Chapter N.IV
Vitaly Ivolginsky
Always Visible (Another Prayer for the Dying Horror Genre)
Zero Act — Que Difícil é Ser Escravo de Deus!
Chapter N.IV
It was not a mental sensation – someone really took her by the shoulder. The girl opened her eyes with some difficulty – she was still sitting at the dinner table, on which were plates with a variety of food, a kettle and several cups. She slowly turned her head in the direction from which the feeling of touch came, and saw that her mother was standing right in front of her chair. Little girl immediately noticed that her face was pale and her eyes were in tears.
“Mommy, why are you sad?”, asked the girl, continuing to hold her hands in shape like a boat.
Instead of answering, woman looked down at the floor and sobbed softly. For a while, the girl watched her closely, but still couldn’t bring herself to even relax her hands. Meanwhile, the mother raised her head and looked at her daughter – there were still tears in her eyes and her breathing was heavy and ragged.
She didn’t move for a while, but then, taking a few hesitant steps towards the little girl, immediately sank down, right on the tender knees of her daughter. As soon as the mother’s head found footing, she immediately burst into tears, and the daughter felt her body tremble in time with her sobs. The girl could not understand what was happening to her mother and what made her cry so much
Still holding hands in prayer position, she turned her head towards her father. He sat on a chair at the head of the table and looked at her intently, leaning head on right shoulder. One of his hands rested on the back of a chair, and the other he was clutching a spoon, although there was nothing on the plate in front of him, except for a tiny puddle of freshly eaten Sopa de legumes. Noticing that his daughter was looking at him, the corners of his mouth turned up a little, but instead of smiling, he just shook his head sadly.
“Darling…”, he said uncertainly, swallowing saliva. “I don’t even know how to tell you this…”
Halting mid-sentence, the father took his eyes off the baby and stared at the table, clearly trying to collect his thoughts. A tense silence reigned in the dining room, and only the sobs of the mother from time to time broke it. Narrowing her eyes, the girl continued to look at daddy, trying to figure out what’s on his mind, but the head of the family remained silent, as if afraid to say something that would offend her childish heart. She shifted her gaze to the plate full of soup in front of her – fragrant steam no longer rose from there. The next second, from the opposite end of the table, her father’s insinuating cough reached her ears. Turning to him, the girl saw him pass his hand over his forehead and brush back his grey hair.
“I can understand”, he began, swaying forward slightly, causing the chair beneath him to creak, “that we brought you up in a religious atmosphere and therefore it is not surprising, that you are serious about what my mother and I taught you and the problems of faith and devotion to God occupy a significant place in your life”, at these words, the father coughed and reached for the teapot that stood on the table.
The girl experienced some strange mixture of shame and pity for her daddy. She found the strength to part her palms and place her hands on the table in front of her, with a sense of satisfaction noticing that her mother finally stopped sobbing and removed her head from her lap. At this time, the father had already poured himself tea and, lifting the cup to his lips, looked at his daughter.
“But this does not mean”, he said, taking a sip, “that the issue of religion is the only problem in our lives. There are many other things that…”
“Daddy, what the problem is?”, wrinkling her delicate nose, girl interrupted him.
Probably she did not calculate her strength, because after her words, the father choked on tea and almost dropped the cup from his hands. For a few seconds he coughed loudly, trying to compose himself. The girl saw her father’s wrinkled face flush with blood, and sweat appeared on his forehead. Finally, the head of the family got over a fit of coughing and, wiping the drops of tea that fell on his clothes, he turned to the girl.
“I will be very brief”, he spoke after some silence. “Your mother and I gave praise to the Lord and began to meal, and you, dear, continued to sit in prayerful ecstasy and did not react to anything, even on my words, so your mother and I were afraid that you had a internal bleeding”, – daddy said this in a very serious and preoccupied tone.
The girl was confused by her father’s speech – she still could not understand what happened in the dining room while she was praying, and only the cold soup in her plate silently testified that she had not started eating for a very long time. Gathered in spirit, daughter raised a pleading look at her father, as if asking if he was lying, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. Lass looked at her mother, who, pressing her hands to her face, shuffled uncertainly as she made her way out of the dining room.
She wanted to get up from the table to catch up with her mother and calm her down, when suddenly the head of the family, noisily pushing back his chair, got up from his seat and went up to her. He put his heavy and hot hand on her skinny shoulders, and his face was right next to hers. The girl flinched slightly, but did not move away – that would have been a sign of disrespect. Father’s mouth twisted slightly into a smile, and his small senile eyes narrowed a little.
“Sweetie”, at these words, she felt an unpleasant smell from his mouth, “don’t worry, I’ll take care of mommy myself. You eat better, otherwise all skin and bones”.
Daddy not viciously pinched his cute child for chubby cheek, why did daughter twitch slightly in her seat. Then he straightened his back and winked slyly at her, as if making it clear that there is nothing terrible in what happened. Then he came to the door, but before he left the dining room he turned on his heels and said:
“If the soup is too cold, you can heat it up on the stove, you’re not a little kid. Bye-bye!”
The door slammed shut behind him, and the girl took a breath – finally silence reigned in the room. Without looking around anymore, she took the spoon in her right hand and scooped some Sopa de legumes from the plate. Raising it to her lips, the girl almost dropped the spoon on the table, but still managed to calm the trembling in her hand and not spill the soup on the tablecloth. After tasting the food, she noticed with displeasure that soup could not be called tasty when cold.
She put down the cutlery and, getting up from the table, picked up a plate and went to the opposite end of the dining room, where the white marble counter top stood. The girl poured the contents of the plate into a small aluminum saucepan, standing on the stove and placing an empty plate next to, picked up a red petrol lighter and clicked it. A thick blue fire flared under the saucepan, and the girl placed her lighter on the marble counter next to her plate.
She stood for a while, looking at the blue ring of fire, then she turned and went to the window. Pushing back the white nylon curtain, she looked out into the street, but there was nothing of interest there. After standing like this for a couple of minutes, she returned to the stove again, noticing the steam rising from the soup. The girl put on kitchen mittens and, carefully grasping the handle of the saucepan, poured the gurgling soup into a plate. Carrying it to the table, she sat down on a chair, pulled the plate towards her and began to eat. “Now that’s another matter”, she thought, swallowing Sopa de legumes with gusto.
The memory of mom’s soup involuntarily aroused the girl’s appetite – she clearly felt this pleasant taste on her tongue, as if she really ate this soup, and not just remembered it. Continuing to sit on the windowsill, she thought that it would be nice to run to the kitchen now and get something from the refrigerator – she suddenly wanted to eat.
It contained, she remembered, a can of tuna in oil, a piece of goat cheese, a pack of saltine crackers, a carton of milk, and a plastic container of chicken eggs. The girl knew that her mother did not like to indulge her family with sweets, although on summer days she gave her the opportunity to eat minty tats, which she reluctantly bought for her as a favor. Anything sweeter than them was banned.
Ironically, the girl recalled that before her mother delighted the whole family with the most beautiful eclairs, sweet cakes and shortbread cookies she loved so much, but it’s all in the past – the last time my mother baked was exactly two years ago, since then, she has not cooked any desserts, only meat, fish, soups and salads.
It seemed that the mother deliberately stopped cooking sweets so as not to evoke associations with ajussi Jo in her daughter – at least that’s what the girl thought. What was the true state of affairs, was known only to higher powers, who did not care about her whole family and the baby in particular. The girl considered this situation unfair, but what could she do?
Thinking about food, the girl swallowed her saliva and looked away from the night sky. However, as soon as she looked at the door of her bedroom, two conflicting feelings immediately began to torment her: on the one hand she wanted to eat, and at the same time she did not want to wake her mother. In the end, she still abandoned the idea of stuffing her insatiable belly and remained sitting on the windowsill, pressed against the wall.
The moon shone calmly in the night sky and its light emphasized the contours of the trees growing behind the fence. Lass shuddered involuntarily when some nocturnal bird suddenly fell from a branch and with a piercing cry flew very close to her. After seeing her look, she looked at her hands – her untanned skin looked completely white under the moonlight, because of which they merged with her chemise, making her look like a ancient statue of some Greek goddess. Raising her eyes, she froze, looking into the night sky, and her long black hair fell loose over her shoulders. She again plunged into her thoughts, not noticing, than the wind blowing from the direction of the forest plays with her hair.
Concentrating in her thoughts on Jo, the girl could not help remembering how her mother had changed her attitude towards this man. When their family first moved to the Parkrose Neighborhood, she gladly struck up an acquaintance with a neighbour and herself, on her own initiative, dragged her daughter to visit him. The girl, of course, saw this man on the street before that evening, and they even met their eyes then, but really, it was not destined by fate and it could not even be called love at first sight – it’s just that she, being a child of eight years old, settled down in a new place and with curiosity studied what surrounded her, including people.
Most of all, the girl was upset by how hypocritically her mommy behaved – at first she chatted merrily with her neighbour, went to visit him and walked with him around the village and in the forest, but it cost her one day to find some kind of stain in the little girl’s underwear (mother did not explain anything to her daughter about this.), how Jo went missing the very next day, and her mommy with daddy began to speak of him in such terms, that it became quite clear to the little one: her parents specially exhibited Jo in the darkest colours, so that she forgets to think about him. Of course, such imprudent tactics only aggravated the fact that the girl began to think about this man almost every hour – in any case, not a day passed when she did not think about his dog, his books, quoted his great gems and so on.
If at first it was just a child’s reaction to a sudden separation from an interesting interlocutor, then over time, in the eyes of the girl, the image of Jo became something of an ideal, pure and holy – almost everything connected with this person acquired nearly religious meaning for her. In addition, along with the personality of Jo, lass borrowed his outlook on things, a taste for literature and, most importantly, an interest in intellectual conversations. Who knows, maybe all this was inherent in the girl from birth, and that Portland’s resident just helped her reveal her identity? In any case, this move from the metropolis to the suburbs changed the girl forever – she has become much more educated and refined in nature than before, and no longer looked like a little impudent and rascal – rather like a sweet, kind and shy child.
Be that as it may, the hypocrisy of her parents revolted her to the marrow of soul’s deeps, and their constant lies constantly pissed off the girl, although in fact she herself was the initiator of this, because she always asked them about Jo, which I kept drawing in her mind…
