Читать книгу Direville Dreams - Lina Dee - Страница 6

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…