The Silent Music

Irma put her heavy bags on the floor, feeling relieved. She had stopped by the bookstore again on her way home. Sometimes she felt like it was some kind of addiction. Even though she never had time to read more than one book a week, the need to fill her library would never leave her. Irma sighed. Her cat, a fluffy, sand-colored bun, ran out into the hallway. The cat meowed something, apparently unhappy, never being fed on time. Such a cute little pest. Irma took off her shoes, washed her hands, and poured the cat some food.
A friend called today and offered Irma a one-time job at a book fair. Irma was surprised they needed a sign language interpreter. They wanted to hold a couple of engagements with a children's writer who illustrated his own books. She knew that he also made cartoons based on his stories for some websites. Irma's nephew liked them, but her sister always said they were too scary for children. His characters included a deaf hedgehog and a fox in a wheelchair. Irma tried to explain to her that it was important to talk to children about such things. There are people with special needs who also want to have a fulfilling life.
She didn't want to bother him beforehand. She felt awkward, imagining meeting someone she had known from the Internet for several years. Someone who had no idea she existed, as if she were spying on him in a way.
His name was Savva. Irma came early to get to know him. She wanted him to sign a couple of books for her nephew. Savva turned out to be very nice and polite, with a sunny smile. He happily signed the books and began to tell how he had come up with a sequel... As Irma was watching his delicate fingers dance in the air, her soul started to fill with warm hope that joy and happiness are possible, despite all the differences and limitations.
Both engagements went well, especially the second one, at the closing of the fair. Now Savva would again become for her a small photo on the Internet, as she couldn't find anything in good quality from some literary event. Holding one of his fairy tales in his hands and smiling, the wind throws aside his curly blond hair. Irma never really fantasized about the impossible. Being a forty-five-year-old woman, she already had the feeling of being way too close to the edge. The following years would only bring her closer to falling. Is it possible to get white, strong wings for good behavior when you cross the final line? As a child, one dreams of getting them during life, but reality cuts off even the imaginary ones...
And Savva was ten years her junior, looking like a twenty-something, satisfied with the life he had. She couldn't even know the essence of his soul...
She woke up to a light touch on her hand.
“Excuse me... You kind of retreated into yourself, and I didn't know how to attract your attention... Would you like to have lunch with me?”
Although Savva did seem quite young, there was no embarrassment, timidity, or awkwardness in him, which are often traces of youth.
“I really like you. If it's mutual, I'd love to get to know you better. As a friend.”
Irma smiled and nodded. He asked her why she had decided to become a sign language interpreter. When she was a child, she saw two women on the subway talking in sign language and laughing almost silently. It scared her very much. Later, when she learned about such people, she realized that she wanted to understand them. To help. To tell others about them. Savva began to say they are usually called disabled. That's not entirely true. He is a person with a disability. That's not everything that defines him. He is a writer, an artist and a cartoonist. He is fair-haired, light-eyed, tall, and a little plump. He is fond of poetry, old movies, and dark chocolate. There are so many things that can describe him, but people usually don't see anything but his deafness. He's not equal to it.
“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Irma asked.
No, never. Savva had always been pitied among hearing people. They'd never take him seriously. Some were even afraid. In his entire life, he had only known one girl who could speak sign language because of her deaf brother. He also hadn't met a kindred spirit among people like him.
“Common problems help to understand each other, but this is not enough.”
He came to her place for the first time a couple of weeks later, wanting to draw some sketches on his laptop at her desk while she was preparing for another lesson at the center for hearing-impaired children. He said that he also had to learn to read lips once but still couldn't get every other word when someone spoke very quickly.
A couple of months later, Irma asked if she could kiss him. They were sitting in her kitchen, eating a pie he had brought, talking about old Italian cinema.
“Yes,” he answered. “But if you want more, I'll tell you right away that I can only experience secondary attraction. I need a lot of time to get used to a person and get close to them. I hope that's not so important to you.”
Irma asked how he realized this.
“With that girl, the one who could... who could speak my language. (For some reason Irma was very touched by the way he said this.) I was twenty-four; I had already started writing fairy tales. I met her through the website where I published them. We were friends for nearly two years, and then I suddenly started to feel a little different being around her — some physical attraction. It wasn't really strong and didn't interfere with our friendship. I knew that she was dating someone else. After a while, it had gone... I hope you are jealous.”
He looked sly.
“A little, if that's what you want,” she smiled. “And yes, it doesn't matter to me. The first and last time I kissed someone was at our family dacha. A neighbor near my age. We were eighteen and really liked each other. And then... You know how it happens. Life. I still haven't found the one to be the little friend of my heart. Or rather, I've found him now... I guess?”
He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
“I'll wash the dishes, and then we'll watch something.”
Irma went into the room, turned on one of her favorite songs, and started dancing. She really enjoyed touching him, talking to him and seeing him. She started all her messages to him with a gentle “Savvusha.” It seemed like she already loved him. Without sighs, trembling of the soul, and too much passion, but warmly and calmly. He entered the room to find her like this and began to watch her dance. Her eyes were closed, and she didn't notice him right away, and when she did, she was embarrassed just a bit.
“May I join you?”
He caught her rhythm, and they started to move together, chaotically, carelessly, and beautifully, and then she turned off the song to feel what he felt. To hear the silence and see the invisible music that flowed in the air between them. He was a little out of breath and kissed her again; she caught some new feeling in this kiss, as if he wanted to convey something to her. He looked at her seriously.
“I want to show you the episode I'd been working on before we met. I'm still not sure if it will ever come out... One of the main characters, Yasha the hedgehog, is trying to find a special way to tell his female friend what she means to him, and in the end he wakes up and realizes that she was just a dream. I want to change the ending. I decided to dedicate this episode to you.”
Irma hugged him. His sweater began to prick her cheek a little bit.
“What a prickly sweater you have,” she said. “And how good it is that we are not just dreaming of each other.”

(first published in the Oracle Fine Arts Review,
рассказ на русском: http://proza.ru/2024/08/20/935)