It was raining - the second day without ceasing. It was a tiresome, deep, melancholy autumn rain. Some featureless people in the smoky room were jostling each other and looking at my face. And asking, asking... I was dizzy because of the stuffy air. The dim light of a single bulb painted the surroundings in a dull, dirty-yellow color that penetrated everywhere. It was absorbed into the walls and slowly poisoning the day, which was dying outside the window.
You sit in front of me, being straight and pale, wearing your favorite sweater and jeans, exactly the same way you were when we met for the first time. Only that day there weren't the cuffs on your hands. You are sitting and silent. And just looking at my face. I'll never forget that look. All around, as through a thick layer of cotton and wool, the illegible voices are rustling, someone's hands are touching me, someone is calling me by my name. But I can see only your eyes. Why didn't I notice ever before that they are so dark? It always seemed to me the hazel-green color is light. Light.
Only once before did you look at me this way. Summer before last. Do you remember - when you accidentally pinched my finger by slamming the car door? Jeeeeez! How intensely I howled. And you see it wasn't that bad, simply unexpected and insulting for some reason, though taking offence was for sure completely silly. But when I saw that look of yours filled with such inhuman anguish and pain, being guilty and suffering, I started howling even stronger and rushed to you burying my face in the familiar and so kind smell of your woolen sweater. And till now I remember your lips on my face and the guilty-guilty whisper in my ear: "Forgive!" I was eleven then.
What do they want from me, all those men? They ask so many obscure questions. And why can't I approach you? I just wanted to set the collar of your shirt straight. It looks so funny out from under the neck of your sweater. I was looking at your face but don't know why I couldn't really see it. Probably I was crying. And some stranger was shoving a dirty glass of water into my face and the short woman in the uniform was clumsily stroking my hair "The poor child!" But I'm not poor - I'm yours!
You know I cleaned your flat yesterday. I cleaned the carpet and took out the garbage bucket. I was waiting for you. Waiting for the usual tinkling with the key. You'll silently open the door and carefully edge yourself inside dragging packages with the meal and stuff. And I'll jump out of a room and hanging on your neck, I'll begin chattering all my news. And you, as you always do, will be slowly undressing and with a smile listening to my chatting until I grab the packages and drag them to kitchen only allowing the loaf of bread and the package of milk to fall.
But you didn't come. Instead of you, there came some strange people and told me that they're cops and you were arrested and they'll take care of me. Why would they do that ? I'm almost thirteen and anyway I've got you. And what does it mean "arrested"? They started to rummage in your table and the bookcase and the neighbor, Aunt Lida, held me by my shoulders and pursed her mouth, silently shaking her head.
I didn't want to spend the night with her. Especially with her grandson, Vovka, who was so skinny and insidious. I was in a fight with him recently in the courtyard because of that damned football despite that we've almost been friends before. I've even told him in strict confidence something about us. Just a little bit. But he looks like a kewl kid. He's not a tattler.
You continue to look at me and it seems to me that all this shit will be finished in no time. The stuffy smell of the smoky room will disappear; the importunate voices will vanish. You'll come to me and kiss my double crown again. They say this mark means two weddings, but I don't believe in that. I've been trying to find a double crown on your head, remember? When you brought me in the beginning of autumn to rest by the seaside and we went swimming that night? The moon was so bright that it was as daylight. We had been running stark naked through a deserted beach then, falling on still not cold sand, we laid side by side and your hand strongly took mine. Smiling, you told me you were born to love only once.
Videos! Why have you bought this damned camera? You told me it's for a history and cheerfully laughed when I charmingly looked in the small viewfinder, pressing the button watching passersby our window approaching and moving away like I was some little wizard. What? Yes, I know these videos. That one, second from the top, with broken off corner, I unintentionally dropped jumping off the sofa and smacking bare-feet on the floor when I decided to change it with a new one so I do not have to get up later. Later. And you laid on this wide folding sofa which was old and squeaky and made the perky faces at me.
And now they are placed on a shabby office desk and I can't look at them. They're bare, without the usual cardboard boxes, too strange and too black in the dirty, dim light of the dying day. But why do they need them? You see on these cassettes there are only me and you. Only you and me! Why do they need them?
My head is swimming - whirling and stronger. The voices around me merge all together in a continuous dismal buzz and only your eyes are at the center of this ridiculous round-dance, all forgiving, filled with pain and anguish. But why? What have I done wrong? If it's because of the broken window in the next house, well nobody knows that I did it. And it was an accident. I just tested the catapult. Vovka, tell 'em! Why are you sitting there at the table and nodding? And even never glancing at me. What is so interesting that this uniformed man is asking you about? Aunt Lida, what are they asking Vovka about? About what? WHAT ARE THEY ASKING VOVKA ABOUT?!
I was simply tired. I was tired and just closed my eyes. And the faces flashed around me, faces. Aunt Lida talked to you, smiled and waved a hand. But suddenly I've noticed, that there are no lips on her face and that smile of hers looks like a terrible grin. Vovka appeared from nowhere throwing to you a shabby, half blown off leather ball and you couldn't catch it and guiltily looked at me. I wanted to rush to you, to help protect you from them. But, as usually happens in dreadful dreams, my feet, as if they were filled with wool, have stuck to the floor and I fall into endless darkness where the deafening beats of my heart fill me with painful hollow pushes.
Cold. Sharp light into my eyes. A sharp smell. I know it. It's sal-ammoniac. You're the doctor yourself and you told me how to help the person who has lost consciousness. There's complete darkness outside the window. The dim bulb ate the rest of the daylight. And now darkness is covering the whole world. There is darkness and emptiness. The two big men hold you by the hands, not letting you approach me and you are breaking away and shouting that you're the doctor and can help. It isn't necessary. I'm ok. I'm completely fine. I just gotta go to the bathroom. Aunt Lida could you lead me to the bathroom?
They took you out of the room. I knew that everything would happen this way as if I saw it all on TV. In the doorway you turned around and looked at me. For the last time. Your eyes flashed for an instant and went out, as if they've become covered with a dim lifeless shroud - as if this damned bulb has exhausted all the light not only from windows but from your eyes too. But a second before this nobody except me saw what you told me, by only lips - "Forgive!"
What a silence, what a delightful silence. An open window. The rain was probably already finished. Anyway I can see nothing. This is the fifth floor, you see. Well there's the darkness after all. Of course, Aunt Lida - I still need to go to the bathroom. No, no, everything is ok; I'm fine right now. Yes, tonight I'll spend the night at your place and tomorrow this lovely short woman in the uniform will take me back to the orphanage. And then they'll try to find my real parents or at least my mother. A bathroom is on the right hand, the last door. Thanks! I'll be right back. Don't worry Aunt Lida, everything is completely ok.
The cold glazed tiles with yellow stains. A rather muddy mirror. Not bad just the eyes became hollow. Anyway I'm pretty cute. Well I'm to have my hair cut. Aha, here's a window. The windowsill is covered with cigarette butts, old and new. Well how much they are smoking here, working hard I suppose. Shit, it's pretty high! Hard to climb up on the windowsill. I've to break the window open some faster. Wow, air is so fresh, keeeewl! And the rain exactly was absolutely finished. Maybe the sun will appear tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I'd be thirteen years old. You promised to give me some incredible gift and smiled so mysteriously. I wonder, what did you want to give me?
Tomorrow I'd be thirteen years old. It's not a trifle. I already have become almost an adult. You always told me that thirteen is the last age of boyhood. After it, the boys begin to become the men.
Tomorrow I'd be thirteen years old. Forgive me.
