Lina Dee - Direville Dreams

© Lina Dee, 2021

ISBN 978-5-0051-7665-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

DIREVILLE DREAMS

By Lina Dee

Edited by Ludmila Termeneva

Translated & edited by Igor Stepashkin

Illustrated by Monaskrel`art

“Direville Dreams” is the second collection of 9 stories-sketches about the life of a fantasy city in Western Europe in the first half of the XX century.

Mysterious and fascinating events continue to take place in the life of the port city: one of the residents inexplicably turns into ruby octopus, girl Joan dreams all the time and in her dreams she flies, as a reality, and two friends make their way into the closed territory of the former psychiatric hospital and are very close to solving the mystery of Direville ‘s treasures…

All of them and other residents of Direville are looking forward to the winter holidays! But suddenly, on the eve of the long-awaited holidays, the angry nobody known why the old woman in a gray hat with the help of an unusual black powder and the stolen doll Juel made the residents of Direville to fall asleep…

Will the snowy city wake up or will dream forever?

Having a long look of his deep-set eyes on scarlet wavy clouds, a tall man in a checkered suit and shoes polished to shine – Mr. Evander Lee – entered the two-story house of dusty gray color and, passing by the walls decorated with bright colors images, proceeded into the building, glancing in the direction of the kitchen to a vase of maroon roses standing on the table and a gingerbread house baked by someone, attracting with its wonderful smell and fabulous miniature details. For a second, his gaze paused on icicles and geometrically accurate snowflakes hanging from the roof, powdered in some places with powdered sugar, but refraining from temptation, Evander found himself in his office in a few moments, where on the black polished writing desk by the window was his writing machine «Underwood» and a few white sheets laid. On the back of the high chair was hung someone’s shiny, like scales, golden-green dress decorated with feathers but he did not touch it.

Evander took off his hat and hung it on the hook. He turned on an exquisite powder-colored lamp decorated with gold beads and the finest embroidery, shaped like a half-closed umbrella on a bronze stand, and holding the newspaper with the Direville’s news for a few moments in his hand threw it aside.

For several weeks now the writer has been postponing work on a new book, and unruly fingers refused to knock on the keys, sometimes experiencing repairs, gentle strokes, and even rough handling.

The ambient atmosphere of luxury and warmth was extremely important for his inner state, and even if Mr. Lee could not concentrate and plunge into work, he thought, reflected and reminisced only in a pleasant atmosphere.

Many of its interior items, romantic decor elements, scattered silk and lace items in the house shouted about the presence of a woman in it – but no one has ever seen a woman in this house…

And actually, guests dropped by very rarely to a famous writer.

Looking around like after a long absence, Evander looked out of the window, while the scarlet clouds were carried away by jealous sadness, enveloping them in a gray haze, the neighboring little children were squatting and carefully studying the reflection of the sky in the only puddle outside.

– I want the book to speak! – said Mr. Lee, with an anguish in his voice, and with a sharp movement of his hand he closed the curtains, imagining how Miss Bumble proudly puts his new book on the shelf of her bookstore. How people smile, holding it in their hands, turning over the pages, as it speaks to them…

Then, Mr. Lee changed his face, sat down at the table, waved his arms, like a pianist before the game, and his fingers very gently tapped the round small keys; the room seemed to be filled with warm sunshine, and the sparkling glare illuminated the typewriter and the writer’s hands. He dreamed to write such a book, after reading which, nobody certainly would want to sleep.

After a few hours, the office smelled of sweet female perfume; the man was distracted from the rattling and clattering pans living on a white sheet of paper, and looked in the mirror in the elegant openwork frame…

The golden sun of the eleventh month, drowned in the sunset clouds, gave way to a dark short evening. The most ferocious force of nature broke out in Direville that evening

Many residents were already slumbering sweetly, hiding in their cozy or not beds, but in the window of house number 17 on Dire Street one could see a dim light of light.

Mr. Melville probably for the hundredth time was perplexedly strolling around the perimeter of his small house, often stopping and looking at his insensible shadow, blackening on the wide and empty olive-green wall, trying to see his eyes in his shadow. But they were absent…

Recently he especially often noticed that, while his mind was partially engulfed in fragmentary visions, his eyesight remained a firm foothold restraining growing insanity.

Perhaps this madness began to exist already separately from his visions, the man did not understand it anymore.

Melville went out into the yard. After sitting there in an open arbor for some time, studying with his eyes the movement of the foliage of trees bending in different directions, he returned to the dark house and went the bed. The Moon appeared out of the darkness, and its soft light streaming out of the window illuminated the pale blond hair of a pale man and his unusual sparkling eyes with rectangular pupils, which Mel did not want to close.

A gray mouse ran silently across the floor; her small eyes blinked with red lights, the fur flashed with silver, and it suddenly disappeared as well as it had appeared.

After lying for some time in the flow of this monotonous light, looking indifferently at the Earth’s companion, which once resembled him a gold coin he sucked in the unventilated, musty air of the house and got up exhaustedly. Passing on the carpet of scattered papers with sketches covered with a thin layer of dust, he put on his shoes again, threw on overclothes, slammed the door loudly, and went out without closing it with a key. Leaving, he wanted to look in the mirror, but he did not. In the hallway were left to stand three pairs of identical shoes, lined up in a row.

***

First snow felled diagonally.

However, being so attentive to everything around before, Melville, only threw an indifferent look at the tiny snow-white stars flying exactly from the lantern. The searchlight opened a dark stone road covered with fallen purple leaves.

Snowflakes landed on the crooked autumn leaves one by one. Picking up one of them the cold wind whirled around it just a little and dropped it in a couple of steps from the previous location. Fresh unique stars immediately changed melted one. But, not having sat in a new place even for a second the shabby sheet crumbled under the heavy sole of Mr. Melville’s boot into many pieces.

If on the way one could fail and get somewhere else, Melville would have done it: he wanted to disappear.