Читать книгу The red-haired clown. A novel - Елена Федорова - Страница 4

The town of Charlottenberg is a little miracle at the end of the world. A few dozen houses are nestling on a huge cliff, which is being hit by the roaring waves of the cold ocean. From time to time, white chunks of iceberg are drifting along the horizon. The northern strict beauty of the pale nature is fascinating. Its dullness, unsightliness, inconspicuous, discreetness, and homeliness contain the unprecedented power of charm. It is impossible to look away.

“Oh, my heart is filled with trembling joy!” Simone whispers, having sat next to a strange flower that looked like coral pyramids, connected by arrow-shaped green stems. Like a red light, it sticks out of the ground, having moved apart from the snow melted in the sun. It was a smooth gray-brown circle, within which there was a flower, reminiscent of the arena of the circus. Charles smiles skeptically:

“The circus… the arena…” it seemed it was long ago, in the past life. And it has been only one year. Only one year. One year. The whole year. The year of Simone and him, which began in the house-castle with columns and many servants dressed in golden liveries…

Lele and Bebe sat at the table with confused and wondering faces. Seeing them like that was a big surprise for Charles, although, he also did not behave like always. Along with clownish clothes, he took off his clownish mask, became thoughtful and serious. Having sat down at a large dining table, served with expensive dishes, Charles projected to his childhood. Pictures of the past rose so vividly in his mind that Charles was surprised:

“Why hasn’t this happened before?” and he answered himself: “Probably, that’s because the situation was not like this, was not appropriate. The dozing consciousness inside her could not awake. There were people, who could not lift the veil of the past, light the floodlights, illuminate the stage, where the action was taking place. The past came to life. Charles saw Natalie Benosh, dressed in a simple dress, like all the servants usually wore. Why does she need this attire? So no one could recognize her as the wife of the head of the secret society. Natalie floats through the rooms, like a shadow. Edward Benosh, dressed equally modestly, stops her, kisses her hand, whispers something, and apologizes. Natalie smiles sadly and disappears. A heavy curtain covering the door, behind which Natalie has disappeared, is rocking slightly.”