This autumn was cool. The wind did not subside, bringing street noise and bustle into the open window along with the cool freshness of the rain. It seemed that reading under its threatening howls was even more interesting, the natural sounds very accurately matched the mood of the book, merging with it, mixing with the feelings of the characters, enlivening and giving colorful realism to the images faintly outlined on the pages. Turning over another white sheet, Matthew looked away, letting his eyes rest. It was already dark in the room: the sky was covered with heavy rain clouds, and peering into the small book print was becoming increasingly difficult. But he did not want to turn on the light, it seemed to him that the room was much more comfortable without artificial lighting, precisely when the rain was about to start, and the slamming frames of the open window did not calm down… the light here was simply unnecessary.
A thunderstorm broke out, and the first large drops broke against the window glass in modest solitude. Matthew closed his eyes. He liked the way the wind was blowing through the house and the rain was getting stronger, already flowing in streams from the roof of the house to the ground. The window frames were now flapping much more quietly and seemed to be drawing their own, more harmonious and orderly, sounds in all this polyphony of autumn sounds. He sat, immersed in his own thoughts and indulged in sweet relaxation to the sounds of water flowing outside the window, trying to merge with the darkness and dissolve in solitude.
A knock on the door made Matthew open his eyes and listen. He was sitting in the living room by the window, outside which a thunderstorm was rumbling and the torrents of rain were rustling, so the knocking was almost inaudible.
– Who's there? Matthew asked, approaching the door and throwing on an old plaid shirt.
– Open up, you've got a package! – the man behind the door was clearly straining himself, trying to shout over the rain.
He quickly buttoned his shirt with three buttons and opened the door. The first thing that immediately caught his attention was the huge box standing at the threshold of his house, and only then the small man next to him, in a postman's uniform, all soaked by the rain.
– Take it and sign for it, please. – the old man handed over a folder and a pen.
– What is this? – Matthew was amazed, taking the folder and looking at the box. – And from whom?..
– I don't know anything, – the postman answered, – they told me to deliver it, I have delivered it. Sign for it and take it, it's raining… it says here: do not get wet.
Matthew signed in the indicated place, still not understanding: who could have sent such a huge parcel?
The postman helped him drag the rather heavy box into the house and left. Matthew watched him go, watching the truck drive away. It seemed to him that something was wrong. Could this have been a mistake? And he hadn't even really looked at the recipient's address, the old man could well have mixed something up…
Sasha walked silently, not paying attention to the road, not turning around and not looking at the people he met. He still couldn't forget her, something inside him was tightly squeezed, and her soft and very beautiful voice still sounded in his head. Her gentle words tore at his heart… an unbearably beautiful voice… unbearably. He lowered his head, now he looked only at his feet. He tried not to think. But then, instead of asphalt, some image flashed… a shadow still hid the face.
She slowly turned her head, her hair slid back from her shoulder and her face was exposed to the light; her green eyes stopped on him, she smiled. Then the asphalt flashed again. Sasha quickened his pace. He needed something to flash before his eyes all the time. Or should he run?..
Bright yellow autumn leaves, small debris, flying gray asphalt floated underfoot… but what are all these leaves, asphalt, debris? Like a mosaic, they first gathered into scraps, then into particles of a fluttering light dress, and then…
The dancer's hands gracefully traced their honed, correct movements in the air, then the entire silhouette made a dance «pa». She spun, spun for a long time, and her hair barely kept up with her, her eyes glowed, and her lips whispered something all the time… something so light, insignificant for the observer.
..one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…
Liza loved to dance.
After walking a few more meters, Sasha saw that very building. He stopped to look around. He immediately felt that something was wrong here: the color of the building itself seemed gloomy to Sasha. "The color of the autumn sky" flashed gloomily through his head. He stood there for a few minutes, thinking. The building seemed a little strange, abandoned, lonely… And many small steps led far up to its entrance.
This could not go on any longer. Almost a month had passed since his parents had taken him to England, thus separating him from his beloved. He lit a cigarette. The wind blew through Sasha's light brown hair, throwing it over his forehead and then over the back of his head. He inhaled the fresh, cool evening air and, looking at the crumpled pack of cigarettes, remembered how he had hugged Liza with one hand at the airport and put the other in his coat pocket. At first they stood in silence, she laid her head on his shoulder and he felt the sweet scent of her hair. His father's voice rudely interrupted their separation, and although nothing really rude was said, only that it was time to go, Sasha involuntarily crumpled a brand new pack of «Marlboro» in his pocket that his fingers had caught. Liza sighed quietly and raised her head toward the sound. She was calm and sad. And somehow especially beautiful…
Here in England Sasha had a good friend Fred from the first days. He told him about this building, about the strange doctor, about what Sasha still did not believe.
– I can't see you suffering because of her… I didn't want to talk about that, but apparently I have no choice… it will be better for you. However, you will decide for yourself. – Fred was speaking.
– What are you talking about? Don't worry about that, these are all my problems… you won't be able to help me.
– I don't. But I know a doctor who can fix everything.
– How will he fix it? If only he could fix feelings… or change fate… Maybe he could make it so that the words "father's contract" would simply disappear from my life?..
– He can do anything. – An evasive answer was thrown. – Anyway, listen. – Fred named the address from memory and explained how to get there. Then he fell silent and looked at his friend very seriously and sadly. A strong wind blew, the fur on his blue jacket fluttered anxiously. He looked away. – Okay, Alex, let's not say goodbye, maybe we'll see each other again someday. – With these words, Fred patted him on the shoulder, nodded in a friendly way and left.
There were very few people around, but Sasha still stepped onto the first step, then the second… The third, fourth… the steps were left behind one after another, he opened the door and went inside.
Inside, on the contrary, there were a lot of people. They were all bustling about, making noise, animatedly finding out something. He went up to the reception window.
– Hello…
– Are you here by appointment? – he was immediately interrupted by the ringing voice of the nurse, who was quickly sorting through some papers laid out on the table in front of her.
– No, I just wanted to find out…
– Office 206, straight up the stairs and to the left. – The nurse responded again unexpectedly quickly, without looking up from her work. And then it was as if she forgot about Sasha, no longer paying any attention to him.
– Come in, – he heard when he raised his fist to knock on the door of office 206.
Sasha silently entered. Behind the door was a tall, thin man in a white coat.
– I knew you would come. I've been waiting for you here, you're a bit late… – the man said, looking at his watch. – Come on, sit down, don't be shy. Let's get to the main thing right away. I know what brought you to me. Every day, hundreds