Three Novelettes from Angels life

Helen Vasilyev

Three novelettes from Angels’ life
 
Angels sleeping

Irene had been trying to pick out a wristwatch for about an hour already. A shop owner and an amiable salesgirl both enjoyed assisting their regular buyer. Her companion was sitting in a caf; opposite the shop impassively ordering one macchiato after another. He was a good-looking tall dandy of about thirty with aristocratic looks and manners. His blondish curly hair made his handsome sunburnt face look vividly glamorous and his well-cared for hands displayed him as man of art. The young man was in fact a successful decorative painter.
The stylish customer finally made her choice in favor a wonderful white Padani watch jeweled with black diamonds. She dryly thanked the traders who seemed to be happy with the deal and, still remaining cold-hearted, paid an enormous amount of money with a credit card and carelessly left the place to join her boyfriend.
Paul was exalted about the value the purchase. He was aware that Irene preferred the luxurious to the expensive and the exquisite to the beautiful. They stayed together a little while longer idly chatting and left for Irene’s. The man was driving while his girlfriend, having adjusted her seat back, was carelessly sprawling, her feet sheathed with thin stockings the colour  of caf; au lait. Paul was tenderly caressing her seductive knee but the woman seemed to be absolutely indifferent to his touch, her thoughts being occupied with her new watch, imagining it with or without a wristlet to match her long-sleeved or short-sleeved attire. The car soon drove up to her house.
Irene was reputed to be a well-off and self-sufficing person. Her deceased husband whom she hardly ever remembered left her a considerable fortune, and she herself held an important position at an advertising agency. Feminine and curvy, she was an attractive lady of average height, with almond-shaped violet eyes and a well-kept mane of dark chestnut hair, that caught the eye of men of all ages but, she would personally prefer men younger than herself. She was around her forties or fifties but nobody would be quite sure about her true age. Irene owned one of the levels in a prestigious house with a cook and two housekeepers. Cleaning was done by an elderly couple from Nepal.
Paul came on her life’s scene about a year ago. Quite by chance, the seductive beauty showed up at the exhibition of his sets for several theatre performances. The two became a couple since then if one could call so their dates twice a week at Irene’s. The rest of her time was devoted to work and pampering herself. She would always sleep alone, not even the housekeepers would be allowed to stay overnight. It was rumored that Irene had been contacting another world but it was true that jealous people would be keen on telling endless tales aimed at demonizing a rich and successful woman.
That night after usual session of wild love-making the couple was sitting in a stylish darkened living-room sipping coffee with chocolate croissants and discussing a forthcoming holiday. The heavy silk drapes intriguingly billowed in the open windows, the flickering candles flames, casting intricate shadows on the walls, enhanced the inexplicability of electrified fluids dominating their pastime. Recently absorbed by his overwhelming love and adoration, Paul in a strange way failed to notice an interesting detail - lrene’s shadow appeared like a shapeless and indistinct blob... Hesitating, the young man came up with Acapulco knowing, though, that her word would be final anyway and he got it right. Right that time. Irene was quietly perusing travel guides and stopped at last on one of them. Bora-Bora was her and, thus, their choice.
For the next few days the loving couple was busy shopping for the trip. They were punctually touring fashion stores stepwise in a luxurious gold-coloured Buick given to Paul by his mistress, buying yet another pair of designer sandals for the beach, comfortable walking shoes, tee shirts, kaftans, shorts in matching colours and materials, smart party clothes, velvety soft towels and gowns for the massage parlour, and also silk sheets and pillow cases (Irene refused to use hotel bedding). They did not fail to buy Suntan creams, aromatherapy oils, shampoos, make-up, medicines, including anti-histamine. Paul was allergic to insect bites.
In due time the servants packed it all into three big suitcases. Irene could not travel light and, of course, nobody would care about the price of excess baggage. On their flight date she announced that she had hired an attendant. Paul’s eyes were caught by a handsome dark-skinned athletic young dude in a strange wasp-striped black and yellow blazer but the painter had already been used to the caprices of his girlfriend. As if showing off, the fellow tossed the baggage into a larger-than-life boot and gallantly opened the car door for Irene. The driver started the engine and they all hurried to the airport. Her house staff silently waved from a flower-laden balcony.
Their long flight ended in soft landing and by the evening of the next day they were unpacking their suitcases in the huge waterside villa. It was rather a young attendant who was unpacking while the lovers were seated on the open terrace enjoying the most beautiful tangerine-tinted sunset over the island. The languid endless days were dragging by but the nights under the tester of their love nest were flying like wings. The turquoise transparency of the ocean was more beautiful than they could imagine, the snow-white sand caressed the relaxed feet, the amazing colour variety of local flowers and birds were a delight for the eye. Superb diving, promenades along the marvelous coastline, exquisite and extraordinary local cuisine – everything was exactly the way they had expected or even better. Irene bought for herself jewelry with black diamonds of enchanting beauty, and Paul was just enjoying the music of peace and love, ignoring the omnipresent dark-skinned silent handsome man.
That was, with no doubt, a paradise on Earth, but it is true that nothing on Earth would last forever… Their holiday was coming to an end.
The last night before leaving Irene and Paul were staying in the villa. They were sitting on the terrace by the waterside, enjoying a nice breeze and talking at leisure. The young attendant was taking his time packing the suitcases. At one point, the woman looked back to cast a meaningful glance at him. The youth disappeared. Paul threw his head back, and half closing his eyes, enjoyed to inhale the last farewell traces of pleasure and happiness. All of a sudden, a wasp flying in from nowhere in particular, approached him and stung him on the neck. The young man slapped himself with his hand, crushed the insect and squeamishly threw it on the floor. The artist’s lightheadedness was soon followed by a feeling of deathful suffocation. Irene bent over to look coldly and dispassionately into his pleading eyes and suddenly pressed her lips to his. She was sucking out the last traces of his fading life.
A doctor who came on a call an hour later pronounced him dead from heart failure. Even death could not distort the man’s splendid looks. The fair strands of his hair were ruffled by the light wind, his face contorted by choking, relaxed as if by magic into an expression of peace and calm.
  The suitcases were ready. Irene didn’t wait until Paul was taken away. She betrayed no emotion as she filled in all the necessary paperwork, left generous tips for the staff and asked for help collecting the luggage. The attendant had vanished without a trace. Before leaving, the woman for the last time cast a cold eye over the stiffening body of her lover and silently left the villa.
When Irene returned, her lifestyle and daily habits did not change a lot: an interesting job, sporting activities and visits to the theatre and art shows. Everyone around seemed to be talking about her changed appearance. She appeared to look younger and more beautiful. The woman received the compliments gracefully, with a mysterious smile.
One day in October on a cool Saturday night, the golden Buick driven by a handsome green-eyed brunette of about twenty five to twenty seven years of age, pulled up to the blossoming balcony. Irene flew out of the house and confidently seated herself in the familiar car which now belonged to her new friend. Until the next holiday.
 
Angels laughing
 
 On a cold November morning Alex Krakovsky, shivering in his thin cashmere coat, moved out of his house and walked hurriedly to his car. His neighbours, seeing a tall good-looking man wearing glasses, were greeting the leading pediatrician of the local clinic with special respect. Rather often he would be awakened in the middle of the night by someone asking on the phone to visit a sick child, and the doctor would never say no. Krakovsky lived alone. He and his wife divorced about seven years ago after the young couple had lived through a terrible tragedy. Their firstborn, a wonderful three-month baby, died in his sleep. Once Sophie was herself a doctor, they were familiar with the damned infant sudden death syndrome – “crib death”, as they call it in medical circles. Trouble separated them instead of bringing together. Despair made the couple’s blame game an everyday event, turning their life to an unbearable mess, and, therefore, a divorce inevitably seemed to be the only acceptable way out. They continued to work together but in different departments, though.
Hardly had Krakovsky reached his car when someone’s quick steps were heard behind him. He looked back to see a young Gypsy woman close by with a small child in her arms.
“Have pity on a small child, honey, you won’t let the child die from starvation, will you?” she pattered in a songlike manner and put out her dark dirty palm of her hand to him. Hanging out of dirty rags, tiny bare legs appeared, and Alex saw a charming fair-headed boy with amazed sky-blue eyes looking at him without a shadow of fear or caution. For some reason Krakovsky called to memory his pictures as a child – no doubt, the boy reminded him of himself. The man took out whatever he had in his pockets and handed it all over to the Gypsy saying:
“Buy your child warm clothes, beauty, otherwise you’ll let him catch cold!”
“Mind your own problems, honey!” she replied with a defiant air, shoving the money under her countless colourful skirts, “You failed to save your own child!”
He felt as if he was struck by electric current.
“Let me tell your fortune, I’ll tell nothing but the truth, honey!” went on the Gypsy piercing the doctor with her huge green eyes.
Krakovsky got into his car in a hurry and left without looking back while the woman continued to shout something waving her hand after the man.
On entering his department Krakovsky realized that the day would not be easy. Last night two children fell into a coma after a serious car accident while the third one, a ten year old girl, who had been admitted the day before with casual injuries, behaved extremely hard showing aggression and, thus, urgently needed an additional consultation with a specialist. Seeing his ex-wife was inevitable which that day was the least he wanted, but work was work. Having done the rounds of his small patients he ordered the duty nurse call a child psychotherapist.
Sophie came down in a couple of hours. Tucked-up and short-haired, with hypnotic catching look of her meaningful hazel eyes, she conquered everyone around with a symbiosis of being smart and amazingly attractive, rare for a female of her social circle. Krakovsky still loved her but he was afraid of his past and did not want to return to those terrible days of persisting anguish that was raging in the depths of his subconscious mind, ready for outburst at any moment. Sophie’s conduct with her former husband was smooth and natural. At least she tried to. She managed to remain strong for, indeed, no alternative existed. She still loved him, too. The woman knew about the doctor’s love affairs, felt stressed with them and tried to have those of her own, but the doctor’s romances as well as her own amours were all failures.
After reviewing the medical records of the girl’s condition on admittance Sophie asked to bring her into the consulting room. The young patient cried at the top of her voice resisting the examination. The nurse had to ask Krakovsky for help. The doctor asked the child tenderly, “Come on, Martha, we shall see nice pictures, fish living in the aquarium and flowers on the window sill. Nobody will do you any harm, do you hear me?”
For a while the girl was looking at Alex from under her brows, ready to throw herself into a hysterical fit again, then her eyes suddenly brightened up and she, still watchful, put out her thin hand to the doctor. Krakovsky took Martha to the psychiatrist’s room. The woman smiled mildly at the little guest inviting the girl to take a seat in front of her, and the girl responded quietly enough. Alex was about to leave the room and was already opening the door when the colleague gave him a wink to stay.
Carefully scrutinizing the child’s bruises and abrasions, Sophie asked Martha if she remembered what had happened.
“I fell down from the stairs at home”, whispered the girl, looking down.
“Did anyone push you?” was the next question.
“No, I fell down by myself”.
The doctor laid out several coloured pictures on the table and asked Martha to choose the one she liked best of all. For some time the girl was looking at the sheets with no interest, then pointed at one of them. Alex half got up on his seat to see the picture of a rabbit hidden in its hole. Sophie took out another set of auxiliary pictures and asked the girl to select a new picture. The little patient dabbed with her little finger at a kitten hiding from his guardian under the table.
“And now let’s try to draw a little, would you mind?” said the woman as she handed out a pencil to the gloomy girl and, by chance, stuck the child’s palm with a nib of the lead. Martha jerked her hand back, her eyes rolling, as she, all of a sudden, spoke in a hoarse male’s voice, “Don’t you dare doing that, you bastard! Where the hell are you hiding yourself? Get out right away! I will punish you, take my word for it!” Both doctors rushed to calm the patient down. The girl obediently became silent but in a couple of minutes whispered in a hardly distinguishing voice, “Lordy, good Lordy, help me, don’t let my stepfather find me, never ever…” the girl prayed as tears rolled down her face.
“Dissociative identity disorder as a result of violence!” said Sophie briefly. “We must inform the police!”
“Yes, right you are, dissociation of personality caused by child abuse in a family” Krakovsky admitted. “Right away, I will call the…”
He did not finish his sentence. Martha turned to him briskly and spoke in a familiar drawl, ““Let me tell your fortune, I’ll tell nothing but the truth, honey!”
Alex stood utterly speechless. The girl’s eyes suddenly went green, strongly piercing him with a power which made the doctor feel as if hardened into stone, as she continued, “Taking care of someone’s child, you failed to save your own baby! You won’t be happy, sweetheart, oh, true, you won’t be…unless you…”
Krakovsky suddenly grabbed the child by her shoulders and started to violently shake her either trying to silence her or wishing to hear more. Martha gave a wild cry and fainted while he was still shaking the child’s drooped small body. Sophie tried vainly to stop him. The whole department personnel rushed in, attracted by the screams. The girl could hardly be dragged off the clenched fingers of the doctor who also needed medical assistance.
The next day Krakovsky was placed on leave. Sophie and a couple of his friends tried to call him but Alex did not pick up the phone. He would just sit in his arm-chair and stare dumbly before himself, then from morning till night he would stand by the window watching impassively the activity in the street. Hollowness. All he saw, heard or felt was hollowness times hollowness…
Once, late at night, the kid doctor went out leaving the front door open. It was drizzling. The passers-by were hurrying on their ways protecting themselves under the umbrellas, not taking notice of a tall carelessly dressed unshaven man, hard to be recognized then as a respectable doctor in his past. He walked sadly into nowhere turning his face open to cold autumn raindrops as if hoping to wash off imaginary lengthy hangover. Unexpectedly, passing by one of the glowing shop window displays, Krakovsky noticed a child wearing a dark raincoat with a hood over the head. Something familiar was seen on this fragile silhouette, and when the girl turned around to him, he whispered, “Martha, Martha…”
She looked intently at Alex, nodded slightly and suddenly ran awkwardly holding the hood with her thin hand. Reflexively, the man followed her. In a while, he found himself near his home. The girl disappeared as unexpectedly as she had appeared. The doctor was frantically flinging in the street like a madman in search of the girl but not a soul was to be seen around.
“Oh, Lord, what is it you want, let’s put an end to it all!” uttered Krakovsky hoarsely as he rushed to the fire escape leading to the roof top. The increased rain mercilessly thrashed his head, streaming down his body, the raindrops falling down loudly and hitting the ground. In obsession, Alex continued to climb the stairs. When on the rooftop, he resolutely headed towards the extreme edge, then stopped abruptly, stupefied. He seemed to hear a baby’s mumble somewhere about. Looking around, the almost self-killer spotted a bundle in the darkness. Krakovsky kneeled down and saw that same small boy the sinister Gypsy woman had recently begged him for help with.
All wet, the child was looking at him, clear-eyed, smiling. The hot-headed man grabbed the boy and pressed him against his wet chest. He was gasping and his heart was pounding.
“I will not give you to anybody, never ever!” one and the same thought was beating in his temples.
Krakovsky holding the baby climbed down the stairs with care, ran into the house and frantically dialed Sophie. Life came back to his unfocused mind with a child’s joyful yell.
 
Angels weeping
 
One of glorious days in early May Emma got a wonderful rose on a long stem and a message greeting her:
“Hello, sweetheart!”
The answer followed in a day:
“I Iike it, thanks!’
“How are you, my love?” he continued.
It all seemed strange to her.
“I’m ok, and how about you?” she wrote trying to be polite.
“I’m just fine, sweetheart!”, but I do wish you were here."
The woman’s head was swimming a little as she asked:
“What made you turn your attention to me?”
“I was overwhelmed outright when I saw you” was his immediate answer.
“Good night, ladies’ man! I’ll have to get up early tomorrow! Pleasant dreams!”
“Sweet dreams, my pretty! See you!”
The day was calm and joyful, her worries suddenly drifted very far away, and Emma came back home feeling quite happy-go-lucky. Having done her errands she glanced at the desk-top where there was a message waiting for her already.
“How are you, darling?  I’m missing you!”
“I came a short time ago. Feeling a bit tired.”
“How was your day? Did you think about me?”
The woman decided she should tell the truth.
“I had a wonderful day and I thought about you.”
The answer surprised her yet more:
“You are the greatest joy in my life, I need you, don’t break my tender heart which has already experienced all the bitterness of parting and separation. Be always with me!”
She felt a enthusiastic love which she thought of as a long-forgotten feeling flaring up again deep in the soul.
“I will always stay with you, take my word for it!”
“Thank you, my love! But today as I was playing  solitaire  I saw a king and a queen of hearts showing up together first then a queen leaving the king for a jack of hearts. I wondered why?”
“The queen was just a fool, my friend, but she has grown wiser by now.
We’ll lay out another solitaire  to make sure it will be luckier than this one. You are my King forever!”
“Yes, Queen of my heart!”
“I feel like Alice in wonderland!”
“Exactly, you are my true wonder, dear!”
“I love you!” she told him being beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“I love you more than you do” was the answer that immediately followed.
That night was the Full Flower Moon. Emma stood by the window for a long time gazing at the yellow disk hanging still over the Earth as an omen of an extraordinary mystery to happen in her life.
Later the queen of hearts lay down and fell asleep, surprisingly calm and at ease, as sleep could be in early childhood only.
That night was dreamless but the sense of light and inner warmth accompanied her all through the next day.
“How are you tonight?” said a new greeting showing in the evening.
Golden butterflies were hovering in her soul and she felt like making a joke:
“Much good liquor, sex and pole dancing!”
No answer followed. The evening hours dragged slowly by and the joke lover finally  broke down:
“And how about you, my King?”
“I’m just fine. Tell me if you take alcohol and smoke?!”
She became a little annoyed:
“Stop being a nuisance ! No, I don’t drink, don’t  worry, I smoke only.”
“Are you aware that smoking is harmful for your health?!”
“My life is more dangerous for my health than smoking!”
At that their contact ended. The following night was dull and surprisingly calm. Her sleep was dreamless.
The Birthday, her milestone birthday, was soon coming. The day before Emma met her friend she had not seen for ages. The old days seemed so far away and again they felt themselves  careless funny girls holding the whole world tightly in their arms ready to run hurriedly toward their imaginary dreams and hopes. The woman came back home brimming with amazing emotions. Their evening dialogue began:
“How are you, darling? I’m missing you!”
She eagerly desired to feel him:
“I’m fine, and yourself? I’m missing you, too!”
Exactly at midnight  a new message popped up:
“Congratulations, My Queen, Happy Birthday to you!” and  he mailed her a touchy bunch of wild tulips.”
“The day you were born it was raining. Those were Angels weeping as they were leaving you.”
“Thank you, my King! I need you!”
“I need you more!”
The day of her anniversary Emma stayed at home thanking her friends for congratulations but this time the day was fully devoted to Him. A Distant Somebody was carrying her more and more into a delightful flight of love, and she was following him swiftly and recklessly as a bird’s feather entrained by a stream of a spring wind.
“Now tell me if you are afraid of an old age” the birthday girl asked him.
“Not in the least. Are you asking me because you added another year to your lifetime?”
“You are very smart, my dear! How do you see yourself?”
“Feeling at peace by your love, my life! You are always beside me, our hearts are beating as one being and our souls became one. I want to embrace you and hold you tight in my arms without releasing. You are the reason for my existence! I feel a zero without your love!
“I anticipate the taste of our kisses, my lovely gift from the sky! It is fresh and exquisite, harsh and bitterish like a tropical fruit handseling which you will not be able to live without it. One body, one soul, two hearts beating as one.”
“Yes, darling, two hearts as one! Feel me through your arms, let me slip through your soul, satisfy my desire through your consciousness!”
“Stop, I beg you, I can’t bear it any longer. Whose fault  is it that we are two loving fools separated by distance and conventions?”
“It is a nobody’s fault, my Queen. I want to meet you, be delirious of your scent, to be absorbed by your  eyes. It is up to you to decide where and when. I must see you!” Emma was waiting for it, wanted it and was scared of it at the same time.
“Let’s take our time, My King. I have to think it all over, I’m not ready for it right now.”
“As you wish, my dear!”
In the morning before work she called on the Tattoo shop and had an “I love you A.” sign tapped in gothic on the right arm and close to it she asked to tap a little angel shooting an arrow to the heart. Her colleagues were casting bewildered looks at her but the woman wouldn’t  feel embarrassed. The tattoo was giving her a nice feeling of finality. On coming back home she mailed her beloved a picture of her bare tattooed arm.
Some time later there came an answer:
“Hello, sweetheart!”! Nice tattoo, thank you! Your name has long been tapped by lightning on my heart! I can’t wait any longer, make up your mind when and where we shall meet. Our time is running out.”
Inspired by a joyful feeling close to euphoria the woman was not able to grasp the meaning of his words:
“What time are you talking about, we have the whole infinity of the Universe ahead of us!”
“Yes, my love!” was the answer.
Then the communication ended up. His messages wouldn’t be resumed neither in a day nor in two days. Thus, the whole week elapsed. The queen of hearts turned into a walking robot rushing to the desktop every five minutes each time to see only gleaming dots reminding her of the infinite Universe. The same Universe that first gave her magic days of endless happiness, then just as well swallowed them up. That was poison, that was death. Not withstanding all of it she wrote as if praying into the emptiness :
“What have you done to me, my beloved? Don’ be so cruel, don’t leave me! Or say that you don’t need me anymore, don’t be afraid, I can live with that. Say something! The world has become black-and-white again without you. Please, come back!’’
There was a thunderstorm at night. Emma was woken up by a typical noise of rigid brazen streams beating against the window. The feeling of anxiety and frustration would persist. She tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. She then started to strain ears to hear the rain sounds and all of a sudden felt a gentle warmth and someone’s presence close by. There was no fear.
“Who are you” she heard her thirsty lips whispering.
“I am the One who embossed your name on my heart, the One who found you among a trillion of stars and worlds, the One who had loved you forever! I came to say farewell to you, my life!..”
And the woman saw a wonderful image emitting an admirable purple radiation. Its touches were lighter than summer clouds, more tender than swan’s down, more desirable than a gulp of cool water in a desert. That was the night of heavenly overwhelming Love!
The morning turned out to be splendid and surprisingly colorful. The fascinating crystal-like modulations of bird’s songs were pouring tenderly into ears, the tree leaves were  tinged with bright and rich tones, the air was full of exciting divine fragrance. Ease and inner light was overflowing her. She felt cool moisture on her body as she moved her hand around it. Those were tears. His tears