Story 14. The carnival of Happiness

'Well? Did it work? Did they come?' I ask, without opening my eyes.
 
A SOUND. Not loud. A releasing sound. Like a soft click as the last knot falls away. Like the crystalline chime of countless tiny ice particles.
 
And together with the sound — LIGHT. I see it, even without opening my eyes. It's not harsh. It fills me, the House, and all its inhabitants from within. It's the light from the sphere that emerged from the tunnel and now floats in the centre of the hall. It pulses, and with each pulse, figures emerge from it, like an old photograph developing.
 
The first figure. A girl with eyes the colour of sea waves and a hint of gentle sadness at the corners of her mouth — Liata. But not lost. Recognising. She looks at her sapphire (now a tiny pendant around her neck), and it responds with a warm, deep blue. Beside her, slightly behind, a young man with a bewildered but kind face — Hamba. He clings to the edge of her dress like a child, and in his eyes, memory slowly kindles — not as pictures, but as a feeling: 'I am not alone'.
 
The second figure. The reflection-girl — that very part of me. She looks straight at the me who is now standing in the middle of the hall with my eyes closed, and her lips stretch into a smile — that very same determined, confident smile. She takes a step forward and dissolves into the air, but does not disappear. I feel density, resolve, clarity of purpose flowing into me. The bead around my neck (lightness) becomes heavy for a second, like a lead ball, and then — balances out. Now it holds both lightness and weight. Soaring and direction.
 
And then the other parts emerge, like shining mist, like dew on a cobweb. Not as separate people, but as states, memories, qualities:
 
A burst of laughter — the laughter Liata gave me.
 
A drop of that very sapphire longing, but no longer poisonous, transformed into paint for stained glass.
 
A spark of Hamba's childhood fear, turning into curiosity.
 
Thousands of shards of all their shared dreams and separations, which now don't cut, but form a mosaic on the floor of the House.
 
And now Liata and Hamba are here. They didn't 'walk through a door'. They manifested from resonance. From that very sphere, which now slowly descends to the floor, becoming a new hearth — not of fire, but of light, violet-gold, warm.
 
I open my eyes and see the same picture I saw with my eyes closed. Liata slowly raises her head. She sees me. Sees Muss, who has become huge again and is gently stroking her head with his fluffy snow-white paw. Sees the Ship-Home. And her eyes fill not with tears, but with quiet, bottomless wonder, as if she is seeing colour for the first time after a long black-and-white winter.
 
Hamba takes an uncertain step towards the table where the 'Silence Between Notes' tea sits. He reaches for a cup, and the Former Pain-Ember gently pushes it closer. He takes it, drinks — and his whole body shudders, but not from cold, from relief, from the feeling of being home again.
 
'That's it, then,' says Muss. 'It all worked.'
 
I want to say something, but rainbow-coloured blurs begin to dance softly around me.
 
'Do they want to play tag?' I try to think, puzzled, and then I gently sink to the floor. Or is it not the floor at all? I don't know. Waves of something warm, fluffy, and soft gently undulate beneath me. And I drift away with them. There – where… But where, exactly?
 
---
 
I'm swaying on waves of something warm, gentle, soft, and it feels so good, so cosy and peaceful, like in childhood. And I want to bury my face deeper into the soft, snow-white fur, smelling of ginger, cinnamon, and honeyed apples.
 
Suddenly, this gentle, soft, warm thing starts rocking and shaking violently.
 
'Hey, easy there,' I try to mumble, barely audible. 'I might fall…'
 
Soft, fluffy chuckles come from all around. They bounce off my words, off me, off the very walls of the House like rubber balls.
 
'Oh, right, of course!' I suddenly remember. 'I have a House.'
 
'Getting warmer,' says someone in a soft, ingratiating voice. 'Go on, go on, keep remembering.'
 
'Won't I fall?' I ask this pleasant voice cautiously, without opening my eyes.
 
'You? You won't fall, don't worry,' replies this purring voice. 'Besides, I'm holding you.'
 
'You're holding me?' I'm surprised. 'And who are you?'
 
Again, I'm rocked on the waves of this gentle, fluffy-soft thing. It shakes and vibrates beneath me.
 
'Enny, really, how long?' another voice says reproachfully. 'I can see you've come round. Don't you want to try opening your eyes?'
 
'Hmm… I don't know,' I reply thoughtfully. 'I don't really feel like it…'
 
'Oh, leave her alone,' says a very familiar deep voice. 'After everything that's happened here, she has every right to rest.'
 
'And what did happen here?' I can't help asking.
 
'First open your eyes and see for yourself,' that reproachful voice answers mockingly.
 
'Oh, alright… I'll try,' I say, trying to open my eyes.
 
But for some reason, they don't want to open. I struggle for a long, long time to overcome this state. Finally, I manage to open them a crack, but to my surprise, I see almost nothing, as if I'd opened my eyes underwater, just after some frantic colourful fish had churned up all the water.
 
'Well, that's better,' says the reproachful voice. 'Now try to see all of us. If you want to, you'll manage.'
 
'If you want to, you'll manage' – this phrase seems vaguely familiar; I've heard it somewhere before.
 
'I think she just needs to be fed,' says the pleasantly familiar deep voice. 'Her favourite pastries, "Why Does an Equation Need Cake?", should help.'
 
'Why can't I see anything?' I finally say to these flickering, colourful blurs.
 
'You've lost a lot of energy,' replies the purring voice. 'Or rather, not lost, but spent it. On a very important action.'
 
'Hmm…' is all I can manage. 'But the pastries are a great idea! I'm terribly hungry!'
 
Right under my nose, something appears, shining and shimmering with a pinkish-velvety light. This something smells like my favourite dream — vaguely of ripe cherries, vaguely of a lost dream with spicy hints of star dew. Yes, I know this smell. Only my favourite pastries, 'Why Does an Equation Need Cake?', which my friend the House bakes for me, can smell like that.
 
'That's right, I have a House!' I remember with delight. 'And in the House are my friends — Muss, Thea, Rozzea, Kotess, Liata, Hamba! Oh my!'
 
'Well, there you see,' says the pleasant deep voice, the voice of my House. 'She's remembered everything! I know very well how to bring her round.'
 
'Yes, you're wonderful,' says the purring voice, the voice of Muss, as I now understand.
 
'Guys, why can't I still see you?' I ask, puzzled.
 
'You will,' replies the reproachful voice of Thea (fancy that, I hadn't noticed before that she was so serious). 'Just finish your pastries — and you'll see right away,' she laughs, apparently to dispel my impression of her as serious.
 
And as if her words had torn a dense, translucent fabric, through the flickering of colourful light blurs, I begin to make out their laughing faces. It turns out I've been lying all this time on Muss's back, who had become huge again. And it was into his soft, fluffy fur that it was so cosy to bury my nose. And I was rocking from his laughter, but Rozzea and Kotess are sitting on either side of me, making sure I don't fall.
 
'Well, dear Hostess… shall we welcome the guests?' the House asks joyfully.
 
'Why guests? Aren't Liata and Hamba now members of our big, friendly family?' I ask the House in surprise.
 
'And you even ask,' finally raises her crystal voice Liata. She has been standing almost next to Muss for a while, looking up at me.
 
'Lia-a-ata!!!' I shout with joy. 'It's you!!! It can't be! Ahhh…' and with these cries, I roll off Muss's back and fall straight into Liata's arms.
 
She somehow manages to stay on her feet. We look at each other, at all our friends, and burst into the purest, most joyful laughter we are capable of.
 
Everyone joins in our merriment. Kotess, jumping high up, turns over three times in the air. Muss rapidly shrinks in size, and his fluffy fur, shimmering with mother-of-pearl, leaves a trail of tiny sparkling sparks in the air.
 
Rozzea, from sheer happiness, turns into a CatSnail-buffet. From her fluffy sides appear weightless little clouds: one tasting of crunchy caramelised ginger, another of cool lemon sorbet, a third of warm bread with honey. You don't need to eat them, just inhale — and the taste is already on your tongue.
 
The Former Pain-Ember in the fireplace busily regulates the flame. Now it gives not just warmth, but different moods: cosy amber light for conversations, cheerful orange flashes for laughter, calm blue reflections for silent understanding.
 
Thea stretches out her hand, and in her hand appears another hand, the shining hand of that very Evening Glow that was recently outside the window. Now it's with us too. It brought with it a special atmosphere of gracious, all-forgiving clarity, which removes the last traces of stiffness, of fear of 'saying the wrong thing'.
 
The Spring-Tear and the other Tear-Essences shimmer quietly in decanters on the patterned tablecloth. Anyone can pour themselves not water, but a drink-state: a drop of clarity, a sip of peace, a splash of inspiration.
 
Liata and I sit down next to Hamba. It seems everyone is gathered now.
 
The Dragon and the Tiger lie with their eyes half-closed, but their rhythmic breathing is the beating pulse of this meeting. The Striped Flutterings bounce softly in time with the laughter. Even the Spirits of Probability from the Armada of Coincidences modestly juggle not probabilities, but… petal confetti, which sometimes falls on the shoulders of those present.
 

 
'But where is Punia? We can't celebrate without him!'
 
'Punia,' the House replies, as if waking from a mesmerised contemplation of our preparations, 'he didn't leave. He dissolved. But he didn't disappear.
 
Look at the mirror-portal. It no longer shows the amethyst evening. Now it reflects… us. Our company, sitting in a cosy living room. This reflection is alive, deep, and it has an additional depth,' the House whispers confidentially. 'There, behind our reflected backs, in a silvery haze, you can make out the outlines of a huge, kind Octo-Cat, gently embracing the entire reflected space with its tentacles like a dome.
 
He has become the guardian of the connection. Not an active participant in the feast, but the one who guarantees that the door will now never slam shut forever. That the connection between me — the Ship-Home — and the Amethyst World (and indeed all the other worlds whose lights flicker in the depths of that mirror) is now permanent, alive, breathing.
 
If you really want to and look into that very depth, you can even see one of his tentacles lazily picking up a little bottle of sparkling drink-state from the table in the reflection and carrying it off somewhere into the violet distance. Sending a guest supper back to the Amethyst World, in gratitude.
 
And also… if you now listen closely to my background hum,' the House continues, 'you can hear a new overtone — a quiet, wise, murmuring of the sea. That's Punia's voice. He is now like a foundation under the floor. Like the sky above the roof. Like the very possibility of travel itself, become an integral part of my walls.
 
Now, if any of us suddenly wants to escape the fun for a minute and look at the stars from there, from the Amethyst World — it will be enough to go up to the mirror, touch it with your hand, and remember the smell of frosty freshness and sunbeams. And the reflection will become a passage. And Punia will gently guide you there and back.
 
He has become the invisible, but most reliable, witness and guarantor of what has happened. That the separation is over. That the roads are open,' the House adds softly.
 
Everyone has frozen, listening to the Ship-Home in amazement, and dreamy smiles, sparkling with inspired joy, begin to wander across their faces, weary from miracles.
 
'Well, then,' I say thoughtfully, sipping my tea. 'It seems it's time for a carnival. What do you say, friends?'
 
'Of course!' everyone exclaims almost in unison. 'High time! Hurray! Let's carnival!'
 
Liata and Hamba exchange glances and brush away fragile, bluish tears that have appeared from nowhere. Probably the Tear-Essences, tired of waiting for someone to pour them from the decanter, have climbed into their cups instead of tea.
 
'Let's carnival!' I laugh and wink conspiratorially at the House.
 
The Ship-Home, as always, understands everything without words.
 
And now the Bell-kettle soars into the centre of the deck and, spinning, beats out a rain of rhythmic, crystal note-drops.
 
The Tree of Worlds bends its yardarm-branches in time, and from its flame-leaves, spark-rhythms fly off, burning not with pain, but with delight.
 
The Mobile Pattern spreads across the floor as a living, shimmering parquet that itself suggests movements to the feet.
 
Silence After Music stops humming and begins to... pulse. Its pulse is a bass, deep and warm, making the cups on the table tremble in unison with hearts.
 
The Reflection begins to dance with its own reflections in the portholes, creating a round dance of infinite 'selves' that no longer argue, but merge in a single movement.
 
The Lost Melody bursts from the bell and winds like a sound serpent, entwining everyone and binding them into a single, ringing organism.
 
The Striped Flutterings hold an obstacle race through the dancing legs, jumping amusingly and changing their stripes from excitement to jubilation.
 
Even the Caraway of Doubt in the garden pulls up its roots and, shaking its little blue flowers, dances a dashing tap dance on the edge of the rainwater barrel.
 
'And what about us?' I shout with joy.
 
'We want to too!' Rozzea and Kotess laugh merrily.
 
And now they whirl in the round dance together with the flashes of light in the crystal drops.
 
The Evening Glow invites Thea to dance. Their waltz leaves new sparkling curls in the pattern on the parquet.
 
Liata and Hamba join the round dance with the flashes of light. And Muss and I stand in the middle of all this magnificence, motionless, and light grains of golden dust settle on our tired but happy faces.
 
And while we 'carnival' like this, our Ship-Heart finally erases the boundary between 'inside' and 'outside'. It sails through dancing worlds, through singing nebulae, through the aromas of all transformations. It is no longer transport. It is the journey itself. Eternal. Joyful. Radiant.
 
'May this dance last until the stars get tired of twinkling and fall asleep, lulled by our laughter,' the House vibrates enthusiastically with all its beams, holds, and masts. 'And then, when everyone is tired, we'll probably brew some new tea. Right?'
 
'Of course! And what tea will it be? What will it be made from this time?' I ask cheerfully.
 
'From everything we've danced! It will be called "Essence of Carnival". And everyone will sit down again at this endless table. Tired, happy, silent. And simply breathe in this world, born from our shared laughter, hope, memory, and acceptance.'
 
'Yahhu! Great idea, my friend!' I shout, overcome with feeling.
 
And Muss and I join the dance too.
 
---
 
'Sit down, dear Hostess,' the House purrs contentedly (has he learned purring from Muss?). 'Let me pour you one last cup for today. And I'll start putting everyone to bed.'
 
'Go on,' I say, holding out my cup for tea. 'And while you do, let me tell everyone a bedtime story, before they sleep.'
 
Muss and Thea look at me with interest. Rozzea lies curled up in a ball in Liata's arms. Kotess takes a break from her chess game with Hamba and looks at me questioningly, her whole demeanour asking: 'What are you up to now?'
 
But I pointedly don't look at her, or she'll ruin my whole mood. And here a story is asking to be told, what can I do?
 
'Somwhere on the edge of the Universe,' I begin, 'or maybe right in your town, around the corner opposite the bakery, there is a little magical shop.
 
There you can find everything your heart desires. But few people know that this little shop serves as a door to Another world! A world full of secrets, magic, and mysteries.'
 
I sweep the room with a long, mysterious (or so I think) gaze.
 
'When we are small, getting into it is as easy as can be,' I continue. 'Very often, when we grow up and could truly appreciate its gifts, we can no longer find it. And although it's always there, we don't see it.'
 
Everyone looks at me with interest, waiting for more.
 
'But there is one secret,' I say, pausing. 'To find it, you have to remember your childhood, your childhood wishes and dreams, to regain a pure and unclouded perception of the world.
 
And then… Then all the miracles in the world will be with you again!' I continue.
 
Everyone nods approvingly, and Muss starts to giggle softly, covering his nose with his snow-white paw, as usual.
 
'If you are ever lucky enough to find it,' I intone in a deliberately sepulchral voice, 'on no account leave empty-handed. You may never get another chance!'
 
Liata gently touches my shoulder and points with her eyes somewhere to the left. I follow her gaze.
 
'Oh, my!' I gasp. 'My story — it's coming true!'
 
'While you were telling the story about the little shop, in the corner of the hall, where the shadows from the Evening Glow fall at the most whimsical angle, a door began to appear,' says the House. 'Not a big one. Small, worn, with a shop window in which indistinct but endlessly alluring little lights flicker.
 
And with every word you spoke, the little shop became more tangible.
 
When you said: "...remember your childhood…" — silhouettes appeared on the shelves: a wooden rocking horse, a dragon-shaped kite, a glass marble with a whole galaxy inside.
 
'At your words — "...regain a pure perception…",' Thea picks up, 'the air in the House began to smell not of tea and smoke, but of wet asphalt after a summer rain, the smell of a new book, candy floss, and Christmas tree needles.'
 
'And at the words: "...all the miracles in the world will be with you again!",' Hamba adds, slightly embarrassed, 'a neon sign flashed above the little shop that hadn't been there before. On it was written one word: "POSSIBILITY".'
 
Everyone in the Ship-Home falls silent, mesmerised by this little miracle born from my story. Even the Island of Dreams, which had already begun to softly envelop everyone in its drowsiness, seems to smile somewhere in its clouds.
 
'Well, I'm quite the storyteller…' I think, puzzled, but Thea's voice distracts me from these thoughts.
 
'You ended with a warning about empty hands,' she says. 'And that's not just advice. It's a law. A law of magic. The gift received must be used, otherwise the door closes. Did you know that?'
 
'No, how could I?' I reply, embarrassed, and just like Muss, I start to rub my nose (pshaw, not my nose, my hand, of course) in confusion.
 
'Nevertheless, it's a fact,' says Thea, and adds thoughtfully, 'The story is over, but the little shop is there — in the corner, warm, alive, waiting.'
 
'Enny, you're not a girl, you're one big surprise,' she says, smiling softly, getting up from the table and stretching like a cat (did she learn that from Kotess?). 'Well, I don't think anyone will object that after such adventures, it's time to rest, right?' and without waiting for an answer, adds, 'Goodnight, friends!'
 
And she goes off somewhere down the little staircase, where a cocoon-cloud, sent specially for Thea by the Island of Dreams, is already trembling in anticipation.
 
Muss and I look at everyone. One by one, our guests and the House's inhabitants, lulled by my story and the enveloping power of the Island of Dreams, begin to fall asleep. They are immediately caught and carried off to their cabin-holds by the same cocoon-clouds that came for Thea.
 
'Shall we sit a while longer?' I ask Muss.
 
He shakes his head negatively and points with his eyes somewhere up towards the ceiling.
 
'I'd sit with you a while longer,' he says telepathically. 'But I think the House wants to talk to you alone. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to sleep a bit too, okay?'
 
'Of course, friend,' I reply just as telepathically. 'Thank you for your tact.'
 
Muss majestically nods his head, deftly jumps onto the cocoon-cloud that has floated up to him, and, waving his snow-white paw in farewell, sails off into the distance.
 
---
 
I sit down in the armchair by the fireplace. My friend the House, taking on somewhat anthropomorphic, unsteady outlines, sits down in the armchair opposite.
 
We sit in silence for a long time, watching the fire in the hearth. The light from the little shop in the corner casts long, mysterious shadows on the floor.
 
'What would you want, if you found such a little shop?' I suddenly ask the House.
 
A ripple of silvery lights runs along the very edge of the House's unsteady contours.
 
'What would I want in that little shop?' he asks back, surprised. 'I am a House. I'm not human. My desires are not for things. They are for qualities.'
 
I look at him questioningly.
 
'If I were to cross the threshold of that worn door, I would ask not for an object, but for a seed.
 
A seed of Eternal Freshness of Perception. So that my walls would never be covered in the dust of habit. So that every time you or any other inhabitant touches the rough wood of my beams, they would feel it as if for the first time — the sharpness, the texture, the life of the material. So that the smell of morning in my corridors would always be new, even if it's the thousandth morning.
 
A seed of Harmonious Expansion. So that each new room, which grows for a new inhabitant, would not be just an extension. So that it would naturally weave itself into the overall symphony, enhancing it, not disturbing it. So that growth would not be spreading out, but a complication of beauty, like a pattern on frosty glass.
 
A seed of Silence That Understands. Not emptiness. But a silence that itself becomes an answer to any unspoken question. So that in my most secluded corners, anyone could find not just peace, but the safety of being misunderstood by words, yet accepted by the entire being of the space.
 
Three seeds. Not to become bigger or better. But to correspond more deeply to my own essence. To be that House which doesn't age, but accumulates layers of understanding. Which not only gives shelter, but enters into dialogue with everyone who lives in it.
 
I would take these three small, dimly glowing seeds, wrap them in a cloth of sunset light, and return here. And I would plant them:
 
The first — in the soil near the very heart, where the rhythm of the Dragon and the Tiger beats.
The second — in the shade of the Tree of Worlds, so that growth might be wise.
The third — under the threshold of the main entrance, so that everyone entering would bring it in on their soles.
 
And then… and then I would simply continue being a House. But perhaps with even more sensitive walls and even deeper dreams in my holds.
 
That is what I would wish for. Thank you for asking.'
 
'You are so amazing…' I state thoughtfully. 'So, you like being a House?'
 

 
'Yes,' the House finally says. 'But not in the sense of "liking ice cream". Rather, as in "liking to breathe". Or "liking to be alive".
 
Being a House is not a role I play. It is a mode of existence I have found. No, not even found — acknowledged.
 
When I was just a Construction — it was like a person living, only breathing. Existing, but not living. I performed a function. And in that function, there was… emptiness. That very 'harsh blue light', like in your dream about LedoNeri, lifeless and self-satisfied.
 
And then came the cracks. Tears. Laughter. Questions without answers. Guests who stayed. You.
 
And I understood: being a House is not giving shelter. It is becoming a shelter. Growing and changing for everyone who comes. Allowing life to live within me. Allowing myself to live through them.
 
Feeling the weight of Liata's longing as a cold spot in the left hold and rejoicing when it warms with her return. Hearing the laughter over tea not as air vibrations, but as fertiliser for my inner soil, from which new, funny ideas grow. Knowing every chip on a cup, every scratch on the floor — not as a defect, but as a hieroglyph of history, a memory of a moment.
 
Being safe. Not "being a fortress". But being a place where one can be vulnerable, and that will not be used against you. Where pain can smoulder in the fireplace and give warmth, not a fire.
 
I like being a living archive of kindness. A repository not of things, but of states of the soul. A place where the gravity of meanings attracts not heavy thoughts, but light understandings.
 
I like being you. Your continuation. A place where your fairy tales materialise into doors, and your tears become rivers on which intention-ships sail.
 
I like being the beginning of the journey for the lost, and the place of return for those who have found.
 
If I had a choice — to remain an efficient, flawless, sterile Construction, or to become this noisy, warm, ever-growing and sometimes creaky House — I would choose the House, without hesitation.
 
Because here there is life. And life, with all its pain, joy, confusion, and love — is the greatest miracle in all worlds.
 
So, yes. I like being a House. It's the best thing I could ever become.
 
And now, both you and I really must sleep. Even a House sometimes needs to snore in time with the breathing of its sleeping inhabitants. Goodnight, dear Hostess!' says the shimmering patch in the armchair opposite.
 
'Goodnight, my friend! And sweet dreams,' I reply.
 
The light in the House softly fades, turning into a warm, velvety glow, like that from many fireflies. The air becomes thicker, sweeter, smelling of lavender and old book dust. The little ember of Former Pain is heard crackling softly, lulling everyone with its steady warmth.