Laden with a heavy burden in her stomach, Erin watched her leave. She then slowly exited for her beige Peugeot 307 and started the engine. Throwing a parting glance at the hospital, her eyes read the sign above the main entrance…
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…
She gave herself a shake and returned to reality, realising that this was a trick of her imagination.
That night, in a dream, she saw Doctor Johnson. Her masculine figure with her smooth, naked torso leaned rapaciously over her bed. Alongside her, looking at Erin sadly, there was the quietly pleading and petrified face of the writer, Luke. Suddenly, her bewildered, maddened eyes met the wild eyes of the doctor, who hissed acidly, exposing her toothless mouth and clearly striking every word:
«I will prove to you, red-headed darling Erin O’Brian, that this is genetic! And I won’t bid you farewell, because I’ll see you soon!»
4. Arthur and the Gypsy
Arthur woke at dawn, screwing up his eyes immediately against the ray of sun beaming persistently into them, reminding him to get up. He unwillingly stretched out an arm from under the sheets and put on his wristwatch on a leather strap. It had just gone 7 o’clock. He still had 23 minutes remaining until his alarm clock went off. But this restless and irrepressible ray of warm, soft April sun continued to bear down on him, having set its sights on his sleepy eyes…
He stood up and began to move towards the bathroom. Brushing his brilliant white teeth with a thorough, circular motion, he examined himself in the mirror thoughtfully, «Nearly 33, but still in good form,» he thought reassuringly. A tall man stood looking at him from the other side of the mirror, well built with broad shoulders which demonstrated his strong complexion, with a bright, noble face and expressive, dark blue eyes. His hair was a light chestnut brown with a pleasant lustreless character, and which was naturally curly, attesting to his being well born, in the same way as the chestnut brown or, as is more common, black curly mane of a thoroughbred white horse. His eyes were set under thin, handsome eyebrows. Above them was his open, pale forehead on which, if one looked closely, one could notice the first signs of shallow wrinkles criss crossing each other. His straight nose, with a small but noticeable bump, told of his forthright character, occasionally tempered to the wise compromise, and pyjamas fastened only by two lower buttons, and which gave a glimpse of his strikingly pure whiteness. This told of a true gentleman, rejective of anything ostentatious, but loving of order, comfort, a fresh outfit, and a rich library.
Entering the room opposite his, Arthur tenderly kissed his soundly sleeping daughter on the forehead and caringly rearranged her bedsheets. From the next room there came the loud snoring of his aunt. Going downstairs into the kitchen, he expertly prepared himself the traditional full English of fried eggs, toast, sausages, tomatoes, and mushrooms. He had a strong black coffee with it and, dressing for the weather in a coat, and taking his briefcase, he set off out into the street with his usual unhurried step, moving in an easy and elegant manner. He wanted a bit of a stroll to take in the pure morning air, before foggy smog could descend on the city. He was in no hurry, since he had more than enough time before the working day started. It was only the previous day that he had beaten fierce competition in all manner of interviews and was finally offered a long-awaited and tantalising job at a big hospital with a very highly regarded reputation. His first day had now arrived, he now had to step up and fulfil his serious burden of responsibilities as a neurosurgeon.
«You blind? You just ran into an old lady, almost knocked her off her feet!» standing in the middle of the pavement, staring at him with offence, was a woman who was long-in-the-tooth, a brightly coloured headscarf flung carelessly around her head. She was holding her right arm to one side in which she carried a lit candle, every finger adorned with golden rings which glistened in the sunlight. Her other arm supported a big sewn bag hanging from her back.
She seemed taller than she actually was, and such a slim figure could only belong to a dancer. Or a former dancer. She did not look like a native of the British Isles, Spanish, perhaps. Her skin was slightly darkened and had a certain mirific, golden shade. Her face, which held a bygone beauty, was framed in blueish black, long, and curly hair, though if one looked closely, one could make out the several strands of grey. And her wide, bold eyes, shining in the yet weak morning sun, showed her strong willed and independent character, but she was at the same time, it seemed, kind and righteous. Everything about her reminded Arthur of the charming Esmeralda, the heroine of the Victor Hugo novel The Cathedral of Notre-Dame, who danced to the banging of drums. To be more precise, she reminded him of the actress Gina Lollobrigida, who had, a very long time ago, made a triumph of this role. The only difference was that the heroine of the novel was 16 years old and the Esmeralda confronting him was of a more respectable age, about 40 years older… How on earth could he have failed to notice this lady?
«Why you just standing there?» she boldly took a step towards him, as though challenging him to a duel.
«Forgive me, madam,» answered Arthur politely, bowing his head slightly and made to walk past, but it seemed the woman was not going to forgive him easily.
«Forgive you? I should think not!» she answered sharply, and proudly drew herself up to her full height, her necklace of golden coins and badges, pearls, beads, colourful stones, and corals jingling on her chest. Her bright red skirt of chiffon, long and flared, embroidered with lace and crystals, swayed in harmony with her movement, showing her plain sandals with straps which brought Greek sandals to mind, and painted tassels with buckles. Had Arthur not seen these, he could have been led to believe with certainty that she was barefoot.
«Are you blind? I’m here to sing Jelem Jelem for a sacred ritual, or don’t you know what that is. Or are you deaf? Keep walking, you scared me!»
«What ritual, madam?» asked Arthur without thinking, believing this entire episode to be just a silly coincidence, something of no concern to him at all…
«Don’t you know what day it is, young man?»
«I do know, ma’am, the 8th of April…» he racked his brains, trying to remember seeing any special occasions marked on the calendar on his kitchen wall.
«Exactly! The 8th of April! Need I explain? But you wouldn’t understand anyhow,» clearly, she was to beat around the bush with him no longer, and began to address him as ty,1 and to pointlessly wave her arm at him. But she had hurt this English gentleman’s feelings.
«Wait, madam… I… I ask for your forgiveness for offending you, I didn’t mean to…» he said quickly, but suddenly found he could not take his eyes off this woman, and was intrigued: «What significance has today, madam?»
«It’s World Gypsy Day!» she said with open pride, but in her voice there were underlying tones of aggravation. «Shame you didn’t know. Remember this day!» and she slapped him on the shoulder with the palm of her hand in a friendly manner. So that’s who she was! A gypsy, of all people, imagine that! So, he was right to be reminded of Esmeralda the Gypsy, though she was not borne of gypsies, but raised by them. Immediately he had memories of what he had heard about this people’s strange powers to cast evil spells, that one must never, under any circumstances let them touch you, or even look one in the eye!
«Don’t be afraid of me,» it was as though she was reading his mind. «I’m not unforgiving… Very well then, goodbye!» her kind and dark-skinned face was now very playful and full of life. She now seemed to be about to stick out her tongue at him.
«Thank you, madam!» he answered.
«Why do you keep saying «madam, madam, madam’? I’m not that old yet. My name is Lily. Just «Lily’», she introduced herself, and held out a half-draped