Lina Dee - Direville Dreams

Having driven a horse into the castle courtyard, the rider walked along a path strewn with the last dried autumn leaves into a stable and tied Storm to the stall, where two wild horses and a horse were already standing.

– Hello, Demon! You’re just the same as him.

She tried to stroke the black escaping mount, but he was only moving away and spinning strongly, as if stung.

Leaving the stable alone, she crossed the main road and was at the foot of the castle. Quickly running up the stairs and brushing off the road dust and dirt, the brunette started to open the heavy door, but it immediately opened and a gray-haired butler, an obliging henchman of the castle, appeared before her, and bowed very low, inviting her inside.

– Mrs. Fairly…

– Hello, Pastar.

Having entered the dark living room, the guest inhaled the familiar smell of «home» and climbed the oak spiral staircase to the second floor. The reigning twilight was familiar to the eyes and now was very comforting. It seemed to be a deep night in the yard, although the day was in full swing. A woman found Dire in a solemn blue suit, tailored to order and decorated with golden mustard flower patterns on a waistcoat, in a library, studying myths and legends about sea monsters. The brother turned the pages coyly, like an actor playing in an amateur play with a candlelight dancing flame.

He genuinely smiled at her, throwing the age-old quarrel into an endless abyss.

– Hello, sister!

– So you already know?

– Damn Ruby octopus… Well, at least he made you visit my modest abode…»

– Yes. But I come not because of it.

Fairly changed her face, becoming more serious, pulled a battered card hidden in a secret pocket from her long sleeve and showed Dire a movement of mystical red fog…

At this time, a dirty little boy with the female nickname Bonnie, who met his eyes with the keeper of the city of Fairville, got to the house, went into his room, which looked like a small closet, and said goodbye to invisible friends. Having sat on the dirty floor, he began to dig in old, tattered boxes and finally found his beloved and only wooden toy a cute donkey, recently donated by his grandmother, with whom he still lived, was very happy to find and, dusting off the toy from dust, proudly put on the windowsill. Bonnie thought that the donkey looked out the window, but he immediately pulled himself up and, gathering the boxes in a row, got up from the floor and again called out invisible friends.

Through the evening darkness it was possible to see only the pale light from the windows of houses and street lamps.

Shrouded in secret, Direville was excited and with bated breath waiting for the famous maestro, who at this moment was already slowly entering the city in a painted carriage, waving long blond hair at bends and occasionally tapping musical fingers on hard surfaces. His crazy eyes glowed, his pupils were dilated, and Mr. Rockwell dreamt images of local young charmers and married ladies, trying to see through the windows the carriages hidden under the headdresses of the faces of oncoming women, besieging the carriage, like snowdrifts.

The great, young violinist, heartthrob, the coveted handsome man with shady reputation of Casanova and the card player, on his third attempt, reached Direville, despite the impresario’s dissuasions.

Placed on the pillars of the city posters with the announcement of his long-awaited performance in the «Theater of Dreams» brought beauties to frenzy. And now, brassily jostling, they were shaking from the cold, breasted across the milky mist to the motel to try to get inside and figure out the maestro’s apartment.

Having enjoyed the street buzz, Rockwell knocked back the harsh drink in one fell swoop, winced with a satisfied grin and rubbing the bow with a rosin, picked up the instrument. Having played a quarter of the concert in a passionate rush, fascinated by his favorite music and himself, he threw open the window and leaned out.

Wild frenzy wasn’t long in coming and Rockwell, without closing the window to the end, performed several long pieces for his fans. The night came on and the violin, tearing apart the soul, was silenced. When he looked out of the window again, one after another the lights went out before his eyes. The cries at the gate subsided, and he called the impresario for a personal conversation, after which he washed himself and quickly fell asleep.

The next day, on Saturday, after midday dry permafrost and after a dizzying performance, hot and tired Rockwell, leaving the «Theater of Dreams», like a noisy crowd of jubilant fans who were at the concert, heard the bell ringing from all over the streets. According to custom, they spread important and urgent news. And now, in front of the theater, trying on the mask of an important gentleman, a man with a solid baritone called for public attention. He stood on a high stool, holding a bell in one hand, wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief clamped in the other, and chanted: «Listen, listen!»

But his voice melted into women’s screams: the girls started a fight, trying in this way to «divide» the attention of the desired maestro. At that moment Mr. Rockwell was approaching the carriage in a long fur coat of ermine, saving himself and the precious violin.

Rockwell has already learned about the strange incident from the impresario, with whom the eared coachman shared the news. And they, like many other residents of Direville, headed towards the coast to see the miracle with their own eyes.

The horses screamed desperately, reared up, the carriage reeled, and the restless women rushed to catch up with the elusive idol, clinging to the windows and sides of the carriage. The blond beamed back.

Strangers and streets flashed around the musician. Underfoot, hooves and wheels squished terrible slush mixed with discarded last leaves. From the pipes of industrial factories and stone houses, like gins, ready to fulfill bad and good desires, clouds of dirty smoke were flying. A little girl with a bright bow on her head was sitting and loudly crying on the steps of the one of houses, having lost her doll named Juel. She petted the curly big dog and did not want to go back home.

Rockwell followed the weeping girl with his eyes and stared at the fat rat running across the road. Rat wasn’t afraid.

The musician was ready for everything: work hard, give concerts, revel in women and alcohol, help those in need, give interviews, play cards, be in the thick of things, change cities, just not to be alone with himself for a long time and not to remember the face of mother dying from measles. Memories floated randomly and now he was returning to childhood, where he played hide-and-seek with her at the pond, hiding behind a mighty rustling willow, and after a moment blue lupines growing at her parents’ house were remembered…

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