, we’ve got to go.’
‘Who?’
‘The puppy. I don’t know what to do with it in my rented lift, but we’ll manage somehow. My fingers seem to be working again. We’ll be fine.’
She stepped toward the puzzled guy, slipping her hand under his coat. She embraced him for a moment with her scent of oriental spices, making him wish this cuddle to last forever. Then, picking up the dog who was dozing again, she walked away over the bridge.
Robert was staring after her and fighting the urge to catch up with her. He glanced into the dark waters and shivered. What had got into his head? What death?
There was so much more to see in the world. Dogs… And girls…
‘If she looks at me, I’ll catch her up,’ he thought, gazing at Anne-Jay’s back again. She was walking at a steady pace, not even trying to give her glance to the sides. What to say of looking back at him?
⸎ ⸎ ⸎
‘DON’T LOOK AT HIM, Angela, don’t you dare,’ Anne-Jay whispered to herself. ‘You can’t do that now. It’ll trigger him. He’ll jump into the water. This time, he will finish his business if you look back. You, a lifelong C-ker, always had a knack for saving beings. Don’t screw it up now.’
She had been tracking Robert’s reaction to the specific words for the entire not-too-long conversation between them. The first of the words didn’t touch him at all, but then, gradually, he began to come out of his trance, psychologically moving further and further away from the river. Robert seemed to be a nice guy. He had taken his shirt off to keep her warm. He had also hidden the puppy under his coat and pulled his socks down so funny, trying not to disturb the wee one’s nap. Robert was a real Protector. All she needed to do right now was to avoid looking back.
Cerberus squirmed under her jacket, tickling her stomach with its paws.
Anne-Jay couldn’t help it and, grabbing the puppy more comfortably, glanced back, pretending it was not of her own will but because of the dog’s wriggling. Robert stood calmly, leaning against the bridge’s railing illuminated by the lantern. He stared after her, and the wind from the river ruffled his hair.
‘That’s it, Cerberus. We saved him,’ Anne-Jay whispered to the puppy. He won’t dive now. We can go home peacefully to warm and heal our limbs and souls.’
She walked on, no longer stopping or looking back, holding the pup under her jacket with one hand and keeping the other in her pocket. Anne-Jay made another fifty metres, having almost reached the middle of the bridge when an expensive car stopped beside her.
‘Listen, I would like to care for…’ Robert started, looking at her from the driver’s seat. He had to bend over to see her through the lowered window of the passenger door.
‘To care for whom? Do you mean Cerberus?’ she asked. ‘I mean you. And the pup too, of course.’
‘Well, you can try,’ grinned Anne-Jay. ‘However, there’s one important condition: no more suicides. Never, ever again.’
‘I promise.’
She had been tracking Robert’s reaction to the specific words for the entire not-too-long conversation between them. The first of the words didn’t touch him at all, but then, gradually, he began to come out of his trance, psychologically moving further and further away from the river. Robert seemed to be a nice guy. He had taken his shirt off to keep her warm. He had also hidden the puppy under his coat and pulled his socks down so funny, trying not to disturb the wee one’s nap. Robert was a real Protector. All she needed to do right now was to avoid looking back.
Cerberus squirmed under her jacket, tickling her stomach with its paws.
Anne-Jay couldn’t help it and, grabbing the puppy more comfortably, glanced back, pretending it was not of her own will but because of the dog’s wriggling. Robert stood calmly, leaning against the bridge’s railing illuminated by the lantern. He stared after her, and the wind from the river ruffled his hair.
‘That’s it, Cerberus. We saved him,’ Anne-Jay whispered to the puppy. He won’t dive now. We can go home peacefully to warm and heal our limbs and souls.’
She walked on, no longer stopping or looking back, holding the pup under her jacket with one hand and keeping the other in her pocket. Anne-Jay made another fifty metres, having almost reached the middle of the bridge when an expensive car stopped beside her.
‘Listen, I would like to care for…’ Robert started, looking at her from the driver’s seat. He had to bend over to see her through the lowered window of the passenger door.
‘To care for whom? Do you mean Cerberus?’ she asked. ‘I mean you. And the pup too, of course.’
‘Well, you can try,’ grinned Anne-Jay. ‘However, there’s one important condition: no more suicides. Never, ever again.’
‘I promise.’
Anna Molman is a Ukrainian disabled writer living in Scotland. She has written 40 short stories and 10 novels in Ukrainian. Her first published novel, Tango of Water and Flame, was translated into English. Anna won the REWRITE literary competition (2022), the Fantastic Lesya competition (2021), and the Scottish Refugee Council Cross Borders Cultural Award (2023).
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