the Bulgakov House in Moscow and its inhabitants,
including the Honorable Mister the Puss,
the Moscow City Organization
of the Union of Writers of Russia,
and all of my thought-forms’ prototypes!
Chapter 0. PROLOGUE. The GLOVES
A few years before
I stood by the sea, with my back pressed against the Dark Tower, looking up into the black starry sky. In August, the stars used to fall there. I wanted to catch one of them to make a wish (the most common one, for mutual love), when suddenly the phone rang.
“Hello, Alice,” Ray called me, as usual, from an unidentified number.
“Hi,” I said softly, being afraid he was only a dream.
“How are you? Where are you now?”
“I’m catching stars at the Dark Tower. It looks like your Tower. I wish you were here with me now…”
“Don’t forget I am a ghost…”
And I woke up…
***
“You remind me of that man, so…”
“The sorcerer?” Roman asked.
“The Magician,” I clarified, being mentally in the Other Reality in search of my gloves. “We are going to give a performance on the 14th of February. I want you to play him.”
“Whatever you want,” Roman smiled.
Probably he admired me in some field and somehow, silently and somewhere in the depths of his soul. However, there was an invisible inner connection between us, which he probably did not feel. Roman reminded me of Ray…
“What is the role?”
“You will come to me out of the Mirror every night. Until you take me away from here…”
***
“As usual? Seafood salad or chicken?” asked Pasha smiling. He was a good-natured boy, waiter in a restaurant on the seashore by the Dark Tower, and he spoke my language a little bit.
“Yesterday I had chicken, so today bring me salad, please.”
I glanced at my watch – “Almost midnight!” – but I wasn’t alone in the restaurant. However, it was always calm there, and I’d never got afraid to return home late. Or rather, to the house where I used to live in summer.
“Okay. And coffee from me. Want, my girl?”
I didn’t scold Pasha for addressing me as “his girl”, and I left one euro for tea. How many years had I been coming there? And always, with the exception of joint evenings with Dimitra, my friend, a local resident, I dined at that restaurant.
***
Gloves… the black ones…
“Where did they come from?”
The Guardian of the Portal recorded their appearance in his diary. He loved numbers, dates. They were symbols. As well as the gloves.
The Guardian sighed, carefully took the ladies’ gloves in one hand and the antique lantern in the other, left the Portal for the room, and then descended into the Dungeon to hide his find in the gloomy dressing table of the pantry.
“Has she come back?”
***
A year before
Some boxes of shoes… I opened them one by one and took out three pairs of brand-new orange sandals. A man approached me. I could clearly see his figure, but his face was foggy… I embraced the stranger and… I woke up.
“A man with a small belly appeared in my dream last night…”
“I’m losing weight! Review the dream! Probably he is already without a belly!”
“When are you coming back?”
“All flights are cancelled! The borders are closed! I’ve got tickets for August, but I’m not sure. Thank God I’m alive and okay…”
“How long have you believed in God?” I thought sarcastically and involuntarily remembered Ray, and then, for some reason, Roman. So stealthily the Autumn used to creep up on me and, as usual, caused bouts of nostalgia.
***
“Where does Your Majesty wish to stroll?” asked the King of Swords.
Like all “Kings”, he was married, as for the suit of “Swords”, he was a military man, and for some reason the military men were fond of me. Sometimes he walked me culturally in the city.
“Take me to the Mansion,” I answered suddenly.
“Maybe it’s better…”
“To the Mansion!” I kept insisting.
The rain was mixed with the evening mist. We turned into the courtyard, and I was ready to open the desired Door to my left, but the King of Swords didn’t allow me that.
“It’s the wrong door. You need the Right one.”
I needed the Left Door! I no longer had the strength to stay in our Reality… completely alone… useless…
However, I obediently opened the Right one.
“Not now. Or not with him?”
I slowly climbed the stairs, went inside and floated along the corridor to the kitchen and then into the room, absorbing not sounds, but memories, kept by the walls of any space.
My grandmother, my father’s mother, with her sister and father, my great-grandfather, often visited his friend, the Writer, in that flat.
There were two museums in the Mansion. One was behind the Right door, the other was behind the Left door.
I didn’t hear a word of what the obviously superfluous tour guide was saying. I fell there – to my grannies – in their Time, to drown out the pain and to suppress another bout of nostalgia…
***
Six months before
The Guardian of the Portal exhaled – finally, his diary was published in a human way. In every sense of the word. He opened the book to a random page and landed on “The Gloves”.
“She will be back! Yes! Yes! She’s about to show up here!”
***
May holidays
The magic name popped up on the phone.
“If you knew how glad I am to hear from you…”
He reminded me too much of Ray, and I smiled – something warm and fluffy touched my heart. Roman was an invisible (and perhaps the only) thread connecting me with the already irrevocable.
“I recalled my Soviet past today,” it sounded like a sudden insertion into a business conversation on an off-business day.
“Did you have it?” I smiled again and reached for the Tarot cards.
“I’ve read your book ‘Confession of a Ghost’ about the Matrix, as I promised. Remember?”
“Really?!”